#He was here before light before Day and everything that came after

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part seven)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve's visitors in the 1950s force him to accept the truth. The new Captain America drives a wedge in the reader's relationship with Bucky.

themes/warnings : pining, angst, Loki and Mobius featured

word count : 2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

The 1950s, seven months after Steve's arrival

You're not supposed to be here.

The sound of an old radio drifts lazily through the air, some crooner from a time long forgotten. Loki lingers behind Mobius in the living room, adjusting his coat with a smirk that practically drips with condescension. He's enjoying the storm of emotion on Steve's face.

"What do you mean?" The former Captain America asks.

Mobius and Loki exchange glances before Mobius steps forward, pulling out a small, metallic device that flickers with a strange light.

Mobius gets right into his explanation, gesturing to the TemPad, its holographic images flashing in front of Steve: timelines splitting, branches forming, collapsing under the careful pruning of the TVA.

Steve simply watches as the enormity of it sinks in. His world is crumbling around him yet again.

"What do you think you're doing here, Captain?" Loki drawls, his eyes glinting with an odd mix of amusement and sympathy. "Living the quiet life, are we? Playing house in the 1950s?"

Mobius sighs, ignoring Loki's taunts. "You know why we’re here, Steve. We came to bring you back. You weren’t meant to stay."

Steve’s eyes flicker with a brief flash of something – regret? Guilt? Or was that hope? He turns slightly, casting a glance at the quaint home he stands in, and then back at Mobius. "I made my decision."

"Yeah, you did," Loki interrupts, crossing his arms as he sizes up the man in front of him. "And look where that’s gotten you. Hiding out in a time that doesn’t belong to you."

Steve’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening. He can feel the accusation hanging in the air, too familiar, too true. But he keeps his voice steady, his shoulders stiff. "I came back to claim what I deserve."

Mobius steps closer, his voice softer now. "While I understand that, Steve... Right now, you’re living in the past – a time which was never meant to be your present."

Steve says nothing. The truth is a splinter lodged in his chest, one that’s been festering since he first stepped into this world that wasn’t his. Because it wasn’t really about Peggy anymore. It was about you.

You. The one he left behind, the one he’s thought about every single day since he made that fateful choice. He had convinced himself he was doing the right thing, that he could live in the past and let go of everything. But the truth gnawed at him. He wasn’t living here – he was hiding.

"I had to come back," Steve mutters, almost to himself. "I owed it to Peggy."

Loki lets out a sharp laugh, drawing Steve’s attention. "Oh, please. Owing someone something doesn’t mean trapping yourself in a past that doesn’t need you. Peggy moved on, Steve. She had a life. But you? You abandoned yours."

He abandoned you. He abandoned Bucky.

Mobius sighs again, hands slipping into his pockets as he tries to cut through Loki’s sharp edges. "Steve, we’re not here just because of your choices. You staying here, in this time – it’s creating problems. Serious ones."

Steve frowns, straightening. "You prune timelines. What’s one more divergence?"

Mobius rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Loki before answering. "You're not just some random variant. You're Captain America. The impact of your absence is like pulling a thread from a tightly woven tapestry. Everything starts to unravel. Even the TVA can't stop the consequences of that for long."

Steve’s face hardens. "I'm just living quietly, out of the way. No one knows I'm here."

Loki’s voice cuts in, sharp and cold. "And every day you stay, more branches form. The longer you hide from where you're meant to be, the more damage is done."

Mobius steps forward, his voice steady but urgent. "Steve, we can only prune so much before the entire thing collapses. And trust me, when that happens, we don’t just erase this reality. We erase you."

"I don't believe – "

"We erase her."

Steve’s breath catches, his mind racing. This wasn’t what he thought. Now that harm is directed to you, the situation has drastically changed for him.

"And what if I go back?" Steve’s voice is tight, controlled, but beneath it is a thread of fear, of hope.

Mobius softens, sensing the shift. "If you go back, the timeline stabilizes. The branches collapse. The Steve Rogers your world remembers – the one who fought for the future, not the past – returns. And her…" He pauses, carefully choosing his words. "She's still waiting for you, Steve."

"Is she?" Loki cuts in, his tone mischievous as can be. "Didn't they just – "

Mobius sharply stops him right then and there. "Shut up, Loki."

Steve's heart twists painfully. His choice had been selfish, and he knows that. He'd run from you, from a future he was afraid to face. A life he believed could never offer peace.

"What if it's too late?" His voice breaks, just a little, his heart finally admitting the one thing he’s been too afraid to say.

Mobius smiles gently. "You’ve made tough calls before, Steve. But this isn’t about war, or duty, or sacrifice. This is about you. You deserve to live in your timeline – with the people who need you. She needs you. Go back, Steve. Fix what you can still fix."

Steve stands in silence, torn between the life he thought he wanted and the one that’s still waiting for him. He thought staying here would bring him peace, but all it's brought is doubt, regret, and a gnawing emptiness. He doesn't have his heart here with him.

Steve is about to speak, when Hunter comes bounding in the room, tail wagging wildly as he takes in the intruders. Another thing that Steve will have to leave behind.

But, apparently not.

"The dog can come with you," Mobius offers, shrugging lightly.

"What?" Loki turns to him in amused disbelief.

"Oh c'mon. Hunter is just as much hers, as he is Steve's."

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

For a while, everything had felt right.

Whatever right was in your lives.

Until the TV in your apartment blared the news about John Walker, Captain America 2.0.

Bucky watched it, jaw clenched, as some stranger stood there in Steve's uniform, parading the shield like it had only ever been his.

Bucky saw the flash of pain that crossed your face, which quickly transformed into anger.

He felt it almost immediately. You were pulling back, closing yourself off, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when the ghost of Steve is hovering between the two of you.

Was it still about Steve? Or was it about the future you both thought you had a handle on, until some nobody took everything that Steve represents?

Bucky knows you're hurting. He feels it. He's felt it since the moment Steve left – when you were left behind, and so was he.

And it kills him, seeing you like this, maybe even more than the pain he feels from being left behind.

Steve's shadow is keeping you from fully being here, with him, and it's a fresh kind of hurt.

You shut the TV off and irately toss the remote somewhere in the room.

Bucky clenches his fists and finally speaks, his voice rougher than usual. "We should go see Sam."

"Okay," you respond, your voice calm yet empty.

He's not going to lose you. He can't.

"Doll?"

Your response is a barely audible hum.

Bucky reaches for your hand, his anchor. "We're gonna be okay."

You nod, and offer a weak smile.

It's enough, for now.

When you arrive at Sam's, the tension doesn't ease. Sam takes one look at the two of you, and immediately detects that something is off.

Obviously, there's the matter of Walker. But he sees that there's something different too.

Just what the hell did you and Bucky get yourselves into?

Bucky and Sam exchange a look – one loaded with frustration – before Bucky breaks the silence. "We can't let Walker carry that shield, Sam. Before Steve left, he – "

Sam sighs, shaking his head. "He hinted at wanting to pass the mantle on to you or me – "

Bucky intervenes, "It should be you."

" – but... it's out of our hands, Buck. The government's already made their decision."

The words hit Bucky like a punch. You stay quiet, your mind whirring. You're thinking about Steve again – Bucky can see it.

Something settles in the pit of his stomach. It's nasty and unwelcome, and it makes him want to reach for you and shake Steve out of your thoughts.

He wants to tell you that he's here, and Steve isn't.

He's jealous.

Great, Bucky groans internally, I'm jealous of a damn ghost.

Sam watches the two of you for a moment, sensing the tension. "We'll figure something out. But for now, we have to let this play out. I've got other things on my plate right now."

"What is it?" you finally speak up, concern evident in your tone. "Anything we can do to help?"

"I've been hearing talk about this group. They call themselves the Flag Smashers. I can show you guys the briefing. They're out there right now, and they're not gonna wait for us to get our act together."

"We're coming with you," Bucky says, his voice steady and unflinching.

"Non-negotiable," you confirm, smirking, stepping closer to Bucky as a show of unity.

Sam hesitates, arms crossed as if weighing his options, then his gaze lingers on Bucky's neck. Then slowly – too slowly – he glances at you.

That's when he finally catches on.

The look on his face is almost comical, his eyes widening as he clocks the similar, telltale mark at the crook of your neck.

"Oh, man. Really?"

You feel your cheeks heat instantly as Sam's smirk grows wider.

"What? It's not – " you try to speak, but Sam's having none of it.

"No, no, no. This explains a lot. Like, a lot." He's grinning now, shaking his head like he's finally in on the joke. "I mean, all this weird energy... I thought y'all we're just mad about Walker, but now I get it. Shoulda known. It makes a lot of sense, the two of you."

You glance at Bucky, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but in that room.

"It's not like that," you mutter defensively, even though it's pointless with Sam.

"Sure, sure," Sam says, failing to suppress a chuckle. "You two just happened to get the same exact bruise in the same exact spot. Must have been a hell of a battle, huh?"

Bucky just scowls, though his ears are tinged pink. "So are you going to brief us or what?"

"Nah, man, you're good. So, what's the plan? You gonna take on the Flag Smashers like it's some couples' retreat?"

You sigh. "We're helping. That's it. This conversation is over."

"Okay, okay," Sam raises both hands in surrender, but he doesn't miss the chance to land another jab. "You're in. But maybe leave the hickeys for after the mission, yeah?"

"Shut up, Wilson," Bucky grumbles. Then he mutters under his breath, as Sam walks away to retrieve the files – "No promises."

You shoot him a look that lets him know you heard him, and he meets your gaze coolly. He wanted you to hear.

You feel a bit lighter – it's the effect he has on you.

Even though chaos has set back in your reality, and even though you're not quite sure where things stand between you and Bucky, there's one thing you know for sure – you're going into this together.

Non-negotiable.

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Some notes in the margins...

Stevie boy's coming back! With Hunter!! I guess you can say he'll actually give Bucky something to be jealous about. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Judging by the results of this poll, yous are heavily pro-Bucky. Can't blame ya. But is he endgame?

What do you think will happen when they're all back together in the next part? 🙃

[anniebeemine]

vacation-s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: just family fluff

Spencer thought his hotel days were over when he left the BAU, but the reality was far from it. He hadn’t kept an official count, but at this point, he was certain that he’d spent more nights in hotel rooms than in his own bed during his lifetime. The ache in his body from lumpy mattresses and too-thin pillows had become a familiar companion, one he woke up with once again this morning.

As he blinked his eyes open, he rolled over, his body groaning in protest. The stark white sheets clung to his legs, and he could feel the stiffness from yet another night on a subpar bed. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he padded quietly to the bathroom, the cold tile underfoot another unwelcome reminder that he wasn’t home.

When he stepped back into the room, the sight that greeted him made it all worth it. There lay you—his beautiful, gorgeous wife—still fast asleep. He couldn’t help but smile as he took you in. There was a bit of drool on your lip, and your hair was a tangled mess that he knew you’d curse over in about an hour when you tried to comb it out. A soft snore came from you, the kind that was peaceful and endearing, the type that only someone who truly loved you would find adorable.

Spencer stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you, his heart swelling with a quiet contentment. Even after all these years, seeing you like this—so relaxed, so at peace—filled him with a sense of warmth he couldn’t put into words.

He shifted his gaze to the other bed, where his two children, Daniel and Marissa, lay in a chaotic sprawl. The twins had somehow managed to starfish over each other in their sleep, arms and legs tangled like they couldn’t decide whether to be attached or push each other away. Their small faces were still flushed from the excitement of the night before, remnants of laughter still etched into their expressions.

He had fallen asleep listening to their giggles, their hushed whispers carrying through the room. There was a small wall between the two beds, and to them, it had seemingly acted as a barrier that prevented their parents from hearing their mischievous late-night conversations. Of course, Spencer and you had known exactly what they were up to, but neither of you had the heart to break it up. After a night of swimming in the hotel pool and a sugar rush from vending machine snacks, it felt like a harmless indulgence.

Spencer’s smile softened as he remembered the sound of their laughter. It had filled the room, bright and full of life, the kind of sound that made the ache from his job, his travels, and those lumpy mattresses fade into the background.

He tiptoed back to his bed, careful not to wake anyone. Sliding under the covers, he glanced over at you again, his heart full. Despite the exhaustion, the unfamiliarity of yet another hotel room, and the ache in his muscles, this—being here with you and the kids—was what mattered. It wasn’t the bed that made a home; it was the people in it.

Spencer leaned back against the pillows, watching as the early morning light filtered through the curtains. He knew that in a little while, the room would be filled with the sound of your voice, grumbling as you untangled your hair, and the twins’ excited chatter as they planned whatever adventure they’d get into next.

But for now, in this quiet moment, everything was perfect.

Spencer felt himself slowly drift back to sleep, the warmth of the bed and the sound of your soft snores lulling him into a light doze. His mind relaxed, slipping into the peaceful in-between where everything was calm, where the aches from the hotel mattress disappeared, and it was just him and his family.

But that peace didn’t last long.

He woke to the blaring sound of a children’s show playing on the TV, the shrill theme song snapping him out of his slumber. Daniel, his oldest, stood next to the remote, wide-eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights. As soon as he caught Spencer’s bleary gaze, he fumbled with the buttons, managing to mutter, “I’m sorry,” as he quickly set it to mute.

From beside him, you stirred, your eyes still closed but your voice carrying a sleepy warning. “He better not have woken up the baby.”

As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of little miss cranky pants, Liza, echoed through the room. She screeched loudly, her tiny arms reaching out from the hotel-provided crib, clearly unhappy with the sudden lack of quiet. Spencer chuckled softly under his breath as Daniel winced, already knowing what was coming.

Daniel made a valiant attempt to help, reaching into the crib to lift his baby sister, but at only seven, he was still learning the ropes. His small arms struggled under the weight, and Liza’s face immediately contorted into one of discomfort—maybe even disgust. She was not pleased with her brother’s lack of finesse.

Marissa, always the problem-solver, quickly jumped in to help. The two of them worked together, lifting their sister from the crib with a series of grunts and awkward tugs until they finally managed to settle her down on the queen bed. The three of them lay there contently, Daniel and Marissa giggling softly as Liza nuzzled against them, her earlier frustration quickly forgotten in the comfort of her siblings’ embrace.

Spencer watched the whole scene unfold, his heart swelling with pride at how naturally the kids cared for one another. Even though he and you were right there, the twins had taken it upon themselves to handle their baby sister, and he loved seeing that bond grow between them.

You muttered something again, your eyes still closed but your voice half-aware now. “I should probably go downstairs and get them some breakfast.”

Spencer leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll go get something. You stay here and rest.”

You hummed in response, grateful for the offer but still half-asleep, while Spencer quietly gathered his keys and slipped on a pair of sneakers. He tiptoed out of the hotel room, the soft click of the door closing behind him signaling the start of his little mission.

The drive to the nearest fast food place was quick, the streets still quiet in the early morning. Spencer placed the order, his mind already back in the hotel room, his heart aching to return to you and the kids. It was funny how much he’d changed—years ago, he would’ve dreaded this sort of thing. The noise, the chaos, the constant movement that came with being a parent. But now, it was his greatest joy.

By the time he returned with the food, the kids would be up and fully awake, you probably wrangling them into some semblance of order while Liza demanded to be held. He couldn’t wait to see their faces light up when he walked through the door, bags of breakfast in hand, ready to start the day.

And as he pulled back into the parking lot, Spencer smiled, knowing that even though his hotel days weren’t quite over yet, as long as he had you and the kids with him, it didn’t really matter.

Spencer returned to the hotel room, the warm aroma of breakfast filling the air as he carefully balanced the bags in his hands. As expected, the kids were already wide awake and bouncing with excitement. Daniel and Marissa were sprawled out on the bed, playfully poking Liza, who was now much calmer, her earlier cries forgotten.

“Daddy’s back!” Marissa squealed as she noticed him, hopping off the bed and rushing over to grab one of the bags from him. Daniel was close behind, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food.

You stirred in bed, finally sitting up with a groggy smile. “Saved the day again, I see,” you teased, stretching your arms above your head.

Spencer grinned and leaned over to press a kiss to your lips before handing you a cup of coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

“Always,” you replied gratefully, taking a sip and sighing contently. The twins were already digging into their breakfast, barely able to contain their excitement for what the day held.

As the family sat together, the room filled with the chatter of their morning routine. Liza babbled in her high chair, her tiny hands reaching for the small bits of breakfast Spencer had cut up for her. Daniel and Marissa were exchanging stories about their dreams from the night before, their voices a flurry of energy.

After breakfast, you all began the process of getting ready for the day. The familiar chaos of wrangling kids into clothes, brushing teeth, and packing bags for the day began. Spencer moved between the beds, folding tiny outfits and zipping up backpacks, while you made sure Liza had everything she needed.

“Are we almost ready?” you called from the bathroom as you pulled a brush through your hair, the inevitable tangles from the night before giving you a bit of trouble.

“Just about!” Spencer replied, glancing over at Daniel and Marissa, who were now fully dressed and pulling their shoes on. “Are you guys excited for today?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Do you think Uncle Derek will play soccer with us?” Daniel asked, his voice bubbling with hope.

“Probably,” Spencer chuckled, knowing full well that Derek would never turn down a game of soccer with the kids. “You guys have been practicing so much, you might even be able to beat him this time.”

Marissa grinned, clearly proud of her skills, and Daniel’s face lit up with determination. The twins were in the thick of their travel soccer season, and weekends like this had become the norm—constantly on the go, shuttling between games, practices, and tournaments. If it wasn’t soccer, it was travel hockey or dance competitions. Every season brought something new, and while it was exhausting at times, Spencer secretly loved every minute of it. Watching his kids pour their hearts into their activities made all the travel and chaos worth it.

Once everyone was dressed and ready, Spencer glanced over at the packed suitcases by the door. He hoisted one onto his shoulder and smiled down at Liza, who had waddled over to him, her tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you ready to go see Uncle Derek?” he asked her softly, scooping her up into his arms.

Liza gurgled in response, a wide grin spreading across her face as she grabbed onto his collar.

“You heard her,” Spencer said with a smile, turning toward the twins. “Let’s get going!”

The room was filled with excited chatter as Daniel and Marissa scrambled to grab their backpacks, eagerly talking about all the things they planned to do with Uncle Derek. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Derek had always been a favorite of the kids, and any chance to visit him was met with sheer joy.

As the family made their way down to the lobby, Spencer carried Liza on one hip, the suitcase in his other hand. You followed close behind with the twins, each of them tugging at your arms as they excitedly discussed their plans for the day. Despite the hectic pace of travel and the constant shuffle between hotel rooms, these moments—these weekends spent as a family, watching their kids grow and bond with the people they loved—made it all worth it.

And as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, Spencer felt that familiar warmth fill his chest. He might still be living out of a suitcase, but with his family by his side, every day was an adventure worth having.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Caffeine fix and beyond - Part 2

A/N: Did I come up with the worst fic title? Lmao. This is for @elixirfromthestars Thank you for hosting the cutest writing challenge.

Sitting at the Coffee shop AU table, with some sweet treats - “I’m only doing it because you’re cute.”, “Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?” & Saying ‘I love you’ for the first time.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: fluff!

Word count: 2.4k

Find Part 1 here.

.

It had been a whole fourteen hours since your first kiss with the most famous Avenger and the smile that decorated your face still refused to leave.

After sharing a few more soft kisses and some delicious pizza, Tony left your apartment with a promise of seeing you at your shop the next morning. One could call it the hyper excitement that came with a new relationship but that night, you baked him his favorite blueberry muffins, picturing his handsome, grinning face as you’d feed them to him.

The next day your staff noticed an extra spring in your step as you entered the shop, nobody mentioned the eagerness with which your eyes would scan the door as someone entered in hopes to see that strikingly good-looking face again. The day went by as usual, busying yourself in work seemed the only way to get through without letting nerves get in the way as the clock ticked.

Day morphed into evening and eventually it was time to wind down and head home.

You had checked your phone only about a hundred times to see if there was any message from Tony, every notification only brought disappointment when it wasn’t from him.

He probably had a good reason for his absence but you felt dejected nonetheless. Shrugging your obsessive thoughts aside, you went home and took an elaborate shower. With no updates from the genius billionaire, you turned off your phone and went straight to sleep.

Your colleagues sensed something was up the next day when you arrived, your mood was snappy and irritated which was rare considering how much you loved coming to work. They did their best to not piss you off and you did your best to not have a meltdown over your silly little heart for hoping so much out of that one moment of connection you shared with Tony Stark.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee mixed with delicious baked goods filled the air as usual, something that always brought a smile to your face. But not today. Today you had busied yourself at work to a point where your legs began to ache, you had a headache for some reason and you hadn’t a peep from Stark.

The next day you arrived earlier than you normally would, you hadn’t slept a minute you were in dire need of some caffeine. You almost rolled your eyes realizing the fact that you were behaving like him now. As the day drew on, you were back in your groove, mingling with your regulars at the coffee shop, chatting with your staff.

Commotion could be heard outside as you came back out after lunch. The source seemed to be a few blocks away from the shop, which was also where Stark tower was located. You could see Tony in his suit hovering above the helipad before a blast resounded, making everyone gasp.

You could see a blue beam of light shoot straight up in the sky, making way to a portal that had opened up. You saw Stark head straight up towards it as sentient beings from outer space streamed down from the portal. He hit a few of them effectively, blasting them into smithereens with repulsors but there were too many incoming.

