#I just need to crash out about this for another decade

[altarfates]

wait hang on what happened to him ??? how much time has passed ??? was he an old man to begin with ??? im crashing out tell me your secrets ( enjoy ur retirement king )

[catchastarorten]

—“This one’s mine.”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x VIP!fem!reader

Summary: after being pestered by your own brother, you agreed to accompany him to the island to watch the games, only to find yourself helping a waiter—Jun-ho—who was being eyed by a creepy panther-masked VIP.

Warnings: your sarcasm, mentions of death/violence in Glass Bridge, your brother is a VIP, brother & sister bickering/you put him in his place because he's being annoying, the VIPs—panther masked VIP being a weirdo, you save Jun-ho tho, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.6k

The golden fox mask felt heavy on your face, pressing against your skin in a way that made you want to rip it off and toss it across the room. But that would be improper, wouldn’t it? A VIP must maintain decorum. At least, that’s what your insufferable little brother kept reminding you.

Speaking of him, he was sitting beside you, his wolf mask barely concealing the delighted smirk on his face as he leaned forward, watching the players stumble and fall to their deaths on the Glass Bridge. He laughed—actually laughed—when a man made the wrong choice out of the two and jumped, crashing through the wrong glass panel, screaming all the way down.

You sighed, swirling the drink in your glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light. It was infinitely more interesting than the so-called “game” before you.

How had you let brother dearest drag you here? Oh, right. He had whined and pouted and gone on and on about how you never did anything fun with him. You had rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten stuck in your skull, but against your better judgment, you agreed.

And now here you were, surrounded by a bunch of snobby men—your presence wasn’t nearly enough to balance out the testosterone levels—draped in velvet robes, sipping on the finest liquor, and betting on desperate people fighting for their lives.

You suppressed a yawn.

“This is so much better than another charity gala, isn’t it?” your brother drawled, nudging your arm. “You have to admit, this is real entertainment.”

“Yeah, watching poor people die really warms the heart,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be such a bore, sis,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This is tradition. You should be honored to be here.”

Oh, you were honored, alright. Honored that your parents left everything to him, making sure he had enough money to play dress-up with his rich little friends while you had to fight for your own wealth. Not that you needed their inheritance, but the principle of it still burned. He got to be the spoiled prince while you had to claw your way up in the world. And now here he was, wasting it all on cheap thrills.

The Glass Bridge game was nearing midway. The players were hesitating, trying to strategize their way across. The VIPs around you were buzzing with excitement, shouting bets, clapping, drinking like it was the biggest sports event of the decade. But all you saw were walking corpses, their fear so thick in the air it nearly masked the expensive cologne in the room.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the burn coat your throat.

“At least pretend like you’re having fun,” your brother whined. “People are gonna think you’re some kind of a… prude.”

“Oh no.” you responded mockingly.

He huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. If there was one thing he hated, it was not getting his way. You could practically hear the gears turning in his spoiled little mind, trying to come up with a way to make you enjoy this, but his thoughts were interrupted when the other VIPs erupted into cheers and groans. You just exhaled through your nose, staring at the mess.

It was the players on the glass bridge, arguing, too afraid to jump. One shoved another forward, out of desperation or malice. The man screamed as he plunged to his death.

“Ugh, finally,” your brother muttered. “I hate when they hesitate. Just jump, you cowards!”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. Did he even realize how pathetic he sounded? Lounging in a silk robe, sneering at people who had nothing? He wouldn’t last a minute in their position.

“You should play,” you mused, tilting your head. “Next year.”

He snorted. “Please, I would dominate these games.”

You smiled behind your mask. “Would you?”

Your brother scoffed. “You doubt me?”

“I know you,” you said. “And you wouldn’t make it past the first round.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I’d make it to the finals, at least.”

You leaned in, voice dropping. “Tell you what. If you join next year, I’ll bet against you. Just to make it interesting.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. But you saw it—the flicker of doubt, of fear. As much as he enjoyed watching, he knew very well he would never survive playing.

And that? That was the only entertaining thing you’d seen all night.

A moment later, your eyes flicked toward the Panther-masked VIP, whose frustration over losing a bet had quickly turned into something much more unpleasant. His focus had shifted from the game to the waiter standing stiffly beside him—a waiter who, you observed, wasn’t moving quite like the other servers.

You weren’t an idiot. The way that waiter hesitated when he was called, the way his shoulders were a little too tense, the way his hands remained perfectly still as if not used to serving—it all screamed of someone who didn’t belong.

