#Chapter: [Pensive Promises]

[umbralsound-xiv]

Sins and Cinnamon.

There was always a soft silence that took the company house in the early bells of the morning. Naino remained ever present at her post, even as the morning light spilled through the window, barricaded somewhat by the curtain.

Regardless. The Raen greets Bexy all the same when she slips from the private chambers, perhaps with more enthusiasm than would usually be had; the Seeker had only recently taken to sleeping at the company house once again, now that she’d felt the comfort to do so. Bexy greets the Raen’s wordless bow with a faint dip of her head, as was their custom, before a gloved hand finds the railing and descends to the kitchen.

So often was she the sole occupant of the room at such an unruly bell, save for the kitchen staff who worked so tirelessly to keep everyone fed.

...But this sun was the exception.

Eir paced through the kitchen with a small cluster of cookware in his arms, clearly having not heard her descent through the rattle of it all. Something had him stir from his slumber far sooner than he might have liked, and unable to drift back to sleep, further beckoned by the grumble of his stomach, he opted to make the most of it.

She watches him. Icy eyes remain fixed on him as he moves to and fro against the counter, picking out ingredients. A small sack of flour... Butter is pulled from the chiller as he leans down in an almost graceful motion; he’d clearly familiarised himself with the kitchen. Part of her wants to speak and interrupt him, but knew the cost would be startling him - And likely he’d be just as quick to bolt as he had done so many times, with nary a greeting given.

Still. It was better than standing in awkward silence and watching him. Somewhat reluctantly, she approaches the counter, heels clicking on the floor to at least give him some hope of a warning before she spoke.

“Good morning, Eir.”

Her greeting is enough to send his breath sticking in his throat, staring at the flour he’d just dumped into the bowl, trailing a fine veil of powder through the air in front of him. Only the dull race of his heartbeart in his ears is all he can hear for the moment, silence hanging for longer than it aught to. Feet shift from side to side, rock from front to back.

It wasn’t too late to run. He’d not turned on the oven. Nothing would burn in his absence. He could simply wait until she had departed, and resume his cooking.

...He promised. The waver of a breath leaves his lips, and he almost dare not turn his head for fear of looking at her. Swallowing a dry lump that had clambered it’s way up his throat, he manages a reply as he slowly turns his head just enough to peer at her between his braids.

“...Good morning, commander.”

The latter word is softer than he’d have usually said it, often emphasised as some sort of derogatory jibe than a mark of respect. But his reply is enough to make Bexy’s brow loft, even with the simplicity of it; it wasn’t often she got a response. She takes it as signal there’s enough comfort to find a seat at the bar. So caught off guard by his response that she is, her own reply simmers in the quiet, debating how to continue. She’d never got this far before.

She opts for her usual curiosity.

“...I hadn’t expected anyone awake at this bell, save for the Keepers and perhaps some of the house staff. Least of all opting to cook.” She watches him, as his attention drifts just enough to add butter to the bowl and begin mixing it with his fingers.

“I could not sleep. Could not get back to sleep, at the very least. I thought to make myself useful, and perhaps make breakfast.” His silver gaze almost anxiously cuts to Bexy between his words. “---Sayuri is comfortable. She was sleeping when i left.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Her words are as warm as they can be. The simple pleasure of conversation sets her tail slowly waving at her heels, watching his work more than him, at least for a moment. But her eyes soon drift back. “...What are you making?”

Eir stares at the bowl. Suppose, even right now, he wasn’t all that certain. Sugar had been added; he’d refrained from choosing or opening any spice jars through fear of beckoning someone from their bed at this ungodly hour.

“...I am not quite sure. I had gotten into the habit of making ginger cookies. A... Friend of yours? The rabbit woman.” His brow knits at the description, to which Bexy bobs a small nod, though her thinned lips implied that ‘friend’ might not quite be the right word. “...They are popular enough, but i thought to perhaps experiment with... Different flavours. Different spices.” He continued, glancing to the small array of jars and bottles. “Cinnamon, perhaps.”

Another small nod of her head, somewhat idle; she knew little of the culinary arts, opting to simply observe as she slumped down to lazily rest her head atop a gloved hand, watching all the while. “You seem to know your way around a kitchen at least.” A small pause, curious. Auro’usk had been absent for some few suns, now; and she had found herself wanting for her usual morning pleasantry. It wasn’t quite the same when the Namazu made it, though it wouldn’t stop her eating it if they made an attempt. “...What else can you make?”

Eir’s lips slowly purse together as he glances sidelong to her for a moment, hands stilling in the mixture. He knew little about her, but what things he did know he’d committed to memory; akin to small warnings for fear of a misstep. But if he knew anything, he knew her favourite fruit; always absent from the kitchen after she had visited on any sun.

“...A good many things. Curries, samosa. Plenty of Thavnairan fare. Cookies too, i suppose.” Before the idea of a request might dare leave her lips, he adds; “...I have only recently begun baking again.”

It’s enough to pull a frown to her lips, but she accepts it with a resigned nod. “...I hear you’ve something of a talent for it.” Her tail briefly swats behind her, eyes narrowing only an ilm. “I’ve not had the opportunity to try.”

The silence lingers a little more awkwardly then. Though it was no fault of Eir’s that she hadn’t, he’d somehow felt responsible for the outcome. He slowly moves to set the oven to warm, picking out a warm, brown spice that had been finely ground into a powder to add to the mixture, folding it in with his hands.

Bexy continues to watch. And Eir continues to work. There was some weight that lingered heavily on his shoulders he felt her gaze, a little rigid and uncomfortable at the notion. The dough is turned out of the bowl, and the neighboring surface dusted with flour before he begins to roll it flat with a now well-practised efficiency.

“Where did you learn?”

The question, lighter now, comes with her usual brand of inquiry. The whole art of baking was nigh incomprehensible to the Seeker; who had barely grasped the basics of cookery, never mind anything so complex that could have easily been alchemy to her had someone presented it as such.

“...Thavnair.” Eir responds, simply. Poking through a drawer, he selects a cookie cutter in the shape of a leaf, giving a small tug of a smile at his choice. “...I lived there for a time. A good many cycles.”

Head dipping for a moment, her eyes are yet to leave him. Curiosity; vested interest paints her features, then. She watches as the leaf-shaped metal is pressed into the dough, and each would-be cookie is transferred to a sheet destined for the oven.

“...I’ve never been.” A pause. “Not yet, anyway. But i would like to, one sun.” Her head rocks to one side, hair spilling over her shoulders at the motion as she lingered in thought, scheming to pry more words from him. “...What’s it like?”

“Warm.” An expression equal to his words mirrors his features, as he delicately pries each leaf-shaped piece of dough from countertop. Bexy pays special attention to his hands, noting the scar that now wrought the back of one of them. He was gentle; she knew that much of him, if not through Sayuri’s words, but simply through his own mannerisms.

“Not only the weather, but the people too. They are kind, but passionnate in all they do, from weaving, to cooking, to alchemy and more. The city is renowned for vibrancy in so many ways... I have many fond memories, there.” Eir’s smile softens to something a little more bittersweet, hidden from her view as he sets the tray in the oven.

His description of Thavnair had more than caught Bexy’s attention. A curious brow lofts, watching with some amusement as Eir now faced her more fully, hesitation beginning to settle as he no longer had anything to occupy himself with. Silence hanging, he opts to put away the remainder of the ingredients, taking the dishes to the sink with a quiet clatter.

“Sayuri told you me plan to take her there sometime.” There was, of course, more intention to her words than she had overtly spoken. A smile creeps over her painted lips, watching him with some unspoken glee for his reaction.

He halts for only a moment at her words, before plunging the bowl into the sink, some unease apparent in the way he did not immediately respond.

“She told you?”

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t she have?” She peers across the kitchen to catch his glance which flees back into the sink with the dishes. “We are close, Eir. Sisters, in all but blood. We speak at length, about many things. Yourself included.”

That admission did absolutely nothing to settle him, a grimace he fought to restrain behind the veil of hair that obscured his expression.

“...I dread to think what of.”

“Why?”

Bexy’s tone was almost combatative, then. “She loves you, Eir. She says only good things of you, and many of them. Do you truly have so little self confidence to think she would speak ill of you? Has she a reason to?”

“N-no, of course not!” He replies perhaps a little faster than he’d intended, half stuttered out as he scrubs a dish clean. “I give her all the love and kindness she deserves, and not an ilm less.” A glance, a little sharper from over his shoulder. “Which has very little to do with our previous conversation in this room.”

Sheer amusement decorates Bexy’s features, a short, mirthful hum burbling up her throat at the dig. The same sound causes Eir to half sink into his own shoulders with the dread that now weighed atop them.

“You do it because you love her, not because you fear the repercussion if you don’t.”

He remains turned away, though any effort of cleaning is brought to a halt, frame a little more tense than he’d have perhaps liked to have let on.

“Eir.”

He finally turns his head over his shoulder enough to meet her gaze more fully. Eir desperately fought his features to remain more steely and less frightened at his name, brow knit at anything that might follow, feet slowly shifting at the growing unease of it all.

His attention now fully caught, she speaks more warmly, then.

“Eir, she is happier than she has ever been since i have known her. Though much of it can be attributed to having a place to call home and a purpose... So much more of it is because of you.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not right away, at least. The frightened, tense expression begins to leave him.

“...Because of... Me?”

Bexy offers a nod given in affirmation of his words. “...Because of you.” She smiles; and it isn’t the sort that often held malice or obfuscated intentions, but warmth. “You’ve brought her happiness. Joy immeasurable. Comfort.”

Eir’s gaze settles on Bexy’s for some wavering moments, an almost imperceptible bob of his head before his attention slowly shifts to a nearby cabinet. “I am... Glad...”

Despite his soft words and the smile that warmed his lips, it was fleeting thing that seemed to wither as quickly; an expression that brought upon a perplexed one of Bexy’s own.

“...I cannot protect her.”

The words seem to hang in the air, then. Eir’s gaze remains firmly fixed on the cabinet before dropping to the floor, whilst Bexy’s features slowly soften at the revelation.

“...You don’t need to.”

He glances up wordlessly, brow knit.

“You don’t need to.” She repeats again, matter-of-factly. “She can protect herself, Eir. Along with the rest of us. And on the off-chance she can’t, i’m here, followed by the rest of the company. She hardly needs someone else to protect her.”

He doesn’t say anything to protest it, and her words do seem to offer him some small comfort, though he still opts to keep his silence.

“...She needs someone to love her. Someone to come home to.”

As the two shared a glance, Bexy’s head rocks atop her hand once again, elbow firmly planted on the counter. “...I’m glad that it’s you.”

Unsurprisingly, Eir keeps his customary quiet; either when words eluded him, or he had not quite the confidence to speak his thoughts. But the small smile that tugged at his lips said enough, as he turned back to the sink to finish the dishes.

It’s enough for Bexy, at least, to know she was heard. Watching him briefly, her gaze drifts lazily across the kitchen, settling on the oven as the scent of cinnamon wafted through the room. Her attention is only stolen back when Eir opts to fill his lungs and speak.

“...Would you like something to drink?”

The request, though simple, was enough to catch her off guard. Brows lofted in some quiet surprise, her smile soon follows at the request.

“I would love to.”

He did not know so much about her, no. But he knew enough, at least, to reach for the rolanberry tea.

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

-

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

-

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and  got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?” 

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her. 

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and  it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around. 

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders. 

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

TAG LIST: @be-your-coffee-pot @supremebaddietrash @mellowarcadefun @cmleitora @kyuupidwrites @80sloverry @newlifeforus @soulaires @hrrorflm @redwolfxx @icarus-nex @jenniferrvsesi @bborra @leilanixx @hc-dutch @withyoutilltheendodthismess @is-just-a @freetimemachinequeen @saturnchase @butterfly-lover @eddiesbitch83 @elliott-calls @nb26fort @wcnorris @vellicora @mac-daddy-210 @hiraethrhapsody @losore-prone @gills-lounge @enrapturedbythemoon @formula1mount @mightiestheroes @cherry-piee @chezmardybum @whodis-26 @mortallyblueninja @f1mockingjay @dance-the-painting

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[f14fun]

f1 abba inspired series

hey everyone! i have an abba-song inspired series in the drafts (since i got back from vaca and i'm still in a summery-mood and i love abba songs). hopefully it will be about three-five parts, each part a story for a different driver. each part will also have a minimum of 10K words, so this will be a prose series!

let me know if you guys want to see anything in particular!

chapter list ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ 01: lay all your love on me - op81 02: our last summer - cl16 03: under attack - gr63 04: mamamia - ob38

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

01: lay all your love on me - op81 📍santorini, greece

On a summer getaway to Santorini, Greece, Y/N finds herself staying in a charming Airbnb with her family, soaking in the breathtaking views and vibrant atmosphere of the island. However, what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that they’ll be sharing the house with none other than Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, who’s also vacationing with his family.

At first, the arrangement feels awkward, the two worlds of celebrity racing and her relatively normal life as a collegiate student colliding in the most unforeseen way. But as the days go by, the initial surprise gives way to something deeper. As they explore the sun-drenched beaches, dine in quaint tavernas, and experience the lively nightlife of Santorini, Y/N and Oscar find themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

As the sun sets over the Aegean Sea, and the lively energy of the island comes alive at night, Y/N and Oscar find themselves spending more time together, entertwined in a steamy and fast-paced romance. The backdrop of Santorini's iconic white-washed buildings, azure waters, and the laid-back Greek lifestyle set the stage for a summer romance that's as unexpected as it is intense.

02: our last summer - cl16 📍monte carlo, monaco

In the summer of 2018, both Charles and Y/N are on the brink of adulthood, just shy of their 18th birthdays. As they savor their final summer as teenagers, they find themselves reminiscing in the familiar, sun-drenched streets of Monte Carlo, where memories of childhood and dreams for the future intertwine in the warmth of the Mediterranean air.

As the days drift by, Charles and Y/N find themselves caught between the nostalgia of their shared past and the anticipation of what lies ahead. Every corner of Monte Carlo holds a memory—childhood races down the Promenade, late-night talks under the stars, and the countless summers spent by the azure waters. Charles, with a wistful smile, often finds himself retracing their old routes, savoring the familiar sights and sounds as if trying to imprint them in his memory before they part ways. Y/N, equally pensive, clings to the simple joys of their last summer together, finding solace in the shared silences and quiet moments that speak volumes.

But now, the city feels different, charged with the weight of impending change. They both know this summer marks the end of an era, a farewell to the carefree days of youth. Yet, amid the bittersweetness, there's an unspoken promise that whatever the future holds, Monte Carlo will always be the place where their story began.

03: under attack - gr63 📍majorca, spain

Global popstar Y/N, overwhelmed by the relentless pressures of fame and reeling from the heartbreak of discovering her partner's infidelity, decides she needs a serious escape. Desperate to get away from the prying eyes of the media and the public, she books a quiet trip to Mallorca, Spain, hoping to find some solace and rediscover herself amidst the island's tranquil beauty. But fate has other plans. In a chance encounter at a lively club’s bar, Y/N finds herself in a series of awkward and unexpected mishaps that leave her feeling more exposed than ever.

Just when she thinks her night can’t get any worse, George Russell, a familiar face from the world of Formula One, steps in. Sensing her distress and the unwanted attention she's drawing, George quickly concocts a plan and pretends to be her boyfriend for the night. As they navigate the evening together, the line between pretense and reality begins to blur, leaving Y/N to wonder if this unexpected encounter could lead to something more than just a fleeting escape. He's broken down her defenses, and what can you say, maybe she's just under attack.

04: mamamia - ob38 📍skiathos, greece

A series of misunderstandings, white lies, and the relentless demands of their busy lives have driven Y/N and her boyfriend of three years, Oliver Bearman, apart. The once inseparable couple now finds themselves estranged, their relationship seemingly hanging by a thread. Despite their love for each other, the distance and unresolved tensions have led to a painful separation.

However, their close-knit group of friends refuses to give up on them. Convinced that Y/N and Ollie just need some quality time away from the pressures of their everyday lives, they hatch a plan to bring the two back together. The friends secretly arrange for Y/N and Ollie to vacation in a secluded villa in Skiathos, Greece, for two weeks. Surrounded by the island's serene beauty, where the turquoise waters meet golden sands, the hope is that the couple will have the chance to reconnect, confront their issues, and rekindle the spark that first brought them together.

As Y/N and Ollie navigate the awkwardness of being thrown back together in such an idyllic setting, the old feelings start to resurface, but so do the unresolved issues that tore them apart. Amidst the breathtaking views and the romantic allure of Greece, they must decide whether their love is strong enough to overcome the obstacles that have come between them.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Chapter 1

Dark! Aemond x Stark! Reader and Jacaerys x Stark! reader

Do I already have like 50 WIPs and am I really writing another story? Yes. Yes I am. But the idea of this has been in my head for a few days so here we go lol. And yes this is yet another Aemond x reader story because y’all we Aemond Stans are getting feddddd with season 2. Also another dark fic because yes I have issues. I may also try something new because I enjoy medieval fashion so I may include pictures of the reader’s outfits below. If you aren’t interested in this part you can ignore it, this just gives me an excuse to look at pretty dresses ;)

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

You had heard all the stories about King’s landing but none of them compared to the real thing.

You smiled widely and slid yourself towards the window of the carriage to take in the hot air. It was never this warm back at Winterfell and you made a promise to yourself to enjoy the southern sun while you were here.