A collective gasp echoed as these creatures flew closer and began firing before people began scrambling to safety. Cars overturned and chaos ensued, making it seem like everything happened too fast and in slow motion all at once.

All while you felt frozen on a spot, there was something bigger incoming from the portal that had opened up, a monster floating down towards the Earth. There was no time to think as a car exploded just a few feet away from you, blasts coming in from all directions making you head back inside for safety.

While it all seemed unreal, you jumped into action by dragging a few injured individuals towards the kitchen, helping a few others get inside right before the glass facade of your coffee shop blew up, shattering to bits as the aliens or whatever these beings called themselves flew by.

You were sure Tony was right in the middle of it all, you just prayed somehow he would come out uninjured. By the looks of it, it seemed like a losing battle, the destruction, debris everywhere, you couldn’t bring yourself to think how many civilians had lost their lives up till this point, and how many would until someone could put an end to it.

Tony’s POV

As unbelievable as the whole situation was, he knew he had to keep going. New York was under attack, it seemed like a losing battle but he knew if the team gave up, the world would probably be ruled by the likes of Loki and his army. They were running out of resources and they were heavily outnumbered. The Chitauri had an endless supply of these monsters and the Avengers, despite their best efforts, were falling short.

He heard Fury over the comms that a nuclear missile was headed towards the city, ordered by the World Security Council. Thinking fast, he decided to use it to their advantage by guiding it towards the wormhole as a last resort.

He knew it could all be over soon, and that he may not make it out alive, but he had to try. The weapon zoomed in and he flew along with it, grabbing it with the suit before increasing the thrusters to maximum speed.

“Sir, shall I try Miss Potts?” JARVIS chimed through the suit, sounding solemn as he too knew there was no way Tony would make it back.

“Might as well.” he mumbled back, partly paying attention while his mind raced through every possible thought; his thoughts landed on you as the wormhole inched closer and closer. Pepper didn’t pick up, the line went blank after ringing hopelessly and he was about to get JARVIS to call you, in hopes that you had somehow survived this, when the AI glitched and went offline.

He released the nuke and watched it head straight towards the enemy before his suit gave up and his eyes turned heavy and he passed out. It was when the missile exploded that the impact of it threw him back towards Earth, sending him hurtling towards the ground just as the wormhole closed.

When his eyes opened, he was on the ground surrounded by the team, heart hammered in his chest, indicating he had by some miracle made it and the mission was successful.

“Please tell me nobody kissed me.” his thoughts quickly returned to you as he said it, wanting nothing more than your lips on his, to let him know he was indeed alive.

.

It seemed like an eternity later that you crawled out of your hiding space, unscathed minus a few cuts here and there, your heart dropped down to your stomach when you saw the condition outside. Dust and rubble had settled but the silence was deafening. You could no longer see the portal that was opened but you couldn’t be sure if all was over.

As people slowly scrambled out and on their way, you found yourself right outside your shop, looking dazed as you plopped down on the street, unable to comprehend.

There was a shuffle behind you, before Tony Stark appeared right by your side and wordlessly took a seat next to you. It was at that point that you felt tears gather in your eyes and cloud your vision.

He pulled you in a hug, clinging onto you just as much as you were to him, stroking your hair in a gentle manner.

“I was so worried, Tony.” you croaked once the tears subsided, leaning into his touch when he cupped your face.

“I know, Y/N. I’m just glad we still have this, well parts of it, anyway. God knows I can’t do without your coffee.” he joked, chuckling when you hit him in the chest and touched your foreheads together.

All the day’s events were made just a little more believable when Tony’s lips touched yours in a kiss that was more of a promise, a promise that you were the sole reason for his more than frequent visits to your little shop.

…

It took more than a month to finally set up the shop post the repair work. You were grateful you had insurance that covered it all, but Tony being Tony, had taken care of a lot of things, even added a few upgrades after convincing you with persuasive kisses and cuddles.

He wore you down, like you even had a chance with that gorgeous smile and doe eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

This was something he always asked, something you didn’t know you needed to hear after a hard day. That one question had the power to dissipate any residual anger, frustration or unpleasant thoughts from your mind.

It made you wonder how on Earth was this guy known to the world as just a genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist. He was so much more than that.

It was five o’clock when he showed up one evening, making your little heart flutter as he gave you that winning smile.

“There she is!” Tony exclaimed, holding two cups of coffee as you made your way around the counter to meet him.

“Did no one tell you it was a crime to bring your own coffee to a coffee shop, Stark?” you frowned at the cups in his hands, wiping your hands on the apron you wore.

Chuckling, he placed the mugs aside before wrapping his arms around you, placing a loving kiss on your lips. You felt some heat rise to your cheeks as the onlookers stared at the pair of you. It wasn’t uncommon for him to display his affection for you out in public but it was still something you were getting accustomed to.

“Hello, my gorgeous girl.” he murmured, looking fondly at you while you hopelessly blushed.

“Hello, my handsome boy. How was your day?” you smiled, placing your hands on his chest, idly tracing the outline of his arc reactor.

“Just got better.” he winked.

The cafe was relatively empty as you made your way towards a secluded area which housed a cozy booth. Tony had brought you your favourite coffee from a cafe you loved. You liked yours with a hint of mandarin and there was one quaint cafe that made the best brew. You were shocked he remembered it given you must’ve mentioned it once in a random conversation; the man really was full of surprises. He admitted to having asked one of your closest friends who also worked with you at your cafe about your go to coffee, she had been sworn to secrecy to not mention anything to you.

He had also shown genuine interest in setting up a meeting with your brother, something you assumed he would forget eventually. You couldn’t be gladder that he was proving every assumption of yours wrong.

“This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, Tony. Thank you.” you placed your hand over his, giving it a squeeze. You noticed how he weaved your fingers together and held them against his slightly trembling ones, letting you know he may have been underslept and over-caffeinated again.

It seemed to you like your life was turned into a romantic movie, with the perfect guy and rose-tinted situations. It was almost too good to be true, but you allowed yourself to dream on.

Tony stayed back as you closed up, even helped you clean up as best as he could, looking rather adorable in an environment that was foreign to him. But he was there for you.

It was then that you realized how hard you were falling for this man. It was inevitable, like you were meant to be. It felt right. He felt right. You and Tony.

“Earth to Y/N?”

You blinked as Tony waved his hands in front of your face, getting you to snap out of your daze. He pulled out a small bag of berries you hadn’t known he’d stashed away behind a counter, making you shake your head fondly.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Y/L/N?” he gently prodded again, feeding you a sweet strawberry from the bag.

“I–I love you, Tony.”

You blurted before you could stop yourself, your heart immediately leapt out of your chest at your confession, making it hard for your brain to process. Almost like in slow motion, Tony leaned away from the counter and made his way closer to you, standing between your legs with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Arms snaked themselves around your waist before pulling you flush against his chest, his face inching closer to yours as that stupidly handsome smile on his face grew.

“Say it again.” he whispered, nose nudging yours lovingly as his eyes scanned yours for signs of doubt.

“I’m in love with you, Tony Stark.”

You said it again, this time a lot more confident in your head as you matched his grin, locking your arms behind his neck.

“Again.”

“I love you, Anthony Edward Stark.”

“Jeez, not my full name, Y/N!” he made a face, chortling when you hit his chest, yelping when your fingers hit the metal arc reactor instead.

“You’re supposed to say something back, Stark. Not leave a girl hanging. Maybe a hey I love you too back, or a sorry I don’t feel the same way. Something? And ow! That really hurt.”

You were blabbering at this point, you were well aware, your overactive thoughts almost resurfacing until Tony Stark finally opened his mouth to speak up, shushing you with a finger on your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N. Of course I do. I think I have for a long time now. I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. You are the reason I smile so much these days, ask the team, really. They’re probably wondering what pills I’m on. I’m all yours if you’ll have me, my sweet Y/N. And you’re all mine, sunshine.”

Tony really left you speechless once again, smirking down at you before descending those godly lips over yours to prove how much of truth his words held.

[nino-rox]

ADDICTED | BYEON WOO SEOK X MALE READER | M.A

Content Warning : Sexual themes, Top Wooseok and Bottom Male Reader, Angst, Mature, Use of Drugs (Marijuana), Trigger Warning - emotional /mental abuse, college AU.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

I woke up feeling cold and lonely in our bed.

When I opened my eyes and saw the empty side of the bed where Woo Seok was supposed to be sleeping I remembered last night and how he just left.

I turned to the side and stared at the empty space where his face would usually rest. It felt so lonely, I almost wanted to cry. I reached over to his side of the bed and touched his pillow, hugging it to my chest and trying to catch any last lingering scent of him.

The scent of him comforted me as I sat in silence for a while, hugging his pillow close.

After a while I got out of bed, I felt so drained, both mentally and physically.

I had hoped last night was just a dream. That maybe he was still here somewhere.

I walked into the kitchen, hoping he'd be there with breakfast and his charming smile. I hoped he would greet me with his arms wide open and tell me he was sorry and that everything was going to be okay. But there was no one in the kitchen. Just an empty table and a lonely chair.

It made me sad. I thought we were finally getting better. That maybe things were looking up for us. We had been fighting a lot lately and things between us had been really rocky. Last night was the last straw for me. I had decided when he get’s back….if…. He gets back…. I need a break.

We hadn't gone on a proper date in months. It seemed like all he wanted to do was stay home, sit on the couch and drink. I tried talking to him about it but he kept avoiding it. I tried bringing up the topic, but every time we would end up in another fight.

We were fighting over such small things lately, things that never used to be a problem, over a towel on the bed, over lights, food, sex, everything.

I couldn’t take it anymore, it felt like we were falling apart and no matter what I did he wouldn't talk to me, he was shutting me out and I was sick of it.

"Why are you making a big deal out of this? Why don't you go out with your stupid friends!" He yelled.

"Because I want to spend time with you!"

“ I can’t with you right now. I need a fucking break. I am so sick and tired of this! Just go, please! I need some fucking air. I am sick of being in this house, with you, all day long. I need to clear my mind. Please just leave me alone." He said and walked away.

"Wait, Wooseok." I ran after him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around to face me.

"I don't want to be in this house alone right now, if you walk out right now, I WILL hold it against you…I mean it."

He looked at me and for a second I saw a glimpse of the old him. My sweet and kind Woo. He was there. Behind those dark eyes, I saw the same man that I fell in love with. The man that brought me coffee in the morning, and made me laugh so hard, I could barely breathe. Always hung out with me in every class break. The man that always asked how my day was and would bring me a single flower just because. He was there, I knew it.

But as soon as the glimmer came, it disappeared and all that was left was anger and darkness.

"Let go of me."

"NO, Woo Seok, I will NOT let go. Please, talk to me, what's wrong, what is bothering you?"

"You. You are bothering me." He said and snatched his arm from my grasp, walking out and slamming the door behind him.

I was snapped back to reality, realizing that the last words we had exchanged were hateful ones.

I looked down at my hands, the hands that were holding him, and realized I was still clutching his pillow.

I sighed, dropping the pillow to the floor, getting into the bathroom for a shower.

I had to stop thinking about it. It was all in the past, and right now I had a day off from school and no plans...not any more … at least.

I needed to distract myself, I quickly showered, putting on my favorite outfit, the one that I had picked for the date that wasn't going to happen and headed out the door. If he didn’t wanna go to the beach … FINE, I can go.

The sun was setting as I got to the beach, there were a lot of people…and couples… enjoying the weather and the ocean view. It was a beautiful place. The waves crashed onto the shore and the sound was like music to my ears. It calmed me, and made me feel free and happy and since this day is such a bust, I might as well try and enjoy this by getting high.

I walked around a little as the sky grew slightly darker, finding a good spot, laying my towel on the sand, putting my bag and stuff next to me, before lighting up. I was taking in the scenery, the sky was growing darker and the beach was almost empty, most people were leaving, and as the smoke was leaving my lungs, I was already feeling lighter and happier excited about the high to come which would make me forget about all the drama - it was also kinda cold, pretty cold.

As I took another large drag from the joint, I felt the high starting, I was more “aware” of myself and my surroundings, I felt at ease, and it felt like i had let out a breath i dint know i was holding in. Suddenly the stress of the situation began to reduce as my body felt lighter, more fluid and ‘fun’.

I was lost in the sensations of the high, I put on some music, took off my t-shirt and laid down, shut my eyes for a moment, getting comfy in my plush soft blanket.

Suddenly I heard a chuckle, a chuckle full of snark.

"Well, that's certainly a sight, I guess your dates are more fun without me"

I opened my eyes, and was met with his.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I mumbled closing my eyes immediately, not wanting to accept that this was happening.

"Nice way to greet your boyfriend" he replied, and snatched the joint from my hand, taking a long drag.

"You can't just show up here like that, we're supposed to be taking a break, remember? You didn't want me, you made that very clear. I don't have to put up with this, fuck off. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of"

"Aww Ouchie. That hurt." He said tauntingly, and then continued, "you look really good in those shorts, you know"

"Fuck off, Wooseok" I replied, sitting up and reaching for the joint, which he immediately raised above his head, out of reach from my height, as he chuckled.

His playful and casual mood was starting to throw me into a rage, why was he acting like nothing was wrong? After everything he said? Why was he now fucking with your high when you weren’t even dating anymore?

"You can't just leave and come back, whenever the fuck you feel like it."

"Watch me" He replied, taking another drag, and smiling.

"What's gotten into you? Are you drunk or something?"

"No" He laughed and handed the joint back to you - you didn’t accept it from him.

"Why are you acting like nothing's wrong, like you didn't walk out last night? Like you didn't tell me, and I quote "I am sick and tired of you"

"Oh come on, don't be a bitch!"

"Don't call me a bitch, Wooseok."

“You taking a hit or no?? It’s getting wasted over here. "

"Are you actually fucking with me right noe hand w???"

"Okay fine…Don't want it, you don't get it.." He said taking a massive drag and putting out the joint with his foot.

I stood up angrily and yelled, "Are you crazy?! That was a perfectly good joint, you just wasted it!!"

Suddenly Wooseok roughly grabbed my waist pulling me closer as he harshly held my face with one hand keeping my mouth open - he immediately pressed his lips onto mine, shotgunning his last massive drag into your mouth.

One was breathing out pushing the smoke, while the other was taking it all in.

His lips were on mine, his tongue was inside of me. It was intense. I hated that I loved it.

The kiss felt heavy and intoxicating, Wooseok slowly pushing his body’s weight onto you, both getting on our knees, lips still intact.

Wooseok slowly pulled away from me and looked at me, his gaze was hungry.

He was so beautiful, the sunset illuminating his face, and his eyes. I loved his eyes, and his smile, and the way he looked at me.

My eyes were fixed on his as I tried to catch my breath, my mind feeling shocked, angry and very much seduced at the same time.

“Tell me that wasn’t a better hit than the joint,” He whispered into my ear, his breath warm and seductive as he smirked, his gaze locked with mine, not breaking eye contact for a second. I had missed his voice, and the way his lips brushed against my skin as he spoke. I missed the way he was looking at me, and how his touch set my entire body on fire. I missed him.

I tried to say something but the words wouldn't come out.

Loosening his grip on my face he slowly moved his hand down to my hip, gripping it, and slowly pushing his leg between my thighs, as he pushed me onto my back.

He towered over me - "Now, where were we?" He whispered again, his lips grazing mine and his breath hitting my face.

His lips were so close, it was driving me crazy. I didn't know if I should push him away or pull him closer, but what about everything he said? Did I forgive him just like that? Was I really this easy?

He leaned down and kissed me, softly at first, but quickly grew more heated and passionate, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands roaming all over my body, pulling my hips closer, pushing his knee against my crotch.

My brain was screaming at me to push him off, but my body was betraying me, wanting his touch, and craving more - addicted - addicted to him.

He slowly started kissing down my neck, his hands caressing my chest, his thumb brushing against my nipple, making me moan. He smiled and started kissing my neck, sucking hard, biting me, making me whimper and moan.

My head was spinning, it was all too much, and not enough at the same time. At some point I just had a silent stream of tears, running down my cheeks as the emotions hit me.

"I missed this so much" Wooseok whispered, kissing his way down my chest, and biting and licking my nipples.

"So much."

- I didn’t react

"Please, let's go home, okay? Come on."

- No response

"Y/N, come on. Let's go home."

"Look, I'm sorry okay? Can we please go home and talk about this?"

"No, Wooseok, you had your chance, you said it yourself, I bother you, remember? You don't need to pretend like everything is okay."

"Baby, please. Don't be like that. I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did."

"No, baby, please, it’s getting dark can we just talk inside.”

“ baby, I just wanna go home, and talk. It's so cold, and it's getting late."

- I turned around laying on my other side, my back facing him.

He sighed and then got up, packing our things, and putting everything back into my bag.

He walked over, and reached out his hand for me.

"Let's go, it's getting late.”

-I refused his hand and got up on my own, brushing off the sand.

"Come on, let's go" He said again, his voice impatient, as he grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me along.

"Stop it!" I protested, but he was still dragging me.

"LET GO OF ME!"

- I yelled, and pulled my arm away from him.

He turned to look at me, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He yelled.

"You're my problem. You keep hurting me and then acting like nothing's wrong!”

"It's not like you never hurt me!,” he shot back.

"When? When did I ever do that to you?"

"You didn’t even run behind me in the morning when I said we needed a Break, you didn’t even care! You couldn’t care less about fighting for this relationship!."

"OFCOURSE I CARE! Maybe I would've chased you if you didn't leave after yelling at me and telling me to leave you alone!, and as for FIGHTING for the relationship, ALL I HAVE DONE is fight for it! - Chase after you ??? For What ???? You and I NEVER make it fucking work, has anything we’ve had for so long even barely qualify as a relationship?,” I snapped back in rage, only realising what I had just said after his expression fell dark and cold. Before I could Tell him I would never mean that -

"JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Y/N” He shouted at me, his voice was harsh and his eyes were dark and cold, there was no trace of the Wooseok I had just been kissing.

I didn't respond, my heart was beating fast, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"WELL ?" He shouted again, stepping closer to me.

"W-what?"

"What do you want from me, hm? What can I possibly do to fix this? You are always complaining, about something, and nothing I ever do is good enough for you, it's never enough, and you're always mad at me, what the hell do you want from me?!

“ I JUST WANT YOU, OKAY !! I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ATTENTION AND PRESENCE I WANT YOU TO HOLD ME I WANT YOU TO BE THERE! “

I paused for a second and then continued, my voice cracking. - "And you weren't. You aren’t.

It was like I could see the person I love crumble, his expression changed and I saw his eyes start to water.

"Will you give me.." he hesitated for a moment, and then continued, his voice shaking.

"will you give me another chance?, Please."

- The last word came out almost like a whisper.

I didn't say anything. My eyes were filled with tears.

He stepped closer to me, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Please" He whispered.

"Just one more chance. Please."

-I still didn't say anything.

"Please, Baby."

-I nodded.

"Say it, say you'll give me another chance."

-He pleaded, his voice barely audible.

"I will"

-His expression changed.

-His eyes lit up as a smile spread across his face, tears still streaming.

"Thank you" He said, before wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, my face pressed against his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Y/N" He said, his voice shaking.

"it's… okay"

"no it's not. I was such an asshole to you. I'm so sorry"

"It's okay.”

"No, It's not. You don't deserve that. You deserve so much better than me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I've been such an asshole."

"You have"

-He looked up at me, his eyes watery, and his expression full of regret.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry" He repeated.

-He hugged me tightly, his arms wrapped around my waist strongly, almost as if they were desperate to be embraced.

"I'm sorry too"

"you don't have to apologise, none of this was your fault. It was all mine. I fucked up." - “Let me make it up to you at home?” he asked smirking and grinning like an idiot while crying, which was honestly kinda cute.

"Okay, you can try, and the “I’m sorry sex” better be Earth Shattering,” - I added on, pouting…. as our lips collided.

PART 1 COMPLETE {Please Request For PART 2}

Author’s Note: Hey Everyone, This story was based on an anonymous request. This is the first time I’ve written such an argument scene in an informal/ non-academic way, so I really hope you guys like it. Please leave any feedback !!! It is always greatly appreciated. P.S - STORY IS NOT PROOF READ.

[betweenstorms]

Where Silence Blooms

CHAPTER 1/2 of SKIN OF THUNDER

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“There’s a quiet in the space between us, heavy as a storm yet soft as breath, pressing into places we pretend don’t exist.”

The briefing room of Task Force 141 was cold and utilitarian, much like the rest of the base. Stark walls with muted tones, and the hum of military tech filled the air. It wasn’t a place for comfort or ease—just business, like everything in their line of work. The men of 141 were scattered around the room, their presence heavy with the anticipation of their next mission, but also the tension that came with Ghost’s return after a few days of leave.

Ghost, seated at the far end of the table, felt the familiar weight of his mask against his skin. The leave had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles; if anything, it had worsened.

Rest didn’t suit him. It felt unnatural.

Captain Price stood at the head of the table, glancing at the door occasionally, waiting for the last part of the reintegration process. Paperwork. Christ, how he hated bureaucracy, but it was necessary. The rest of the team carried on their usual banter, filling the silence with bits of dry humour. Soap, leaning back in his chair lazily, was half-listening, his Scottish brogue cutting through now and then, while Gaz was focused on his tablet, flipping through mission data.

Suddenly the door creaked open, and the light sound of heels clicking against the floor made Ghost’s hazel eyes flicker toward the entrance. You. Your bright pink shirt clashed against the dull, military backdrop, instantly drawing the eyes of every man in the room.