That was because he wasn’t really a waiter, it was Jun-ho disguised as one, though you didn’t know that. He had taken down one of the servers moments before the VIPs arrived on the island.

And now, the Panther-masked VIP was ordering him to sit beside him and take off his mask.

Jun-ho—recognizing the sharpness in his tone—tried to resist, his voice calm. “I need to serve the other guests, sir.”

The Panther VIP scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, come now, the others won’t mind if I keep this one for myself, will they?”

A chorus of laughter and amusement rippled through the room, the other VIPs agreeing without a care—“he’s all yours!” one of them laughed. Your brother even chuckled beside you, raising his glass as if this was all just another part of the entertainment.

You, however, did not find it amusing.

Before Jun-ho could be forced into something he clearly wanted no part of, you lazily raised your hand and gestured toward your glass.

“I need a refill,” you said smoothly.

Jun-ho’s eyes darted toward you, wary but sharp, understanding immediately that you were giving him an out.

Your brother groaned, shifting beside you. “Come on, sis, let him have his fun—”

Your hand shot out, swatting him hard against his arm before he could finish his whining.

He yelped, rubbing his arm. “Ow! What the—?”

“Shut up.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the look you gave him through your golden fox mask was enough to make him think better of it. He slumped back into the couch with a huff, grumbling under his breath.

The Panther-masked VIP tsked in annoyance but didn’t say more as Jun-ho bowed his head slightly and stepped away from him, making his way toward you. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease, if only slightly.

As he reached your couch, he carefully took your glass and poured you another drink, his movements slow and precise. Up close, you could see the way his jaw was set tight, his eyes flickering with restraint.

You leaned in slightly as he finished pouring. “You okay?” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jun-ho hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding once. “Thank you,” he said quietly, placing your glass back into your hand.

You didn’t reply, just took a slow sip while he stood beside the couch you sat on.

However, the weight of the Panther-masked VIP’s stare was suffocating. You didn’t even have to look to know that he was still watching Jun-ho like a predator eyeing its next meal.

Annoyed, you turned your head ever so slightly, locking eyes with him through your golden fox mask. You raised your glass in a slow, mocking salute before downing the rest of your drink in one smooth motion.

The message was clear: Back off.

Unfortunately, subtlety was wasted on men like him.

“Come back here,” the Panther VIP drawled, waving his fingers in a lazy command at Jun-ho.

Jun-ho’s grip on the bottle in his hands tightened slightly, his body as still as a statue. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t want to go back over there.

So, before he could even think about stepping forward, you reached out and grabbed his forearm, holding him in place. Your fingers pressed firmly against the fabric of his uniform—a silent message that he could stay with you.

You sat up straighter, your voice cutting through the noise.

“This one’s mine.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Jun-ho stiffened beside you, clearly taken aback. You didn’t mean it in the way it sounded—he wasn’t a possession. But these men only responded to power plays, and if that was the language they spoke, then fine. You’d speak it fluently.

Your brother let out a low whistle beside you, his amusement clear. “Ohhh, big sis is getting bold.”

You didn’t even hesitate—your palm struck his arm again with a sharp thwack.

“Ow!” he rubbed where you smacked him.

“Shut up,” you muttered, leveling him with a glare. “If you don’t stop embarrassing yourself, I’ll give you a real beating in front of all these people.”

He grumbled something under his breath, soothing his arm, but he didn’t push it further.

The Panther VIP, however, was not so easily prevented. “Come now,” he chuckled, though there was irritation beneath his voice. “You can’t hoard all the fun.”

“Sure, I can,” you replied dryly.

A few of the other VIPs laughed at that, enjoying the exchange. The Panther VIP let out a breath through his nose, clearly displeased, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight with another VIP. That was the unspoken rule—annoyance was fine, but outright challenging each other was bad form.

Jun-ho turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. You met his eyes for a brief second, and then you stood up, keeping your grip on him firm.

“We’re leaving,” you announced.

Your brother groaned. “What? Where are you going?”

You didn’t even look at him as you responded, voice utterly monotone. “Somewhere that isn’t here.”

More amusement rippled through the other VIPs, some watching with interest, others indifferent as they returned their attention to the game. But as you turned to leave, you felt it—that silent, looming presence watching you.

The Frontman.

He didn’t say a word, didn’t move to stop you. He simply observed, his masked face unreadable.

You met his gaze for a long moment before turning away, leading Jun-ho out of the room. No one stopped you. No one dared to stop you.

And just like that, you stole the only honest man in the room away from the wolves.