“And if you look to your left, dear sister, you’ll see yet another pompous lordling flaunting about.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at your older brother. He had ridden his own horse the majority of the way but as it was your first time in King’s Landing he wanted to show you the sights himself.

“He does seem to bear an odd resemblance to a bird.” You joined in eyeing the man before retreating back into the carriage.

Your older brother laughed and shook his head with a small smile. You hadn’t seen him smile as much since the death of your sister in law, so you cherished the ones you got, as few as they were. “We should be arriving any moment now.” Cregan’s smile dropped back into his usual pensive expression. “Are you sure you are ready?”

To anyone who didn’t know Cregan Stark, he would seem like he was calmly assessing your future time at court, but you knew better. He was scared. Scared he’d lose you like he lost the Lady Arra Norrey. Like you both had lost your mother.

“You have your duty to the family and I have mine, brother.” You placed a calming hand on his as the carriage jerked to a quick stop. “Perhaps I will find a husband close to home.”

Cregan furrowed his brows but said nothing as the door opened. You could tell he wasn’t convinced, seeing as how you just turned one and eight. Too young to marry in his eyes, but having all the eligible lords in the realm gathered in one spot to celebrate the potentially last name day of the King was too good of an opportunity to pass up. It allowed you some choice in your future husband.

Cregan was the first to leave the carriage, ducking his large frame under the doorway and gallantly offering you his hand.

You took in a deep breath before taking it and exiting after him. As you crossed the threshold of the carriage you were met with chaos. Lords and ladies of all classes were clambering out of their carriages and were rushing to prepare for the upcoming tourney.

Many of them were lodged in nearby manors; however, as one of the great houses you and your brother had the honor of being guests in the Red Keep.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark.” A young man clad in the red uniform of the Red Keep steward gave you both a curt bow. “I am to show you to your rooms to prepare for the petition.”

“What petition?” Your brother offered you his arm as the two of you followed the servant.

“My apologies my lord, I thought you were informed. As one of the heads of a great house you are invited to attend Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to the seat of Driftmark.”

Your brother scoffed slightly at that. “Not even an hour into the capital and there is already scheming. Lord Corlys made his opinion on that matter clear and that should be upheld.”

“I didn’t even know that the Sea Snake was dead.” You commented as you all ventured into what appeared to be a training yard.

“He isn’t, my lady.” The servant replied slowing as you neared a crowd. “He was injured in battle. I was told the maesters do not think highly of his chances.” He lowered his voice at the last sentence and you realized why as you approached the Velaryon boys.

“My lord, my lady, may I introduce the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.”

The princes looked exactly like you had heard in Ravens from the South. Their brown hair standing out from the signature Targaryen white and their eyes a similar color instead of the usual violet.

“Lord Stark,” The older Prince gave your brother a curt nod before doing the same to you. “Lady Stark.”

“My princes.” You curtsied and were very grateful for the days that your septa had drilled you relentlessly on proper form. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours.” Prince Jacaerys said with an easy smile. “I hope the journey south was not too tiresome.”

“It was long of course, but we are honored to receive an invitation to the king’s name day festivities.” Your brother spoke as the four of you strode further into the courtyard with the steward trailing closely behind.

It seemed as if the younger prince was about to speak, seemingly the more shy of the two, but was interrupted by the clashing of metal and cheers.

Curious to what was occurring, your small group wandered over to see the signature White of Targaryen hair battling a Dornish man in a suit of armor. Your eyes widened as the knight swung a flail at the person you assumed to be a prince. The younger man, without missing a beat, blocked it with a swing of his shield before advancing with a sword in his hand. The younger Velaryon winced as the shield was thrown to the ground with a dull thud.

The two men seemed to dance around the other, sending blow after blow before the Prince finally turned around revealing an eye patch covering a scarred eye.

The Velaryon boys looked at each other uneasily at the sight of his face before turning to watch the duel again. You said nothing remembering back to when your uncle had told you about the loss of Prince Aemond’s eye. Lucerys looked especially uncomfortable as the One Eyed Prince finished the duel with an easy swing of his sword.

As the surrounding crowd applauded, Prince Aemond lowered his sword from the man’s throat with an unphased expression.

“Well done my Prince.” The knight said, breathing heavily and dropping his flail to the dirt floor. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.” You gave Cregan a quick glance, knowing that he was fighting in the upcoming tourney himself.

Your brother looked at the Prince, no doubt storing away what he perceived his weaknesses in battle to be for later. Your father had always told him it was better to use your enemy’s weaknesses against them instead of playing into their strengths.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Prince Aemond responded coolly and you found yourself scoffing quietly. If he did not intend to fight for sport then what exactly had he been training for?

“Nephews…” His one eye flicked over to your group as he continued. “Have you come to train?”

The two Velaryons looked at each other again but remained in a shocked silence.

You felt Prince Aemond’s eye on you and your brother as he waited for a response that seemed like it would never come as a nearby guard yelled for the gates to open.

The courtyard fell deathly silent as Vaemond Velaryon entered the Keep, flanked by guards and Velaryon banners.

Prince Aemond huffed out a laugh at the younger Velaryon’s discomfort before bowing his head to you. “You must be the Starks.”

“We are, my prince.” Cregan spoke for you, “This is my sister, the lady Y/n Stark.”

“Ah.” The young man said, reaching his hand for yours, which you gave to him politely, before placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. You gave him a polite smile which he returned to you. “I see the tales of the Beauty of the North were not exaggerated.”

“Thank you, my prince.” You didn’t know what else to say under his critical eye. “We are honored to attend your father’s name day celebration.”

“Yes I suppose that will be entertaining, although I find myself more excited for a different occasion.” He gave another smirk at Vaemond’s back as the older man walked away.

Although living in the North you and your brother were not uninformed. And although everyone knew that the Velaryon boys were bastards, you knew that if any spoke on it a worse fate would be in store for the unlucky orator. One that would most definitely meet Vaemond Velaryon if he pressed any further. You; however, did not want to get mixed into the Keep’s dramatics.

“I am personally eager to attend the tourney.” You changed the subject, and looked at the two Velaryons whispering softly together. Though they may be bastards, they were honorable men by all accounts that you had heard. “Will you be competing, my prince?”

When you looked back at Aemond his face wore an annoyed expression as he glared at the two princes. “Perhaps I will.” He muttered softly. Releasing your hand that you had not realized he still held. “I hope we meet again soon, Lady Stark.” He nodded to you politely before returning the courtesy to Cregan and walking over to the knight he fought with earlier.

“As entertaining as this has been, my sister and I must prepare for the petition on the morrow.” Cregan spoke, looping your arm in his.

“Of course.” Prince Jacaerys gave the two of you a smile. “Your steward will show you the rest of the way. I fear we may not be good company for the time being.”

Cregan gave a curt nod to the Prince before the steward reappeared at your side. “We thank you for your hospitality, my princes.”

“It is our pleasure.” Jacaerys spoke as he repeated the earlier kiss to your knuckles his uncle had done. “May we meet again soon.”

You blushed at the touch of his lips on your hand, not noticing the Targaryen scowling at your interaction with his nephew. Your brother, who had spotted the look, thanked the two again before leading you away.

“I don’t like this.” He said under his breath as the two of you entered the Red Keep.

“Prince Jacaerys seems like a good man.” You responded quietly. “He is very handsome.” You felt butterflies think in your stomach as you thought back to the Prince.

“That he is.” Cregan muttered. “But he has many enemies, sister. The Targaryens are on the brink of a civil war and I would not have you getting in the middle of it. Even now we are already attracting unwanted attention from them.”

He sighed heavily as the steward stopped in front of two doors and explained that this was where you were staying before leaving with a quick bow.

“Do you truly think that a war will happen? The King has made his wishes on his succession very clear, to go against it would be treason.”

“Lord Corlys made his wishes for succession clear, and yet here we stand.” Cregan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. At times like this he did not look like the twenty and one years he was but much older and worn.

You nodded slowly, understanding his words but not wishing for the inevitable to happen soon. “I will stay away from Prince Jacaerys.”

“Prince Aemond too.” Your eyebrow shot up at the Targaryen’s name. “I do not like the way he was looking at you, sister. Avoid them all. We will do our duty, do what is right, but that does not mean we must thrust ourselves into the middle of this.” Cregan held your shoulder and looked at you with concern written in his face. “I cannot lose another family member.”

“You will not.” You gripped his hand tightly. “I will find a husband. And with your guidance he shall be a good and kind man but you will never lose me, brother.” You knew you could not promise him you would survive childbirth or the war that was inevitable but this small mercy you could do. No matter how much the thought of Prince Jacaerys made you smile.

To think that you even had a chance with a Prince was a foolhardy idea anyways. Or at least that is what you told yourself as you prepared for dinner.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Riding Outfit

Taglist 🏷️

@dixie-elocin

@shari-berri

@ka1afbr

@sepherinaspoppies

Please let me know if you want to be added!

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 5]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

“Is it a prank? It has to be a prank. Am I on national television? Where are the hidden cameras? How do I look?”

“It’s not a prank. There are no cameras.” You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder and stepped to the side to avoid being ran over by an electric scooter. “But now that you mention it, you look great—especially for this hour.”

Maki didn’t blush, but it was a close thing. “Last night I did one of those masks that you and Megumi got me for my birthday. That one that looks like a panda? I also got a new sunscreen that’s supposed to give you a bit if a glow. And I put on mascara,” she added under her breath.

You could ask her why she’d gone the extra mile to look fabulous on a run-of-the-mill Tuesday morning but you already knew: obviously Yuta would be here today therefore she would be seeing him.

You hid a smile. As weird as the idea of your best friend dating your ex sounded, you were glad that she allowed herself to consider Yuta romantically. Mostly, it was nice to know the indignity you’d put yourself through with Gojo on The Night was paying off. That, all together, with Getos very promising potential business offer had you thinking things might be finally looking up.

“Okay.” Maki chewed on her lower lip, deep in concentration. “So it’s not a prank. Which means that there must be another explanation. Let me find it.”

“There is no other explanation to be found. We just—”

“Oh my God. Are you trying to get citizenship? Are they deporting you back to Canada because we’ve been sharing Megumi’s Netflix password? Tell them we didn’t know it was a federal crime. No wait, don’t tell them anything, we’ll get you a lawyer. And, Y/N I will marry you. I’ll get you a green card and you won’t have to—”

“Maki.” You squeezed your friends hand tighter to get her to shut up for a second. “I promise you, I’m not getting deported. I just went on a single date with Gojo.”

Maki scrunched up her face and dragged you to a bench. She forced you to sit down. You complied, telling yourself that had the roles been reversed you would have absolutely had the same reaction. Hell, if you had caught Maki kissing Gojo you would have enlisted her for full-blown psychiatric help.

“Listen,” Maki started, “do you remember last spring, after the album release party, when I held your hair back while your projectile vomited the five pounds worth of spoiled meat?”

“Yeah. I do.” You cocked you head, pensive. “You ate more then me and never got sick.”

“Because I’m made of sterner stuff, but never mind that. The point is; I am here for you, always will be. No matter what. No matter how many pounds of spoiled meat you projectile vomit, you can trust me. We’re a team, you and I. And Magumi when he’s not pissing off the population. So if Gojo is secretly a extraterrestrial life-form planning on taking over the Earth that will ultimately result in humanity being enslaved by evil overlords who look like cicadas, and the only way to stop him is dating him, you can tell me and I’ll inform NASA—”

“For god sakes.” —you had to laugh—“it was just a date!”

Maki looked pained. “I just don’t understand.”

Because it doesn’t make sense. “I know, but there’s nothing to understand. It’s just…We went on a date.”

“But…why? N/N, you’re beautiful and smart and funny and have excellent taste in clothes, why would you go out with Satoru Gojo?”

You scrunched your nose. “Because he is…” It cost you, to say the word. Oh it cost you. But you had to. “Nice.”

“Nice?” Her eyebrows shot so high they almost got lost in her hairline.

She does look extra cute today, you reflected. Pleased.

“Satoru “ass” Gojo?”

“Well yeah. He is…” you looked around, as if help could come from the bushes or the people rushing by on their ways to work. When it didn’t seem forthcoming you finished, lamely. “He’s a nice asshole I guess.”

Maki’s expression went straight up disbelieving. “Okay so you went from dating someone as cool as Yuta to going out with Satoru Gojo.”

Prefect. This was exactly the opening you had wanted “I did. And happily, because I never cared that much about Yuta.” Finally, some truth in this conversation. “It wasn’t that hard to move on. Honestly. Which is why—please, Maki, put that boy out of his misery. He deserves it, and above all, you deserve it. I bet he’s here today, or well I know he is.” You gestured to the building. “You should ask him to accompany you to coffee when he’s done with the other business meeting and to horror movie festivals so I don’t have to sleep with the lights on for the next six months.”

This time, Maki was flustered. She looked down at her hands, picked at her fingernails and then she began to fiddle with the hem of her shorts before saying, “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, if you really think that—”

The sound of an alarm went off from Maki’s pocket, and she straightened to pull out her phone. “Shit. I’ve got a “meeting” with Nobara.” she rolled her eyes. “To discuss vocals for some of the songs.” She stood up picking up her bag. “Want to get together for lunch?”

“Can’t. Already promised Megumi we’d go grocery shopping.” You smiled. “Maybe Yuta’s free, though.”

She rolled her yes. But the corners of her mouth were curling up. It made you much more than a little happy. So happy that you didn’t even flip her off when she asked “Is he blackmailing you?”

“Huh?”

“Gojo. Is he blackmailing you? Did he find out that your an aberration and pee in the shower?”

“First of all, it’s time efficient.” You glared at her. “Second, I find it oddly flattering that you think Gojo would go to these ridiculous lengths to get me to date him.”

“Anyone would, N/N. Because your awesome.” Maki’s grimaced before adding, “Except when you’re peeing in the shower.”

Yuta was acting weird. Which didn’t mean much, since Yuta had always been abit awkward. Having recently split from you to date your best friend was not going to make him any less so—but today he seemed even weirder than usual. He came into the coffee shop next door to the record company, a few hours after your conversation with Maki. And proceeded to stare at you for two good minutes. Then three. Then five. It was more attention then he’d ever payed you—yes, including your dates.

When it got borderline ridiculous, you lifted your eyes from your laptop and waved at him. Yuta flustered, grabbed his latte from the counter and found a table for himself. You went back to rereading your two line email for the seventieth time.

Not twenty minutes later, some guy he knew, who you couldn’t remember the name of, walked in and took a seat next to Yuta. They immediately started whispering to each other and pointing at you. Any other day you would have been concerned and a little upset, but Geto Suguru had already answered your email, which took priority over…anything, really.

Yes! You had several days to convince him to take on your project, which was much better than the ten minutes you had originally anticipated. You fist-pumped—which lead to Yuta and his friend staring at you more weirdly. What was up with them, anyway? If Yuta knew what you were doing he certainly wouldn’t be giving you that look, besides there shouldn’t be any bad blood between you and him. Did you have toothpaste of your face? Who cared? You were going to meet Geto Suguru and convince him to let the band do work with for the charity. You were going to help cancer research.

You were in an excellent mood until two hours later. When you entered the apartment and Megumi was sat on the couch. Upon hearing your entering, he paused the show he was watching and looked at you.

“You sneaky little monster.” He hissed his green eyes were almost comically narrow. “I’ve been texting you all day.”

“Oh.” You patted the pocket of your jeans then your front pocket. “I think I might of left it here today.”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“I cannot believe you.”

“I don’t know what your talking about.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are.”

“Good friends.”

“We are. You, Maki, and Toge are my best friends. What—”

“Clearly not if I had to hear it all from Maki on the group chat and not you personally.”

“Hear what?”

“—And I thought we were friends.”

Something icy crawled it’s way up your back. Could it be…No. no, it couldn’t be. “Hear what?”

“I’m done. I’m letting the cockroach’s eat you. And I’m changing the Netflix password.”

Oh no. “Megumi, hear what?”

“That you’re dating Satoru Gojo.”

TAGLIST(25/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu

AN:

This sort of feels like a filler episode, anyway, guys I’m thinking of starting a discord so comment if you would join 🔥🔥🙏🙏 or tell me if you think it’s a completely atrocious idea

3 chapters this week because chances are I won’t post next week since I’m on holiday 🔥🔥🙏

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 16

Lennox didn’t ask what had Optimus running off in the middle of the meeting, but he did offer him the opportunity to come clean.

     ‘Look, I’m just saying,’ Lennox said as they entered the Autobot hanger. ‘If it’s something that will help us help Jane, I’d like to know.’

     ‘I appreciate the offer, but I believe all has been done to help her.’ Optimus looked around the hanger for a moment, pensively. ‘It is up to her to return to us now.’

     Lennox nodded, knowing he wouldn’t get anything else from them. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

     ‘Please do.’ Optimus turned and began transforming, driving himself away to a corner to rest presumably.

     Lennox caught Ratchet and Ironhide’s eye, they both made their way out of the hanger, gesturing for Lennox to follow, out of earshot of Optimus.

     ‘You guys got any idea what’s going on with him?’ Lennox asked as they got outside.

     ‘He’s in love.’ Ironhide shrugged, while Ratchet just folded his arms and shook his head.

     ‘With who? Harding?’

     ‘Indeed.’ The medical officer responded.

     ‘I knew there was something weird about them spending all that time together.’ Lennox almost laughed.

     ‘I believe she has accepted to join in union with him.’ Ratchet sighed. ‘And he is now aware of the true consequences of his actions.’

     ‘Yeah, that’s why he’s sulking now.’ Ironhide huffed.