Bloody hell, Ghost thought, catching sight of you.

You looked young, almost too young to belong in a place like this—like a bloom in the dead of winter, out of place, too fragile for the harshness around you. Your pink shirt and heels felt like whispers of a world far removed from his, impractical for the grit and weight of this life. It irritated him more than it should have, that contrast. It gnawed at him, pulling at something buried deep. A strange mixture of frustration and... something else. He quickly buried it. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, not entirely sure what it was that drew his focus. 

The chatter died down as you offered a polite smile, even though your nerves were evident in the way you clutched the folder to your chest.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greeted, your accent soft but distinct. Your eyes darted around the room before landing on Ghost, who sat quietly at the far end. Your cheeks flushed slightly as you came in, avoiding the direct stares of the men in the room—except Ghost’s. You seemed to hesitate for a second under his hazel eyes before quickly averting your gaze.

“Mornin’, lass,” Soap responded with his usual playful tone, earning a side-eye from Gaz.

Price gave you a curt nod in return. “Thanks for comin’ on such short notice. We just need to finish up some formalities for Ghost here. You’ve got the papers?”

You stepped forward, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the linoleum floor. “Of course, Captain. I’ve got everything ready.”

As you stepped closer, something unexpected tugged at Ghost's attention, slipping through the cracks of his focus. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now, standing beside him, it was impossible to ignore—your scent. Sweet and delicate, like a field of wildflowers blooming in the quiet after a storm. It was pleasant, so much so that he found himself distracted by it. And for a fleeting moment, he let it pull him away, take him somewhere more flowery, as if the air itself had grown softer in your presence.

Ghost, unsettled, clenched his jaw tighter.

He shouldn’t be noticing these things.

He watched you carefully, the way your fingers fidgeted a bit as you opened the folder. You scattered around the documents in front of him with practiced efficiency, though your stiff movements were noticeable under the scrutiny of the team. 

“Here are the forms for your reintegration, Lieutenant Riley.”

Ghost took the forms, his gaze never leaving your face. You were far too polite and far too warm for someone dealing with men like him. He grunted in acknowledgment, the annoyance he felt in your presence still simmering beneath the surface. 

“Cheers,” he muttered, his tone short.

Soap shot Gaz a sideways smirk. “Wee bit bright in here, eh?” he muttered under his breath, nodding toward your pink dress shirt. Gaz snorted, but the two of them kept their comments to a minimum under the watchful eyes of their captain.

Ghost, signing the paperwork with methodical precision, ignored them completely. He wasn’t in the mood for Soap’s teasing.

He focused on the task at hand, though your presence seemed to press at the edges of their attention. You stepped back as if you were trying to blend into the background as he finished the last signature. It was as if you carried the weight of your own presence like a burden, too aware of your own awkwardness, too embarrassed by the simple act of being seen by them. The team was still watching you, though not with the same scrutiny Ghost reserved.

Once he finished, he handed the papers back to you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours for just a moment. You smiled nervously, taking the documents with careful hands.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, your voice softer this time, as if you could sense the tension still clinging to him. “I’ll make sure everything’s processed right away.”

Price cleared his throat, bringing the team’s attention back. “Alright, lads, let’s focus. Ghost, we’ve got a new op lined up, and we’ll need your expertise.”

He nodded, the weight of the mission already pressing you from his mind, like dust swept from the edge of a storm.

As Price began detailing the objectives, you quietly gathered your things, your movements small, deliberate, as if trying to disappear into the fabric of the room. You wanted to be invisible, but Ghost's gaze betrayed him—his eyes flicked toward you once more, drawn to the way you moved. Oh, you didn’t belong here, not in the way the rest of them did, and the contrast unsettled him in a way he couldn’t name. And yet…

As you turned to leave, his voice sliced through the room, deep and jagged, catching in the air before he even realised he had spoken.

“Hey.”

You hesitated, the air around you thickening as you turned back, uncertainty flickering in your eyes like a question left unspoken. The rest of the team, sensing the unusual dynamic, exchanged curious glances but said nothing. Soap’s smirk only widened as he nudged Gaz, who raised an eyebrow in amusement

“Thanks for your help,” Ghost said, the words feeling foreign in his mouth, but he couldn’t let you leave without acknowledging the strange pull he felt.

Your cheeks flushed, but a small, nervous smile was playing on your lips. “You’re welcome, Lieutenant Riley. Good luck with your mission.”

With that, you left the room, your heels clicking softly as the door closed behind you.

Inside the briefing room, Ghost shifted in his seat, trying to refocus on the upcoming mission. But something about you lingered. Your presence, your perfume, the way you had smiled at him like he was just another man. You had looked at him as if he were flesh and blood, as if he weren’t carved from the remnants of something broken. It unsettled him. He had no use for warmth, no place for someone like you in his world. Yet the pull was undeniable, like a thin thread woven into his inked skin, tugging at him, reminding him of you even as Price’s words washed over the room.

For a moment, Ghost wondered why he even cared. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. His world was built from blood and sweat, flesh stitched together by violence, his mind a fortress walled off from anything soft. But somehow, without him realising, you had slipped through the cracks. You were like water seeping into stone, an unwelcome intrusion, wearing down the edges he'd spent years sharpening.

And that made you dangerous.

He’d faced death a hundred times, stared into the barrel of chaos and walked away without flinching. Bullets and blood were the language he understood. Those dangers never unnerved him, never slipped beneath his mask.

But you were something else entirely.

He didn’t even know your name, yet it felt like a blade lodged deep. The absence of it cut at him, sharp and raw.

How could something so simple leave him bleeding in ways he couldn’t understand?

Ghost couldn’t pin it down, couldn’t give a name to the force you carried. You were like the summer rain in the distance, quiet but inevitable, ready to bring him to his knees without raising a hand. He had withstood war and betrayal, the tearing of flesh and the breaking of bones, but the thought of you, a softness that could undo him, felt like something that could truly bring him down. 

“Simon,” Price’s voice snapped him back to the present. “You with us?”

“Yeah,” Ghost muttered, clearing his mind.

He’d deal with the mission first.

You, and whatever the hell you represented, could wait.

“And still, the silence lingers, thick and bruised, asking for more than either of us can give.”

Skin of Thunder Chapters

[eclipsedrgn]

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

5 years later, you are living your best life in california but you didn't realize you were never going to get that happy ending.

TW🔞 mature content, suicide, depression

California had become your sanctuary, a far cry from the shadows of Gotham that had once consumed your life. You had spent the last five years building something new—something simple and pure, far removed from the chaos that had torn you apart. Your daughter, Amara, was your light, and your days were filled with moments that reminded you of just how far you had come. The boys still visited regularly—too often for you to catch your breath at times, but you didn’t mind. You loved them, and seeing them happy and healthy filled the holes that Gotham had left in your heart.

You had even managed to put the past behind you, at least mostly. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Amara the full truth about her father. Instead, you offered her a softened version of Bruce Wayne—the protective, loving, and kind man he had been before everything fell apart. She was too young to carry the burden of the real story, too innocent to understand the pain that had consumed both of you after Jason’s death. And for now, that was enough.

It was a Monday morning like any other. Amara was at school, and you were working your usual shift at the nearby café, smiling at regulars and enjoying the quiet rhythm of life you had built. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling a new customer, and you looked up from behind the counter, ready to greet them with the usual warmth.

But the words died in your throat as soon as your eyes locked onto the familiar, piercing blue ones staring back at you.

Bruce.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. You blinked, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. You hadn’t seen him in five years—not since you left Gotham behind, not since you promised yourself you’d never face him again. But there he was, standing in front of you like a ghost from the past, his face etched with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Sorrow? It didn’t matter. He didn’t belong here. Not in your new life.

“(Y/N),” he mumbled, his voice low and rough, as if the sound of your name caused him pain.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, brought everything flooding back—the years of betrayal, the pain, the abandonment. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, didn’t trust yourself to keep the anger and hurt in check.

Without a word, you turned to your boss, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in. “My ex is here,” you said, your tone trembling. “I need to go.”

Your boss, a kind woman who knew your story—at least parts of it—nodded quickly, her eyes filled with understanding. “Go out the back. Take your time. I’ve got this.”

You gave her a shaky smile, grateful for her kindness, and hurried out the back door, your hands shaking as you fumbled for your phone. The second you were outside, you dialed Jason’s number, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as you waited for him to answer.

“Ma?” Jason’s voice came through, sharp and filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Jason,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder as if Bruce might be following you. “He’s here. Bruce is at the café.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed under his breath. “Fuck. Okay, stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m heading to my car,” you said, your voice still trembling as you started walking quickly across the parking lot. “I don’t want to be here when he—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. A strong hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, coming face to face with Bruce. He stared down at you, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable, and your breath hitched as you tried to yank your wrist free from his grip.

“Let me go,” you hissed, your voice low and full of anger.

But Bruce didn’t release you. He just stood there, staring at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You glared up at him, your anger boiling over. “What, Bruce? Are you here to drag me back to Arkham? Is that what this is about? Because if it is, I’m not going quietly.”

For a moment, Bruce’s expression didn’t change. He just stood there, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful, his eyes locked on yours. You could see the storm brewing behind them, the way his jaw clenched as if he was holding something back.

“I’m not here to take you anywhere,” he finally said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

“Then what do you want?” you snapped, your chest tight with anxiety. “Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

You tried to pull your wrist free again, but he still wouldn’t let go. His gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was something desperate in the way he was holding onto you, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d vanish. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had built a life without him, without Gotham, without the pain that came with it.

“I just want to talk,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, anger bubbling up inside you. “Talk? What could we possibly have to talk about, Bruce? You made your choice years ago. You left me in that hellhole, and I’m not going back. Not to Gotham, and certainly not to you.”

His jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he just looked at you with those same sad eyes, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air like a suffocating fog.

“You need to let me go,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “I have a life here, Bruce. I moved on.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—pain, regret, maybe even fear. But then he spoke again, his voice steady but soft. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” you snapped, frustration mounting.

He hesitated, his grip on your wrist finally loosening. “That you were pregnant.”

Your blood ran cold, your heart stopping in your chest as the words sank in. He knew. He knew. Somehow, despite all your efforts to keep Amara a secret, Bruce had found out. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out how, when, but none of it mattered now. What mattered was keeping Amara safe.

"How did you know?" You whispered, "How did you know about her?!"

"Harley slipped up..."

You yanked your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back quickly as you glared up at him. “You don’t get to know her, Bruce.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened, the sadness in them deepening. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “And you don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time and just claim her. You lost that right when you left me to rot in Arkham.”

Bruce flinched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the ground. “I didn’t know what they were doing to you. If I had—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, your voice cold. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You didn’t care then, and I don’t need you to care now.”

He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with something close to desperation. “I do care.”

You shook your head, backing away from him. “It’s too late, Bruce. I don’t need you, and neither does Amara. We’re fine on our own.”

Before Bruce could respond, you turned and walked quickly toward your car, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel his gaze on your back, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t let him back into your life. Not after everything you had been through. Not after what he had done.

As soon as you reached your car, you climbed inside, locking the doors behind you. Your hands were shaking as you dialed Jason’s number again, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“Ma?” Jason answered immediately, his voice tense. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the car,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He knows, Jason. He knows about Amara.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed softly. “Fuck. Okay, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you glanced in the rearview mirror. Bruce was still standing in the parking lot, his hands in his pockets, watching you from a distance.

“I just want to go home,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again.

The roar of the engine filled your ears as Bruce’s firm grip on you didn’t relent, even as you screamed, fought, and kicked against him. Your mind was racing, panic taking over as you were hoisted into the Batplane like a prisoner. You were desperate, your thoughts only on Amara. She was waiting for you, expecting you to pick her up from school like any normal day. You couldn’t let Bruce drag you back to Gotham, back to the nightmare you had barely escaped from. Not again.

“Bruce, stop!” you shouted, your voice hoarse from screaming. “I need to go back! Amara’s waiting for me!”

Bruce’s face remained as unreadable as ever, though his grip tightened slightly as he sat down in the cockpit. With a calmness that only further infuriated you, he lifted his phone, dialing quickly.

Your heart sank as you heard him speak into the device. “Jason,” Bruce said, his voice rough but composed, “I have her. Bring Amara to the manor.”

“No!” you screamed, struggling harder against his hold. “You can’t take her! You can’t bring her there!”

But Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t even look at you as the Batplane took off, soaring into the skies above California. “It’s the only way,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you.

The cold, metallic walls of the Batplane only deepened your sense of dread. You knew this feeling too well—the feeling of being trapped, of having no control over your own life. You tried to reach for the controls, but Bruce’s hand shot out to stop you, his grip still firm but not painful. His silence cut deeper than any words ever could.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why now, after all this time?"

Bruce remained silent, his blue eyes focused on the horizon ahead. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for doing this to you. But beneath all the anger, there was something else—something that hurt more than anything.

Fear.

You were terrified. Not of Bruce, but of the possibility that this would all unravel. You had built a new life with Amara, and now everything was being torn apart. If Bruce knew about her, what else could he take from you?

Minutes passed like hours as the Batplane crossed the distance between California and Gotham. You had stopped screaming, though your heart was still racing, your mind spinning. And when the Batplane finally landed in the familiar shadows of the Batcave, your stomach twisted with anxiety.

Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt and, without a word, lifted you into his arms again. You didn’t fight this time. The shock and exhaustion had left you numb, your thoughts jumbled as he carried you out of the plane and into the dimly lit expanse of the cave.

The moment you stepped onto the Batcave floor, you heard voices. Familiar voices.

“Mom? Bruce, what the hell are you doing?” Dick’s voice rang out, his footsteps hurried as he rushed over.

Tim followed closely behind, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. “Bruce, stop—what’s going on?”

But before either of them could intervene, Bruce was already moving, carrying you toward the mansion’s inner halls with grim determination. He didn’t respond to his sons, didn’t look back as they trailed behind him, their voices growing more frantic.

“Bruce, stop! Let her go!” Dick shouted, his voice desperate.

Tim’s voice was filled with disbelief. “You can’t do this! What are you thinking?”

Damian, however, stood in the background, his arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. His cold, calculating eyes watched the scene with thinly veiled contempt. “Who is this woman?” he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. “Another one of Father’s… harlots?”

You barely registered Damian’s words as Bruce carried you through the manor and up the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized where he was taking you.

The master bedroom.

Your pulse quickened as Bruce reached the door, his grip still firm but not harsh. Without a word, he opened the door and threw you inside, locking it behind you before you could even react. The heavy door slammed shut with a finality that made your stomach churn.

“No!” you screamed, pounding against the door with all the strength you had left. “Bruce, let me out! I don’t belong here! Let me go!”

But the door didn’t budge. From the other side, you could hear Bruce’s voice, low and full of regret. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way to get you home.”

Home.

You pressed your forehead against the door, tears burning in your eyes as you pounded your fists weakly against the wood. This wasn’t home. It hadn’t been for years. Not since the day Bruce had sent you to Arkham, not since everything had fallen apart.

“Bruce, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please don’t do this.”

But the only response was silence.

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, chaos was unfolding.

Jason had arrived using the Zeta Tube, his expression dark and his steps hurried. And with him was Amara, her small hand wrapped tightly around his as they emerged from the glowing portal. Jason’s face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched as he scanned the cave for Bruce.

“Where is he?” Jason demanded, his voice rough with barely restrained anger.

But before anyone could answer, Amara spotted her older brother. Her face lit up, her bright eyes sparkling as she let go of Jason’s hand and rushed forward. “Dickie!”

Dick smiled through the tension, dropping to one knee to catch her in his arms. But before Amara could reach him, a flash of steel cut through the air, and suddenly, a katana was pointed directly at her throat.

Damian.

The youngest Wayne’s face was set in a deep scowl, his eyes sharp and distrustful as he held his blade steady. “Who is this child?” he asked coldly, his gaze never leaving Amara’s terrified face. “And why is she in the Batcave?”

“Damian, no!” Dick shouted, his voice filled with panic as he rushed forward, his heart stopping as he saw the fear in Amara’s wide eyes. “Put the sword down!”

Jason’s entire body tensed, his eyes flashing with fury as he stepped forward, his hand already reaching for his gun. “You little shit, if you don’t move that sword right now—”

Tim’s voice cracked with urgency. “Damian, stop! She’s just a kid!”

But Damian didn’t move, his grip on the katana unwavering. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Amara, his voice dripping with contempt. “A kid? Father brought this child here, but she’s no family of ours.”

Amara’s lip trembled, her small body frozen in place as she looked up at Damian, tears welling in her eyes. “Jayjay…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.

Jason took another step forward, his hand still hovering over his gun. “Damian,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Put the fucking sword down. Now.”

For a moment, it seemed like Damian might refuse. His eyes flicked from Amara to Jason, his scowl deepening. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly lowered the katana, the blade clinking softly as it hit the stone floor of the Batcave.

Amara let out a shaky breath, her tiny body trembling as she rushed into Dick’s arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Dick held her tightly, his own heart pounding as he shot Damian a furious glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dick snapped, his voice trembling with anger. “She’s your sister!”

Damian scoffed, sheathing his sword with a dismissive wave. “Sister? Father never mentioned any child. She’s just another stranger.”

Jason, who had been seconds away from pulling the trigger, let out a low growl, his body still tense with barely restrained rage. “You touch her again, and I swear—”

Tim quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stop him from escalating things any further. “Jason, don’t. Not here.”

Jason clenched his jaw, his eyes still locked on Damian, but he nodded reluctantly, stepping back as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at Amara, who was still clinging to Dick, her small body shaking with fear.

“We need to get her out of here,” Jason muttered, his voice rough with emotion. “She doesn’t belong in this fucking circus.”

Tim nodded in agreement, his face filled with concern as he glanced toward the stairs leading to the manor. “We need to talk to Bruce. Figure out what the hell he’s thinking.”

Jason glanced at Amara, his heart breaking at the sight of her scared, tear-streaked face. “I’m going to get her out of here,” he said quietly, his voice softening as he knelt down beside her. “Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Amara sniffled, wiping her eyes as she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I want to go home, Jayjay.”

Jason’s heart clenched, and he nodded, scooping her up into his arms as he held her close. “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to take you home.”

But as he turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, and a familiar figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

Bruce.

His eyes swept over the scene in front of him—Dick holding Amara protectively, Jason’s tense, angry stance, and Damian’s cold, calculating expression. For a moment, his face softened, his gaze landing on Amara, but it quickly hardened again as he looked at his sons.

“Amara stays,” Bruce said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jason’s eyes darkened, his grip on Amara tightening as he took a step toward Bruce. “Like hell she does.”

But Bruce didn’t back down. His gaze flickered to Amara, who was clutching Jason’s jacket tightly, her tear-streaked face peeking out from behind her brother’s shoulder.

“She’s my daughter too,” Bruce said quietly, his voice filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his body trembling with rage as he glared at Bruce. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything.”

The tension in the Batcave was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken anger and unresolved grief. Jason’s fury had been building since the moment Bruce dragged you back here—back to the city that had chewed you up and spit you out, leaving you to fend for yourself in Arkham. For years, Jason had kept the truth of what happened to you a secret, only revealing bits and pieces to his brothers when necessary. But now, standing face to face with the man who had abandoned you, with Bruce demanding to be part of Amara’s life, Jason couldn’t hold it in any longer.

The words exploded out of him like bullets from a gun, each one laced with venom. "You don’t get to decide shit about Amara, Bruce. Do you even know what you put her mother through? Do you know what she went through in Arkham?"

Bruce’s face paled at the accusation, his expression shifting from firm resolve to uncertainty. His blue eyes flickered with confusion, as if he couldn’t understand what Jason was getting at. "Jason—"

"Do you know what they did to her in that hellhole you left her in?" Jason spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "They fucking raped her, Bruce. The guards, the inmates—they took turns with her like she was some kind of goddamn toy. You left her there to rot, and they broke her."

Bruce froze, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, too horrific, too painful to fully comprehend. Bruce's entire body stiffened as the weight of Jason’s accusation settled on him like a heavy blanket.

Dick’s face drained of color as he stood holding Amara, his arms tightening around her protectively. His jaw clenched, his heart breaking at the image Jason’s words conjured in his mind. He glanced down at Amara, her innocent face nestled against his chest, oblivious to the horrors being discussed. He needed to get her out of here.

"Tim," Dick called out, his voice trembling with the effort of keeping himself together, "take Amara upstairs. Now."

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly nodded, rushing over to take Amara from Dick’s arms. "Come on, kiddo," Tim whispered, his voice breaking as he gently lifted her into his arms. "Let’s go see Alfred. He’s making cookies."

Amara blinked up at him, her small face full of confusion, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t understand why the grown-ups were acting so strange, why her big brothers seemed so upset. She clung to Tim, her little hands grasping at his shirt as he carried her up the stairs, her bright smile slowly fading as she sensed the tension in the air.

As soon as Tim disappeared with Amara, Dick’s composure shattered. He turned to Bruce, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "Is that true? Is that what happened to her in Arkham?"

Bruce didn’t answer, his throat tightening as he struggled to process what Jason had just revealed. His mind was racing, images of you flashing before his eyes—the way you had looked at him when he locked you in that room, the way you had screamed for him to let you go. He had thought he was doing the right thing, sending you to Arkham to keep you contained, to keep you from spiraling out of control after killing the Joker. But now, hearing what had happened to you, knowing that he had left you to suffer through something so horrific, the weight of his decision crushed him.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Bruce whispered, his voice hollow.