The moment you got him alone into a dimly-lit, empty room, you could feel the tension radiating off of him. Jun-ho wasn’t stupid—he knew he didn’t belong here, and he knew that you knew. His shoulders were taut, his breath controlled but just a little too shallow, and his hand was subtly reaching for something. A gun, maybe. A knife. Whatever he had managed to smuggle in.

You raised your hands slowly, showing you had no weapon, no ill intent. “Relax,” you said, your voice calm, softer even. You let go of his arm, stepping back to give him space. “I’m not going to turn you in… or whatever you’re thinking right now.”

Jun-ho’s sharp eyes flickered with suspicion. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because if I was planning to sell you out, I would’ve done it back there.” you tilted your head slightly, crossing your arms loosely. “Would’ve let that old man have his fun.” you said with a hint of distaste at the thought.

That gave him pause. He studied you, his gaze flickering over your golden fox mask, as if trying to gauge whether you were lying, or just the need to understand why a supposed VIP was helping him. You didn’t blame him for being on edge. This entire place was a slaughterhouse dressed up in gold. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t trust anyone either.

“You don’t belong here,” you stated plainly, watching for his reaction.

“And neither do you.”

That actually made you laugh, just a short, soft chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

He hesitated. Maybe because your mask didn’t hold the same predatory amusement as the others. His fingers twitched, like he was still deciding whether to draw his weapon, but then he let out a slow breath.

You sighed too and gestured toward the door. “You should go. Before someone actually does come looking for you.”

Jun-ho didn’t move right away. He just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. And for a brief moment, you could tell—he wanted to ask.

Who are you?

Why are you helping me?

What’s under the mask?

But he didn’t ask. He just gave you a small nod before slipping out the door, disappearing like a shadow. You shut the door.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as you turned back toward the empty room. Not even a minute later, a knock came at the door. You raised an eyebrow, opening the door, meeting the presence of a square-masked guard, who stepped inside.

“The Frontman sent me to check on you,” the guard said, his voice hollow under the mask. “Where’s the waiter?”

You gave him a blank look. “What waiter?”

The guard straightened. “The waiter you left with.”

You tilted your head, voice dry. “Oh. Him.” you shrugged lazily. “I got bored. Told him to get lost.”

The square guard didn’t buy it. “Where did he go?”

You sighed, as if this was the most exhausting conversation of your life. “Am I his babysitter?”

The guard didn’t move. He was pushing. You didn’t like being pushed.

So you took a slow step forward, closing the space between you and the guard. He stood his ground, but you could feel the slight hesitation in his stance as you slowly backed him up against the wall.

When his back hit the surface, the shift in atmosphere was instant. You weren’t loud. You weren’t aggressive. But the weight of your presence—the empty, unreadable calm of someone who knew how to lie—was enough to make the guard tense.

You tilted your head slightly, a slow, empty smile forming under your mask. “What exactly are you suggesting?” you murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That I’m hiding something?”

The square guard stiffened.

“Because that would be a very bold accusation to make against a VIP,” you continued, voice dropping to something almost sickly sweet. “And you wouldn’t want to insult a guest, would you?”

There it was—the slight shift in his posture, the hesitation and hint of nervousness.

“I—”

You stepped back, your fake smile still in place. “Good talk,” you said dryly, dusting off your robe like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Tell the Frontman to send someone more competent next time.”

The square guard didn’t argue, he just quickly stepped away from the wall, stiffly nodding before leaving the room without another word.

You sighed as the door shut behind him, rubbing a hand against the side of your neck.

This whole thing had been a drag, but at least you’d managed to do one decent thing tonight.

[spokenforyou]

sylus x fem reader

PRAEDATOR

synopsis: sylus is in a frenzy and you’re his only cure notes: based on the newest “Innocent Bird Cage” enjoy! :3 warnings: vulgarity, nsfw, unprotected, swearing, hickeys, marks of ownership, biting, light spanking wc: 2.9k

[minors don’t interact��� by choosing to interact with this content, you are consenting to view something that is not appropriate and nsfw despite warnings!]

“How does it feel…To watch me from outside the cage?”

Sylus is going through yet another frenzy, something you had just found out about. He’s feral, he’s needing, he’s wanting, he’s craving. You and only you.

You’re the only one able to tame him, and although he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s unable to get himself under control…

You stand in the cage with him, and he suddenly lunges at you. His arms coming to fly around you, one snaking down to your waist and the other near your neck. Sylus nibbles at your ear and presses his body firmly against you.