     ‘Wait, wait, what do you mean joined in union? You mean like marriage?’

     Both Ratchet and Ironhide chuckled.

     ‘Nothing so ceremonial.’ Ratchet scoffed.

     ‘He gave a piece of his Spark to her.’ Ironhide explained. ‘That’s unbreakable and not a choice made lightly.’

     ‘If she wakes, Jane will know all there is to know about Optimus,’ Ratchet continued. ‘And he will know her… your human marriage falls so far short of what they have promised to give one another.’

     Lennox just looked between the two Autobots. ‘I don’t understand, she’s unconscious, when is this supposed to have happened.’

     The exchanged a brief look, before Ratchet went on. ‘Until the Spark inside Jane has learnt to fully understand the new body it is in, a connection will still linger between them.’

     ‘Does that mean he could revive her?’ Lennox asked, eagerly hoping there was a way for Harding to wake up faster.

     Ratchet kneeled in front of him. ‘Understand this: if Optimus disturbs her recovery in any way, it could make things worse. He cannot communicate with her, she must go to him, that is how we will know if she is strong enough to house his Spark.’

     ‘But if she’s made contact, isn’t that a good thing?’

     ‘It is a positive sign yes, but once is not enough, it may have been an accident for all we know.’

     ‘Could’ve been a dream.’ Ironhide suggested.

     ‘Indeed.’ Ratchet nodded, curiously. ‘You humans have a strange capacity for dreams,’ he began standing, turning his attention to Ironhide. ‘Yet another thing Optimus has not considered.’

     ‘Give the guy a break.’ Ironhide defended his friend.

     ‘He hasn’t thought this through, he did not act rationally.’

     ‘Love is not rational, you know that, but I trust his judgement. He wouldn’t have done this if he thought she couldn’t handle it.’

     Ratchet just grunted and folded his arms, turning to look at the horizon. Ironhide sighed and turned back to Lennox.

     ‘Everything will be fine.’ He brushed the conversation away and headed back inside the hanger.

     ‘You don’t seem convinced.’ Lennox commented to Ratchet, hoping he could get a little more information out of him.

     The medical officer turned his head towards him, again grunting in frustration.

     ‘It would not be wise to speak any further.’ He said, calmly. ‘I should not have spoken out of turn, this is not my decision to judge.’

     It was a far cry from the behaviour Lennox had just witnessed with Ironhide, but he couldn’t force Ratchet to tell him anything.

     Lennox decided to make a visit to Harding, to get an update like he promised Optimus he would. When he arrived, it was to find Smith arguing with one of the doctors.

     ‘Do you know who I am?’ Smith demanded as if he would get a different answer because of who he was.

     ‘I know you work for the president, but it doesn’t change a single thing.’ The doctor shot back.

     ‘What’s going on here?’ Lennox asked.

 ��   ‘Lennox, this doesn’t concern you.’ Smith snapped.

     ‘This is a military hospital,’ Lennox was fed up now. ‘Military personnel only.’ He gestured to a couple of soldiers nearby. ‘Would you mind escorting Mr Smith out of here? I’m sure the patients could do with a little quiet.’

     Before Smith could say anything else, he was forcefully escorted out. The doctor gave Lennox a quick nod before gesturing for him to follow her into Harding’s room.

     ‘Any change?’ Lennox asked, quietly closing the door behind him.

     Harding looked helpless lying in the bed. The woman who climbed thirty thousand feet to save the world and here she was, struggling to wake up. She was hooked up to machines and every single aspect of her body was being monitored.

     ‘Her brain waves have shown some improvement.’ The doctor noted.

     ‘That’s a good sign, right?’

     ‘It’s an excellent sign.’ She smiled. ‘It was a few hours ago, when you were in your meeting with Smith, I think she had a dream, perhaps reliving some memory. Look here.’

     The doctor showed Lennox the tablet that recorded Harding’s brain waves, he didn’t fully understand it, but enough to know that this was a very good sign indeed. He sent the data to his own tablet and made a note to show Optimus when he got the chance.

     ‘I think it would help for you to stay for a while,’ the doctor went on. ‘She seems to respond best when people talk to her.’

     ‘Yeah, sure.’ Lennox smiled, still feeling the relief that Harding might have woken up soon. ‘Wait, did you say this happened during the meeting?’

     The doctor was about to leave the room, but Lennox stopped her with his question.

     ‘Yeah, they went on for about half an hour.’ She confirmed.

     Lennox thought for a moment. ‘I’ll be back. Do not let anyone but me in here, understand?’

     ‘Yes, sir.’

     Lennox tried to subtly rush towards the Autobot hanger, he didn’t want to draw any attention, but he did want to get to Optimus and Ratchet quickly.

     ‘Hey!’ He caught the medical officer’s attention, guiding him over to where Optimus was still sulking. ‘Optimus, you need to see this.’ The Autobot leader remained still, much to everyone’s mild annoyance. ‘Look, Harding’s brain waves were active-‘

     Before Lennox could finish the sentence, Optimus transformed back into his full form. He knelt in front of Lennox, waiting for him to continue.

     ‘When you did that union thing,’ Lennox caught the slightly angered expression between Optimus and Ratchet. ‘Her brain waves were more active than they have been since we started monitoring them. She’s in there somewhere and for half an hour, she was fighting to wake up.’ Lennox showed Optimus the tablet with the evidence. ‘Ratchet said that you couldn’t disturb her recovery, that it could make things worse, but you said it yourself that you don’t really know what will happen when a Spark is transferred into an organic host. What if she needs you to make contact? What if what Autobots need after the procedure is the exact opposite of what she needs?’

     Optimus waited a moment, clearly thinking fast. He looked to Ratchet for a conclusion, both Autobots stood tall for a moment and remained quiet.

     ‘What? What is it?’ Lennox asked.

     ‘I am uncertain the risk is worth it.’ Ratchet confessed. ‘Optimus, we cannot make a decision hastily, there is still a possibility it could make things worse.’

     Optimus was still quiet.

     ‘How long can she stay like this before you have to do something?’ Lennox reasoned, much to Ratchet’s disdain.

     Optimus knelt down again, he wore a serious expression. ‘You are aware of our union, Captain Lennox, you are aware of my feelings for Jane.’

     ‘You love her.’ Lennox nodded.

     ‘So, you understand that where her safety is concerned, I cannot make a mistake, I cannot act rashly… no matter how much I wish to see her again.’ He confessed more to himself. ‘We will wait a little longer before attempting to make contact. I only ask that you keep Ratchet informed of everything that happens to her, no matter how insignificant it may seem.’

     ‘You really won’t help her?’ Lennox asked, watching his eyes narrow for a moment.

     ‘Understand this, I have now given my dedication and devotion to her, I will spend the remainder of my life protecting her without condition.’ Optimus leaned forward a little more to make his point clear. ‘Help is such a small word to describe what I am doing for her. This is the right course of action. Jane will wake up on her own. Have faith in that.’

     Lennox swallowed, half annoyed, half understanding that he just didn’t understand everything. ‘Fine.’ He said. ‘Just do one thing for me. For her.’ Optimus nodded for him to make his request. ‘Talk to her. Sit next to her bed and talk to her, just for a while. The doctors say that when people talk to her, it helps. Don’t asked me how, but I think she’d appreciate it if you were there for a while.’

     ‘And say what?’ Optimus frowned, confused oat the human way of helping someone who was in hospital.

     ‘She’s your wife,’ Lennox chuckled. ‘Talk to her about what you normally talk about.’

     Lennox left Optimus with that single confusing thought, he chuckled to himself thinking on how he’d missed just how close they had become. He still had so many questions, but maybe Harding could answer a few when she woke.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[onlyonetifosi]

I got a exam result in my English language back and got a c , I feel like I failed myself as people who've got lower than me in other exams got higher . Everyone is proud of me but I myself personally feel so bad with myself so I need a little comfort could you possibly write this like y/n gets a results back and didn't get what she wanted but everyone is proud of her but she breaks down in Joris and her brothers arms determined she's a failure .

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note: Here's a small chapter (im sorry for being very short, im recovering from a cold, my defenses are very low and I am constantly sick) anyways lots of love <3 <3

The bell echoed through the hallways of Lycée Albert I, signaling the end of another school day. Y/N Leclerc gathered her belongings, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She glanced at her physics test result, a stark reminder of the unexpected challenge she had faced. Normally, she soared effortlessly through her studies, always achieving the maximum marks.

Joris, her boyfriend and Charles's best friend, noticed Y/N's pensive expression as they walked out of the classroom together. "Y/N, what's wrong? You usually ace these exams," he said, concern etched across his face.

"I don't know, Joris. It's just... I thought I had it all figured out, but this time, it just slipped away" Y/N frowned, her voice soft

Joris placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's just one test. You can bounce back from this. Let's go to Charles and the others, okay?"

In the courtyard, Y/N found solace in the presence of her friends, Martha, Riccardo, Hugo, and of course, Charles. As they gathered under the shade of a familiar tree

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Charles noticed her downcast expression as he approached, his school bag slung over one shoulder.

Y/N hesitated before opening up about her results "I... I got my physics test back," Y/n admitted, a lump forming in her throat.

Charles glanced at the paper in her hand. "You passed, right?"

"Yeah, but just barely" Y/n replied, avoiding eye contact.

Charles furrowed his brow, exchanging a concerned look with Joris. "What do you mean? You're always at the top of the class."

"I know, but this time, it's different. I feel like I let everyone down, especially myself" Y/N, said with a trembling voice. 

Joris offered a reassuring smile. "Y/N, you didn't let anyone down. Passing is still an achievement. Besides, we're all proud of you."

Martha, her bestfriend, tried to cheer her up. "Y/n, it's just one test, you're still amazing. We all have our off days. You'll bounce back from this."

"Oui, tu es très intelligente. (Yes, you are very smart)," Hugo added.

Riccardo added, "Exactly! And you can always ask for help if you're struggling with anything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the day continued, Y/N couldn't shake off the weight of disappointment. When she reached home, she decided it was time to confide in her family.

In the cozy living room, Y/N sat down with her parents, Pascale and Hervé, and her older brother, Lorenzo. She nervously relayed the news of her test result "I thought I had it all under control, but I didn't. I feel like such a failure."

Lorenzo, her older brother, spoke first. "Y/N, getting a bad mark is not the end of the world. It's a lesson. You learn from your mistakes and improve. I failed exams too, you know."

"But I don't want to fail, Lolo. I want to be the best, for myself and for everyone who believes in me" Y/N looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears

Lorenzo enveloped her in a comforting hug. "Being the best doesn't mean never failing. It means learning and growing from your failures. You'll bounce back stronger, I promise."

Pascale joined in, placing a hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Chérie, we love you no matter what. tu es incroyable. Une note ne change rien à cela. You're still our brilliant and incredible baby girl" (you are incredible. One grade doesn't change that.)

Hervé added with a gentle smile, "And remember, even in moments of failure, you have a family and friends who will always support you, nous sommes fiers de toi, Y/n. Tu fais de ton mieux, et c'est tout ce qui compte" (We are proud of you, Y/n. You're doing your best, and that's all that matters)

As Y/N embraced her family, surrounded by their love and understanding, she began to see that the mark on the test didn't define her. It was just a step in her journey of growth and resilience.

taglist: @love4lando@gcldtom@im-mi@hiireadstuff@celesteblack08@reblog-princess@sunf1ower16@janeholt3@athena-artemis-dorian-gray@minkyungseokie

[umbralsound-xiv]

“A morning performance saw me out early, for a rarity. Most such dances are often evening affairs, but for one to be relatively close to home and just before lunch saw me return just as early, too.

It was nice to be out, but not even half as nice as it was to be home. I returned to find Sayuri... Waiting for me. Which is, at least, where my curiosity began for the sun, but most certainly not where it ended. She told me she had a gift!

...But what it was, i could have never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams.

Beautiful embroidered silks, decorated with red and... Ribbons. My head swam. How lucky i am, to have her... To have someone to come home to. To have someone waiting for me, glad to see me.

I could have kissed her for an eternity.

...She did ask something of me, in this moment. Something i had... Somewhat anticipated...

It is no secret Sayuri holds the commander so close. She and i... We... I am at odds, still. Though she has made some small effort to be kind to me. I...

...Suppose i should make some effort. If only for Sayuri’s sake.”

[starryredpandawrites]

“Born From the Same Ink” Ch. 16 Sneak Peek

“Why do you worship the Ink Demon?”

Whipping his head to face her, Sammy took an excited breath. 

“AH-buh-buh-buh,” Audrey held up a finger. “Don’t give me any of that culty nonsense, I’ve heard enough of that for a lifetime. I know you’re not all crazy under there. Why Bendy?” 

Pensive and likely offended, Sammy sat back. He said nothing, and after a half a minute of waiting, Audrey went back to her coffee, figuring he decided to ignore her. Minutes passed without so much as a twitch from the ink man-turned-statue. The animator was starting to worry the question broke him when he finally spoke up. 

“Look at this body.” 

Audrey regarded him. He was well-built for a lost one, and weirdly muscular. His overalls were too big but it was only noticeable close-up. They were stained with ink, especially around the ankles, and there was a patch in the fabric of his left pant-leg. His shoes were nothing special, round and black. He only had three fingers, four including his thumb. Although, the artist wouldn’t call that a flaw; it would make him easier to animate. 

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s. Wrong.” His voice was oddly strained. 

She was afraid to ask. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“EVERYTHING!”

Hellooooo, I have the next chapter almost ready and will probably post it Saturday morning. Also, I won't be streaming the next two Sundays (the 21st and the 28th) but I should be good to go on August 4th.

Also, for anyone waiting for a response to an ask, I promise I've seen it and will answer it eventually. I love getting messages from people, I just take forever to respond the way I want to respond. There's a part of me that demands I answer every ask in the order I've received it, but I might start disobeying that part depending on if I feel a more recent ask is easier to answer in that moment than the oldest one.

Thanks again for reading, hearing from so many people who enjoy my fic/writing makes me unbelievably happy.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[vickyvicarious]

Oh man, this chapter was rough for Henry to the point of it being kind of funny. Every two lines he kept trying to flirt but Margaret was just not picking up what he was putting down. Honestly, it's pretty impressive how every single move he makes is immediately countered/shut down by either Margaret herself or the narrative. It's made clear again and again and again that they are not a match:

“Did not I say that I should?” asked he, in a lower tone than that in which he had spoken. -> Henry tries on a meaningful voice, Margaret not only doesn't respond in kind at all but also leaves the room shortly afterwards.

They were a dull list of words, but somehow he liked looking at them. He put them down with a sigh. -> No Margaret here but the narrative itself hinting at them being unsuited, with Henry mostly bored despite his infatuation, and also disappointed in her family's humble status.

He was pleased with everything; delighted with Margaret’s idea of going out sketching together; would not have Mr. Hale disturbed for the world, with the prospect of so soon meeting him at dinner. -> He's all for his solo time with her, but she only came up with it as a ploy to let her mom get the food ready in peace.

When they sit down to sketch, Henry scooches them close together with the excuse of a puddle. Almost immediately, Margaret is getting up to go and talk to someone.

He drew her and says he really likes the sketch. She walks away. This is maybe the most potentially promising moment from his perspective, because she's blushing and he's watching her closely to try and figure out if it's a good blush or bad one. But even here we get an immediate negative, because he's not sure she heard and he regrets saying it because it wasn't planned.

“I should say that a likeness you very much wish to take you would always succeed in,” said Mr. Lennox. “I have great faith in the power of will. I think myself I have succeeded pretty well in yours.” -> Henry says I really wanted to take your likeness but Margaret just keeps picking flowers without seeming to pick up on the line. This leads to another potentially positive moment partially spoiled by his own thoughts, as he seems a little frustrated at her not understanding him even as he's helping her with the flowers and getting matching ones for himself. They also physically part right after when she goes inside.

Margaret leaves to go get the pears for dessert. Henry suggests everyone follow, and watches her while she's getting them together. He's out of sync with both Margaret herself (off doing her own thing getting the food her father wants without thought for him) and her family (making her mother feel awkwardly forced by politeness to go eat outside, proposing a way of eating the pears her father isn't into). Nothing huge but the fact that it keeps happening over and over...

They go for a walk and he tries to praise her home and life. She immediately tries again to be more realistic about it and complains about him having 'scorned' her fondness for her home previously.

The second he starts to propose, the trainwreck gets rapid-fire and worse all around. He gets hesitant and Margaret wishes she were anywhere else. He takes her hand and it's described as "forcing" her stay and listen; he has to try to retain his grip as she tries to pull her hand free. Any "fluttering at her heart" is despite herself and she despises it. He's not pleased that she likes her home because it means she isn't listening to him kindly. He loves her almost in spite of himself. She doesn't think of him as anything but a friend.

He wants to ask her if she loves someone but can't. She wants to shut him down more harshly but restrains herself. He feels snubbed and bitter. She feels guilty and annoyed (both at him and at herself for feeling bad for him when he isn't reacting well to the refusal).

Afterwards they both wish he could just leave. She's sad and pensive. He's acting witty in a cold and snobby kind of way and it rubs everyone wrong.

When he makes one last appeal before leaving, we don't see her reaction. But the jumble of negative is there in his speech: first, she was very firm that she didn't want anything more with him, but he's refusing to give up hope. Second, even as he says he loves her more, he also says he might hate her, both for the "disdain" with which she met his proposal.