"Why didn’t I tell you?" Jason’s voice cracked with disbelief. "You didn’t care. You didn’t care enough to check on her. You left her there, and now you want to waltz back into her life and play happy family with Amara? Fuck you, Bruce."

Bruce’s fists clenched at his sides, guilt and regret crashing down on him like a tidal wave. But before he could respond, a loud, sharp sound rang through the manor—a gunshot.

The sound reverberated through the halls, echoing in the cavernous space of the Batcave.

Everything stopped.

Dick and Jason’s eyes widened in horror, their bodies freezing for a split second before the weight of what had just happened hit them like a sledgehammer.

"No," Dick breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he turned toward the stairs. "No, no, no."

Jason was already moving, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted toward the stairs, his boots slamming against the cold stone. "Mom!"

Bruce’s face drained of color, his entire body going numb as the realization settled in. His legs moved on their own, following after Jason and Dick, the panic seizing him in a way that left him breathless.

Damian, who had been standing off to the side, scowled as his brothers ran past him. "What now?" he muttered, irritation lining his voice.

But when he caught sight of Bruce’s expression—the way his father’s face had gone pale, the terror in his eyes—Damian’s scowl faltered. He hesitated for a moment before following the others, his confusion growing with each step.

In the kitchen, Alfred had been preparing tea when the gunshot rang out. His hands trembled, the teacup slipping from his grasp and shattering against the floor.

"Dear God…" Alfred whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear the hurried footsteps from the Batcave, the frantic voices of the boys as they raced up the stairs.

Upstairs, in one of the manor’s hallways, Tim had been gently carrying Amara, trying to distract her with stories about Alfred’s famous cookies. But the moment the gunshot echoed through the manor, Tim’s heart dropped into his stomach. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat as Amara looked up at him with wide, confused eyes.

"What was that?" Amara asked, her voice small and scared.

Tim’s eyes welled with tears, his throat tightening as he held her closer. "It’s okay," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see Alfred."

But even as he said the words, the truth hit him like a freight train. He knew, deep down, what that sound meant. And it tore him apart.

Jason reached the door to the master bedroom first, his heart slamming against his ribs as he threw himself against it, his voice breaking with desperation. "Mom! Mom, open the door!"

Dick was right behind him, his eyes wide and frantic as he pounded against the door. "Mom, please! Let us in!"

Bruce arrived next, his face pale and his breathing shallow as he grabbed the handle, trying to open the door. But it wouldn’t budge. The lock held firm, keeping them out—keeping you in.

"Mom!" Jason screamed, his voice hoarse as he slammed his fist against the door, his strength failing him for the first time in years. "Please, don’t do this!"

But there was no response. Only silence.

The gunshot still echoed in his mind, loud and deafening, and Jason’s chest tightened with a fear he hadn’t felt since the day he had lost you the first time. The day he had come back from the dead, only to find that you were gone, locked away in Arkham, lost to him.

And now, it was happening all over again.

Bruce’s hands shook as he fumbled for the key, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the door with a loud click. The door swung open, and Jason was the first to rush inside, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting by the door, slumped against the wall, your hand still holding the gun that had been pressed to your temple just moments ago. Blood pooled around you, staining the floor, and your eyes—those eyes that had once been so full of life—were now closed, your face pale.

Jason let out a guttural scream, the sound tearing from his throat as he fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. "No… No, no, no… Mom…"

Dick followed close behind, his face contorting with grief as he took in the sight of you lying there, lifeless. His heart shattered into a million pieces, and he collapsed to the floor beside Jason, his hands shaking as he tried to reach out, but couldn’t.

"Mom, please…" Dick sobbed, his voice broken. "Please don’t leave us…"

Bruce stood frozen in the doorway, his entire body numb as he stared at the scene in front of him. He had failed you. Again. The weight of it crushed him, the realization that he had pushed you too far—that he had been the cause of your suffering. His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands as the sobs overtook him.

Damian stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as he watched his brothers fall apart. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He had never seen his father like this, had never seen his brothers so broken. And he didn’t understand why this woman—this stranger—had caused them so much pain.

In the kitchen, Tim held Amara tightly, his own sobs muffled as he rocked her gently, trying to keep her from hearing the anguished screams coming from upstairs.

The room was deathly silent save for the heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the walls of Wayne Manor. Jason sat on the floor, cradling your lifeless body in his arms, rocking you gently as if it could somehow bring you back. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest tight with the overwhelming grief that crushed him from every side. Your blood soaked through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He held onto you as if letting go would make the reality of your death even more unbearable.

Dick knelt beside him, his hands trembling as he stroked a lock of your hair, his eyes red and swollen from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since they had found you. His heart shattered as he looked into your eyes—eyes that once held so much love and life—but now were dull and lifeless. The realization hit him like a freight train: they were too late. He had lost you.

Jason’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, as he rocked back and forth, his face buried in your neck. "Mom… please…" he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Please come back… don’t leave us…"

But you were gone. And nothing—no amount of pleading, no amount of tears—could bring you back.

Dick’s sorrow turned to rage, his blood boiling as he turned his gaze toward Bruce, who stood frozen in the doorway. Bruce’s face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath shallow as he stared at your body. The weight of what he had done—what his choices had caused—was crushing him, but it was too late. He had failed you in the most unforgivable way.

"This is your fault," Dick growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stood slowly, his hands clenched into fists as he glared at Bruce, his eyes filled with fury. "You did this."

Bruce didn’t respond, his throat tightening as the words cut through him like a knife. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t argue. Deep down, he knew Dick was right. He had put you in Arkham, had abandoned you to that nightmare, and now… now you were gone because of him.

"You left her," Dick continued, his voice shaking with anger. "You left her in Arkham to suffer, and now she’s dead. Our mom is dead because of you."

Jason’s body shook with silent sobs, his grip on your body tightening as Dick’s words echoed in the room. "We lost her," Jason whispered, his voice barely audible. "We lost her…"

Bruce’s heart shattered as he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on your lifeless form. "I… I didn’t know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn’t know what they were doing to her…"

Dick’s eyes blazed with fury as he stepped forward, his finger jabbing toward Bruce’s chest. "You should have known! You should have been there! But you weren’t! You weren’t there when she needed you, and now she’s gone."

Bruce recoiled at the accusation, guilt and regret tearing at him from the inside. His legs felt weak, his breath shallow, as he took a step back, his entire world crumbling around him. He had failed you in the worst possible way, and now, there was no way to make it right.

Dick wiped the tears from his face, his voice trembling with emotion as he spoke again. "Amara will be under my care from now on. Kori and I will raise her. We’ll give her the life Mom wanted for her—a normal life. Away from all of this."

Jason’s breath hitched, his sobs subsiding slightly as he slowly stood, still holding your body in his arms. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with an emotion that Bruce couldn’t quite place—grief, yes, but something deeper, something darker. Jason met Dick’s gaze and gave a small, shaky nod, as if silently agreeing to Dick’s decision.

Dick turned to Bruce one last time, his voice full of venom. "You don’t get to have her, Bruce. You don’t get to be her father. You lost that right the day you left Mom to rot."

Without another word, Dick turned and walked toward the door, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened. Jason followed closely behind, carrying you gently in his arms, his face pale and drawn with grief.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the tension was palpable. Tim sat on the floor, his back against the wall, holding Amara tightly in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to her, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. He had tried to keep her distracted, tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but the gunshot had shattered that illusion. He knew what had happened. He knew you were gone.

Amara squirmed in his lap, her innocent voice cutting through the silence. "Timmy… what was that sound?"

Tim’s throat tightened, the lump in his chest making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, couldn’t bring himself to tell her that her mother was gone. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he whispered, "It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay."

But even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie.

Damian entered the kitchen, his face as cold and emotionless as ever. He glanced at Tim, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a sigh. "She’s dead."

Tim’s heart clenched, and he let out a choked sob, his arms tightening around Amara as if holding her close could somehow protect her from the truth. "Don’t say that," Tim snapped, his voice breaking. "Don’t say that in front of her."

But Amara had already heard. She had heard Damian’s words, and though she didn’t fully understand them, she could sense the weight of the news. Her tiny hands gripped Tim’s shirt tightly, her small voice trembling as she whispered, "Where’s Mommy?"

Tim’s chest tightened, his sobs muffled as he buried his face in Amara’s hair, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.

Damian, for once, remained silent. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a deep frown. He hadn’t understood what his brothers were so worked up about—why they cared so much about this woman. But seeing the way Tim clung to Amara, the way his brothers had fallen apart upstairs, a small part of Damian—one he would never admit out loud—felt… something. Something he couldn’t quite place.

But he didn’t know how to respond. So, he said nothing.

Back in the master bedroom, Bruce stood alone. The sound of the door closing behind Jason and Dick echoed in his mind, but he didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the spot where you had been, where Jason had cradled your body, where Dick had delivered his damning words.

His knees buckled, and Bruce fell to the floor, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. The weight of his choices, the consequences of his actions, crushed him.

He had lost you. And in doing so, he had lost everything.

The silence of the room was suffocating, the only sound the faint echo of his own ragged breathing. The world seemed to close in on him, the guilt, the grief, the overwhelming sense of failure consuming him whole.

He had failed you.

He had failed his family.

And now, there was no way to make it right.

[based-and-uncouth]

Uh...first ii fanfic lol. But i just had to write this, so...here.

Where Do We Go?

Where does one go when they die? What occurs in the liminal space between life and death, when one can do nothing but wait to be revived?

Taco finds out the hard way.

Seeing Taco shatter right before their very eyes was not something the last four contestants thought would be happening on this particular day. They could see the dents in her face, scrutinized every stifled wince as she moved, but they never realized the extent of her pain. They couldn’t have- or perhaps, didn’t want to.

MePad stared down at her bow tie, watching as the contestants jumped off of their platforms. His eyes narrowed as he turned towards MePhone, who was deliberately ignoring his gaze.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He asked sharply. “Or perhaps, someone?”

The gazes he drew weren’t happy in the slightest, and perhaps a bit annoyed at his reminder of the antagonistic object. But he kept his gaze stern as he stared down at MePhone.

“You…are bringing her back, right, MePhone?” Knife asked, a bit worriedly.

Silent, MePhone crossed his arms in contemplation. The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation.

MePhone stared, then shrugged. “Well? What do you all think?”

MePad felt a glitch of shock shudder through him at the contestants’ nonchalance. Taco was gone, and yet…

“You hold her life in your hands, MePhone.” MePad loomed over him threateningly, stepping towards him. MePhone froze. As did the others. MePad took another step.

“Bring her back, now.”

-

Nothingness. Complete and utter nothingness. A void, endlessly swallowing itself. Oroboros personified. Spinning, spinning, an infinite drop from a cliff high in the air.

And Taco was at the center of it all. Powerless, she fell.

She cried out, and yet her voice was stolen from her. She turned and flailed, arms reaching for something solid, something concrete, something real. Something to tether her to the realm she existed in, because surely she was tangible. Taco was real; she was real, she was deeply flawed, she was a manipulative, horrible individual. But, if nothing else, she had hands and arms and she existed.

…Right?

Gained…nothing…

-just…using you-

Apart of…a plan…

As soon as the voices came, they went. Snuffed out like the light of a candle. With it came resounding pain, thudding inside her right eye. Something cracked and another snapped, and she was suddenly shattering all over again. Bright, searing heat burning her from the inside out-

Only to go cold again. Resetting.

And she was still floating. Floating in nothingness, staring up at nothing. Perhaps this was not nothing, and it was something. Perhaps she had gone blind? Had gone deaf? But at least she had not yet lost the ability to feel. Yes, yes, there was no reason to fear, because if anything, she had her hands, and she could count her fingers up to ten, and-

Taco pressed her hands together. Or, she thought she did. But she felt nothing. No pressure against her digits, just her hands flailing in the nothingness. She tried to feel herself, but there was nothing there. Nothing.

She was nothing.

Gained…nothing…

-just…using you-

Apart of…a plan…

Is this…what…you…said to ?

To who? To who? Who did she say it to? Who did she wrong? Who was it, who was it? Why couldn't she remember?

Is this really what you want?

What did she want? What did she not want? What, what, WHAT?! What did she do, where did she go wrong, why was her memory so-?!

Do you know…who I am?

…

Who…was…she?

~

The fall ended abruptly. The plummet uncerermoniously dropped Taco onto soft grass, hard dirt, and her own limbs. Pain shivered up her arms and legs, but it was nothing compared to whatever she had just been in.

The void. The endless, nothingness void. The falling, the-

She was heaving in breath after breath. Her arms came around herself, checking, solidifying everything, making sure that she was still here. That she was here, and she existed, and…and…

Hands, she had her hands. Her feet, and her body. And she had air, flowing in and out of her mouth. She had the ground beneath her, and the voices around her. The sun was shining in the sky, and it was blazingly warm compared to the cold of that…that…

“I…” Her mouth felt dry. A tear dripped onto her hand. Warm. Real. “I thought…”

It was silent. She felt eyes drilling into her. Maybe they were concerned. Maybe Taco just wanted them to be concerned. Maybe they believed she would be better off gone.

Someone was speaking, but she couldn't hear their words.

She did feel a pressence at her side, reassuring her. Cool glass pressed into her back, and a fuzzy feeling overtook her body as they teleported away.

One question lingered in her mind: What happened?

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 26: Werewolf

Night and darkness, space and the celestial bodies within were the subject of many stories and fairytales, of questions and fears. But the thing that had been forgotten by almost all but a select few, as small as the group of believers was, that Night was a God. Older than even Day, than humanity itself. Night’s worship had slowly faded until it was a shade of its former self, scant and scattered but they had done their best to keep as thorough records as they could.

One such record, a tome in your hands from a lucky auction grab, contained not just everything needed to understand or worship Night but also what happened to the God during different phases of the moon. He wasn’t a werewolf or anything of that nature but it affected him just the same as it pulled and pushed the tide on earth. He would gain strength and power as the moon grew in size, and it would fade as it shrank with some rumored pain like what those with chronic fatigue experienced, though that didn’t mean he was helpless either.

And during different lunar events Night would gain even more power. Though multiple of them were marked as too dangerous to be around him in, such as a New Moon or Blood Moon.

You stroked the tome’s cover, a deep spacial purple black with dots of blue and silver for stars and a lunar calendar along the top with Night’s symbol in the center, reverently. Your heart pounded in your chest a bit as you took a slow deep breath to try to keep calm. You were alone in the house for now, no one knew that you had the tome.

You had to keep this safe, only bring it out when no one could catch you with it, especially your parents. This book, no Night, could be your only chance out of this farce of a wedding they had planned for you, you just had time things right over the next few months and your opening would be revealed to you…

The sound of brush being roughly pulled aside was accompanied by the muttering that left Richard’s lips as he stomped through the forest. Really, what on earth had you been thinking running off like this?! On the eve of the wedding no less! Though he supposed wedding jitters had gotten the best of them, he was a bit nervous too but he wasn’t the one who had vanished in the middle of the night now was he?

You had been brought up better than this, he hoped the fright that being in such a dark atmosphere had been worth making him wake up to find you. Though he hoped you were unharmed, a pretty little thing like you didn’t need any visible damages and it wouldn’t do well for the guests to see you with him like that.

Richard called your name and after a few moments was about to call again, when he heard….singing? It sounded like a man’s voice. Deeper than his own, in the tone someone would use for a lullaby, though he couldn’t make out words. But still, it might be a hint as to where you went, someone took you instead of you running. If you had been so foolish as to try to run to someone else, he might make you stay out here a bit longer in recompense for his wounded pride and honor.

The sound led him into a clearing which was lit with the light of the moon above like a scene out of a fairytale, where Richard’s vision went red for a few moments at what he saw as angry possessiveness reared its ugly head. You were in another man’s arms, in your wedding gown but…it had been altered from the old fashioned, lovely piece your mother had given you as the ‘something old’ and of course it had been passed down on your mothers side of the family.

It was now more silver than white, the lace looked like it glittered like stars, shimmering in different colors like a prism with the soft movements you made in the gentle swaying you two were doing, the train looked like it had been fashioned out of the night sky as it was black instead of white like a mourning veil was, it rested on your head with a line of star shaped opals like a crown in your hair that fell around your shoulders and back, there was a pendant around your neck of a moonstone crafted into a lunar calendar, the full moon seemed to be almost glowing on it. You looked….so content…so happy in the strangers arms as you rested your head against his chest, like you’d known him for a long time, trusted him, there was even a blush to your cheeks that Richard hadn’t ever seen with him and it stoked his anger higher.

The stranger was as if someone had taken the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and crafted him specifically for it. He was dressed like a true noble in black lace up boots, dress pants, a black overcoat with onyx and silver buttons, moonstone and sapphire cufflinks, a purple to blue gradient vest styled like the cosmos above, his cravat was a black to red to purple, the broach atop the center at his throat held a spiral shaped seal in red wax, the earrings in his ears were obsidian. He had broad shoulders, thick black hair tousled just so as it fell into a ponytail, tanned skin, well groomed beard, dark eyes that looked down at you with such fondness and adoration that made Richard clench his teeth. The stranger was bigger than you, and twice as muscled as he was, it wouldn’t do to startle him and make him hurt you.

But when he looked at where your hands were joined, the stranger with full black leather and you with the modest silvery lace and fingers intertwined intimate and loving, was truly the straw that broke the camels back as the phrase went.

You both had wedding bands on your fingers, the gold ring Richard had given you on his proposal nowhere in sight. Instead you wore a silver ring with a moonstone held in the center, inlaid in a line down the ring were what to him appeared to be crushed gemstones to form a galaxy like effect. The stranger’s ring was black with the same galaxy like effect in the center with an amethyst or onyx star in the center.

If Richard hadn’t been so utterly incensed at this betrayal in front of him-how could you do this to your parents, to him?!? After what he’d been promised with you, a demure, obedient wife who would give him children and tend to his needs, and what your parents would’ve gotten in turn for marrying into a family as upstanding as his was. Did you have no respect for yourself?!?- he would’ve noticed that the stones in the rings were glowing, the galaxies shifting different colors. Or the way the stranger’s eyes suddenly flashed and reflected the full moon above and how a dark, cruel smirk flashed on his face.

At the soft, sweet confused sound from you at the change in expression Night chuckled and kissed your forehead, warm cheeks and then your lips sweet and tender, for a few moments relished in the contact of his new consort, he whispered in a tone just for your ears alone. “We seem to have an uninvited guest my star. Don’t fret your darling head about this now, it’s alright. I’ll take care of him and then I’ll take you home to properly make you mine. Just sleep for me right now, you don’t need to see such a ghastly sight… especially on a night as beautiful as this one.”

You momentarily had a look of fear on your face, but it faded at his reassurance and you smiled, giggled gently with a maidenly blush and then closed your eyes and slipped into sleep as your deity, your husband asked. Night gently laid you down in the soft grass that shined blue in the moonlight and then stepped in front of you, all pleasantry vanished in the face of the mortal you’d been promised to without any say so in your own wishes.

“You look the essence of aristocracy to your kind but in truth you are a bastard of a man Richard Ferguson. I suppose I should thank you for that though, otherwise my moonlight may have not found me as they did. Oh don’t you dare try to deny what you are you worm, you aren’t worth the dirt on my boots let alone the air my new spouse breathes.”

Night strolled closer and his coat billowed behind him, his eyes began to glow blue as he spat out in a furious rage, not giving the human a chance to speak or even try to make a sound. Even if he’d enchanted your sleep, Night wanted you to only remember his voice no one else’s, at least that wasn’t worthy of you. Your former fiancé was not in any way worthy of that honor.

“You had every plan to break them down, to abuse them and frighten them, break their spirit into what you thought was ‘proper and right’ for a wife until they were a mere shell of what they once were that jumped at every shadow and was so afraid of you and your drunken rage that they’d never disobey you on anything. You would’ve taken out the brightest light humanity had seen in decades and not cared one bit for the pieces crushed to dust to do it. Humans like you sicken me, greedy in your claim of everything you touch like it holds no other purpose or value but to be yours, pride oozing out of every pore like the world should bow to you and worship you, inflicting wrath on those that work for you until they break and you toss them aside, forcing your lusts on those that can’t say no because of your position, turning a blind eye to the poor and abandoned as if you didn’t cause their fates with your gluttonous attitude, slothing around in luxury while the innocent scrape to even feed themselves and envious of each other to the point you stab your ‘friends’ in the back the quickest chance you get to take more than what you deserve.”

Night’s power pulsed around him, shadows writhed and darkened, the air grew colder until dew frosted over around the clearing except for where you rested, his mark burned out of the glamor he’d put on the spiral like the harsh glow of a red supergiant against his skin as he felt his teeth begin to sharpen. He knew all the secrets the mortals tried to hide, one couldn’t hide anything from the darkness incarnate, from that which saw everything that tried to be hidden in its shadows, the darkness and shades of the human soul. It was all Night’s to know, to hoard and guard…to use as he saw fit.

And right now he grinned, feral as he threw back his head and howled, instantly there were a chorus of answering songs to his call as either by their own power or his, a group of people emerged from the woods, dressed in working clothes and rags alike they moved as if under a spell. They paid no mind to Night’s sleeping companion and moved around them until they stood behind the god. The light of a full moon, a rare blue supermoon in fact, shone down across their shoulders like a mother’s fond touch. Night’s expression was cruel as he let out a wicked rumble.

“You remember those old stories your grandfather told you when you were a boy, mortal? About the things that go bump in the night? The creatures that call the darkness home? The stories that frighten you so much that even today you still need to sleep with a knife under your pillow? They’re as real as you, and now…they’re going to bring you down to the level you threw them down to when they were merely trying to survive as humans before they were blessed with their mother’s power. You’ll live a life where you have to hide yourself like a pariah because of how awful you look, beg for any chance at food or drink….but you won’t be as lucky as them…their mother won’t honor you like she does them. Every time she appears in full beauty, it won’t be as painless as it is for them. It will hurt like nothing in your overindulged life has and it won’t stop hurting until you finally reach death’s embrace and face the consequences of your rotten soul.”

Night raised a hand and snapped his fingers and the people’s eyes flared golden and their bodies all contorted and arched in what looked to them like bliss as fur began to sprout as their muscle mass broadened and their faces shifted to be more wolf than man. The mortal bolted before the transformation finished, unable to take the strain of fear that ran primal in his veins, not now with the show of power and the oath of a god that felt like chains of iron around his chest. The werewolves all howled with animalistic joy of a hunt and raced after their prey, Night trusted the moon to keep you safe as he joined the fray.

The power in his veins bayed for blood, for him to soak in fear and pain from a hubristic mortal before delivering a just punishment. Night was only too happy to give it what it wanted.

[islamgazaaccount3]

Islam Al-Najjar I hesitated and delayed for a long time in writing these words and creating an account on GoFundMe, but the need has become very urgent because of what I see of the approaching death of myself and my family. I insisted on detailing and explaining more and more about my family in order to show you the whole picture and for you to know the extent of my suffering and need.

To begin our story, it is important for me to know my family, which is the core of my existence and the source of my strength during these difficult times: We are a family of six people who have been suffering for more than 10 months from a brutal war that does not spare people or stones.

We were living quietly in our wonderful and humble house with trees and nature around us. However, the war destroyed everything and we have nothing left. Unfortunately, we are still searching for a suitable shelter to continue living

A picture of our house before and after the war

Mother: The heart of our home My mother

embodies generosity and kindness as a devoted housewife, and always gives priority to the well-being of her family. My mother was a school teacher who did what she had to produce an educated generation. She is now unable to continue her work due to the war

Father: Pillar of strength My father, Marwan, faced the real pain of being the first responsible for protecting us, but there is no protection in light of this war. He lost more than 35 kilograms due to grief, oppression, and lack of food.

This is a picture of my family- my mother, father and sisters

The only brother: Aser My brother Aser, an engineer, graduated from the university a few days before the war and was not happy about his graduation because the war ended his dreams that he had and was in the process of building. He cannot work now because of the war.

My picture with my brother Aser

As for myself,

I am Islam As for me, the eldest of my sisters, I was on the cusp of a new beginning after I finished university, majoring in physical therapy. I obtained an honors degree, as a 27-year-old person looking forward to independence and work to continue my career in physical therapy. After I graduated from university, I worked specifically to help people with disabilities who needed a physical therapist, and I had the tools in the picture before you. The war came and destroyed all of these tools. It not only destroyed my professional dreams, it destroyed my home, which I was trying to beautify. The war consumed everything I had collected. I saved it from my work. I dreamed of traveling abroad and developing myself in the field of physical therapy, but unfortunately this has not happened yet.

This is my picture before and after the war

This is my grandfather. He was injured by the occupation many years ago and is still suffering from this injury. We are taking care of him because he cannot carry out his duties alone.

Now we hope to escape death, we hope the war will end, we hope to leave the Gaza Strip to continue our lives in all calm and peace, we hope to live a decent life away from bombing, occupation and destruction.

Today, my family and I are suffering from a lack of medicine, food, and health care. We are losing a lot of weight due to the lack of food. Everything here is expensive and we cannot buy it. Other than that, we are now homeless and without a place to shelter us. Insects are everywhere and rodents are too. This is very terrible.

The cost of rebuilding the house requires ,It costs a lotand the eviction fees are expensive, especially since I do not have any source of income. Once we are able to evacuate, your donations will cover the construction of our home,  our travel expenses and help us get immediate support Within the GoFoundMe link are details of expenses there will be meal expenses, wardrobe expenses, emergency expenses, etc., but no generous contribution will go to waste.

Those who have the authority to add my family names to the list for travel abroad are asking for astronomical amounts per person! They will not add names until we can prove that we have the funds ready

I ask for your help because this is not only my battle alone, but a battle in which we ask for your help in order to survive and preserve my families. Any donation, big or small, will make a huge impact on my life and the lives of my family. I am grateful to everyone who donated, and I will forever be grateful for giving me and my family hope and the opportunity to survive and build a better future.

Thanks for reading my story. To share my story with your friends and family. I hope there will be a ceasefire, and we can get the comfort and security we deserve to build our lives again. My hope is in all of you, without exception, who can help me with all of this

Thank you for reading what I wrote with my mind, and thank you again for your support and participation

This campaign is verified by people, and the link is here

here

here

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[cursingtoji]

“hm hello? do you need help?” yuuji approached the lady walking the hallways so slowly she seemed lost.

“huh?” you turned and he smiled, thinking how gorgeous you looked. your uniform was a lot like nobara’s, although it was lighter, like it was slightly bleached or just worn a lot, “no, i… i go here.”

“oh are you gojo-sensei’s student too?” he was excited to meet another student, it was such a big school for just a few people.

“gojo… sensei” you repeated confused.

“oh you must be utahime-sensei’s student then? from kyoto?” he tilted his head, like a puppy.

“utahime…” you whispered, “is geto here?” you asked with a certain urgency in your voice, “geto suguru.”

“who? geto?” he scratched his head, trying to remember if he heard about a sensei called geto suguru, “i don’t think i—“

“itadori!” megumi called from outside, yuuji saw him die below through the open windows of the second floor he was at, his classmate probably saw him as well.

“ah fushiguro!” he greeted his friend and turned back to you, “i’ll ask megumi, he’s been here for longer than me.”

“who you talking to?!” megumi shouted.

“her!” he pointed, you were in front of him, right by the opened window too, he couldn’t see you?

megumi even moved a bit, “itadori, there’s no one there. stop playing, we got to leave!” megumi scolded him before entering the building.

“eh?” yuuji was frowning.

“sorry, i think i’m in the wrong place” you bowed and turned away running.

“wait!” he ran after you, turning corners he thought you could’ve gone but after a few ones he reached a dead end.

“hm? yuuji?” gojo emerged from a classroom.

“gojo-sensei! there was… someone…” he looked around.

“oi, we’re waiting for you, let’s go” megumi came from where he was, grabbing yuuji by the hood of his uniform and dragging him away.

gojo watched through a window as they walked down the staircase until both boys walked out of the building.

“that was weird” you murmured from inside the classroom he was in, “that boy called you sensei” you put more rice into your hungry mouth, “does yaga know you’re pretending to be a teacher here?”

satoru closed the door, lighting another incense on the table that you used to sit. where every year on the anniversary of your death he built a shrine with food you liked.

“i thought haibara was in a mission but i saw him by the tree” you pointed behind you with your chopsticks, where, outside the classroom and behind the building remained the tree you always had lunch underneath during hot summer days.

he undid the blindfold, letting his hair fall as he sat in front of you, admiring how you never aged a day. after all, you couldn’t.

in fact, it seemed like you didn’t realize how much time has passed. every year you appeared and every year you thought it was still 2006, when you had two kouhais that did everything you asked, a girl best friend that insisted you smoked with her and two boys that were helplessly in love with you. the last year you were alive.

“is suguru not coming?” you asked with your mouth full.

gojo swallowed hard, “no, angel. it’s just us.”

[the-cimmerians]

It's 2024. I have been participating in fandom for 40 years. This is a ramble commemorating some history I've experienced along the way.

In 1984, I attended my first convention, and made a beeline for the one long row of covered tables in the Dealer's Room that was, according to the whispered lore of my friends, 'the one'. "um", I said, very suavely and coherently, except for how it was totally the opposite of those things, "I'm here for the... for the, uh. For-"

"Come around here," the man behind the table said with exhausted ennui, so I went around, and he lifted up the table skirt next to him and pointed to rows and rows of boxes underneath the line of tables. "It's all under here."

It was all under there. Along with about five older ladies with glasses, graying hair, cardigans. Flipping through slash zines and chatting in whispered voices like old friends (which of course they were). I noticed one of them had the good sense to be wearing kneepads. I was still too young and ablebodied to need kneepads when crawling on a carpeted floor, but I immediately found her preparedness skills to be both impressive and hot. "You're new," one of the ladies whispered to me--a bit warily, which made sense. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

In the faint light (the kneepads lady had also come prepared with a flashlight, additional practicality hotness points for her) I grabbed a comb-bound book with a heavy line art piece on the cover, featuring a musclebound Captain Kirk getting righteously and enthusiastically plowed by a stern-yet-ebullient Spock. "This," I said, pointing helpfully at the cover, like I was trying to make myself understood in a language I had only the vaguest knowledge of. "I'm here for this."

Outside at the convention, most of the attendees were wearing large homemade circular pins that shrieked 'K/S is BS!!!'1. But underneath the table, we reveled in the forbidden.

***

In 1985, I fell very hard for Starsky & Hutch fandom. Which was simply referred to at the time as 'the other fandom', because there were only two. We were upstarts. Many fannish elders predicted that it was just a phase.

***

The 'circulating library' was a massive stack of barely-legible pages that smelled strongly of mimeograph ink. When you were on the list, you would write stories while you waited for your turn, and when the big box was mailed to you, you would read everything (new finds, old favorites), add your own sloppily-typed or hastily-mimeographed stories, and then mail the whole thing to the next person. For me, at the time, it was an extremely expensive indulgence--but my favorite one.

***

By 1990, slash fandom had grown enough that I no longer knew everyone in it, which was both thrilling and a bit daunting. A young woman at a convention waited for me after a panel I was part of (I think it was 'writing impactful smut' or something like that), and said she had a question she didn't want to ask in a group setting. I'd heard that before. I said that's fine, go ahead and ask; and she came out with: "Why do you have to be gay?"

I blinked. "Is... that a problem?"

She looked annoyed. "Yes, because your stories are on all the recommendation lists and in all the top zines, but if you're gay and I read something you wrote and I get hot from it that makes me gay, and I'm not gay."

"Wow." I grinned, I couldn't help it. It probably made me look very predatory-dyke-about-to-score-a-toaster. Whatever, it was enough to make her back away from me fast.

When I thought about it later that night, I wondered what it would be like not to be the only queer person in slash fandom.

***

By 1997, slash started appearing on the internet. Many fannish elders claimed it was the death knell of slash fandom, or dismissed it as 'just a phase'.

***

Anyway, I wrote all this for myself as a commemoration of sorts, but if you took the time to read it--thank you. Love you, fandom. I always will.

1 In those days, m/m fandom was known as 'slash', which grew from the fannish shorthand where 'K&S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock having adventures or tribulations or what have you, and 'K/S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock getting it on (Kirk divided by Spock or Spock into Kirk--it was mathy fannish humor and I was into it then and I still am now). Slash was decidedly unpopular in the fannish world in 1984, and there was a concerted effort to force slash authors, artists, and fans out of 'mainstream' fannish public life. Hence, under the table.

[okay-babe]

Imagine alastor thinks his wife is just the most perfect, angelic being he’s ever met, so he’s downright shocked to fight out she also ended up in hell going “yeah I killed a man once” (he falls even more in love)

A Good Thing, Indeed

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, angelic reader, protective/possessive alastor, brief human alastor x human reader, fluff, very mild angst note: I went a little overboard with this one, but I hope you enjoy, anon <3 Find a sequel (of sorts) to this fic, here.

Alastor had never quite understood how someone like him had ended up with a woman like you.

You were soft and understanding, utterly ceaseless in your kindness and love of near anyone who crossed your path, a true saint to be sure.

Alastor on the other hand, had always been quite the opposite.

Where you were soft, your lover was unyielding, where you were understanding, he was impatient, and when it came to the capacity for kindness and love within his heart, many would have gone on record stating that there was much to be desired in that regard.

Yet, even still, you chose him, and he, you.

Every. Single. Time.

It was as if the two of you were meant to be.

The proud and charismatic up and coming host of a brand new radio show, and the modest and soft spoken kindergarten teacher that was ever present upon his arm.

To Alastor, you were everything and more, and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not, he all but worshiped the very ground that you walked upon.

There was so very little worth caring for in a world like the one that he lived in, and yet there you were, a shining beacon of light and hope to keep him from losing his mind over it all (well, at least in part, though he knew deep down that a portion had been missing since long before you'd made your way into his life).

For all of this, Alastor praised you and your love ceaselessly, his appreciation for your union a vast and endless thing that filled him with a sense of pride stronger than any other he'd felt before.

And how could it not?

You were his wife.

You!

The beautiful kindergarten teacher who worked in the public school just down the street from his broadcasting station, the one with the smile that lit up a room and the laugh that could make a man blush.

The one with the students who sung her praises to their parents during pick up and the coworkers turned friends who would utterly gush about her at even the briefest mention of her name.

You.

The woman that no one believed had gotten New Orleans' most prominent radio host to settle down after only just a year of courting, and whose stunning church wedding had been the talk of the town.

You were perfect, you were lovely, and the sweetest part of it all was that you bore his last name.

And oh, what whiplash that must have caused for those who hadn't known of your courtship earlier on. It nearly sent Alastor into a tizzy just imagining it.

The sweet, adoring woman that your son calls his teacher is also the wife of the ever unreadable and notably cold radio host from just down the street that scarcely any could say they truly knew?

How scandalous! Whatever is a woman like her doing with a man like him?!

Well, the answer, quite honestly, was being doted upon nigh endlessly.

If you wanted for even the smallest of things, it would be yours in an instant, and if you desired even the most useless of luxuries, he would have spared no expense to have it in your hands by the end of the day.

And even beyond that, there was the persistent desire to stay by your side, his presence always guaranteed the very moment you mentioned want for it.

An ice cream social at the school where you'd be meeting your new students and their parents? Alastor was there, conversing politely with a few mothers on the difficulties of parenting (in spite of his notable lack of children), making nearly everyone wonder what the hell a famous radio host was doing at the local elementary school.

Visiting Mimzy at her slightly sleazy little lounge in the shadier side of the city? Alastor was there, dressed to the nines, looking immensely out of place as you danced the night away with your friends (and him of course) to your little heart's content.

His love for you was nearly as endless as yours was for the very world beneath your feet, and in spite of himself he couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper in love at every borderline naive action you took.

You want to buy that man a drink because he looks lonely? Certainly darling, your husband would be happy to scare him off all night as the fool tries to make unwanted advances at you that he thinks are warranted thanks to your kindness.

You want to pick a fight with the burly man whose house is on your walk to work because he's been shouting cruel things at his dog nearly every morning for the past several weeks? Oh of course, just let Alastor prepare to use his most unsettling smile while he reaches for the leather sheathed knife he keeps attached to his belt so he can wordlessly threaten the oaf without you ever even realizing.

And so, knowing all of that and having lived such a love-filled few years at your side, how could Alastor ever have believed he might one day see you again once he came to in Hell shortly after his demise?

The short answer was, he couldn't.

And though he would never have been willing to admit such a thing aloud, it utterly shattered a portion of his heart to know he would never see your sweet smile or hear your perfect laugh ever again.

And to imagine what your reaction may have been once the police had informed you of all that he had done?

Well, he tried his best not to.

Because while he couldn't bring himself to regret those he had killed and the things he had done, he did regret having been left with no choice but to keep such a thing from you and leave you with such a mess upon his death.

Certainly you had deserved better, that much he knew.

But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that now.

Or, at least, that's what he had led himself to believe.

Until one day, he'd been broken out of his typical morning routine of brewing his black coffee and digging into a freshly caught deer by the sound of knocking at his door.

There were very few people who knew of where Alastor lived at this point, with him being multiple years removed from life and having firmly cemented himself within society as a powerful and merciless overlord, so honestly it hadn't come as very much of a surprise when he opened the door and found an old friend waiting rather impatiently on the other side.

Mimzy.

Having arrived in Hell not very long after the radio host, the former flapper, (who he had actually met through you), had become a familiar face throughout the past few years as he'd tried to grow accustomed to life without his darling wife at his side.

It was nice, in a way, to have that reminder of you near when he wished for it to be, and so he allowed the sinner to call him something like a friend and offered her protection when it was convenient enough for him that it didn't prove to be a hassle.

Although, today of all days the overlord was certainly a little less than pleased to see Mimzy's familiar face at his doorstep, and he was reasonably certain that she knew why that was.

It was your former anniversary after all, and today would have been your tenth year of marriage had he only lived long enough to reach such a landmark achievement with you.

A smile, strained and thin, descended upon his lips, and, in spite of his feelings, Alastor remained as cordial as ever, albeit rather cold with his words.

"Mimzy, my dear! How wonderful to see you! Whatever could possibly be so important as to have you at my door on a day like today?"

There was a certain level of threat to his tone that no doubt left the woman standing before him floundering for a few seconds, before finally, she mustered up her reply, her smile ever so slightly less confident than before.

"Alastor, just the fella that I was lookin' for!"

The sinner began, placing her right hand upon her hip as she inspected the condition of the nails on her left,

"Now I know ya like to be left alone and all on days like this, but I've got a surprise for ya back at my place that I promise you're gonna wanna see a-s-a-p."

She said with her typical air of confidence, immediately causing the Radio Demon to roll his eyes in response, his facade of interest slipping ever so slightly before he seemed to catch himself once more, ever the gentleman.

"Oh do you now? Well, as utterly transfixed as I am over this little mystery of yours, I'm afraid that I just don't have the time to stop by today. Lot's of things to prepare for the upcoming broad-"

"Alastor."

Mimzy said sternly, cutting the overlord in question off rather uncharacteristically with a glare of her own.

"I know damn well that you don't got nothin' planned for the day, so don't you start fibbin', mista, I can see right through ya!"

She began, quickly changing the subject when she seemed to recall exactly who she was talking to at the increasing sound of static.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with ya or nothin', so you do whatever it is that you wanna do. I just wanted to come over and warn ya that if you don't come by for a visit by the end of the day you're gonna feel like a real fool, okay?"

She emphasized her warning with a dramatized raise of her brow before she grinned rather wickedly and stepped down off of his doorstep, wiggling her fingers in a teasing little wave as she climbed into the back of the very same taxi she must have used to get to his dwellings in the first place.

"I'll see ya around dollface!"

She called out as the car pulled away, leaving Alastor with quite a few more questions than he'd had upon her already unplanned arrival.

What a fantastic start to one's day.

By the time that Alastor made the decision to actually stop by Mimzy's lounge, it was already dark outside, the subtle chirping of crickets reminding him briefly of home as he walked toward his destination, ever a fan of the more simplistic methods of transportation.

He thought of the sounds of crickets and all of the moments with you that their seemingly endless chirps had backed until their sounds faded away with the increasing sounds of the busier section of the city, wherein Mimzy's place was located.

Just as sleazy and sketchy as it had been above, so it was below, and Alastor felt a sudden sense of longing and familiarity as he stepped inside, the smell of cigarettes and the sound of ever so slightly out of tune jazz music reminding him of his days of swing dancing with you on the cracked dance floor of the place Mimzy had owned and operated in life.

The Radio Demon had only just begun to contemplate what you might have thought of a place like this one when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice call out his name, and he turned to find the lounge's owner walking quickly toward him, a wide grin that nearly rivaled his own splitting her cheeks.

"Well would you look who it is, Alastor the Radio Demon here in my lil' lounge, what a lucky lady I must be!"

Mimzy teased as she shouted over the obnoxiously loud music, immediately forcing the man in question to hold back another instinctual roll of his eyes.

"Oh, nonsense, I should think that luck has very little to do with it, my dear."

Alastor drawled, dragging his gaze downward to find his friend standing there, all but vibrating upon her feet, clearly excited by something, though he couldn't quite fathom what in Hell it could possibly be.

That is, until he heard another familiar voice pipe up from somewhere behind him, this one far less anticipated than the last, and by a rather significant margin at that.

"Mimzy?"

It called, an edge of stress to it that had the corners of the overlord's smile twitching downward ever so slightly for the briefest of moments.

Alastor watched as the ex flapper standing before him grinned widely in response to his barely noticeable reaction, her eyes shining as she allowed the person speaking to continue with their question.

"Who did you say the whiskey on the rocks was for?"

The lounge's owner hopped up onto a stool beside where she had been standing, gesturing to the space at the bar near where Alastor was still firmly planted, the ears atop his head twitching ever so slightly as they took in the sound of a voice he'd never thought he'd hear again for the very first time since he'd awoken with them camouflaged within his hair.

"Right here, doll. Speakin' of which, why dontcha c'mere and meet one of my regulars, huh?"

She asked as casually as she could manage, gesturing slightly for the still reeling sinner standing beside the bar to take a seat, which, to her surprise, he actually did, eyes seeking out the source of the voice he was hearing as if in utter disbelief.

And then, much to his shock, there you were.

Sure, you looked different as a sinner, but he would recognize you anywhere, and it certainly helped that your beautiful smile was the very same as he remembered it to be whenever he closed his eyes and found you there waiting for him.