There isn't a single potential romantic moment between them that isn't soured in one way or another. Also, this line:

“It was irresistible. You can’t know how strong a temptation it was. I hardly dare tell you how much I shall like this sketch.” He was not quite sure whether she heard this latter sentence before she went to the brook to wash her palette. She came back rather flushed, but looking perfectly innocent and unconscious. He was glad of it, for the speech had slipped from him unawares—a rare thing in the case of a man who premeditated his actions so much as Henry Lennox.

That feels like a huge character moment for him. He plans things out, he isn't spontaneous and he isn't comfortable with the vulnerability that comes with being so. He clearly planned this visit and this proposal, and came armed with plenty of practiced flirtations that would work on the type of women he's used to. Margaret seems pretty uninterested in playing those types of games (at least that I can judge so far; maybe it's mostly just with him), and seems more of a straight shooter.

They both censor themselves around one another. Margaret's willful ignorance of his flirting, his regret of unplanned flirting... During the proposal, he cuts off his request about if she loves someone else and she struggles to phrase her denial of ever liking him and her displeasure at this conversation in a way that isn't harsh.

Quite simply, their personalities aren't a match any more than their financial/home situations are. Romantically, at least. Honestly, he doesn't seem like a terrible guy (with the caveat that I really hope he is more respectful of her not liking him back in the future) and I would like to see them rebuild/continue a friendship. But it's made so very clear in this chapter that they will not be getting together.

(Also, on a meta level, if his feelings are at proposal attempt level this early in the story, the outlook isn't great. We're going to see more of a development throughout the book in any romance. The chapter title feels like a cheeky nod to that as well as to possibly the fact that Margaret will need time to fall for anyone. The quote at the beginning also makes a point of not using "courtship's flatteries" but those are Henry's technique.)

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 10/34 - new years rockin' eve

[Read on AO3]

After the pleasant, downright normal Christmas they'd had, Mulder wasn't surprised that their New Years Eve was spent being chased by zombies like something out of one of his bad horror flicks.

He did, however, get to spend it with Scully, which was all he really could have asked of the day.

Their first few days back at work had been pretty run-of-the-mill. The traffic in the hallways was a little lighter, with some agents taking additional days off until after the new year. They used their slow days to complete the adoption paperwork and send it in, which allowed them to put it out of their minds so they could finally focus on work.

Aside from Skinner briefly asking in passing if they'd actually done it (trying his hardest to appear only mildly interested), it was easy to forget the monumental step they'd taken over the holidays. Their rings remained safely tucked under their clothes while on the job, but when he was at home, Mulder liked to wear it in its intended place, finding it helped him focus his thoughts when he twisted it idly on his finger.

A mangled arm was a small price to pay for ringing in the new year with his partner by his side, all things considered. A happy ending for all, most especially for Frank Black and his daughter.

Scully watches as the older man wraps the girl in his arms, burying his face in her hair. It's a sweet sight, but something about it makes her grow pensive, her expression darkening.

“What kind of world would we be bringing a child into, Mulder?” she asks quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from the little family as they leave the room hand in hand.

Her words surprise him in their negativity, drawing a halfhearted chuckle from his throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Scully, but adoption usually means we’re getting a kid that’s already in the world, doesn’t it?

Her shoulders deflate a little and she casts an unamused glance in his direction, looking far more vulnerable than she typically allows herself to be.

“You know what I mean.”

He does. Of course he does.

“Well, it’s the same world people have been bringing children into for millennia,” he reasons. “And now we’re about to be in a whole new one.”

He nods back at the TV screen, tuned in to Dick Clark's coverage of Times Square. All those people, completely oblivious to the dangers lurking in this world that defy logic and reason. Zombies are the last thing on any of their minds as they count down to the new year. 

“But I believe mankind, in its essence, stays the same,” he finishes.

He'd faced this question months and months ago when Scully had asked him about IVF. Was this a life he could bring a child into? Was he a person worthy of being a father, even if only by genetics? The conclusions he'd come to had not been arrived at lightly.

“We can do this, Scully,” he says, softer. Sure. “We might have to make some changes, but… when it comes down to it, you and I are no different than anyone else wanting to raise a child.”

She gives him a disbelieving look, her eyebrow quirking into the air. He knows what she’s thinking; The reanimated corpses they'd just encountered would like a word.

“No, think about it,” he continues. “What's the one thing all parents—well, the good ones—have in common?” His question is semi-rhetorical, and she doesn't seem inclined to respond, so he answers for her. “They want what's best for their children, and they do all that they can to provide it to them because they love them. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty willing to do just that. And I think you are too, if these are the things you're worried about.”

Scully sighs, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Mulder…”

“I promise to protect you and any children we may acquire from zombies and all other supernatural forces of evil, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” he adds, his joke finally drawing a smile out of her.

“Don't call it 'acquiring,’ Mulder,” she says with a breathy laugh. “That's weird.”

With the mood successfully lightened, he turns his attention back to the TV, where Dick Clark is beginning to count down.

“The world’s a-changing, Scully,” he says as he moves closer, tilting his head up to watch the broadcast. She mirrors him, standing close by his side.

“Thirty seconds, now. Thirty,” Dick Clark announces as the camera hones in on the Times Square ball, lit up in bright colors as it begins its descent. “Hug your friends and loved ones tight. What the heck, whoever that person is next to you. No time like the present!”

Now there's an idea…

“Here we go!” the announcers chant.

Ten!

Mulder looks down to his left. Well, she is standing next to him, after all. Why not?

Nine.

She's smiling. She has a beautiful smile, too. He's always thought so.

Eight… Seven… Six…

New Year's Eve is plausible deniability, right? If this doesn't work? Maybe there's a written rule somewhere he can check…

Five, four.

Well, it’s not like they haven’t done it before…

Three. Two.

Is this a stupid idea?

One.

Without further ado, Dick Clark's voice cheers, “Happy New Year 2000!” and Mulder makes his decision, leaning toward her with purpose. No turning back now.

She catches him at the last second, and by then it's too late to play it off. The only option is to follow through.

And follow through he does.

His eyes flutter closed as his lips make contact with hers, their touch light and tentative as it had been in the courtroom just a week before, only this time, he waits a moment longer to pull back. Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and it immediately sends his heart pounding into his throat, and he finds he can't speak. Auld Lang Syne is playing, but the sound fades from his ears.

The only thing his senses can hear, feel, taste, smell, is her.

When he opens his eyes again, she is staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Her hand hasn't moved, and neither does he.

“I—”

“Mulder, I—

Whatever words he was trying to conjure to explain himself die on his lips in an instant, and he can do nothing but gape at her. The air feels charged, and all at once he wishes he'd never done it and that he'd done it years ago.

His eyes flick down to her lips and then back to her eyes, desperate to know what words will come out of them next.

“I– got a call from the adoption agency,” she finishes, and his thoughts come crashing back to the present, his heartbeat pounding at an alarming rate. However he'd thought she might finish that sentence, that wasn't it. 

She's looking at him though, worry flickering in her eyes.

“Th– the adoption agency?” he asks, his good hand slackening its hold on her lower back.

She nods.

“What did they say?”

Suddenly he feels nauseous, like maybe the mixture of zombies, drugs, and potentially life changing news was a little too much for his stomach all in one night.

“They… said that our application looks good, and they want to schedule a preliminary interview.”

At this, even his fingers on his injured arm have to reach out to her, brushing against the fabric of her shirt at her waist and stretching his sling to its limit.

“What?”

She nods again in confirmation, looking equal parts scared and excited.

“Scully that's– that's great news! It's good news, right?”

He doesn't know what he'll do if she gets cold feet now. A crushing blow like that isn't exactly how he'd like to start out this century, much less the millennium. 

Her hand drops to his shoulder and she smiles, holding tight to him.

“It's good,” she confirms, though a trace of doubt still remains in her voice.

He pulls her into a hug, resigning his poor limp arm to be stuck uncomfortably between them, but otherwise holding her tight.

“Mulder, we're actually going through with this?” she asks into his shoulder.

He nods emphatically, a wide grin stretching his face. “Heck yeah, Scully!”

“They could still tell us no.”

His little pessimist. Good thing he's got enough belief for the both of them.

“Not until they've seen us and we've pled our case,” he says, pulling back to look at her. “Call ‘em back and make an appointment!”

Tears begin to pool in her eyes and she nods shakily again. “Okay,” she says, and releases his shoulder to wipe the wetness beneath her eyes. “Okay, I’ll– um… I’ll call them tomorrow.”

He wants to kiss her again. He wants to so bad, but he doesn't. Emotions are understandably high, and this entire situation is so confusing and complicated already, that he's not sure anymore where they stand.

One day, he thinks. One day he'll find the courage.

“Hey, Scully,” he says instead, placing his hand on the back of her neck to capture her attention. 

She looks up at him tearfully. He shrugs and smiles goofily, relief and hope shining in his eyes.

“The world didn't end.”

~~~

Should I? Oh, why not. One more chapter. It's the weekend.

Chapter 11/34 - confessions

The interview with the adoption agency is scheduled for Friday of that week, which Skinner happily approves time off for. That leaves less than six days to prepare, and Scully busies herself with making sure they have everything they could possibly need to maximize their chances.

The night before the big day, Mulder is ordered to come over for a last minute study session (not that he would have been unwilling if she’d asked nicely, but with the stress she’s under, it comes out as more of a command). It feels like Arcadia again, going under cover, making sure they both have their stories straight.

Only this time, their cover is more or less their real life, give or take a few necessary oversimplifications.

“So, we’ve covered employment, medical history, familial relationships…” Scully lists, kneeling beside an array of papers spread out on her coffee table. “Am I leaving anything out?”

She bites the tip of her pen, glancing over her notes with her brows furrowed in thought. Reviewing this stuff could mean the difference between a happily ever after and rejection, that’s the scariest thing. She just wants to be thorough, and Mulder—bless him—has humored her thus far, answering questions, finding solutions to explain their… less than ordinary pasts. 

It takes her a moment to notice when he doesn’t immediately answer, the silence dragging on just a little too long. Her first assumption is that he’s fallen asleep—which she wouldn’t blame him for if he did—but that assumption is quashed the moment she looks up at him on the couch, the serious expression on his face instantly shifting the mood.

“Mulder?” she asks, a worried crease appearing on her forehead.

"You know, we never talked about it," he says quietly, carefully, glancing across the coffee table at her. “Not really.”

"About what?" She’s starting to get anxious.

"The IVF."

And there they are, the three letters that still fill her stomach with dread and immense sadness anytime she hears them.

I. V. F. 

"Mulder..." she starts, but he only leans forward, reaching out across the coffee table for her hand.

"I want to. I really do, Scully. I need to talk about it. It could come up tomorrow."

"I don't really like... thinking about it,” she says softly, wanting desperately to look away from the pleading expression that she knows she can’t say no to.

"I know. But don't you think we should?” he argues. “I mean, we can't brush it away like it never happened, Scully, I won't do that. It was important to me."

She doesn’t want to hear this. Her heart twists painfully, and she slams her eyes shut to lock down the tears beginning to form, shaking her head. Sure, she knows he’d wanted it back then, had hoped it would succeed. But it’s too late. It’s in the past, and she’d like to leave it there, if at all possible. To hear him say, in as many words, exactly how much he’d invested emotionally in those tiny embryos…

She doesn’t think her heart can take it.

"Since when do you like talking about things like this?" she asks, trying once to pull her hand away. “Things that… cause you pain?”

He clings on tighter, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand with both of his. "I can tell you the exact moment, Scully, and it’s when you knocked on my door in a dingy motel room and asked me what those bumps on your back were."

His earnest words stun her into silence.

Rain on the windows. A story of tragedy and determination. Honest words coming from the lips of a man she’d met only days before.

That trust had been there from the start.

He stands from his place on the couch and circles the coffee table, carefully pushing aside the papers in front of her to make a space for himself to sit. "The past hurts, but somehow—” he continues, “somehow you make it easier to face. To me, at least."

She sighs, turning her head so that she can muster enough strength to answer his heartfelt plea. Articulating something like this is not her strong suit, but for him, she’ll try.

"I– I've never wanted anything more in my life,” she breathes, the admission one she has never spoken aloud. 

It’s the truth, though, and he knows better than anyone how difficult that is for her. Scully is not one for dreaming big, expecting rich blessings from the earth or her life. She, like him, has grown used to being disappointed, to having the things she wants taken away from her. He could make an itemized list, if he wanted to, of all the ways they’d been let down. Even the expectation of a clean, comfortable motel room has been slowly drained from her, and yet she had still allowed herself to hope in this.

“You know, for a minute, I really did think it had worked, that I was—" She pauses, leaving the word pregnant to hang in the air. Instead, she takes a shaky breath and continues. "Do you remember that day I got sick in the car on the way to a crime scene?"

She doesn’t have to specify which one, because it had only ever happened once, that was what was so odd about it.

"I thought that was it,” she says, “I thought that maybe—"

"I thought the same thing," Mulder cuts in.

Of course he had. She’d guessed as much that day, too, between bouts of heaving into a plastic bag in the front seat of their rental car. 

The way he treated her extra carefully, taking turns slower, making a point to turn on the blinker with every lane change on the highway, stopping at a gas station for some ginger ale… She had allowed it all, too—the special treatment—because what if she was? She couldn’t risk it until she knew for sure. If that was her only chance…

Her lower lip trembles and she ducks her head. "I tried to keep my expectations low, but..."

His finger lands on her chin, tipping her gaze back up to face his.

"It would have been pretty cool, huh?” he says, offering her a small smile for comfort. “Can you imagine telling Skinner out of nowhere that we combined our DNA in a petri dish? I think the vein in his head might have actually burst.” He laughs, and is graced with the smallest of smirks for his efforts.

"I'd have these dreams,” she continues. “What our baby might look like, what personality they'd have. Whether they'd… be more like me or like you."

His lips. Her hair. His passion. Her scientific mind.

"Well, hopefully you,” Mulder speaks, smiling at the thought. “I think you've got your hands full already with one of me. There are many who would say you were crazy even to ask me in the first place."

She looks up at him with her head tilted, her eyes softening.

"I knew what I was doing."

She can tell by the way he brushes off the compliment that he doesn’t believe her, so she doubles down.

"I'm serious, Mulder. You're brilliant, imaginative, bold, caring... I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't want my child to share those same qualities."

She loves Mulder. She loves every infuriating little thing about him. She'd have been lucky to have a son or daughter with his kind, gentle personality, his determination to keep fighting when everything in his life is telling him he can't win. Teena Mulder didn't know what she had, with Fox Mulder as a son. He should have been loved, cared for, nurtured, supported all his life. Instead, Scully has the sense that the first and only person he has trusted to give him all that is her, and that is not a responsibility she takes lightly.

"I pictured this little boy,” he says, his lips curled in a sad smile as he speaks. “Dark sandy blond hair with just a hint of your red. Blue eyes just like yours. Jeans absolutely filthy with dirt and grass stains on the knees."

She closes her eyes, allowing the picture to form in her mind. She smiles, but it's pained. Such a beautiful thought, never to be.

"How can I miss someone so much that I don't even know?” she asks, the hurt audible in her voice. “Someone that never existed?"

Mulder presses his lips tightly together in thought, his eyes trailing over the room. 

"They say that grief is the love we have that has nowhere to go, because that person has left us,” he starts, his voice reverent and pensive. “They never talk about how to love a person we never had in the first place, or a dream that’s just out of reach. But still, I think that love feels just as real as any other kind.”

He has a way with words, her Mulder. It has been the bane of their assistant director’s existence on numerous occasions, when such existential ponderings found their way into his reports.

But now… Well, it's just another thing she loves about him. She wonders if he's allowed himself to grieve for Samantha, or if his belief that she's still out there somewhere makes him fall into that second category.

"I just wish I hadn't put us both through that,” she says. “That I dragged you into it..."

"I'm glad you did,” he’s quick to assure. “Scully, that day you asked me was one of the happiest days of my life. The future is such a messy, terrifying thing, sometimes. You showed me that it doesn't have to be that way. That there can be hope. I'd forgotten what that felt like."

She's silent, unsure of what to say in response to that. He has all the right words, and suddenly, she has none of them.

"I don't regret it for one moment, Scully. We gave it a try."

She purses her lips, forcing back tears that are threatening to spill. "I don't think I could have done it without you," she says, shaking her head. 

"Well, obviously,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a cheeky smile.

She gives him a look. "Mulder…"

"I know, I know,” he says, turning serious again. “I'm honored that you let me be a part of it." 

That she would have let him be a part of so much more. A family. Everything, if he had wanted it.

"Well, listen,” he continues, “we ace this interview tomorrow, and we're back on track. Plenty of kids out there that need a home, right? Someone's bound to pick us."

His optimism emboldens her. "I hope so."

"We got this, Scully. They're gonna take one look at you and know for certain that you're meant to be a mother."

She distracts herself from his sweet-sounding words by focusing her attention on his loosened necktie, smoothing it down with one hand. "I'm picking out your tie,” she declares. “No alien decals or wild shapes and colors."

"I think it shows personality," he says in mock defense.

She can’t help the fond smile she flashes at him, glancing up into his eyes. "Not tomorrow, it doesn't."

-.-.-

The agency they ended up going with is out in Annapolis, so on the day of their interview, they drive out together, mostly in silence. Scully fidgets with the folder full of information and other documents they might need, picking at the corner of it while she goes over the important points in her head.

Mulder holds the door open for her when they arrive at the building, and she double checks that her ring is in place on her finger before approaching the front desk to check in. They’re instructed to take a seat in the small waiting area, and Mulder follows and sits down beside her. On the coffee table in front of them are a stack of brochures, the same one she found on Mulder’s desk what feels like forever ago. That had been the catalyst for this entire affair, and now look where they are.

She never could have imagined it.

A few minutes later, a plump older woman appears from behind a door, smiling at them warmly. 

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?” she says, checking her clipboard.

Scully stands, followed by Mulder. “I, uh– I go by my maiden name. Scully,” she corrects.

“My apologies, Ms. Scully,” the woman says, leading them into her office and taking a seat behind a wooden desk. 

They sit down in a pair of chairs opposite her, taking in their surroundings. There are dozens of thank you cards lined up on the windowsill behind the woman’s desk, presumably from families who have benefitted from the services offered here. It fills her with a cautious hope, though does nothing to quell the restless feeling that has plagued her since she woke up this morning. Mulder has kept his cool, so far, and she wonders how he does it.

“My name's Brenda Koske,” the woman continues, introducing herself. “I’ll be your case manager throughout this process. Should we just get right into it, then?”

They nod, unable to do any more than that at the moment.

“Okay, then,” Brenda says with a beaming smile, opening up a file folder on her desk. “So, tell me about yourselves, what made you look into adoption?”

"Well," Scully says, looking at Mulder for approval. "I– We found out a few years ago that I am unable to have children. We tried in vitro fertilization last year, but... it wasn't successful."

The woman at the desk nods and jots some information down in a notebook. Scully suspects their story, so far, is a familiar one. 

"And how long have you been together?"

Scully's mouth drops open, but she isn't sure what she'll say. Before she has a chance to stammer something out, Mulder answers, "A little over seven years, now." He’s confident. Sure of his answer, despite it being a lie, or at least an egregious stretching of the truth. 

The case manager writes down some more.

"And I see here that Ms. Scully has petitioned for the adoption of a child before. Emily Sim?" she states, checking her notes.

Scully tenses, and Mulder puts a calming hand on her knee.

"It's a long story," he says, answering for her, "but Emily unfortunately passed away from her chronic illness before the adoption proceedings could get very far."

Brenda nods. "I understand that this is a difficult subject, Mr. Mulder, I'm just trying to get all the information I need. From what I see here, this child was the biological child of Ms. Scully. I'm afraid I need more of an explanation."

She knows Ms. Koske doesn’t mean any harm by asking these questions—after all, they’d prepared for them last night. But it’s still hard to hear them come up.

Thankfully, Mulder was paying attention and is more than willing to take the lead.

"My wife was treated for her infertility by a doctor we couldn't trust,” he explains. She still finds it odd to hear him refer to her in that way, but it makes sense that he does it now. He can’t very well call her ‘Scully’ in front of the woman they’re trying to convince to give them a child. 

Now comes the next part of their explanation. 

“Her ova were stolen and used without her knowledge or consent, and Emily was a result of that. It was complete happenstance that we even discovered what happened."

"I'm very sorry you went through that, Ms. Scully," the woman says, looking genuinely sorry for her. "Quite a world we live in."

You have no idea , Scully thinks, and nods in recognition of Ms. Koske’s expression of sorrow.

"And you're married?" she asks next, her pen hovering over a checkbox on the form in their file.

"Yes, just recently,” Scully answers. The box gets checked.

"Congratulations! Why the long wait, if I may ask?" Brenda says.

“I ask myself that every time I look at her,” Mulder says while leveling her with his adoring gaze. He’s dialing up the married man act, which he is definitely within his rights to do, but it still catches her off guard. She hopes he doesn’t overdo it, risking tipping off their case manager.

"It, um– It never really seemed like something necessary for us to do," Scully answers, ignoring his sickly sweet comment and hiding her blush.

Mulder turns back to Brenda and adds, "But we figured, if adoption works out..."

"We'd like to make it as simple and straightforward as possible," Scully finishes.

"It certainly will help," the agent says, nodding as she jots down another note. "Where would the child be living?"

"I– We have an apartment in Georgetown.” Scully’s heart flutters anxiously at the close call, thankful she was able to correct herself before misspeaking.

"An apartment," the woman says as she adds that to her notes. It's impossible to tell if she means it in a good or bad way, and Scully can’t make out her handwriting enough to tell.

"I have money set aside from my father's estate," Mulder cuts in, causing Scully to look at him in confusion. "We'd eventually like to buy a house, if this works out." This wasn’t something they’d talked about in any of their previous discussions, nor has he ever mentioned it before, so she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. When she catches his eye, he gives her a subtle shrug.

They’ll have to talk about this later.

"I'll put down the Georgetown address for now," Brenda says, smiling encouragingly at them. "Just a couple more questions for now, you guys are doing great." Scully exhales in relief, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "I have to ask about your work. Your medical history tells me that your jobs put you in some pretty dangerous situations. What are your plans should a child be placed into your care?"

Mulder nods and squeezes Scully's hand, encouraging her. They'd planned for this, too.

"I plan to take a step back,” she answers, “I've spoken with our boss, and he's assured me that I could return to a teaching position at Quantico while serving part time in my current department as a consultant."

"Mr. Mulder?" Brenda says, turning to him next.

"I will be doing the same."

Scully looks at him incredulously, which the woman thankfully misses. 

"It's time for us to settle down,” he continues, avoiding her questioning stare. “I think we've accomplished most of what we set out to do with our work, and we can't keep doing it forever, especially if we want to start a family. I've talked to our director about seeking out replacements for the both of us. Someone else will take over the department, while we lend our expertise as needed to the new agents."

This is the first she’s hearing about this too, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, letting him say whatever he needs to say. Starting an argument about this now would not tip things in their favor. 

But he can’t be serious about giving up the X-Files, can he? It hadn’t even crossed her mind to ask. Arguably the main reason he started the unit was to look into the disappearance of his sister, and that case remains unsolved. Would he just walk away? Would he resent her for it eventually, if he did? 

"I'm glad to hear you're making strides in that direction,” Brenda comments, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “I was afraid we wouldn't be able to consider your application on account of your chosen field of work, but it sounds like you’re serious about starting a family.”

She writes some more and it falls silent. Mulder wraps his other hand around Scully's, bringing comfort and reassurance to them both.

"Last thing—and I'm sorry to keep bringing up difficult topics—” Brenda starts again. “Ms. Scully, you were diagnosed with cancer three years ago. Is there any chance it could return? You understand why I have to ask, don't you?"

"Yes– I understand,” Scully nods, swallowing nervously. “Um, no, I've been told there's little reason to think it will ever come back. I've been in remission over two years now."

Brenda nods and makes a final note, her pen leaving the paper with a flourish. "That's great, I'm so happy to hear that." She closes her notebook and file and smiles. "Well, you two, it sure sounds like you're overdue for a happy ending. Hopefully we can do something about that." 

She shakes each of their hands in turn, standing up from the desk to escort them out. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, we'll be in touch as soon as your application is approved, and then we'll start looking for potential matches."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Koske," Mulder says, the perfect picture of a responsible adult worthy of becoming a parent.

Scully mumbles her own "Thank you," too overwhelmed to manage more words than that.

Mulder places a hand on her back and leads her out of the office and into the hall, standing closer to her than he usually does when they walk this way. His neck bends so he can see her face, and he whispers, "You hear that, Scully? She said when our application gets approved!"

Scully shakes her head, not wanting to get ahead of herself quite yet. 

"She said 'as soon as', not when,” she corrects.

"Same thing,” he argues. “Come on, that went well, don't you think?"

"I hope so," she says.

His stride is confident and energetic. "It did, trust me. We had all the right answers."

"I was so nervous. I knew she would ask about my cancer," she states, shaking her head in disappointment.

"She was just being thorough,” Mulder assures her. “Cheer up, Scully, the part we had to worry about is over! I'm taking you to lunch."

"Mulder, we really should just get back to work—” Scully tries. She’s supposed to be the responsible one, after all. Reining him in. Wasn’t that why she complemented him so well?

"We're celebrating. One step closer to being parents, right Scully?"

It’s time she admits it to herself: she failed at reining him in years ago.

Now, she just goes with the flow. The best surprises are around the corner when she does so. 

She hopes that this time is no different.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 34 | All On The Table

Chapter Thirty-Four | All On The Table

Parker continued to feel pressure all around him. It shifted from time to time, but he couldn’t command his body to react in any other way except to give into the darkness again and again. Parker’s senses were still on high alert. It was like a weird dream where he could hear and feel but had no control over himself. All he could do was wait and listen until this nightmare came to an end.

And, thankfully, it did.

When Parker finally gained control over his eyes, he forced them open and groggily looked around at his surroundings. He was on top of something that felt like a washcloth, and he felt completely and utterly drained. His blurred vision sharpened, but he wished it hadn’t because of what he saw.

Looming above him was Lyn. She was holding something in her left hand and a pair of scissors longer than the length of his body in her right hand. It sounded like she was cutting whatever she was holding, making Parker shiver.

He didn’t want to know what she was doing. Was she cutting up his tools and clothes? Was she preparing strips of tape to strap him down to the desk? Parker didn’t care.

The one thing he wanted to know was how to get out of there and away from this place.

The teen clenched his fists, which sent a shooting pain up his arm. The miniscule wince he gave was enough to gain Lyn’s attention. Immediately, those pensive green eyes locked onto him, and all color drained from Parker’s face.

He needed to act, and now.

With what little energy reserve he had left, Parker forced himself to roll over and stumbled onto his feet. A quick survey of his surroundings revealed he was on her corner desk. He’d seen it before when she did a room tour with him months before, so he knew where the electrical cords and books were – both being perfect hiding places.

Sucking in a pained breath, Parker lunged forward and dove toward the safety of the space behind the books. He slammed into the wooden back and spun into the shadows. Sadly, the electrical cords Parker remembered were no longer there; or, rather, they were behind a few new books he didn’t recognize. They were blocking his path and he was left trapped.

“Parker? Parker, hey. It’s okay,” said Lyn. Parker didn’t feel like he could believe it. Nothing felt real. This whole thing felt like a nightmare, and it wasn’t ending. The Borrower teen tried to move the books out of the way, but he was too weakened from his fight earlier.

It reminded him of how insignificant his strength was. It made him realize how easily his will could be overridden. All he wanted to do was hide in the walls away from everyone for the rest of his life.

Could he trust no one?

Parker slumped down and brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. It was only now that he noticed that there was part of a bandage on his arm. It was poorly placed, but it was helping him not bleed all over the books around him.

“Parker? Please, it’s me. It’s Lyn,” she said again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tears filled the teen’s eyes. Was it true? Was it a lie? Was Lyn just like her sadistic sister, Rachel, and trying to get Parker out so she could torment him with those scissors? A choked sob erupted out of Parker as he shook his head defiantly.

“No!” he shouted. “No! Just leave me alone!”

He heard a slight shuffle beyond the books, and it sounded like Lyn sighed, which wasn’t a good sign for Parker.

Was she getting frustrated?

Was she going to go after him? Pull the books away to reveal his hiding space?

Instead, she continued speaking in that same gentle tone Parker had come to know and love about her.

“Parker, I promise you’re safe with me. I was worried when you weren’t in class and didn’t respond to my messages. I thought something was wrong, but nothing like this,” said Lyn. Parker felt a pang in his heart.

That’s right. I had class. I missed a day of school, and maybe more with me leaving the way I did.

Regret didn’t begin to cover how Parker felt, but it was a start. Parker pressed his back against the back of the desk and looked up at the sliver of light he could see from the gap the books provided.

Then, Lyn said something that made Parker’s blood run ice cold.

“If… if you’re worried about me telling someone, don’t worry. I know the rules. I won’t tell your secret to anyone; and I know you’re not supposed to talk to humans or anything like that, but….”

Parker didn’t hear the rest. His ears were ringing too loudly.

Rules?

Speak to humans?

Secret?

Not tell anyone?

Parker felt himself threatening to pass out again as he slumped against the books, but he managed to stop himself. The Borrower teen’s mind was racing, but his impulses took over and forced him once again to his feet. Despite his instincts thrashing against his decision, Parker staggered forward and peered out from behind the books to look at Lyn.

The moment their eyes met, he knew she was being genuine. When he looked at her, the sense of imminent danger began to slowly subside. It felt like how it used to with his mom. His instincts hadn’t steered him wrong before, and for once it felt like someone who wasn’t directly involved in his life and history had answers.

“W-wait… do… do you know… what I am?” asked Parker. Lyn’s eyes widened ever so slightly at seeing Parker hiding behind her stack of books, but her features softened sympathetically as she nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t confirmed until now, but I had an idea that you were a Borrower,” stated Lyn. “A lot of us did, actually.”

Parker felt his head swirl. Whether it was because of the loss of blood or because of the realization, Parker suddenly felt his knees buckle and his vision darkening again.

“Parker?!” Parker registered Lyn sounding alarmed before landing on something soft. There was another moment of weightlessness as his senses came back to him. Parker felt something moving his body, maneuvering it so he was once again on his back, but it wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized he was back on the washcloth. Lyn’s fingers were mere inches from him, which made him flinch away.

The Borrower teen pushed himself up onto his elbows as he craned his neck back as far as he could to look up at her. Lyn looked genuinely concerned. There was obvious hesitation in her eyes, like she wanted to help and offer a hug or touch of consolation while also refraining because Parker obviously looked uncomfortable.

“I… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” asked Lyn. Parker shook his head and pushed himself up further, sitting in a crouched position and trying desperately to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“No… I’m… not,” he said in between breaths. “How? How… do… you… know?” Lyn obviously shifted, disquieted, but continued explaining.

“It’s… just something some of us talked about. Remember me telling you about all of the Discord chats I’m a part of? Some of them follow you and your writing on, ‘Welcome to My Little Life,’ and, well, there’s been speculation on multiple occasions that you were a Borrower. Your profile picture shows a massive phone behind you. Some of the things you talk about with your experiences and dreams just seemed a little different. Even the name of your channel feels like a hint.