Busy with what was likely a fairly large number of orders that your fellow bartender seemed to be doing very little to try and keep up with, you didn't seem to notice him at first, walking quickly toward your old friend with a glass of whiskey in hand, moving to place it down in front of the ever so prominent Radio Demon absentmindedly when suddenly, you froze, your hand still wrapped around the chilled cup.

The two of you stared at one another for several long moments, eyes widened and breaths halting entirely, until finally Mimzy spoke up from Alastor's right, her laughter obnoxious beside his ear, though he could scarcely bring himself to care with his gaze locked so heavily onto yours.

"Happy anniversary, ya lovebirds! Didn't expect that, didja?!"

She all but cackled, causing you to break eye contact with your husband to gawk at your friend.

"Wait a second, you knew he was here the whole time and didn't tell me?!"

You cried, hand flying to your mouth as Alastor began to regard the woman sitting beside him with a hugely threatening glare, the frightfulness of which was only increased by his unyielding grin, which was beginning to appear more and more malicious by the second.

"Woah woah woah, hold your horses!"

Mimzy shouted, waving her hands all about as if in surrender as she looked back and forth between the two of you nervously,

"She only just got down here this mornin' I swear!"

She explained hurriedly to the overlord beside her, causing the man's eye to twitch with effort as he struggled not to tear his old friend limb from limb while her entire bar watched on in horror.

Alastor tapped one clawed finger against the bar in front of him, his sharpened teeth appearing even more threatening than usual at his apparent anger over the situation at hand.

"And you didn't think, my dear,"

He began, his voice low,

"That I may have wanted to know sooner?"

The sound of static overtook the lounge as the sinner's anger increased with each word he said, causing everyone, including those hired to play the live music, to flee out the front door, leaving the trio to their own devices within the confines of the now empty space.

This fact worked extremely well for Alastor, who was only growing more enraged with each passing second as he considered the implication of Mimzy's actions further.

Not only had this woman, someone who had dared call him a friend for so many years, betrayed him by keeping your presence unknown, but she had also clearly employed you at her poor excuse for a lounge, and was now acting as if she had done him a favor by allowing him to be in the presence of the very woman he'd married.

The urge to rip the sinner to shreds with his very own claws was immense, and perhaps he even would have done so had it not been for a gentle hand coming to rest upon his forearm, the weight of it felt even through his shirt and coat.

Immediately, he stiffened, the familiarity of the touch so jarring that his previous thoughts of murder ceased within an instant as he turned his head to face you properly.

There, illuminated by the dim and yellowed lights of the bar, stood his wife, a woman who he had never expected to see again after all that he had done.

What good deed must he have committed in life to deserve such a blessing as this?

Surely there was some kind of mistake and someone would be descending from the heavens to collect you soon, an angel sent to Hell on accident by way of some great failure on Saint Peter's fault.

Your husband stared at you for a few moments, as if afraid you might disappear if he so much as blinked, before finally, you spoke up, your lips curving into a slightly nervous smile.

"Let her explain?"

You asked gently, taking up the very same tone you used to when asking your beloved to make an exception to one of his many strict internalized rules for your benefit.

'Stay home with me?'

'Give him a chance?'

'A slightly less violent solution, perhaps?'

(the latter of which he'd heard more often than he was willing to admit).

And this time, as always, he caved almost immediately, giving a rather stern nod of his head before looking toward Mimzy with an obviously strained smile on his lips.

She didn't have long, that was for sure.

If she wanted to explain, she'd better do so quickly.

And that much must have been clear, because the ex flapper started talking just about as fast as she could manage while still remaining intelligible.

And what a tale she spun, indeed.

With hurried words and a remarkably nervous expression the likes of which neither you nor your husband had ever seen Mimzy wear before, the sinner apologized profusely for not telling either of you sooner, promising that she had only been trying to make it a surprise in celebration of your anniversary.

Apparently, she had vastly overestimated how persuasive she could be, and had assumed (rather incorrectly) that Alastor would be much more urgent in his arrival to her lounge after she'd paid him a visit, meaning she hadn't exactly intended to have kept the two waiting so long for the "grand reveal" of her surprise.

And, slowly but surely, as Mimzy explained her thought process, your confusion and your husband's apparent anger all but melted away, both reactions coming to be replaced with something located somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

How very like your friend it was to meddle in such a manner, after all.

You'd missed this.

(Alastor wished dearly that he could say the same, but having been stuck alone with it for several years, he couldn't quite relate.)

Still, even he had to admit that Mimzy's actions were something far more similar to misguided kindness than intentional ill will.

Though, there was still one issue that was still bothering him...

"Mimzy."

Alastor interrupted the sinner in the middle of her ramble, watching as she immediately shut her mouth and looked up at him, a familiar bout of nervous laughter falling from her lips as she wrung her hands together.

Seeing that she was paying attention, the overlord continued,

"I understand what you were going for with your..." He trailed off for a moment before hearing you pipe up from where you stood on the other side of the bar,

"Efforts."

How amusing, it seemed that even after years of separation, not even death could sever the almost supernatural ability you had to understand what your husband was trying to say before even he truly did.

Alastor nodded,

"Exactly. But that being said, I struggle to understand one thing."

He leaned toward his old friend slightly, watching her eyes widen as he did so, clearly unsure of what was going to happen next.

"Why, pray tell, my dear, is my wife spending her precious time working at your lounge if you had every intention of returning her to me?"

The possessive tone to his voice made you blush, eyes moving to the ground as you awaited Mimzy's response.

She was quick to answer.

"Great question, dollface!"

She laughed nervously,

"I uh, I guess I kinda figured she'd know if she was down here then you would be too, so I wanted to give her a little bit of a distraction... and maybe get some extra help for a few hours in the meantime."

She admitted quietly, though by the time she was finished speaking, Alastor wasn't paying her much mind anymore, his mind now occupied with what he considered to be a far more pressing issue.

Because now that Mimzy mentioned it...

"Dearest,"

He began, immediately catching your attention as he turned to face you fully, allowing you to take in the sight of him and his new "look" for the first time since your arrival.

You would be lying if you said you weren't a fan, as different as it may have been.

"Speaking of 'down here',"

Alastor continued, amusement dancing within his eyes,

"What exactly are you doing in a place like Hell?"

Your gaze moved downward once more at that, and you cleared your throat awkwardly as you tried to find anything else to focus on.

Eventually though, you gave up, and forced yourself to meet your husband's gaze once more.

"I uh, I killed a parent..."

You muttered under your breath, immediately causing Alastor's eyes to widen slightly in surprise, one of his ears twitching slightly atop his head.

"Pardon?"

He asked in utter disbelief, unable to even begin to comprehend what he was hearing.

You, his beautiful and darling wife, had killed a parent of one of the children you taught?

Utterly unbelievable, perish the thought.

You sighed, crossing your arms in a mix of embarrassment and frustration,

"I killed a parent, Al. Lucy and Arnold's father. He was beating on them and their mama something fierce, and I saw the opportunity to put a stop to it one night when walking over to the station after work... He went down the alley between the grocers and the tailor to take a shortcut home or something like that, and I just followed him before I even knew what was really going on..."

You sounded hesitant as you spoke, eyes downcast once more until without a word, your husband pressed his gloved index finger to your chin, raising your gaze to his own once more so you could see the utter awe present there.

He was positively enamored.

"You killed Harry Wells?"

He asked, shock still coloring his tone as he watched you for your reaction.

Slowly, after a few seconds of contemplation, you nodded, cheeks still pink as you did your best to keep from trying to avoid Alastor's heavy gaze.

"I uh, yeah. I did."

The overlord sitting across from you chuckled softly, a sound that slowly grew in volume and exuberance until he was laughing outright, the familiar sound music to your ears even as he sighed and wiped a tear from his eye afterward, something he had done often in life.

He grinned even wider at you than before, the pride in his eyes obvious as he shook his head as if still in disbelief.

"And to think,"

He began, reaching across the counter to grab both of your hands so he could pull you closer, your forearms resting against the bar countertop.

"I hadn't thought it possible to love you any more than I already did."

You laughed at that, pressing your forehead against your husband's with a sigh,

"Well in that case, I suppose it's a good thing that I have all of eternity to prove you wrong, huh?"

Alastor chuckled softly, humming as he took in the sight of you, as if trying to commit each individual detail to memory.

"A good thing, indeed, dear heart."

[finelinefae]

flower [tattooH x Innocenty/n]

synopsis: harry's the boy next door, he's also a tattoo artist aannd y/n's sexual awakening because she's an innocent virgin with a flower shop. 

word count: 8.6k

content warnings: smut (fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, virgin Y/N) 

read part 2 here

my first imagine !! i hope u enjoy it !! i enjoy it here very much !

. . .

Y/N had been having a terrible week.

She owned a flower shop called 'Sweet Juniper' which had been hers for almost an entire year. It had been her dream to share her love of flowers with everybody so when she finally saved enough money to set up a shop, she worked tirelessly to make it the best possible floral shop the town had ever seen.

People would put in special requests if they needed flower arrangements for special occasions or others would just come by to just lift their mood a little bit if they were having a tough day. Y/N loved her customers and spent so much time chatting throughout the day all whilst tending to her plants.

But this week was not fun.

The shop next door had been empty for a long time now - ever since Y/N had set up shop. She lived in the flat above the shop so it was ideal not to have to handle any neighbours. But the past few weeks, decorators and construction workers had been making a lot of noise - fixing up the empty shop - which meant someone was moving in.

Y/N hadn't met them yet so she wasn't sure what the shop next door would be. The town was relatively quiet so she expected a bakery or maybe a clothing boutique. Only yesterday, with the shop all set up and ready to go, she found it to be nothing of the sort.

It was dark and music pulsed through the walls of her flower shop. The heavy bass made it sound like someone was trying to fight their way through the floorboards she had painted a very, very light pink.

Her customers had complained especially the older bunch. They had trouble concentrating whenever they tried to talk to her or hear her advice on what the best flowers were during the current autumn season.

So after a not-so-fun week and frequent visits to the corner shop to top up her headache medication, Y/N made the decision to confront her new neighbour and tell them exactly how she felt. She wasn't going to let her flower shop fail because of an inconsiderate, noisy fool.

Y/N flipped the sigh from 'open' to 'closed' and took off her apron which had her name in swirly handwriting embroidered onto the breast pocket. She took three deep breaths and mentally went through her speech. She wouldn't be unkind but she would be fair.

"You can do this Y/N," She said to herself before she exhaled and opened the door to walk five steps over to her next-door neighbour.

She hadn't seen the shop properly since the decorating was completed so was immediately struck by how dark it was in comparison to her own shop. It was painted black with illustrations and pictures of people's tattoos set up in the shop window.

The pavement was lit up in the darkness by the red neon lights coming from inside the shop. Everything about it was so different to her baby pink and white flower shop.

The sudden thought of turning back and going upstairs to her apartment almost tempted her enough to turn away but she knew the problem would not be resolved if she were to sit by and do nothing.

Her Mary Jane heels tapped against the pavement as she came to stand in front of the door. It seemed as though the shop was still open, so she pushed the door and stepped inside.

The smell of tobacco and musk and ink hit her senses as she closed the door behind her. The heavy bass of the music was now pounding through her ears. The nerves were rising within her and turning back seemed much more tempting now.

She spun on her heel and reached for the door handle, only to be stopped by someone clearing their throat.

"Are you here for a tattoo?" His voice was deep, husky and... pretty.

She turned around and was met with a tall figure standing in the doorway to the back of the shop. His arms were by his side and he was wearing a black, fitted shirt with black trousers and low cut doc martens with red laces. His face was illuminated by the red, neon sign on the wall with the words 'Styles INK' written in a grungey font.

"T-tattoo?" She gulped, the script she had rehearsed over and over again was nowhere to be found like the words had silently fallen from her brain, through her nose and slipped from her mouth before she had time to speak them out loud.

He walked to the front desk, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor. "We don't take walk-ins this late at night if that's what you're after."

The tone of his voice made her tremble in her heels. She curled her fingers into a fist and tried to stop her heart from beating so fast. "I-I'm not here for a tattoo. I-I'm actually from next door."

His head lifted up, she could finally see the colour of his eyes were a pale green and his hair was curly and brunette. "Ahhh," He dropped the pen he was fiddling with on the desk, "The flower girl."

She huffed, "Yes, that would be me."

"M allergic to flowers." He said.

"W-what? Why would you set up shop next to a flower shop then?" She asked.

"Only place that offered a space with an apartment." A breath slipped past her lips.

He was not only her shop neighbour but her neighbour neighbour too.

Well, this just made things a bit more awkward.

He came in front of the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. Y/N saw every inch of the skin on his arm littered with tattoos and even caught a glimpse of his ring-clad fingers. "Listen, if you're not here for a tattoo then why are you here? I need to close up so I'd appreciate it if you were quick with whatever it is you came here for."

Y/N swallowed her nerves, "Your music is too loud a-and it's driving my customers away."

"What was that?" He wanted her to repeat herself.

"Y-Your music, it's much too loud and my customers are c-complaining." She wished she didn't stutter but at least she got what she needed to say out.

"My music?" His eyebrows scrunch up.

"Yes." She nods.

"What about your music?" He retorts, "s all I can hear when I'm upstairs."

She immediately blushes and wonders how long he has been staying in the apartment upstairs. Y/N was so used to not having neighbours that she hadn't thought to turn her music down or take a break from her lonesome karaoke nights.

"That's different."

"If I have to hear you sing to that broken-hearted, bubble-gum pop princess every night then you can't complain about me playing my music like I have." He argues.

"B-but I don't play it in the day like you do! It's so loud! It is - hey quit laughing!" She huffs when he snickers at her.

"M sorry, you're just so little." He laughs. "Maybe that's why I haven't seen you since I've moved in."

Y/N crossed her arms, "I'd just appreciate it if you turned your music down a little, just so my customers can shop for their flowers in peace."

He says nothing. Instead, his eyes scan her face and then fall on the rest of her. She was wearing light blue jeans and a pink, cosy sweater. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail with a white, silk ribbon and her heels were still on her now aching feet.

He smirks, "Alright, I'll turn my music down but you have to do the same. I don't want to hear you sing about Romeo and Juliet or running out of the woods at 11 o'clock at night when I'm trying to relax."

She turns pink but luckily the red light hides the true colour of her cheeks, "Fine." She huffs and turns on her heel, too embarassed to say anything else.

"It was nice to meet you, flower." He says and she swears she can hear him smiling.

Her entire face heats at the nickname.

***

The next day, Y/N walked downstairs to her flower shop and prepared for a new day. She spent the rest of her night after visiting the stranger next door, quietly listening to music in hopes he would reciprocate today.

She hadn't seen him since last night and part of her was grateful for that. He was tall and intimidating and covered in tattoos but his voice was just so...nice that she couldn't seem to get the thought of him out of her head since she walked out of his tattoo shop. It was embarrassing to admit and Y/N was awfully bad at hiding her emotions so she hoped that would be the last time she'd speak to him face to face.

When she flipped the sign on the door to 'open', she held her breath as she waited for the sound of heavy, rock music coming through the walls only to find complete silence. She smiled and mindfully tapped herself on the back for being brave enough to go over and stand her ground.

Her customers were happy with the change too. They stayed and chatted with Y/N for a while, bringing home their baskets of flowers. The day had been much more successful than the past week had and she was thankful things would finally get back on track.

After cleaning the shop at the end of the day, she walked upstairs to her apartment and immediately decided to get into her new cute pyjamas she had ordered from Hollister - long trouser bottoms and a cute tank top both covered in the same pink, ditsy floral print.

She made herself some dinner and snuggled up on her tiny couch with her pet cat, Marshel, nestling to the side of her. Y/N hummed in delight when she made the decision to re-watch her favourite Harry Potter movie- it was the best film for the autumn weather.

Ten minutes into the movie sounds of people speaking and loud music sounded through the walls of her apartment. "Oh please no," She looked up at the ceiling, praying that someone out there would put her out of her misery.

It could only be her new neighbour, the tattoo artist, the one with the nice voice.

She pressed her ear against the door of her apartment and from the racket of people speaking and how loud the music was, she knew he was having a party.

"It's going to be a long night Marsh." She sighs, picking up her kitty and carrying him to bed.

At 2 am, Y/N was still awake. The party was still going and the music had yet to quieten down.

Y/N had been tossing and turning all night. Tears in her eyes as she tried to sleep but couldn't because of the loud noises coming from next door. At this rate, she'd only get four hours of sleep before she had to be up again for the busiest day of the week at the shop.

She couldn't handle it anymore. She flipped her duvet off and swung her legs over the bed. Her eyes fighting to stay open as she stumbled for the door.

At this rate, she was so tired she didn't care how she looked. She just wanted the quiet.

She flung her front door open and already found herself outside the tattoo artist's door. She knocked but the music was so loud, the only thing she could do was invite herself in.

The door opened and suddenly she was in a whole new world. There was cigarette smoke and a strong stench of alcohol. It was dark but red LED lights lit the room. People were laying on the floor or sitting around chairs or dancing in the empty spaces. There must have been about thirty people but with how tiny the apartment was it felt like much more.

Y/N took a deep breath and began her mission to find the source of where the music was coming from. Everyone was much taller than her which made it harder for her to push past people, especially in their drunken state.

"Excuse me please," she mumbled.

"Flower," his voice made her freeze in place.

She stilled and spun round on her sock-covered feet, making a mental note to throw them in the trash when she got home.

The person standing in front of her looked the same, wearing the same all black outfit he wore yesterday. She could see the illustrations of his tattoos a little better this close and she could also see the anger that covered the features of his face.

"Y-you." She said through parted lips, unable to hide her fear or shock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a corner of the room. He placed his hand on the wall behind her and covered her with his body like he wanted to hide her away.

"The m-music it's too loud and I-I can't sleep." She said, nearing on tears.

"You and your loud music." He muttered, "It's Saturday night. Shops aren't open on a Sunday."

"Mine is." She said.

"What?"

"I open my shop on a Sunday. I do work shops for little kids whose parents have to work on weekends and for elderly people who get a little lonely." It was her favourite day of the week but now she was dreading it because of the lack of sleep.

His expression seemed to soften but he rolled his eyes, "Of course you do."

"I just need to sleep for four more hours and then you can carry on doing whatever you're doing." He smirked.

"You've never been to a party before flower girl?" She shook her head and yawned.

Harry's smile fell and he sighed. He looked around at the party and then at the sleepy girl in front of him. "Fucks sake." He muttered and wrapped an arm around her.

Y/N's eyes widened when his hand rested on her shoulder. He tucked her into his side and quickly manoeuvred past everybody.

"Is that your new girl Styles?"

"Nice one, H."

"Have fun Styles."

"Ignore them." Harry told her as he reached their front door.

"Is that your name? Styles?" Y/N realised she had yet to ask what his name actually was.

"S Harry. You call me Harry." He says and she smiles at how normal and soft his name was compared to his dark and grizzly stature.

She hadn't realised what he was doing until he opened the door to her apartment. She gasped, suddenly wide awake and highly alert considering he was now in her very messy, untidy apartment.

"W-what are you doing?" She ran to her sofa and picked her blankets up from the floor before grabbing her bowl of popcorn from the coffee table that was littered with books and magazines she was halfway through reading.

Harry's eyes darted around her small apartment. The corner of his lips flinched into an almost smile when he saw the pastel colours littered around the place. It was so her - cute and cosy.

"You wanted to sleep." He said, "M helping you sleep."

Her mouth opened and closed in shock, "Helping me sleep?"

"Mhm, I've got these," He pulled out some earbuds from his pocket, "They're noise cancelling. Can't hear a sound when you've got them in your ears."

She looked at them in intrigue, "Where's your room?" He wondered, already walking in the direction of her bedroom like he'd been in her apartment many times before.

"My room's a little untidy," She tried to get past him so she could block him from coming into her room but he was much too tall.

"Don't care flower, just helping you out." He walked into the messy bedroom and paid no mind to the state of the floor. She'd never had a man in her room before so wasn't sure exactly what to do. Her apartment seemed so much smaller from his presence alone. "Get into bed, love." He pulled out his phone.

"O-okay," She said and tucked herself under her blanket.

It was strange to let a person she barely knew into the confines of her room but she was too tired to care and something inside of her trusted him.

He crouched beside her, resting an arm on her mattress. "Here put these in," He handed her the headphones, "Can you hear me?" He asked but received no reply, instead, Y/N giggled.

"I can't hear you Harry!" She laughed and something weird happened in his chest.

He smiled, "Tha's good." He murmured and put on a song he knew she would like.

Her heart stopped beating in her chest when the gentle piano music began to play. An instrumental of 'Cardigan' by her favourite singer whispered into her ears as he played it on a low volume.

"Sleep now flower." He encouraged.

"M name's Y/N." She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut, "You can call me Y/N."

"Y/N," He whispered back and the name seemed to unlock something deep inside of him. He said it once more for good measure before leaving her there with the music still playing.

***

Y/N woke up the next morning with a phone that was not hers resting right by her head. She had managed to fall asleep for four hours thanks to the man who she now knew as Harry. She felt as though last night was a fever dream and Harry had been a guardian angel, granting her sleep at last.

She could have slept in for another four hours but the shop would not run itself and she had many workshops on today that a lot of people had signed up for. She grabbed Harry's phone and made a mental note to give it back to him before she went to open the shop.

She made herself a good breakfast and fed Marshel as well, before getting dressed into a grey mini dress with a cute white collar and an encrusted black bow. She tied her hair back into a half up, half down and fastened it with a black bow to match her dress. She wore the same black Mary Jane heels and a bag with her packed lunch inside.

When she left her apartment, she listened out for any loud music coming from Harry's apartment only to be met with silence. She knocked three times- his phone in her hands- but no one answered.

She'd come back later, she thought. Maybe he was also catching up on some much-needed sleep.

Her first workshop of the day was with a group of children.

Their parents worked weekends and some of them were from the orphanage that they had signed up to help them develop new hobbies. Y/N knew them all by name and loved teaching them how to grow their own tomato plants and arrange flowers with cute bows.

An hour before lunch, she had a class with a group of mothers whose children had just left home. Most of them came because they needed a little company on the weekends when not a lot was going on at home or they wanted to pick up a new hobby.

In the midst of her basket weaving session, Y/N heard a phone ring. She glanced at the phone still on the front desk and saw the screen lighting up. "Excuse me ladies," she slid off the chair and walked over to Harry's phone.

Mike Supplier was the name on the screen. She wondered whether or not it was important and if she should answer it just in case. The phone stopped ringing for a brief moment until the name lit up the screen again.

"Seems important, Y/N." One of the ladies said.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and walked to the back room, pressing the green button to accept the call. "Fucking finally!" A gruff voice speaks on the other end, "I've got your stash when do you want it?"

"Excuse me?" Y/N blushed, not use to such aggressive language.

The person paused, "Are you Styles' new lady? Listen can you put him on the phone? I need to speak to him urgently."

Y/N was in shock, "I'm not his lady! I'm his neighbour."

"Well, whatever you are could you just pass the phone to him?"

"Give me a second," She huffed, entering the shop again and turning towards the ladies who were in deep conversation, "Ladies, I just need a moment to go next door." They nodded.

Y/N could hear Mike Supplier cursing over the phone even as she had it by her side. She noticed Harry's shop was still unopened so went upstairs instead.

She knocked on the door of his apartment repeatedly until she finally heard footsteps coming towards the door. His door swung open, "Can I help you flower?" Her eyes widened.

He stood in the doorway with nothing but grey sweatpants and socks. His bare torso was littered with tattoos and his brunette hair was clipped with a tiny claw clip.

"Your p-phone," She held it out to him. His eyebrows furrowed like he had a lot of questions as to why she had his phone but he took it from her anyway and held it to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah shut up." He spoke. Y/N could still hear Mike Supplier talking on the other end. "Come by this afternoon. I'll wait outside the shop and don't wear that dodgy fucking hat this time."

The conversation ended and Y/N stood awkwardly in front of him. "Well I should go,"

"Wait," Harry stopped her "Did you steal my phone from me flower girl?"

"N-no! You left it in my apartment." She argued.

"Oh yeah," he grins like he was thinking back to being in her room last night, "Your lips go all pouty and you snore when you sleep you know that? 'S cute."

"Hey," she huffed, "I do not snore!"

"Whatever you say baby." Her cheeks warmed at the new nickname he had accidentally added to the seemingly growing collection.

"W-well who was that anyway. He was a little rude." She mumbled.

"You spoke to him?" He arched a brow, "was he rude to you?"

"He swore at me,"

"Dick." Harry muttered, "He's my supplier."

"Oh like for the shop?" She asked. Harry could have sworn he was having palpitations from how innocent she looked.

"No baby," he smirked, "a different kind of supplier."

"Oh," she said, still not fully understanding what he was getting at, "Well I better get down to the shop. My class is waiting for me."

"Sure I'll come with you." He grabbed a sweater and his jacket from the coat hanger.

"Wait, what? No."

"I'm bored and I want to hang out with you." He shrugs, "I don't see how that's a problem."

"You want to hang out with me?" She couldn't make sense of it.

"Mhm," He shut the door of his apartment behind him, "Lead the way, flower girl."

Y/N argued with him as they walked back downstairs. She tried to push him out of the shop before he could even step foot inside but she was too small for his 6ft frame and he gently grabbed her waist and picked her up as if she weighed nothing, stepping into the shop.

All eyes turned in their direction. Y/N blushed and stuttered as she said, "L-ladies, this is my neighbour."

"Hi, I'm Harry." He said from behind.

The ladies looked confused and then concerned and then suddenly they were grinning ear to ear, slipping out of their seats to welcome their new guest.

"Oh Harry, you look as old as my boy! It's so lovely to meet you." Mildred, one of the elder ladies said.

"Nice to meet you too." He spoke in a warm, almost flirtatious way.

Y/N stood there in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Kathy and Lucy had already sat him in between them both and got him the things he needed to weave a basket.

"Are you interested in flowers Harry?" Julia asked.

He looked across the table over at Y/N whose cheeks seemed to be a shade of red they'd never even been before. "Only one."

"Oh well Y/N's an excellent teacher. We're making hanging baskets to plant daffodils in them for the spring."

"Hmm I guess I've come to the best place to learn then." His eyes remained fixed on Y/N who defeatedly picked up her basket to show Harry exactly how to make one himself.

"How are you so good at this?" Y/N whispered in awe as Harry finished his basket.

"These hands are good with fiddly things." He says.

"Oh that's wonderful Harry!" Kathy exclaimed, "You could take over Y/N's job. Might help her out and she can finally have a much deserved rest."

"S that right? You tired flower?" Harry murmured when he saw Y/N's eyes opening and closing as she leant against the desk.

"Not tried at all," she lied but Harry seemed to see right through her.

"Hmm," he frowned which immediately had Y/N standing straight and trying to disguise her exhaustion a little better.

"You hungry?" A tall shadow loomed in front of Y/N as she sat at the desk, processing payments for her classes and labelling the baskets for the ladies to take home.

She looked up and saw Harry, his voice now a familiarity after the last almost twenty four hours since she had met him. "A-a little." She decided not to lie this time since apparently, she was much easier to read than she thought.

"I've got food upstairs, wanna come up?" He asks.

"A-Are you sure?" 

"C'mon little flower, I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't mean it." With a nod, Y/N locked up the shop for lunch and followed Harry up to his apartment. When she stepped inside, it was completely different to how it had been last night. 

It was clean and tidy. A few boxes were lying on the carpeted floor of his open living room here and there, but for the most part, it was pretty neat. Y/N's eyes were immediately taken by the prints hanging up on the wall. 

"These are incredible." She gasped, feeling particularly fond of a line drawing of a woman. 

"It's my mother," He stood next to her, looking up at the drawing with her. 

"You drew it?" She asked, wide-eyed.

"Mhm," He hummed. 

"Wow, no wonder you're a tattoo artist," She glanced at the intricate tattoos littered on his arms. 

"Ever thought of getting one yourself?" He asked. 

"N-Not really, I'm no good with needles." She said, rather sheepishly. 

He smirked, "Let's get some food in that tummy." 

Twenty minutes later, Y/N and Harry sat on the small two-person couch eating sandwiches and a fruit salad they had prepared together in Harry's even smaller kitchen. Y/N giggled as Harry threw a grape into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth.

"T-tell me about your tattoos," Y/N insisted after taking a bite out of a strawberry. Harry's eyes looked down at her lips and back to her big, doe eyes. "What does this one mean?" She questioned, pointing to the words written in Hebrew.

"M' sisters name," He starts, "And that says 'Can I stay?'" 

"Hmm, you have a lot of hearts." She said, fingers lightly touching the human heart on his arm. 

"I have a lot of love." He grins, cheekily, like he knew the line was cheesy but wanted to use it anyway. He was glad he did from the smile it had formed on Y/N's face.

Y/N hadn't realised how close they had gotten until she felt his breath on her neck.  Her voice wavers slightly as she tries not to think too much about it, "And what about this one," She points to the rose, her fingers tracing the petals. 

"I did that one myself," He murmured, lips close to her ear. 

"You did?" She said but it came out more as a whisper. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, her brain turning to mush and all her thoughts suddenly turning into Harry. 

"Mhm," She glanced up and his deep, green eyes were already boring into her. Her eyes darted down to his lips and then back up again. "You're pretty," He mumbled, loud enough so she could hear.

She shook her head, "I-I don't think so," She was suddenly flustered and confused and wondering why her brain was not acting the way it usually did. 

"I know so," His hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she shudders when his fingertips brush against her cheek. Slowly his head inches forward and the nearer he gets it feels as though more oxygen leaves the room. "Relax," He whispers, touching her hand, "You're okay flower girl."

"H-Harry, I-I've never kissed anyone before." She admits, embarrassment flooding her. 

"What?" He furrows his eyebrows. 

"O-oh, it's just that... I've never been k-kissed before."

"By anyone?" She nods. "Impossible." He whispers.

"We can stop if you want to," He says, his voice gentle and comforting.

"No," She wraps her small fingers around his wrist before he pulls away, "I-I want to,"

"Want to what?" He smirks, "You've gotta tell me baby."

"I want to k-kiss you," She blushes, it's all she seems to do around him.

"Cute," He murmurs before his lips press to hers.

Y/N's not sure what to do at first, her eyes are open and shock courses through her, but Harry's lips move against hers and he breathes, "Relax flower," He insists and she does. 

Her eyes flutter shut and she mimics his movements. What he gives, she gives right back and a small whimper leaves her when he kisses her even harder. She starts to lose her breath with how long they kiss for but she's far too deep, floating too much, to pull away. She grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in closer, a groan eliciting from somewhere deep inside him. "Baby," The name escapes his lips and a shiver runs through her. 

With panting breaths, she pulls away and so does he. Her face is flushed and his lips are pink, "You okay?" Is the first thing he asks, receiving a nod. "I think 'm a little bit obsessed with you." He confesses.

"M-Me?" She couldn't believe what he was saying. 

"Don't think I've ever wanted anything more," He looks away like being vulnerable is a foreign thing for him.

"Why?" She can't help but ask.

He shrugs, "Sometimes it just is." 

She thinks on his words before replying, "Can we kiss again?" 

Harry chuckles, "Kiss me all you want flower."

. . .

Y/N had a permanent smile on her face the next day as she went back to work. People asked her what was making her so happy and she was constantly finding things to lie about instead of speaking the name of the tattooed boy next door. 

An hour before lunch, the postman came to deliver her new ribbons for the bouquets and accidentally dropped off a package meant for Harry. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his name written on a brown box. 

"Give me a second ladies, I'm just going to pop next door." Y/N grinned, ignoring the knowing looks of the ladies she was teaching. 

As Y/N walked next door, her confidence seemed to shrink with every step. She realised she had yet to go to Harry's tattoo shop when he was actually working and she knew she would stick out like a sore thumb once she took a step inside. She was wearing a lilac dress and white heels, of course, she was going to stand out.

The bell rang as she stepped inside and a few customers looked up, some of them doing a double take at the small girl. Music played through the speakers but it was a lot less quiet compared to the first day Harry's shop had opened. 

Footsteps walked on the wooden floorboards and Harry walked out from the back room. His eyes caught sight of Y/N and his frown immediately turned into a smile. He held his arms out for her and she quickly walked into his embrace. "Hi flower," He murmured into her hair. 

"I came to drop off your package," She held out the box to him when he let her out of his arms.

"Oh," He took the package from her, "That's all?"

She bit back a smile, "Mmm, I may have something very important to tell you," She gave him a not-so-subtle wink.

He grinned, almost wickedly, "Well, do follow me this way to tell me this very important thing," He led her way from the waiting area and somewhere closed off and hidden from everywhere else. 

When they were alone, he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up onto a countertop, knocking things over. "Harry," She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Shhh no more talking baby," He said before kissing her lips that he spent all night dreaming about. Their mouths were wet and hot against each other as they made out in a closet hidden away from Harry's customers.

His hands slid down her back and around her waist, pinching her hips, "Did you wear this dress f' me baby?" He murmured, the tone of his voice sending shivers up Y/N's spine. 

"Wanted to be pretty for you." She told him. She had spent all morning trying to find a nice outfit to wear, not only for work but for when she saw Harry too.

"Fuck," He groaned against her lips, "Where have you been all my life?" 

Y/N felt like a teenage girl getting all flustered and hot over a boy. She'd never experienced being with someone in this way before and now she had a taste for it and couldn't get enough of him. She had left Harry's apartment yesterday in a daze and she felt like she was still floating from the high of her first kiss. 

He stood in between her legs and she subconsciously rolled her hips against him. She gasped in both shock and at the feeling of him against her, "You're okay baby," He soothed her, sensing her confusion.

"Feels good huh?" He pulled her hips into him again and she felt a moan bubble in her throat. "Have you ever touched yourself Y/N?" He wondered. 

She froze, "N-no," She confessed, embarrassed. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of baby," He comforts her, his words soothing the insecure part of her. He kissed her lips softly, "Can I visit you this evening?"

She nods without even thinking about it, "Please," 

He smirks, "Please baby? Please? What are you asking for?"

She didn't know, her mind was foggy and all she could see was him, "Everything." 

His eyes darkened but his smirk never left, "'M polite little flower."

"Harry," She whined, burying her face in his neck. 

Harry laughed and cupped the back of her with his hand, kissing her forehead, "I'll come visit tonight and you better be wearing those cute pyjamas," He knew she was smiling because he could feel her lips against his neck. 

That evening after Y/N had closed the shop, she ran upstairs to her apartment and kicked off her heels. She ran around her living room, hiding things she didn't want Harry to see and flinging dirty laundry into the washing basket. 

She walked into her very pink bedroom and pulled out her pyjamas, happy to finally be wearing something comfortable. She spritzed some of her favourite perfume and rubbed vanilla lotion into her skin. 

Y/N sat on her sofa with Marshel seated by her feet on the carpeted floor. She switched on the TV and watched a few episodes of friends whilst continuing to finish her knitting project - she was making a blanket since one of the ladies from her group was pregnant and would be giving birth very soon. 

She fought to keep her eyes open as she waited for Harry to knock on her door. His shop was meant to have closed twenty minutes ago so she assumed he'd be here by now. 

Slowly, an hour had gone by and Y/N was getting worried. Her mind spun with insecurities and a sudden fear that something might have happened to Harry. She placed her knitting project on her coffee table and patted Marshel on the head. She walked to the door and slid her sock covered feet into her brown UGG boots. 

The shop was not its usual LED red colour when she came to stand in front of the window, instead it was neon blue. Y/N frowned when she heard music playing from inside and checked to see whether the door was open.

Her hand pushed the door handle, the door swinging open and the muffled music suddenly became coherent. She could hear voices coming from the back room where Harry tattooed his customers.

Walking towards the sound, Y/N eventually caught the sound of Harry's voice amongst the group of people chatting. Her shoulders relaxed at the thought of him being here, at least she knew she'd be okay if he was there with her. 

Turning the corner, her eyes landed on Harry with two other tattooed men, smoking something that - in Y/N's opinion - smelt a little strange. 

Harry must have sensed her presence as he turned his head and caught sight of her hiding behind the corner wall. He smiled, "Hey flower," 

"Hi," She murmured, feeling embarassed. 

"C'mere," He held out his arm for her and she scurried towards him, attaching herself to him by snuggling her body into his side. He put an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "I thought I was meeting you upstairs?"

Y/N frowned, "You took too long,"

He smirked, "M impatient girl," He nodded towards the two men he was talking to, "Y/N, these are 'm friends, Mike and Dan."

"Mike supplier," Y/N whispered, finally putting a face to the name of the man she had spoken to on Harry's phone.

He was tall and bald with a beard and looked to be in his forties. Like Harry, he also had tattoos but not nearly as much. Beside him was Dan who looked closer in age to Harry, maybe a little older. He was blonde but wore a cap on his head and a silver chain around his neck. 

After Harry had finished smoking with his friends, he said his goodbyes and led Y/N upstairs back to her apartment. "What were you smoking? It smelt funny," Y/N asked,"

Harry fell back onto the couch and pulled her down with him. She lay on top of him, the smell of the smoke still lingering on his clothes. "'S just a bit of weed." He confessed.

Y/N gasped, "Weed? Is that legal?" 

Harry looked at her amused, "Not here but it doesn't do much harm to me, been smoking it for ages." He twirled a piece of hair around his finger, "Does that bother you?"

She thought about it but the idea didn't really seem to phase her. As long as he was being safe and was using it in a healthy sort of way, she didn't mind. "N-no, not at all." Harry's smile widened into a grin. He didn't hesitate to kiss her, feeling her soft lips which had recently become his new obsession. They were so soft and red and kissable and made just for him. 

Y/N didn't want him to stop kissing her whenever he did. She loved the feeling of her eyes fluttering shut and all of her senses just filling up with him. Harry pulled away, still cupping her cheek in his hand. Y/N's chest heaved up and down against him as she tried to catch her breath, "Breathe, flower." His heart ached when she looked up at him with swollen red lips, trying to catch her breath. "Lose your breath a little bit huh?"

"A little," She huffed. 

"You're too cute." 

Y/N kissed him again once she had caught enough air again. Harry sat up, pulling on the roots of her hair as her legs wrapped around him so she was straddling him. She whimpered, tugging on the fabric of his t-shirt.

"What do you want baby?" Harry mumbles against her parted lips. 

"Take it off," She whispers, pulling on his shirt. 

Harry does as he's told, pulling his shirt up over his head and revealing his muscular, tattoed torso. Y/N's eyes widened. She'd never seen something so beautiful, he looked as though he was one of those marble statues in a museum. "Eyes on me baby," Harry smiled, pushing her chin up with his finger so her eyes were looking directly into his. "What now?"

"I-I-I don't know," She blushed, losing her confidence now that they were no longer kissing. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want." He looked at her with a soft gaze.

"I-I don't want to disappoint you." She admits, her insecurities coming to the surface. 

"Couldn't disappoint me baby, ever." She smiles, feeling secure in his words and his hold. Y/N leans forward and rubs her cheek against his chest. Harry's hands go beneath the tank top of her pyjamas, brushing her bare back. "If it helps I've never done this before."

She's shocked but she tries to hide it, "W-what do you mean?"

"Been intimate with someone." 

She smiled. 

She really, really liked him.

. . .

For weeks after, Y/N was obsessed with two things. 

Her flower shop and her tattooed boyfriend next door.

When she wasn't working, she was with Harry, either cooking in his apartment or cuddling together on the couch in her living room. Harry had also developed a new taste for basket weaving, joining in on Y/N's Sunday classes with the elderly ladies in the morning. 

In the short time they had known each other, Y/N had come to learn that Harry wasn't a morning person but he never missed a Sunday class even when he was exhausted from the busy day before at the tattoo shop. He would stumble downstairs with dishevelled hair and sleepy eyes in sweatpants and a hoodie, sitting in his seat between Mildred and Julia as they fussed over him. 

Y/N had also grown a love for kissing Harry at every opportunity. She'd take many five-minute breaks, walking over to the tattoo shop and kissing Harry in the cupboard or visiting him in the alleyway behind the building where they'd make out against the brick wall. Even Harry had an addiction to his girlfriend's very kissable lips, sneaking out of his shop in between appointments to smother her in kisses in the storage cupboard. 

"Hey Marshy little fur ball," Y/N bit back a grin when she heard the door of her apartment open and the familiar gruff voice speak to her little cat. 

She swung her legs over her bed and paused the movie she was watching, running to the front door and leaping into his arms, "Hi flower," Harry murmured, inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo. 

Y/N nuzzled her face against his jumper and squeezed him tightly, "Hi Harry," She sighed, blissfully.

"Wanted to come see ya, hope tha's okay." He kissed her quickly. 

"Course, I was watching a film in my room." She tugged on his hand and lead him to her bedroom. 

Harry had spent nights in Y/N's room before. Sometimes he would ask her if it was okay if he took a nap in her bed whenever he finished work early because it was much comfier than his. She'd find him curled up under her blankets, hugging one of her stuffed animals to his chest with the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.

Harry removes his sweatshirt, leaving him in only sweatpants, before he crawls into bed and pats the spot beside him. Y/N turns on the movie but knows that neither of them has any plans of watching it. 

With the amount of kissing they had been doing, Y/N hoped she had gotten a lot better. She realised Harry would often make small, quiet noises whenever she did something he liked, like tugging on his hair or sticking her tongue in his mouth. 

It wasn't long before they were making out again on her bed. Her leg hooked around his hip and her hands in his hair as he gripped her waist, every now and then he would squeeze her ass remembering the first time he did it and how much she loved it from the soft moans that left her. 

Y/N thought that kissing Harry was the best thing in the entire world but what she didn't know was that Harry had plenty more up his sleeve. 

His hand slid from her waist and down to her bare thigh - she was only wearing pyjama shorts since her apartment was pretty warm. He squeezed her softly, "Can I feel you baby?" He asked.

Y/N froze, not sure how to react. "I-I-"

Harry cupped her cheek, "I know," He already knew what she was thinking before she even said anything, "We can carry on doing what we're doing if you prefer. It's no rush." 

"N-no," She grabbed his wrist in both her hands. Y/N was a virgin but she wasn't afraid... Just inexperienced and that made her a little wary. But with Harry, she knew she wanted to allow that part of herself to him. Maybe not the whole thing but a little something. 

"Y-you can feel me... I-if you like." She said, awkwardly. 

Harry chuckles, "What about if you like, hmm?" His fingertip traced circles on her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps. 

"I-I would l-like that p-please." She whispered.

Harry grinned, "Only because you're so polite sweet girl."