“You’ve also never come into class physically and none of your school friends have ever met you in-person. Your clothes fit, but the stitching is a bit off, and you can see if you look hard enough that it’s handmade. Plus, some of the things set up in your room are miniature versions of things I’ve found on Amazon and other craft stores like your journals on your bookshelves,” explained Lyn. Her eyes narrowed as she examined Parker’s features, which were filled with shock and disbelief.

“You… noticed all of that? How? How did you know, and I didn’t?” asked Parker more to himself than to Lyn. He slumped forward and caught his head in his hands, entwining his fingers in his hair as he fought the urge to vomit all over himself. The teen’s ears were ringing louder than a foghorn blast.

Parker heard Lyn get up and leave the room. He momentarily considered making another run for it, but why would he? He finally felt a little safe after being out in the open and then brought within inches of death, and someone had additional answers which he could learn from. He elected to stay right where he was.

What more could happen to me?

What else could bring me down?

Lyn returned after several minutes with a tray and said nothing as she set it down on a clear part of her desk. Parker’s nose could smell something delicious wafting through the air, which confused his senses more. He was starving and sick at the same time. The thought of food made him nauseous, but he felt like he could finish the entire bowl of whatever was steaming nearby.

“Here. Put this on your neck,” Lyn instructed as she dipped a piece of cloth into another bowl nearby and brought it close to Parker. “Can… I get this close to you?” Parker registered the cloth in her hands and forced himself to nod. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, so he might as well accept it and try to get better as fast as possible.

What Lyn placed nearby was an ice cold damp cloth, which instantly made Parker feel better when he slid it onto the back of his neck. His senses started coming back to him and only now did he realize how banged up he was.

There was a massive slice across his right palm where he had grabbed onto the lizard’s nose and mouth. His left arm was basically one big bruise with evenly spaced gashes in them. The bandage that was on his arm couldn’t hide the blood stains and the still seeping wounds. His pants were also torn in four distinct tare marks that undoubtedly came from the claws of the bearded dragon.

“Parker? Do… you want to get cleaned up? I can bring you to the bathroom and give you some privacy,” suggested Lyn. Parker thought about the suggestion for a moment. On one hand, he probably needed to clean the wound to keep it from getting infected. On the other, he would have to rely on Lyn to get him from place to place, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

At the end of the day, Parker came to one simple realization. Covered in mud, blood, and sand, Parker thought he probably looked like a complete wreck. His mom would undoubtedly lose her mind if she saw him in this state.

Just the thought of his mom seeing him like this was heart wrenching. Not only was he now missing for several days, but she would see him severely hurt. Tears sprung to his eyes again and he tried hiding his face in his undamaged hand. All of the thoughts from before about his mom not wanting him came back to mind. She was looking for him, but it didn’t stop Parker from worrying about whether or not his mom would forgive him.

“Oh… oh no… Parker,” said Lyn. “I’m sorry. Um… here… let’s get something to eat first, yeah? I made some chicken barley soup yesterday for meal prep and stuff. It might sound weird, but I like soup this time of year. Would that be okay?”

Parker swallowed dryly as his stomach rumbled hungrily at the mention of food. He’d been too anxious to eat before, and now it was all he could think about.

“Yes, please,” he said quietly. Lyn smiled and breathed a sigh of relief as she grasped a small bowl in between her fingers as well as a small plate with crunched up crackers on it. There was something that looked like a dollhouse spoon in the bowl, but that was far from Parker’s concerns at the moment.

Right now, he decided to focus on one thing that he could control at a time, which was finishing this bowl of soup. He blew away the ribbons of steam and sipped on the broth, which immediately ignited his appetite. Eating slowly didn’t feel like an option, but the heat of the bowl forced Parker to pace himself.

For nearly thirty minutes, the two of them ate in silence before Parker had his fill. The sense of nausea finally went away, and his senses started coming back to him. His vision was less blurry. His smell was sharpening. The ringing was finally subsiding. Sadly, with his senses came the intensification of his wounds.

The pain started like a dull throb but soon began to get a pulse of its own, making his muscles twitch and ache. On the bright side, he was starting to feel a little more at ease. He felt like himself, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Parker glanced at the contents of the rest of the tray and noticed other medical supplies like Peroxide, rubbing alcohol, bandages, Neosporin, and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends.

“I… thought you would want the full care package.” Parker jolted back to the present as Lyn spoke for the first time, breaking the silence between them. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. That’s why I was cutting the bandages earlier. One massive bandage was too much like a cast on your arm, so I was making a smaller wrapping by cutting the wrap.”

“N-no, that’s… erm… that’s good,” mumbled Parker as he dusted the crumbs off of his legs. “But… um… do you… think I could wash off first?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Would the sink be okay? Or do you want a bowl of water here, so you don’t have to be carried. Or I guess the tub would work too,” said Lyn. It made Parker smile seeing her slightly flustered. He was never able to get her off of her game during class or when they were working on a project together, but now she seemed nervous.

For just a moment, he felt like his old self and felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. She was still cute, and he still liked her, which he took as a good sign.

“Sink would be best, I think,” he replied. “If… you don’t mind that is.”

“No, not at all,” smiled Lyn nervously. She placed her hand palm up on her desk and waited patiently. Parker could practically see her pulse from where he was standing on the desk. His nerves were also going through the roof. He had imagined meeting his crush in person for so long, and this was never a scenario he had played out in his mind.

Though he had imagined being held by her.

Parker shakily stepped onto her hand, hearing her disbelievingly exhale at his touch, and crouched, giving a nod that he was ready. Lyn was already prepped and ready to go. She lifted her hand carefully, stabilizing it with her other hand, and walked down the hall to a full bathroom.

She set Parker down on the seashell themed counter and quickly filled various soap container lids with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. It took no time for her to sacrifice a few of her hand towels for a body towel for Parker and for some washcloths to be cut into perfect strips for him to use.

“In case you feel faint or anything, I can sit over here on the floor for you; but it’s whatever you want,” stated Lyn. The offer was a thoughtful one, and one Parker felt like he should take her up on. In the few minutes she was preparing everything, Parker felt himself get woozy three times to the point where he felt like he needed to sit down.

“Um… if you don’t mind. But no peeking! I’ll… I’ll give a shout when I’m done and in the towel,” directed Parker. Lyn smiled as if she already knew his answer and sat down after setting the water temperature on the faucet.

Parker’s heart was fluttering nervously as he slid down the edge of the sink into the main basin under the wide band of water. Taking his time pealing his ruined clothes away from his tender wounds, Parker finally managed to strip nude under the water. He looked at the deep bruises and punctures one his body. He was definitely walking away with scars. He couldn’t even begin imagining what his mom was going to say.

Now under the water completely, Parker let the warmth soak into his body. He let the worries of what his mom would think and the events from recent days wash away like the dirt and blood on his body. The feeling was refreshing and reminded him of his shower at home. Everything was starting to do that actually. The food. The feeling. Even being around Lyn was making him think about his mom and how much he missed her.

Parker knew he couldn’t do anything about it now and spiraling trying to solve the problem now while he was nude in his crush’s sink wasn’t going to help either. Instead, he focused on one simple task at a time. Scrubbing the shampoo into his scalp. Running his fingers through his unruly hair. Carefully scrubbing away the dirt and grime, careful with the wounds to make sure they were thoroughly cleaned to prevent infection.

Some of them reopened, leaving pink stains on the washcloth as he pressed it against the wounds. His entire body was stinging and tingling from his injuries. They seeped sluggishly, looking like red ribbons oozing out of him. Each little gash eventually stopped bleeding long enough for Parker to feel comfortable with getting out.

A little woozy, the miniature teen hoisted himself up onto the counter with a little bit of effort and wrestled himself into the nearby hand towel. It was soft, fluffy, and exactly what he needed as he began drying off his body. After thoroughly drying, Parker poked his head out from the towel.

He could see the top of Lyn’s head, which was several feet away. It looked like she was twirling something in her hands, but Parker couldn’t see what it was. Regardless of what it was she was doing, Parker knew he needed her help in order to get down. Unlike his old home, he didn’t have secure lines throughout the house.

What made it worse was that his clothes were in complete shreds and needed to dry. Just the thought made Parker’s cheeks pink. It changed nothing, so he took a breath and called out, “Lyn?”

She immediately looked over and spotted the top of Parker’s fluffy head of hair poking out from the top of the towel. She smiled warmly and stood up, turning off the water before addressing Parker again. She even chuckled as she got a full view of Parker hiding in a towel.

“Aww… Parker,” she cooed. It was completely involuntary, and her cheeks went scarlet the moment she did it. She looked away, totally embarrassed, as she scratched the back of her neck. “Sorry. I just… that’s really cute.”

Parker felt his insides flutter and flip. Hearing his crush call him “cute” made him jittery all over. The circumstances were a bit odd, but it still made him smile. Hopefully, she thought he was cute for the same reasons he found her cute.

“It’s… um… it’s okay,” mumbled Parker. There was an awkward silence for a few moments.

“Do you-”

“I brought you some-”

The two of them started talking at the same time, which made both of them chuckle.

“Here, me first. Do you think you could put my clothes over the air vent so they’ll dry? Or just tell me where it is and I can do it,” asked Parker as he readjusted the towel over him. He felt incredibly warm at the moment, and he was having a hard time concentrating. It felt like only parts of him had a strong pulse, and it made him squirm.

“Actually,” chuckled Lyn. “I have some extra clothing items that you might be interested. I usually use them for my photography models and they’re going to be horribly big on you, but… well… if that’s not weird or anything, you could use those. Um… here.”

Lyn held out the thing Parker suspected that she was playing with and set it downright next to him. Sure enough, it was definitely going to be too big. It was a matching pair of sweatpants, t-shirt, and a hoodie combination which were all black. Though the Borrower teen would’ve preferred his own clothes, he knew his own had been torn to shreds and the alternative was to not wear anything at all.

That wasn’t an option, especially with these weird warmth spurts Parker was going through.

He reached out and snagged the pants. They were incredibly soft and well made. It was the same quality his mom made sure he had when he was first learning how to make his own clothes.

“Are… you sure?” asked Parker.

“Yeah, absolutely. I’d say just put on the shirt and pants so we can bandage you up, but it’s honestly whatever you’re good with,” replied Lyn. Parker smiled sheepishly and pulled the clothes into the makeshift tent he had made when drying himself off and slide on the shirt and pants. His muscles ached and twinged as he pulled the cloth over his wounds, but they subsided after a moment or two.

Now dressed, Parker stood up and walked out of the towel. Sure enough, everything was horribly big for him, but it was comfortable regardless. Giving a bashful shrug as he looked up at Lyn, he asked, “So? Look okay?”

It was hard to disguise the look of adoration in her eyes. She knelt involuntarily and made no effort to hide her smile.

“Very good,” she grinned. Parker bit his lip nervously. Having her so close was intoxicating. She was even prettier in person than she was over the camera. When her eyes shifted to his arm and she looked nervous, Parker glanced down to see that beads of blood were once again starting to form on his arm and were even starting to drip onto the towel again. “Now, let’s get you patched up.”

Parker got onto her hand once again, having to shuffle a bit because of where the pants came down over his ankles, and watched Lyn quickly snag all of his clothes and remove all evidence that he was in the sink. Lyn poked her head out of the door, scanning her surroundings and listening for anyone in the house, before quickly retreating back to her room. Her feet were swift and her steps smooth as she whisked herself and Parker away behind her door, which she shut and locked behind her.

Setting Parker down on the desk, she found a small container that would usually be used to store berries for Parker to sit on top of while she worked. It was still a bit unnerving having fingers that were the length of his body approach when they didn’t belong to his mom, but Parker’s instincts had finally calmed and, from what he could tell, he was no longer in the danger zone.

In fact, he almost felt safer in his crush’s care. Applying the salve with the tip of her finger, Lyn’s fingers were incredibly nimble and gentle. Even as she wrapped the top part of Parker’s arm with the cloth bandage she cut for him, it wasn’t too tight, and it wasn’t too loose. Parker even helped tie the bandage at the ends when she was done.

“Feel good? Not cutting off circulation?” asked Lyn. Parker shook his head and gave his arm a few test flexes.

“Nope, all good. Thank you,” Parker said. Lyn beamed as she playfully tapped Parker’s leg.

“Good, then let’s get your leg bandaged next,” she suggested. Parker hoisted the pant leg up and watched as Lyn applied the salve to her fingertip and then spread it onto his leg. The cool gel made the slight burning stop, and the bandage she wrapped around it stopped the tingling. While she worked on his leg, Parker worked on his hand that was cut.

It was only after a few minutes of quiet as the two of them worked on bandaging Parker’s bruised body that Lyn chortled to herself and, in a disbelieving tone, muttered under her breath, “I never thought my model clothes would be used on an actual Borrower.”

This statement brought Parker back and made him want to shy away. All of those questions started coming back to him, and now he had the energy and presence of mind to ask them.

“Um… Lyn?”

Her eyes flicked up to him as her cheeks pinkened.

“Sorry. I know. It’s weird hearing a human say the word and everything; but, like I said, I’m not going to tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me,” reassured Lyn. It made Parker’s chest clench in relief for one odd reason or another. He figured it had to do with his Borrower instincts, but that wasn’t what was important right now.

“Um… that’s… not what I was going to ask,” stated Parker.

“Oh?” Lyn asked as she finished tying the knot by Parker’s ankle for his bandaged leg and started cleaning up all of the supplies she was using. “Then… what did you want to ask?”

Parker swallowed nervously and, after wrestling his pant leg down, played with the drawstring on his pants as he calmed his fraying nerves. “I just… I wanted to ask how you know that word. I mean what I am. A Borrower. Where did you hear that?”

“The word? Oh, from a book series I read when I was much younger. It’s by Mary Norton and it’s called ‘The Borrowers,’ which is about little people who live in the walls and stuff. There’s a kind of spinoff series called ‘The Littles’ by John Peterson, but his characters are more mouse-like with tails and stuff.

“There’s also a ton of writing and art online from fanfiction about these two major series. There’s always been a playful part of the g/t community who want Borrowers to exist and a bunch of other stuff, but no one really ever knows until… well… until something like this happens,” explained Lyn. “That’s why it came up in some of our Discord chats about you. Well, a few of the Tumblr lurkers out there. I’m pretty sure there’s a few other Borrowers online, one being Karl or Karmal and another called Zel, but I don’t know for sure. There are just some things that seemed a little different and everyone was laughing thinking how cool it would be if you actually were a Borrower; which, obviously, you are, meaning some of the others might also be.”

This was very quickly becoming too much for Parker.

Books?

A community online?

Was all of this true?

“Do… you have these books?” asked Parker. Lyn nodded and slowly pushed herself up away from her desk to a bookshelf by her bed on the far side of the room. She hummed curiously as her fingers danced over the spines of the novels stacked onto the wooden frame. In no time, she found what she was looking for and brought the book back to Parker.

Immediately, Parker felt himself pale. The image right there on the cover looked just like the home of the other Borrower family who was living in his mom’s attic. From the thimbles and rubber bands to the hooks by the coat rack, everything seemed to match up.

Parker’s racing heart made him shiver involuntarily as a cold chill ran up and down his spine. He sucked in breath after breath, gaining Lyn’s attention.

“Parker? Parker? Are you okay?” she fretted. Parker had to calm down for a short time, which Lyn let him do, before nodding.

“I… I think so,” mumbled Parker. “It’s just… I don’t get it. I mean, she hid things, but how could I have missed?” He held his head in his hands as the weight settled over him.

Lyn, on the other hand, looked at him curiously for a few seconds longer before her eyes gleamed with remembrance.

“Parker, you said something earlier. You said, ‘how did you know, and I didn’t.’ What do you mean by that?” asked Lyn.

The unnamed emotions swirled inside of Parker and, now fully rehydrated, felt fresh tears spring to his eyes. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to make him choke up entirely. Silence was his enemy right now, and finally he had someone who he could talk to about everything.

Lyn knew him.

She understood him.

He decided that, of all people, he could trust Lyn; so, he did.

He decided to tell her everything, right from the beginning.

“Lyn, do… you think I could tell you something? And you not get… mad or anything?” asked Parker.

Lyn didn’t even hesitate as she nodded and said, “Yeah, of course.”

Parker took a breath and, after another moment to brace himself, told her everything. It was time to put everything on the table.

Parker told Lyn that he always thought that he was a human. He explained that he had lived with his mom, Amanda, all his life and that he genuinely thought that he had an extremely rare genetic condition called Parvi Homunculi Syndrome. He lived as a human boy, homeschooled and under the care of his mom for the past decade.

It wasn’t until someone, a girl named Kit, thought that he was in danger and tried to “rescue” him that his entire world had turned upside down. He explained that he had talked to an entire family of Borrowers who told him what he actually was and how another Borrower named Kers had actually been keeping a close eye on him for he past four years.

He told her about the nightmares and how they all made sense with the drowning and being left behind in a storm. Parker confessed he had these odd impulses and instincts that let him sense things and anticipate movements, but that he had always attributed it to his so-called condition.

Then, and only then, did he tell Lyn about all of the awful things he said to his mom when he confronted her about keeping everything a secret from him for so long. He told her that he had run away from home and had been missing for the past few days. This is why he was at the park, and this is when that girl, Rachel, had taken him.

It was only at the last part that Lyn’s eyebrows raised, but she still said nothing as she listened to Parker’s story. After everything, Lyn stayed quiet for what felt like an unbearable amount of time until Parker couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Please, Lyn… could you… say something? Am… am I wrong? Am I crazy?” asked Parker.

Lyn immediately shook her head dismissively. “No, you’re not crazy or wrong, Parker. I... I’m sorry. I had no idea. So… you… really didn’t know?”

Parker shook his head. “No. I didn’t know. And it turns out my mom actually put search restrictions on my computer to keep me from finding out on my own. I just…” Parker pulled his legs up close to his chest and pressed his face into his knees. “I don’t know if I can trust her, but I miss her so much. And I said such horrible things to her.”

Lyn didn’t say anything for a few more seconds. Then, quietly, she reached forward and carefully pressed her fingertips against Parker’s back. The warmth of her fingers spread through Parker’s body, and then impulse took over. He turned around and threw his arms around Lyn’s fingertips, gripping as tightly as he could as he felt ears welling over the rims of his eyes.

Lyn’s thumb brushed against Parker’s back as he let himself cry. It wasn’t until Parker turned around, wiping his eyes with the cloth on the back of his right hand as he looked back up into Lyn’s thoughtful features.

“Thanks,” he muttered, overwhelming gratitude apparent in his voice. “And… I’m sorry. You didn’t need all of this.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” grinned Lyn. “And it’s okay. After everything you’ve been through, I’m impressed you’re holding yourself together so well.” Parker let out a choked chuckle but nodded.

“Hardly,” he mumbled. “I don’t feel like it.”

Lyn shrugged and shook her head slowly. “I’m sure it doesn’t feel okay right now, but you can start doing things now to make everything right.”

“Right?” Parker sniffled.

“Yeah, like letting your mom know that you’re safe and sound,” said Lyn. Parker felt himself involuntarily bristle, and Lyn noticed. “I know what you’re saying about trusting her and everything, but you have to see it from her perspective. She didn’t know about the series and I’m sure she didn’t want to tell you something wrong. Your mom was trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t feel like that now.”

“Protect me? She lied, Lyn! She knew the truth and kept it from me. She knew what she was doing. She… she could’ve just told me,” Parker said defensively.

“I’m sure she could’ve, but she didn’t. She thought she was doing the best thing for you, even though it seems wrong now,” reminded Lyn. “Think about it. You’re both very similar, but also very different. She probably didn’t want you to feel any different than any other kid just because of your size. It was a judgement call, and she probably could’ve told you something, and she did. She told you that you had a genetic condition. She just was calling it Parvi Homunculi Syndrome instead of being a Borrower.”

Parker thought about Lyn’s words and, slowly but surely, felt acknowledgement seeping into him. He had already thought of these things before, but there was saying someone was right and then accepting they were right.

Despite everything, Parker realized his mom had done everything she could to help him be the best person he could be.

And, just like the decision to tell Parker he had some made up genetic condition, Parker had made the wrong decision when he ran away from home.

He swallowed dryly and nodded.

“I… I know. I just… don’t know what she’s going to say. Will she forgive me? She was looking for me, sure, but… do you think she’s forgiven me?” asked Parker.

Lyn smiled and nodded without hesitation, saying, “I’m sure she forgave you the moment you said it, Parker. She loves you, and that’s never going to change.”

Relief, like the warmth of Lyn’s fingers, spread through Parker’s body and made him feel secure and warm once again. It was obvious what he needed to do next, and it was well past due.

“Lyn?”

“Yes, Parker?”

“Could… I borrow your phone? I… need to make a call.”

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[rose-sophia-isabella-rogers]

A Steel That Went Through Hottest Fire: Chapter XX - An Arrow in the Quiver

Chapter Summary: It's time to face Fjerda. Who will win and who will lose? Will Ravka finally be at peace? And what will you get for everything you've done?

Pairing: Aleksander Kirigan/Reader, Alina Starkov/Mal Oretsev, Zoya Nazyalensky/Nikolai Lantsov, Fedyor Kaminsky/Ivan, Genya Safin/David Kostyk

Characters: Aleksander Kirigan, Reader, Nikolai Lantsov, Genya Safin, Alina Starkov, Mal Oretsev, Ivan, Fedyor Kaminsky, Zoya Nazyalensky, David Kostyk, Nina Zenik

Word Count: 4449

A/N: Inspired by prompt: https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389090100611/

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@budugu

@intothesoul

@mizelophsun11

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

@zeeader

@marrymonrich

@wonderland2425

@chelseyyouraverageluigi

@thehufflepuffavenger1

@drinix

Ivan and Tolya return. With a promise of an army. Like Aleksander has predicted, the people of Shu-Han are furious. Their beloved princess is 'dead' because of Fjerda and it has to pay for it. The great battle is about to happen soon.

Everyone is preparing in the ways they can. Including you. Even though you've already did a lot, you still spend days in the workshop, working on your latest project.

This is where one night David finds you. The only reason Kirigan hasn't dragged you from here is because he is at the Grand Palace, busy with another war meeting.

'You've done so much already, [Y/N],' Kostyk says quietly, but still manages to startle you. 'Go and get some rest.'

'I can't,' you huff, combing your hair with your hand. 'Not after what Nina told me about Fjerdans' work on jurda parem.'

'And that is?' David asks, raising his eyebrows. You sigh and remember your conversation with Zenik…

'Jurda parem in gaseous form?' you asked with disbelief. The Heartrender nodded, troubled.

'I wasn't dosed with it in the end, but still…' she said. 'I'm worried our Grisha will be attacked like that during the battle.'

'Everyone is to have a dose of antidote with them, so I wouldn't worry about that,' you said, pensive. 'But you brought up a good point. Gaseous form is more effective. If we had the antidote in that form on the battlefield…'

'We could save Grisha on the Fjerdans' side,' Nina said, her eyes lightning up. You nodded.

'I will think about it,' you promised. Zenik clasped your hands in hers and smiled.

'If anyone can figure it out, it's you,' she said, winking. You stared at her hands, pensive. From all the people, she's been one of the first that seemed to trust you. It puzzled you.