Harry's arm slides between her legs and hooks his fingers around her pyjamas bottoms to pull them down her legs. Y/N inwardly praised herself for shaving the night before yet she was pretty sure Harry wouldn't mind either way. Harry tuts when he sees her underwear, "Did m' little flower get all wet from kissing on daddy?" 

She felt the air leave the room and her body heat at the nickname. It was so dirty and yet she felt herself aching from his words. "Y-yes," She breathes. 

"Yes what baby?" He kisses up her thigh. 

"Yes daddy," She murmurs. 

Harry eyes darken as he looks down between her thighs, "My good, polite girl." He pinches the flesh on her thigh and she feels her chest heave.  Y/N gasps for air when his fingers trace the fabric of her underwear and her heart races even more when he moves her underwear to the side to see a part of herself no one had ever seen before.

"Fuck me," He whispers under his breath. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen." 

"R-really?" Y/N blushes, her cheeks hot.

"Don't think I've ever seen something so pretty." 

"T-thank you, daddy." She whispers the last part but it doesn't stop the bulge from growing in Harry's sweatpants. 

"Have you always been this needy when we kiss baby?" Harry murmured in her ear as his fingers part her pussy. He tries to stop himself from groaning at the slick wetness that coats his fingers.

Y/N gasps at the new feeling but is immediately overcome by pleasure as Harry begins to move his finger back up to her clit, "Harry," She whimpers. 

Harry's quick to pull his hand away, "Nuh uh baby, that's not my name."

Y/N's head was all dizzy but she managed to reply, "Daddy, please," She whines.

"Barely even touched you and you're already whining," He tuts before rubbing his thumb over her clit and making small, slow circles. Y/N whimpers at the new sensation of intense pleasure. "Does that feel good flower?" He asks, nipping her ear as he murmurs against it. 

"S-so good- so good daddy, so, so good." She babbles as he continues to tease her clit with his thumb. 

"Who'd have thought I had such a naughty girl hmm?" She arches into his touch as he moves his finger in a certain way. She wonders how she managed to go on for so long without feeling something so blissfully delightful. 

"Put your hand here baby," Harry instructs, reaching for her hand that wasn't currently scrunching the duvet, and placing it flat over the top of his, "Let me show you how to touch yourself. Watch daddy," Y/N's eyes look down to see his gold ring-clad fingers drenched in her wetness, his tattooed hand moving in circles as her rubs her clit. "This is how I want you to touch yourself when you think of me baby and when you're good, I'll make your perfect, little hole feel good too." Y/N gasps and clenches when he brushes a finger against her hole. 

"I-I'm good-Please, I'm good," She mewls and her hand grips his wrist instead. She uses it as leverage to twist and turn into him, the pleasure overwhelmingly good she can't help but hide her face in his neck. 

"You are good," He kisses her forehead, "My good girl." She nods at his praise, eyes shut. 

Harry forces her legs a part and continues to pleasure her in a way she didn't know about until today. She writhes and moans beneath his touch as he whispers dirty things into her ear. "I want you to cum baby, think you can do that?" 

"Mhm," She sighs, already feeling the bubble of pressure in her tummy. "F-feels - feel's s-so-" 

"Feel good m'love?" He coos, "Cum f' me. Cum f' daddy, wanna see you soak my hand." 

At his words, Y/N whimpers as she becomes increasingly sensitive the more he circles her clit. Harry feels as though he's about to explode as he watches her cheeks flush pink and she grinds her pussy against his hand as she rides out her orgasm. "That's it my little flower, so good." He praises her, feeling her shudder as she finishes coming down from her high.

She's panting heavily as Harry slides her panties back into place. "You okay?" Harry checks, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N nods and instantly feels embarrassed, hiding herself in the crook of his neck. Harry chuckles, "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"You're lying," Y/N says, her voice muffled against him.

"Never gonna lie to you flower, never." He promises. 

Y/N removes herself from her hiding place and looks up at him. Harry's heart bursts in his chest when she sees her sleepy, blissful gaze. He wonders where this girl has been all his life and how he managed to go this long without her. He was pretty sure he was falling in love with her but that was a conversation for another day.

"W-what about you?" Y/N looks down and sees the very noticeable bulge in his trousers. 

Harry shakes his head, "Not today," He smiles, "We have plenty of time to experiment some more but think you've had enough experimenting for one night."

"Me too," Y/N curls into his side, not bothering to put her pyjama bottoms back on. "Having sex is exhausting." 

"We didn't even have sex, silly girl." Harry laughs.

"Felt like it," She mumbles against him.

"I'm that good huh?" He grins, cheekily, "Just you wait baby,"

"The best," She slurs, yawning, "M so tired." 

"Yeah? You sleepy baby?" He kisses her forehead. "Get some sleep m'love," He wraps an arm around her and tucks her into his chest. 

"I like you very much Harry," She whispers, sleepily. 

"I like you very much too." Harry replies, holding her close.

psa don't let strangers into your room... actually don't let anyone into your room

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aegon x niece! reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter) smut please! Aegon has always been in love with her and manages to convince Alicent and Viserys to let him marry her. The reader is just as in love and when they get married, thwir wedding night is full of love and passion and 🫦. Aegon hugging her tight while fucking her and reader whimpering and moaning in his ear 🤌🏽

I received so many requests these past days and got inspiration for a lot of them (14!!), so expect more very soon <3 I'm trying to include everything (smut, angst, action)

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p + v, loss of virginity

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Standing in the Great Sept of Baelor, your eyes couldn’t stray from Aegon. Blood was dripping slowly from his bottom lip after being cut after being cut and smeared on his forehead. His frizzy hair had been tamed and the cold of his clothes made the blue of his eyes stand out. 

A dagger was handed to you to cut your palm with. You hissed slightly, watching as blood seeped out. You held your hand away from your pretty dress, not wishing to dirty it with blood, then passed the dagger to Aegon who did the same. He clasped his hand with yours, your blood mingled together as a blood silk was wrapped over your joined hands. 

Queen Alicent wanted Aegon to marry following the Faith of the Seven, but he insisted on Valyrian tradition as the bond by blood was unbreakable. 

‘’Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time or darkness and light,’’ the officiant said, reading from an old book. 

Aegon could feel his heart racing. He couldn’t wait to call you his wife, to walk around court with your arm looped around his. And to no longer have a chaperon following you everywhere. It was so annoying. The only times you were able to be alone together was when you would elope on your dragons. 

If your parents thought a chaperon would stop you from sharing kisses and letting your hands wander to places they should not be, they were mistaken. 

The officiant finally allowed you to kiss, and every part of Aegon ached to shove his tongue into your mouth and kiss the life out of you in front of everyone. But he restrained himself, settling for a kiss that would be just enough to make your cheeks flush. 

When the ceremony came to an end, everyone was bright back to the Keep. You rode a carriage with Aegon and your little brother, Joffrey, which you suspected was a scheme by your parents to make sure no sexual activities would happen in the carriage. 

Aegon's hand was resting on your thigh, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. ‘’This is so frustrating. They really did this on purpose, didn't they?’’ 

‘’It’s not entirely a bad thing. I wouldn’t want you to crease or stain my dress before the feast,’’ you said, smoothing the shimmery white fabric of your dress as you fawned over the gold embroideries. You had never seen a more beautiful gown.  

Aegon smiled smugly, thinking back to your last dragon ride together and the kisses you shared in the clearing…and his hand that slipped into your riding pants. ‘’Little does these fools know, we’ve played them before.’’ Smirking, he leaned in again. ‘’You know what kind of effect you have on me, wearing that dress. Especially knowing what's underneath.’’ He gave your thigh a little squeeze, his hand starting to move upwards just for a moment.

You quickly covered his hand with your own, stopping him. ‘’Stop it. Not here.’’ 

You looked over and saw Joffrey sitting on the opposite seat. Luckily, the boy was too preoccupied staring out the window to notice anything.

A sigh left your husband’s lips. ‘’I don’t want to wait until tonight. I won’t be able to.’’ 

Thankfully, the journey to the Red Keep was short. The doors to the carriage were opened and Aegon stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you out. He took a moment to let his eyes roam over your body, his gaze hungry. Before he could say anything, you pulled him towards the castle and to the throne room where the festivities would be held. Inside, the room was decked out with gold drapes and beautiful flowers — nothing less for a royal wedding. 

The music began as you and Aegon made your first entrance together, your arm linked to his. He had promised to not let you fall in front of the lord and ladies. The guests cheered as you both made your way down the grand aisle, to the large table where your families stood, waiting for you to begin the feast.

As the night went on, you danced and ate cake and indulged in more wine that you would allow yourself to help with the nerves later. You were dancing with Helaena and laughing when you felt an arm snake around your waist and wet lips on your neck.  

You leaned into Aegon’s chest and Helaena took this as her cue to find another dance partner. 

‘’Do you think they will notice if we leave the festivities early?’’ he whispered in your ear, having enough of this feast and wanting to be alone with you. 

You glanced around, searching for your parents. They seemed all involved in conversations with other lords and ladies, but one last pair of eyes was on you: Otto Hightower. Since he caught you kissing in an alcove when you were five and ten, he had been following you and Aegon like a hawk, disproving of your courtship.  

‘’If you can find a way to escape your grandsire, I’ll follow you,’’ you replied. 

Aegon’s laughter mixed with yours as you were running to Megor’s Holdfast where the royal chambers were. It felt like all the times you slipped away from court together to avoid being caught.  

As soon as the door of Aegon’s chambers closed, his lips were on yours and his hands were all over you, grabbing and pulling with a hunger that made your pulse race. The urgency in his movements left you breathless, your body responding instinctively to his touch. 

Clothes were taken off in haste, allowing your lips to kiss more skin. You threw your head back and moaned softly, nails sinking into Aegon's milky skin as he kissed down your neck and to your bared breasts, giving them the attention he's dreamed of. 

‘’Aegon, please,’’ you whimpered, feeling his erect cock prod at your lower stomach. 

He pressed a last kiss to your nipple and nodded, walking you back to his bed. You crawled up to the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Aegon joined you, hovering over you, and studying your flushed face for a moment, before he bent down to kiss your lips again.

You were thankful that your mother had opposed the humiliation of a bedding ceremony. You would never have been able to relax under the eyes of men standing around the bed, waiting for blood to mark the sheets. 

While you were distracted by his kiss, Aegon moved a hand between your bodies to play with your cunt a little, helping you relax and prepare you for his cock. His girth was larger than the fingers he’s inserted before and he didn’t want to hurt you. 

It would be a lie to say you didn't feel anything when he slid into you. The pain was unlike anything you felt before. Seeing the tears prick in your eyes and your pained face, Aegon was quick to sooth you with sweet words until the pain subsided. 

His first thrusts were slow and overwhelming. It was a kind of pleasure you never experienced before. 

‘’I love you, Aegon,’’ you said, seeing stars when he reached a particular spot.

He kissed you sweetly. ‘’I love you.’’ 

You hugged him tight while he moved his hips, his ears blessed by your whimpers and moans.  

A chill blew from the windows, refreshing the warm air after your entercourse. You shivered, clinging to Aegon under the sheets. He closed his eyes, ready for a night of sleep, when your voice stirred him.

‘’Can we do it again?’’ you asked in a whisper, your head resting on his chest while bathing in the afterglow.  

Aegon grinned at the ceiling, thanking the gods for giving him a wife that was just as horny as him.

—

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[verstappenverse]

Revved Up

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

Authors Note: Do I actually believe Max posts on his own instagram these days... let alone would post with a 'scandalous' caption...no? but this is fiction so it's all good 😂

1.4k words / Masterlist

Max was sitting on the plush leather couch in your shared Monaco apartment, flipping through TV channels with all the enthusiasm of a man waiting for a commercial break. He glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stunning Mediterranean view, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him. It wasn’t the usual race strategy or upcoming practice sessions that had him restless—it was something far more personal.

You.

More specifically the photo you had posted on Instagram earlier that day, a simple mirror selfie, a little scandalous but nothing crazy. You looked radiant, sure, but that was normal for you. You were always beautiful to him. What had caught his eye was the flood of comments, the notifications popping up every few seconds as he scrolled through your post.

As he scrolled eyes narrowing as the likes kept ticking upwards. Then he saw it.

Your ex.

The guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that you were Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, because clearly he didn't see an issue with leaving a flirty comment that set Max’s nerves on edge.

'Looking gorgeous as always' it read, with an obnoxious little winking emoji at the end.

Max’s fingers tightened around the remote as the thought of some guy—especially your ex—thinking he had any right to compliment you in that way made his blood boil. You were his. The world knew it, but apparently some people needed reminding.

He didn’t say anything when you had walked into the living room earlier, cheerfully oblivious to his growing annoyance. Instead he had kept quiet, but now it was simmering just under the surface. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Max was used to; on the track he was calm, confident, but when it came to you, his cool, collected exterior faltered. Especially when some idiot tried to act like he still had a chance.

You entered the room now wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, a casual look that contrasted with the glamorous image you had posted earlier. Max glanced at you his jaw tightening, you could sense something was off.

“Max, is everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head as you grabbed your phone from the counter. You didn’t even have to unlock it before he spoke.

“That picture,” he said abruptly, his Dutch accent thicker than usual, which tend to only happened when his emotions were running high. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch in an impatient rhythm.

You furrowed your brow. “What about it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and you could see the tension in his posture. “Your ex commented on it.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t noticed.“I didn’t even see that.”

Max didn’t like the idea of you looking at that idiot’s comment again, but you opened the app and scrolled down anyway finding the offending message almost immediately.

You rolled your eyes and let out a light laugh. “Seriously? He’s such a loser. I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

Max didn’t seem to find it as amusing as you did. His frown deepened. “Yeah, well, he still thinks he can leave comments like that. Like I’m not here.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his grumpy tone. “What, are you jealous?”

His reaction was immediate. “Jealous? Me? No...” He paused. “I mean... you know how many people liked that picture?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how serious he looked. “Max, it’s just Instagram I think the point is to like pictures," you laughed but his expression didn't change ,"Max come on it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, though he still sounded more irritated than actually angry. “Everyone’s drooling over you in the comments. And then there’s him.”

You couldn't help chuckling again and slid onto the couch next to him, pressing your hand against his knee. “Are you worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upwards at the edges, betraying the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” You leaned closer, brushing your lips against his cheek.

Max sighed dramatically throwing his head back against the cushions. “Maybe I should just post a picture with you, remind people who you belong to.”

“Oh, who I belong to?” you teased, poking him playfully in the ribs. “That sounds a little possessive.”

There was a teasing glint in his eye now, but you could still feel the underlying jealousy. “Can you blame me?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, enjoying how worked up he was getting over something so trivial. Seeing him this riled up over some stupid comment was kind of… adorable. You kind of loved when he got all possessive, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“No, I guess I can’t blame you,” you admitted, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But you know I don’t care about those comments, right? Especially not from my ex. I didn’t even notice it.”

“Maybe you should block him,” Max muttered back to sounding grumpy.

You laughed again, unable to stop yourself. “Max, it’s fine, if it’ll make you feel better of course I’ll block him. But I need you to know I never think about him.”

He softened a little at that, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders. “You better not.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him the warmth of his body calming. “Besides, none of those guys commenting are Max Verstappen now are they?”

“Exactly,” Max said, and there was that cocky smile you loved so much. The mood lightened as his fingers brushed through your hair. “None of them stand a chance.”

You grinned up at him. “And neither does my ex, so you can relax.”

He seemed to settle after that, his hand lazily stroking your arm as the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Good. But still…”

“Still what?”

“I think I should post a picture with you. Just to make sure everyone knows.”

You snorted. “You just want an excuse to show off.”

“Can you blame me?” he repeated, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for his phone. “Come on, one picture. Let me remind everyone you’re mine.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine. Just one.”

Max scrolled through his phone finding the perfect shot of you two together arms wrapped around each other, he quickly typed out a caption and hit ‘post.’ Not long after, your phone buzzed with notifications. His fans were quick, already liking and commenting on the post.

You glanced at it over his shoulder, chuckling at the caption: Just a reminder—she’s mine.

“Oh my God Max,” you groaned playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s true.”

You laughed and shook your head, leaning into him once more. “You really are something.”

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And don’t forget it.”

The rest of the evening passed in a much lighter mood. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. Instead, you spent the time teasing Max about his jealous streak, much to his dismay.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Max Verstappen got jealous over a social media comment,” you teased, curling up beside him on the couch.

He rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… protective.”

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous,” he admitted, pulling you closer. “You’re kind of amazing.”

You beamed up at him, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. “Well, good thing I’m all yours, huh?”

“Good thing,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulled away, he added kiddingly “What about, no more selfies without me in them.”

You laughed and nudged him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

But deep down, you didn’t mind the way Max was with you. The way he got protective, a little possessive, and sometimes even a little jealous. Max was known as a fierce competitor on the track, but when it came to you, his heart felt just as fierce. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[entitled-fangirl]

Direwolf.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's direwolf is spoiled by the reader.

A/n: Based on ask! Also I'm running a fever, so I'm praying this makes sense

Masterlist

.....................................

"Perhaps it was an idiotic thought from the start," Cregan mutters as he views the sight before him. 

His sweet wife sat on the ground of the dining hall, lavishing their dire wolf in affection. 

Well, Cregan's direwolf.

Well, it was supposed to be Cregan's. 

He had found the wolf not long before he became the Lord of Winterfell. Now, after almost seven years with the animal, their bond was inseparable. 

So when Cregan's wife joined the mix, Cregan was nervous.

But she had a love for Dark Night, as did the large beast for her. 

"I find it sweet," the Maester said with a light smile. "It is important the two get along, isn't it? Better than fighting for your attention, I'd wager."

"That's the thing," Cregan sighed. "Neither of them needs my attention. They're content on their own."

The maester chuckled, looking at the sight of the woman and wolf before excusing himself.

Cregan walked to the pair, holding his hand out to his wife. "C'mon, sweet girl."

Y/n looked up with a smile and took his hand, brushing off dust from her skirt as she did so. 

Dark Night let out a low coo, sitting up and nuzzling at her thigh.

"Seems I'll have to fight for even a moment with you," Cregan smiled as he tucked his face into her neck.

She let out a soft giggle. "Don't be so upset, Cregan. You know you always have my heart."

He chuckled with her, pulling away and leading her to the dining table, pulling out her chair before sitting across from her. 

The two talked of mundane things as usual: their day, the problems of the North, ideas they had, anything and everything. 

Finally, Cregan tilted his head with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, as if caught in a horrid lie. "N…nothing."

He simple stared, his hands resting atop the table. "Are you feeding Dark Night under the table?"

She reaches to pick something off of her plate, lowering it below the table. "No?"

He leaned back in his chair with an incredulous look and a chuckle, "You little minx. He eats enough, you know that."

"Well, yes, but," she gave a shrug. "He just looks at me so pitifully, I cannot say no."

She reached up to grab more, but Cregan stopped her, "Don't."

She paused, "Cregan-"

"-Do not spoil that damn dog. He is fine."

Before long, Dark Night's large head weighed down on Cregan's lap from under the table, a longing look in the animal's eyes. 

Cregan looked down at him with a tight lip and a shaking head, "Your methods may work on our sweet girl, but you will get nothing from me."

The wolf nuzzled in more, trying to get Cregan's attention still. 

Finally, Cregan waved his hand out at the wolf, "Get. Go on. You have already been fed today."

Dark Night accepted the defeat and left the dining hall, an obvious annoyance in the way he walked. 

"Now," Cregan sighed. "Let us try to speak again."

…

A few hours later, Cregan entered their chambers in pure exhaustion. 

The day had been longer than he had hoped, and he wanted nothing more than time with his wife.

Seeing her curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace warmed something inside of him. 

He came from behind, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head. 

She hummed, looking up from her book. "Hello, lovely."

A small whine sounded in the room.

Cregan's brow furrowed as he scanned the room for his wolf. 

"Why is he on the bed?"

She leaned forward, looking over her shoulder to see that the wolf had indeed found a comfortable place on their bed. She shrugged, "He was there when I got here. I didn't have the heart to move him."

Cregan gripped her shoulders from behind, gently massaging them. "I've had this wolf years, and never has he even been allowed the notion that being upon the bed was allowed."

She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Cregan this time, "He's been so wonderful today. Let him stay."

He leaned down to her ear, a teasing smile across his face, "Why should I?"

She let out a hum. "Please, Cregan."

"Please what?" He teased.

Her head leaned back against the back of the sofa, "You know what you're doing, Lord Stark."

He smirked, leaning up and moving to the bed, "Up."

Dark Night lifted his head to look at Cregan.

Y/n immediately gets off of the couch, "Cregan."

"I mean it," he complains. "That dog cannot run this castle." 

"He's not," she comes as she moved to Dark Night, petting his fur.

"My love, he-" Cregan froze completely, eyeing the dog. "A collar? You've bought him a collar?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps."

Cregan crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "Gods, you're gonna be the death of me."

"He's being so sweet, Cregan. Look at him!"

Cregan looked down, seeing his sweet wife practically laying on the large animal.

He shook his head, a large smile coming across his face. "As long as there is still room for your husband."

"Oh, always, Cregan."

…

Cregan woke up in the night, pulling at the blanket that would not move. He leaned up on his elbows, seeing the giant dire wolf that laid on his wife's feet, holding the blanket down underneath him. 

Cregan heaved a great sigh, but inside, he really didn't mind.

He was glad the two greatest things in his life cared for each other. It made his occasional absence to the Wall less guilt wracked. 

He knew they'd keep each other warm until he came back.

.....................................

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