'Thank you,' you said quietly. 'It means a lot.'

'Hey,' the Heartrender said softly. 'I know what you're thinking. But I am the last person who should judge your actions. My lover is a Fjerdan after all.'

She smiled wryly. You thought about Matthias. He was a good man and utterly in love with Nina. But yes. He was a Fjerdan and almost as unpopular as you and Aleksander.

'The heart does what it wants, huh?' you asked, shrugging. Zenik chuckled. She sighed and nodded.

'Oh, yes,' she agreed. 'That's so true.'

'Hm, that is a good idea,' David says, already thinking. You blink, discarding the memory.

'Yeah, but so far it's just that,' you say and huff in frustration. 'I can't believe Fjerdans figured out the gaseous form of parem and I can't do the same with the antidote!'

'Well, they are a little different,' Kostyk points out. 'You're using more raw jurda.'

Instantly, you look at each other. You think of the same.

'That's it,' you say. 'And maybe if we-'

'Instead of-' the Durast says.

'And then-' you add.

'Yes, let's do it,' David says and you two get to work. Some time later, while waiting for your work to cool down, you sit and drink tea.

'I've forgiven you, by the way,' Kostyk says suddenly. 'Your betrayal, lies and manipulation. I get why you did it. Also, I see you were right. Ever since Kirigan has returned, things are finally looking up. We really needed him now. And since three years have passed, some emotions and grudges cooled down. We could put them aside and work together for Ravka.'

'Thank you,' you say after a beat. 'I… I didn't want to betray you. It hurt me. So, your forgiveness means a great deal to me.'

'You are my friend, [Y/N],' the Durast says softly. 'It may take some time, but I'll always forgive you. No matter what you'll do. And I hope this will be the same in your case.'

'I can hardly imagine you doing something so vile you'd need my forgiveness, but of course,' you chuckle. David smiles. You chat for a bit more, then continue your experiment.

When Aleksander walks in later, tired and exasperated with you, you're staring proudly at your work. At first, neither of you even notice his presence.

'We have to test it now,' Kostyk says, pensive. 'But we don't have more affected Grisha.'

'We can always drug someone and then give him an antidote,' you suggest.

'You're thinking about those two Grisha that were ogling Kirigan during the party, aren't you?' David asks. You look at him innocently.

'I'm sure someone will show up soon,' the Darkling speaks up, joining your conversation. 'We still get new Grisha hurt by the parem. So, for now you both can go to sleep.'

'Yes, sir,' Kostyk quickly says and starts cleaning up.

'If no one does, though, can we consider my suggestion?' you ask hopefully. David and Aleksander roll their eyes. You sigh and quickly help Kostyk. Once you're done, the Durast bids you farewell, and leaves. Kirigan takes your hand in his and you go to his chambers.

'So, what was that experiment about?' he asks you.

'We've managed to make the antidote in a gaseous form,' you explain and your lover looks at you, impressed. 'We just have to see if it still works.'

'If it does… it would help immensely in the battle,' the Darkling says and kisses your hand. 'Thank you, milaya. You've already done so much and yet you continue to amaze us all.'

'Well, since I'm not going to be on the battlefield, I want to be useful in another way,' you say. You enter the room, since you've reached it.

'I want to argue about that usefulness, but I'm too exhausted,' Aleksander sighs. You comb his hair with your hand. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, relaxing.

'How was the meeting?' you ask.

'Alina and I didn't argue, so that's a success,' he answers. 'Other than that… we still can't agree on the best course of action.'

'Well, you'll get it in the end,' you assure him. 'If not, you can always threaten the generals with me.'

'Hm, I would not like to see you entering a meeting, furious and ready to argue,' Kirigan admits and kisses you softly. 'Thank you, lapushka.'

You beam at him and answer the kiss. It takes a few minutes for you to pull apart.

'You can thank me properly after I give you a massage,' you whisper. The Darkling groans.

'Yes, please, I need it so much,' he asks. You chuckle and push him into the bathroom.

'I'm at your service,' you say teasingly. Aleksander pulls you with him, a mirth in his eyes. A lot of time passes before you finally go to sleep.

*

Everything is ready. Shu-Han's army has arrived. Your warriors feel up to the task. The antidote in a gaseous form is working and you've produced it enough, or so you hope. All of that means it's time to move out to battle.

In the morning when the armies are to set off, you help Aleksander get ready. The atmosphere is solemn, tense. You don't speak. Both of you are scared to break the silence.

'[Y/N]…' Kirigan starts when he's ready. But he trails off and sighs.

'Come back to me, okay?' you ask him. 'I don't fancy bringing you back to life a second time.'

'I'd say it's not possible now, but I know you'd find a way,' the Darkling says, smiling wryly.

'Obviously,' you huff. Aleksander chuckles. He cups your cheek. You lean into his touch, looking at him sadly. You're scared he's not going to return. He's immortal, yes. But some things still can kill him.

'It's going to be okay,' Kirigan says quietly. 'Thanks to you we're well prepared. We're going to win. And I'm not going to die. I made you a promise, didn't I?'

'You did,' you admit. 'But I… can't help it.'

'I know,' the Darkling says. 'I used to thrive in a battle. Now I despise it, because I know it makes you worried or you could get hurt. I wonder why is that, hm?'

You smile slightly, not at all sorry. Aleksander cups your other cheek and touches your forehead with his.

'I love you so hard that I softened,' he says. 'And I don't mind it one bit. I'm a happier man thanks to it.'

You lift your head and make your lips join. You kiss for a minute or so. Then, you pull away, but only slightly.

'Then go and win this, so I could be a happier woman,' you whisper. Kirigan catches your mouth for a moment longer.

'As my lady commands,' he murmurs. 'But before I go… there's something I want to ask you.'

He takes your hands in his. You look at him quizzically. He seems nervous for some reason.

'When I come back… I'd like to marry you,' he says, stunning you. 'If you'll have me, that is. Since we're both immortal now, I understand I'd be tying you to me forever. If you're not sure, need more time or you-'

You silence him with a finger on his lips. He looks at you, hopeful and scared. But to his relief you smile.

'Yes,' you say. The fearsome Darkling laughs, overjoyed. He kisses you again and again.

'Now you better win quickly,' you say when you finally stop. 'I don't want to wait long.'

'Neither do I,' Aleksander says, grinning. You join hands and leave his chambers. Ivan and Fedyor, who are happily married since last week, follow you. Soon, you're outside with the rest of the army.

'[Y/N], are you sure you're not coming?' Nikolai asks, walking to you. 'You can, if you want.'

'Oh, I'm sure,' you confirm, nodding. 'I don't want to be anywhere near a battle until I learn to control fully my amplified abilities.'

Lantsov nods in understanding. He smiles charmingly at you.

'Then keep an eye on the capital, will you?' he asks.

'Hm, I don't know,' you say playfully. 'Haven't I done enough?'

'You've done,' the King says, suddenly serious. 'You've done so much to help us win this. If we do, I know it's mostly thanks to you.'

He offers you his hand. You stare at it for a moment. Then, you grab it and you shake it.

'Good luck, moi tsar,' you say, bowing your head with respect. He nods back and goes to his horse. You bid farewell to the rest of your friends. Even David goes with others. Suddenly, Alina shows up next to you.

'[Y/N],' she greets you and becomes nervous. 'I… Can we talk?'

'What is it?' you ask, trying not to sound too much hostile.

'I want to apologise,' Starkov says after a beat. You look at her with raised eyebrows. She sighs.

'I hate it, but Aleksander's ideas were mostly spot on,' she starts. 'And he genuinely seems to have changed. I know it's thanks to you. You… were right. About so many things. Maybe even most of them.'

You stare at her. You see your silence makes her even more nervous.

'Good luck, Alina,' you finally say. 'Win this war and come back home. I honestly wish for that for you.'

'Thank you,' the Sun Summoner says quietly. She walks away. Her slumped shoulders tell you the conversation didn't go as she hoped.

'Alina!' you call after her after a moment of hesitation. She turns, a hopeful look in her eyes.

'Maybe one day I'll be able to forgive you,' you say. 'As I hope you'll forgive me. But now… it's still too soon.'

She nods her head in understanding and walks away. You watch her joining Mal. They talk and smile after a moment. You turn your head and look at Nikolai. He meets your gaze and grins.

'Best of luck,' you say.

'I have your antidote, best warriors I could hope for and a perfect equipment,' he says. 'I think we're more than ready to win this.'

'Just don't get too cocky,' you warn him.

'Don't worry, I won't let that happen,' Zoya says, showing up on her horse next to Lantsov. 'You try not to ruin the Little Palace while we're away.'

'What about the Grand Palace?' the King questions. Nazyalensky shrugs.

'I don't care, it's ugly anyway,' she says. Nikolai looks at you pleadingly.

'Look after it as well,' he asks.

'But I don't like it either,' you say. Lantsov sighs and turns to his soldiers.

'Move out!' he orders and the armies slowly head out. You manage to catch the gaze of Aleksander. You smile at each other and nod.

'Good luck,' you whisper. After everyone is gone, you turn and go back to the Little Palace. Now all you can do is wait.

*

It takes some time to reach the border with Fjerda. But the King's army finally does and a day later the battle starts. It's not pretty. Many people die. But thanks to your antidote, Zoya's excellent training, Kirigan's spot on strategy and some other things, they seem to be winning.

'Nikolai!' Zoya shouts at some point. He quickly turns to her, alarmed. But she doesn't seem to be harmed.

'If we survive this, you can ask me!' she shouts. 'You know, that certain question!'

Lantsov stares at her, stunned. Then, he grins.

'Seriously?' he asks, beaming at her. She barely manages to stop a smile forming on her face.

'Yes,' she says. 'But I want it to be public. I want to see the faces of courtiers when you do it.'

The King chuckles. Then he has to duck, because Zoya suddenly shoots flames in his direction. Behind him someone screams. He looks at his general sheepishly. She sends him an annoyed glare.

'But try to live to that moment, hm?' she asks. He salutes her and returns to the battle.

Some time later, it's over. While at first the numbers on both sides have been even, when Ravkans started using antidote on drugged Grisha on Fjerdan's side, the numbers turned. Because when they were no longer under the effect of parem, Grisha with fury turned on Fjerda. Mostly thanks to that, Ravka and Shu-Han are victorious. Well, Zoya, Aleksander and Alina attacking with enormous power helped as well.

Nikolai walks to one of Fjerdan generals to make him announce the surrender officially. He's lying on the ground, coughing out blood, Kirigan's shoe on his chest. He laughs when he sees the approaching Lantsov.

'You may have won today, false king,' he says. 'But you have nowhere to come back to.'

Dread fills Nikolai. He looks with alarm at the Darkling. His expression is grim as well. And worried.

'I knew there's too little of them,' Mal murmurs. Lantsov turns to Zoya.

'Go,' she says before he can say something. 'Alina and I will make sure it's over here. Ravka needs you to be there. Both of you.'

She looks at Aleksander. He nods at her in gratitude. The King wants to argue. But he knows Nazyalensky is right. So, he barks orders and takes some soldiers with him. Then, they speed up to Os Alta.

Which is under attack. When they first attack, you're in your room, writing a letter to your lover. But sudden commotion interrupts you. You bolt out of the room.

'We're under attack!' a panicked soldier shouts, running to you. 'Fjerda has carried out a sneak attack! They're going to be here within an hour!'

You curse under your breath. You think on your feet.

'Gather everyone we have in the throne room of Grand Palace,' you order. The soldier doesn't even question you. He just nods and rushes out.

Ten minutes later you enter the room full of soldiers and Grisha. But it's still not enough to defeat an army that's coming to get you. Especially, since most of Grisha are still learning. The rest are Durasts and Alkemi. The experienced ones are on the front.

'We're gonna die,' someone whispers.

'No, we're not,' you deny. 'We can't win, but we're not gonna die.'

'What's the difference?' someone asks.

'This Palace has been made to withstand a siege,' you say. 'All we have to do is hold on until the army returns. And I know we can do it.'

'What about people from the capital?' someone asks.

'They're being evacuated as we speak,' you answer. 'So, what do you say?'

'But we're not fighters,' a Durast says shyly.

'No, but we're clever,' you counter. 'Like I said, we don't need to win. We just have to stop them from entering the Grand Palace and Little Palace. We're going to use our talents for this. Anything we can create that can stop them, we're making it. Same goes for the rest of you. It doesn't matter how much you can control your powers at the moment. In fact, let it loose on Fjerdans. As long as we work together, we can hold them out until the return of the King. I'm certain of that. So, who's with me?'

Everyone exchanges a look. When they turn to you, their eyes are filled with determination. They nod. You're going to do it.

By the time Nikolai returns with his part of the army, there's a total chaos everywhere. But the Fjerdans are still not inside any of the palaces. In fact, some Fjerdans try to desert.

'Well, it's better than I feared,' Lantsov comments. 'Come on!'

They attack the enemy. Soon, Aleksander, the King, Fedyor and Ivan are almost at the door to the Little Palace. But suddenly, a Fjerdan shows up out of nowhere and manages to thrust his sword in Kirigan's shoulder.

'Die, Darkling!' he shrieks. The Shadow Summoner grunts in pain.

'That was stupid,' Ivan comments, absolutely calm.

'Very stupid,' Fedyor agrees, nodding, also not bothered. Nikolai opens his mouth to say something, confused, but is interrupted by a vicious battle cry. Then, something falls from the sky (or rather a windowsill but they don't know that) and lands on the enemy's back.

'Die, die, die!' you scream, stabbing (or as you'd say, aggressively poking) the soldier. Lantsov's eyes widen.

'This is why we're more scared of her than him,' Fedyor explains, motioning with his head at Kirigan. A Healer is already by his side, tending to his wound.

'I can understand that,' the King says, nodding, and returns to the battle. When it's won by Ravka, he surveys the battle field. He's surprised to find you still stabbing/aggressively poking the same soldier from before. But now he's dead and lying on his stomach on the ground.

'[Y/N],' Ivan says, walking to you. 'Leave him alone. He's been dead for some time now.'

'I'm. Venting. My. Frustration,' you growl, stabbing the guy with every word. 'You. Have. No. Idea. How. Stressful. That. Was.'

The Heartrender sighs. He wonders what to do, but then Aleksander shows up. He simply takes the dagger out of your hands, picks you up and cradles you in his arms.

'It's alright, milaya,' he murmurs and looks at Nikolai. 'It's over now.'

*

Fjerdan has been defeated and forced to sign a treaty. Shu-Han has been held responsible for their attacks and also forced to laid down their weapons. They also must stop creating more khergud and stop kidnapping Grisha. Ravka is finally at peace and united.

Nikolai decides to honour everyone that has made it possible. Which means a huge ceremony. You're terribly bored at it and mostly don't listen to the King praising people. Until he gets to Zoya. Then, you watch her joining him with a great interest.

'Zoya Nazyalensky, general of the Second Army,' Lantsov starts. 'My partner and most trusted advisor during the past years. There's no doubt you've played a huge part in our victory. This peace wouldn't be possible without you.'

You swear you can hear her murmuring 'obviously'. You smile.

'I thought you'd serve as my general for many years to come,' Nikolai goes on. 'But recently I realised there's a better position for you. If you agree to take it, Ravka has a chance to become even stronger and prouder.'

You notice her tensing. Lantsov either doesn't see it or ignores it, as he lowers himself on one knee. People start murmuring. You focus only on the couple. The King shows his general a box with a gorgeous ring inside it.

'Zoya Nazyalensky,' he says, 'will you give me the honour of becoming your husband?'

You see her lips twitching in reaction to the phrasing of the question. But she stays silent. Nikolai becomes nervous.

'Come on, Zoya, don't do this to me now,' he murmurs. Nazyalensky almost snorts.

'Yes,' she finally says, offering her hand. Lantsov quickly puts a ring on one of her fingers, before she changes her mind. People cheer and clap. You, Genya and Fedyor are probably the loudest.

Zoya goes back to her place, showing with pride her ring to those around her. The King's eyes land on the Darkling. The latter walks to the former. The room falls silent. You hold your breath.

'Before I start, how should I address you?' Nikolai whispers.

'Aleksander Kirigan,' the Shadow Summoner decides after a beat. Lantsov nods.

'Aleksander Kirigan, the Darkling, the peace advisor,' he says, louder. 'At first, I wasn't sure if this was going to work. But you held your end of the bargain. Without your help, your advice and skills, maybe none of us would be standing here today. We've been at war once. But I think we both learnt that our dreams are actually quite similar, if not the same. You've proven your loyalty to Ravka and helped me keep its people save. Which is why, in thanks for your contributions for our country, I grant you a full pardon for your past crimes. Every one of them. Including creating the Fold that has separated us for centuries.'

People murmur, astonished. You smile with tears in your eyes.

'Your most gracious, moi tsar,' Aleksander says, bowing his head.

'That was our agreement,' the King says and smiles. 'Besides, you've earned it. In fact… your old position is going to be open. Would you care to become the general of the Second Army again, after the present one becomes the Queen of Ravka?'

People gasps. There's more murmuring.

'I'd be honoured, moi-' Kirigan starts.

'Nikolai,' Lantsov interrupts him and two men share a look. After a moment of silence, the King offers his hand to your lover. The Darkling shakes it, smiling. Then, he returns to his place by your side, accompanied by clapping and cheers.

'[Y/N] [L/N],' Nikolai says, silencing everyone. You slowly make your way to him. You can't help but wonder why are you the last. It worries you a bit. But seeing a kind look Lantsov gives you, you calm down.

'Where to begin?' he asks, spreading his arms, and laughs. 'By creating the antidote to jurda parem, you've saved Grisha. All of them. When you created its gaseous form, you helped turned the tide of the battle with Fjerda. Your design of kefta and uniforms saved countless lives. And let's not forget… you've brought back to life the Darkling. Without whom the victory wouldn't be possible.'

There are no murmurs this time. People are quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

'I can't deny, your actions caught us all by surprise,' the King goes on. 'The truth is, we should have seen it all coming. Because you are extraordinary. But you've been overlooked by everyone. Invisible, even. We would have seen it all if we had just bothered to look.'

You clench your teeth. You can feel tears forming in your eyes. You have no idea why he reminds you of the years of isolation you had to endure.

'I can say I didn't know you back when my father was the king,' Nikolai continues. 'But I ignored you as well. Put you in a cell. While your only "crime" was falling in love. For that, I apologise.'

He bows his head to you. You blink, surprised. People murmur, astonished as well. Lantsov looks at you again.

'You had every reason to hate us all, hate this country and not move a finger to save it from collapsing,' he says. 'But instead, for the past years you've done what you could to make sure Ravka can rise strong and powerful. After the Fold was destroyed, you told me I can't stitch it back together on my own. That I needed Kirigan. You were right. You brought him back and you proved us all how wrong we were to ignore you and underestimate you. We can all argue who did the most to save our homeland this time. But in my eyes, there is no doubt… that the person who made it possible for our army to win… is you. [Y/N] [L/N], the Saviour of Ravka.'

You stare at him, stunned, as he falls on his knees in front of you. For you.

'[Y/N] [L/N], the Saviour of Ravka!' Zoya calls and also knees. One by one, your friends and Aleksander do the same. Even Alina and Mal.

'[Y/N] [L/N], the Saviour of Ravka!' the rest of the court shouts and every single one of them falls on their knees. You look around, stunned and with tears in your eyes. You can feel some of them rolling down your face.

No longer invisible. No longer unnoticed and underestimated. Finally seen. Finally appreciated. And… when you look at all the smiles of the people you care about… no longer alone.

You look at Nikolai. He smiles warmly at you.

'Thank you,' you whisper.

'No, [Y/N],' he says, shaking his head. 'Thank you.'

He stands up and everyone follows suit. They look at him. It's clear he's not done.

'When Kirigan will return to being the General, he won't be my peace advisor anymore,' he finally says. 'And since this position's been just created, it would be a shame to dispose of it. Would you be interested to take it?'

'On one condition,' you say. Lantsov freezes. You grin at him.

'Just kidding,' you say. 'I'd be happy to, moi tsar.'

'You'll give me a heart attack one day,' the King sighs. You laugh and bow to him. You return to Aleksander's side, accompanied by cheering and clapping. Kirigan at once takes your hands in his.

'We've done it,' he murmurs into your ear. 'We've brought peace and stability to Ravka.'

'And more importantly, we can finally be together,' you say. The grin on his face tells you that he agrees with that. He presses a kiss to your forehead and you smile. Finally, all is well.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts! Reblog, like and comment if you could. Every comment makes my day!

This can also be found on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52696933/chapters/135677767

[traintrainingmontage]

Friends and Family

Summary: When Skarloey falls ill, Rheneas becomes uncharacteristically worried. The crimson engine's attitude rubs the SR's newest engine, Duke, the wrong way, until his brother makes a heartfelt request.

Rating: T

Word Count: ~2.3k (Chapter 1)

Chapters: 1/2

Characters: Skarloey, Rheneas, Duke, Peter Sam, OCs (human crews), mentions of other SR engines, mentions of the Thin Controller and Mr. Hugh

Ao3, if you prefer

Many of my headcanons here were inspired by/in alignment with those of Ted from the YouTube channel TTTE Community Radio. He has a great video about the Skarloey Railway and "the lean years" that's very much worth a watch!

The term "granchuffs" is not my original creation, but I've seen it circulated around the fandom, and it's my favorite thing.

A full year had passed since Duke had been found and added to the Skarloey Railway's roster, and summer had wound its way back to Skarloey Valley. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, and the sun peeked through golden-edged clouds. Flowers swayed gently in the calm breeze, and tourists walked about in comfortable clothes, smiles coming easily to their faces. Overall, it promised to be a delightful day at work for all of the engines... at least, for all but one.

Skarloey woke up feeling absolutely dreadful, and the discomfort only compounded the moment the old engine's driver, Graham, a fresh-faced young man of about 28 years old, started trying to light him up. His tubes felt tight and his frames ached, causing small, pained grunts to escape his lips as he shifted in place. As the other engines were steamed up, they spared him sympathetic glances, but could do nothing to ease his pain and were soon sent out by their respective crews. By the time the shed's clock read 10:00, only Duke, Rheneas, and the sick Skarloey were left in the shed.

The silence was broken by the sound of Graham sighing as he finished inspecting his poor engine. "Alright, Skarloey," he murmured, resting his hand on his tank, "I'll get Mr. Hugh to look you over properly. You won't be pulling any trains today."

The driver's gaze flicked over toward the other engines. "Do you think that one of you could take Skarloey's trains? I apologize, but..."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Duke reassured him. "I can--"

"I'll take his trains," Rheneas blurted out. The sudden outburst quieted the shed, Rheneas's concerned expression contrasting with the various looks of surprise aimed his way from Graham and Duke.

Skarloey's face, however, was set in a pained solemnity that had nothing to do with his illness. "Rheneas, don't." the No. 1 began, his voice tight, an edge of pleading whetting his words.

"He's right, Rheneas," Duke added kindly. "You just got out of the Works yesterday. I have only one train on my schedule today; I promise you that I am more than capable of taking Skarloey's as well."

"Exactly," Skarloey agreed, shooting Duke a grateful look before his sharp gaze returned to Rheneas. "It's your rest day, and you should...urgh!"

Skarloey's admonition was sharply cut off as another grunt of pain escaped him, and his brother's worried expression hardened into one of determination. "I will take your trains, Skarloey. Don't worry about me."

"I will always worry about you," the old engine retorted, and the seriousness in his tone caused any outgoing comments to wither and die on Rheneas's tongue. Still, despite Skarloey's pensive expression, he didn't object to Rheneas's plea any further, and Duke found himself at a loss for words in the face of the force of Rheneas's demand. Soon enough, the No. 2 was getting steamed up, and his driver Rodger was steering him gingerly out of the shed, looking for Skarloey's train.

Graham turned his gaze back to Skarloey, his pensive expression a reflection of just how unusually serious this entire situation felt. "Right... well, let me go report in to the Thin Controller and the Foreman, alright? They'll be here soon to take a look at you."

"Alright, thank you."

With another light pat to his boiler, Graham headed off to the main office. It was only Skarloey and Duke in the shed now, and although the space between them was slight, the gap felt insurmountable. Finally, Skarloey began to speak.

"I'm sorry, Duke. It's not that anyone here doubts your abilities, I promise. It's...well..."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Skarloey," the other steam engine hastened to reply. He tried to keep his tone magnanimous, making every effort to not direct his frustration and confusion at Skarloey, but by the way the other engine's frown deepened, he could see that he hadn't particularly succeeded.

"But I do," the older engine murmured. "You deserve an explanation. All of you do. I just...gah."

Duke sighed quietly as Skarloey flinched, words failing the crimson engine as shivers wracked his frames. "I would be more than willing to hear you out later, Skarloey. For now, however, you must rest. Any explanation that you wish to give on the subject of Rheneas's behavior can wait until you feel less miserable."

~~~

Later in the day, Skarloey was fast asleep, having been given a cursory examination by Mr. Hugh. The foreman had wanted to move Skarloey into the Works immediately, but he had been called away from the station in order to handle an urgent family matter. As such, Skarloey had urged him to take care of whatever else needed handling, and that he would be perfectly fine with waiting. As the older engine slept, Duke was finally steamed up, readying himself for his scheduled train--set to run soon after lunch--as a comfortable heat settled in his smokebox.

A familiar whistle caught his attention, and he looked around to see the smiling face of Peter Sam.

"Hullo, granpuff!" the little green engine called as he pulled into the yard. With a quick pat, Rufus, his driver, alighted from the cab, likely off to take lunch alongside Richard, Duke's own driver. "How are things?"

"Well enough, Peter Sam," Duke replied with a smile, unable to keep a dour mood around his more chipper granchuff. "I'll be leaving to take my train soon."

"Oh, wonderful!" Peter Sam chirped. "It's a lovely day for it, although with the way poor Rheneas has been bustling around, he'd put a big-yard shunter to shame. He seems overworked, if you ask me, especially since it was supposed to be his rest day."

Duke paused for a moment as his smile drooped, trying to order his next train of words carefully. "About that... this morning, I offered to take Skarloey's trains, seeing as he is clearly unwell. But Rheneas was... rather insistent that he take on the job himself. I wish I knew why."

"Oh..." Duke didn't miss the sudden downward shift in Peter Sam's expression. "Right, I should have guessed. This sort of thing has happened before. But it's nothing to do with you, granpuff!" he hastened to add, trying to dispel any doubt. "It's nothing to do with any of us, actually. From the bits and pieces that Skarloey's told me..."

Here, Peter Sam hesitated a moment, his expression turning a morose shade of thoughtful. "It's something to do with the war, I think. Or maybe the aftermath."

The green engine's voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes darted around furtively, even though nobody else was around. "You see, granpuff, when Sir Handel and I were first brought on, Skarloey could barely move. They sent Rheneas away to be mended the week we arrived, and he looked so worried about Skarloey, even though the Thin Controller and Mr. Hugh promised him it would be fine."

Once again, the No. 4 hesitated, and with all the contrition of a confidant admitting a secret not theirs to tell, soldiered on. "When I asked Skarloey, he said that he'd been heavily damaged during the war, and that Rheneas had been doing all the work himself for years. We think---"

"I think that it's time for us to get going, Peter Sam," Rufus interrupted, although not unkindly. Peter Sam looked rather abashed, the two of them having been so absorbed in conversation that he hadn't noticed his approaching driver.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rufus! Alright, I'm ready. We can talk later, granpuff."

"Of course, of course!" the old engine smiled, whistling in farewell as Peter Sam hurried along to collect his next train. He still had a good while before his own was set to depart, so--

"Did you two enjoy catching up?"

The wry, raspy voice caught Duke off guard, and his gaze whipped over to see Skarloey staring at him, his expression unreadable. Duke quietly gulped, finding the weight of the other engine's gaze to be rather unsettling. It wasn't mean, like that of the Mid-Sodor's horrendous management. Rather, it was judging, but not judgemental. Whatever Duke said next, he would have to take great care.

"We did, yes. How long were you...?"

He trailed off, but the crimson-colored engine seemed unbothered. "I was awake for most of it. It's very difficult to sleep when Peter Sam is in a good mood."

Duke couldn't think of a reply, so he simply hummed in agreement. After a long moment, Skarloey took it upon himself to fill the silence.

"Duke, may I... make a personal request of you?"

The gravitas in his tone, so unusual for what he'd seen of Skarloey thus far, caught Duke off guard despite the fact that this had been a rather strange day already. "Y-yes, of course. What can I help you with, Skarloey?"

"I would like you to speak with Rheneas. About his behavior, about his worries--mmhm!--about everything that he can't bear to speak of directly to me."

Shock flooded Duke's frames, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out "Me? Are you quite certain?"

Some of that shock must have shown on his face, because Skarloey graced him with a wry grin, even as a harsh cough shook through him moments later. "I am. It must be you, Duke. Nobody else here could understand what we went through besides you. Nobody else here... has seen two of the most terrible wars in this planet's history with their own eyes and lived to tell the tale."

The comment caused all of the air in Duke's tubes to woosh through him a half-step quicker, and he almost choked on his own breath. "I... I suppose that's one way to put it..."

Heedless of Duke's distress, or perhaps in spite of it, Skarloey elaborated. "During the second world war, Rheneas and I were the only two engines on this railway actually owned by the Skarloey. However, many Ministry of Defense engines were sent here to help mine and carry slate for various rebuilding efforts. The visitors were... mmmm... rather disinclined to worry about keeping our railway in decent shape, and more focused on the unending river of slate traveling from here to Kirk Ronan. We were constantly pushed around, nuisances in our own home."

Skarloey closed his eyes and took a deep breath, images flashing across his memory as though he were watching a movie. After a long pause, his eyelids fluttered open again as he continued his story.

"Rheneas often tried to stand up for us, but I didn't bother. It wouldn't have gotten us anywhere to argue. Instead, I focused on keeping our spirits up and doing as much work as I possibly could. After all, the more we did, the less damage others could cause to the railway. Also, because I was the only one of the two of us who could use the haulage wagon, I ended up taking trains of slate to Kirk Ronan when nobody else could. Unluckily for me, that tended to happen more often than I or the Thin Controller would have liked."

"Thankfully, the war ended, and the visitors began to depart. All of that work, however, left me severely damaged. Were this any other railway, they may have seriously considered scrapping me. However, this railway takes care of its own, and they actually built me this little side-shed in which I could rest and watch the rest of the world go by."

A weary note had entered Skarloey's voice, one that Duke, while not having had such an experience himself, could sympathize with.

"Rheneas... Rheneas has always felt guilty, I think. Guilty that I tended to get more work even before the war, guilty that he hadn't been able to help with some of the shipments to Kirk Ronan, guilty that I had ended up in such a state while he'd been spared. He nearly worked himself to a similar state of disrepair in those years before Sir Handel and Peter Sam came to our railway, and although I couldn't alleviate any of his physical burdens, I did my best to encourage him. Perhaps that only made him feel worse, though..."

The older engine's expression had morphed into a grimace, and Duke was suddenly hit by how worn Skarloey looked in this moment, his pain much greater than a physical malady could ever cause.

"And now, I've been mended and I feel better than ever--most days, anyway. But whenever I'm ill, Rheneas feels the need to pick up the slack, no matter the consequences to himself. When he looks at me, he sees the ghost of that terrible time. It's like he can't see the present for the past."

Skarloey licked his lips, clearly agitated, and Duke worried that he'd soon have another coughing fit. However, the crimson-clad engine simply pressed on.

"He doesn't want to worry me, so he won't talk to me. Not about this sort of thing, anyway. He's always been strong, and his work ethic saved our railway, but..."

Skarloey trailed off with a sigh, his frustration seeping out of him, but Duke understood. No more needed to be said.

"He needs a peer, is what you're saying. You're too close to the issue; he needs someone neutral that he can bare his heart to that isn't you. And it can't be any of the young'uns; they wouldn't understand."

"Yes! Exactly," Skarloey exclaimed, looking at Duke with wide eyes. "I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but like I said... I think you're the only one who can get him to open up at this point. I've tried, but--"

"Skarloey, Duke!"

An urgent shout drew both engines' attention, and their gazes quickly settled on the haggard-looking Richard, who was approaching Duke with urgent steps.

"Duke, Sir Handel will take your next train. Right now, we need to go rescue someone."

Skarloey and Duke looked at each other in alarm before their anxious eyes turned back to Duke's driver.

"Who is it?" Duke murmered, having a foreboding feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Rheneas," Richard replied solemnly. "He's completely come off the rails."