“Sweetie, I can’t hold back from you. You smell so divine, and I know you taste even better…” He drags his mouth down to your neck, biting it and claiming you as his.

“Sylus, how can I help you get out of this state?” You whisper and he only chuckles, hands running higher up your body.

“You can give yourself to me…Tame me, darling.” His words send shivers down your spine because you know you can’t resist him. Although he’s in this state, you are craving him just as badly.

He lets out an animalistic huff of need against your neck where he is breathing in your scent.

“Please…Please…” he croaks out, his heart racing a million miles an hour.

Everything within him is screaming for you to just give in. He wants you with every fiber of his being; he craves your touch that could soothe the wildfire within him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling his body tense behind you, and you gulp.

“Is it the only way?” You almost hesitate to ask.

Sylus lets out a possessive growl, his grip on you becoming more firm yet almost desperate. He doesn’t want it to be the only way, but his mind is not fully his right now.

Desire and a need only you can quench consumed his body. He presses his lips against the column of your neck, letting them trail up to your ear as he huskily says, “You’re my only way, sweetheart… I need you…”

You turn to look at him, his eyes nearly glowing in the dim room, his face flushed, and body heaving. Your eyes drop to his lips and they’re parted slightly, almost so he can breathe correctly.

Sylus holds everything back, just to not pounce on you, needing your consent, but damn, is it hard. If you don’t help him, he’ll go insane.

“Please…” You hear him whisper as he looks down at you, something you’ve never heard him say, and at that moment you give in.

“If it’s the only way…” You nod and Sylus instantly crashes his lips down onto yours before you can even blink.

His lips chasing yours in a messy kiss that he’s been craving for what feels like decades. His tongue meets yours and he groans, pulling you against him.

Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, his new mullet hairstyle. It was enough to make you just as insane. A style only he could pull off.

He growls and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss.

Sylus’ hands grip your bottom tightly while he holds you, and he feels his body growing harder and hotter.

You break the kiss and look at him, his eyes now nearly fluttering. “Sylus, not in here…” you refer to the cage and he nods.

He walks the two of you out of the cage that feels like his prison and he leaves the room. Sylus finds his way to a separate room and drags the two of you in there, his legs nearly giving out, the need taking over his body.

Thankfully, there’s a bed in the center of the room. He carries you over and drops you on it, your body sinking into the soft mattress.

As soon as he has you within the confines of a private room, Sylus is upon you again, his body fitting between your thighs as he holds himself over you.

His fiery intensity dilates his eyes, and his breathing is heavy. You have never seen him so vulnerable yet so hungry at the same time.

He leans down to kiss you, his teeth nipping and his tongue hungrily demanding entrance. You instantly allow entry and he groans.

His body grinds against yours, wanting to be as close to you as possible, wanting to feel every inch of you against him. He groans into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming over your curves like a man lost in the desert finally finding an oasis.

His body, his mind, everything is on fire. The fire only growing stronger as he ravages you; you were his cure.

Sylus moves down your jawline, trailing kisses as he reaches your neck. He sucks and nips, leaving his mark on your skin, wanting to claim you as his own.

“I need you…You only…” he growls against your neck, his hands already undressing you with an intense desperation.

Now you feel your boys beginning to heat, and a pool forming between your legs. You’ve never been so turned on by how desperate he seems. Like you were his kryptonite.

Sylus then tears your clothing as if they’re nothing, needing to get to the skin underneath. His mouth moves over your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing and tasting your skin.

It’s as if he’s starved for you, as if he can’t get enough. He wants to touch, feel, taste… possess every bit of you.

He kisses and sucks his way down your body, his hands holding your hips in place as he worships every inch of your skin. A man gone mad is all you see.

Leaving a trail of marks, claiming you as his one and only. He reaches the apex of your thighs and he looks up at you, his eyes filled with raw need and a primal hunger.

“Please, Sy…” You whisper out a whine, now you were the desperate one. He smirks and licks his lips quickly; he doesn’t need to be told twice.

Sylus leans down, his tongue tasting you, savoring your very essence, your very being. He growls against you, his hands holding your thighs apart as he drinks you in like a man dying of thirst.

“So fucking good…” He moans against you, and the vibrations travel up your body, his name leaving your lips in return.

He’s relentless, his tongue working you skillfully, his mouth demanding that you come undone for him, for him and only him.

His grip on your thighs tightens, his tongue finding that sweet spot that makes you arch against him, and he doubles down on it, wanting to feel you unravel under his touch.

Sylus’ eyes lock on your face, his eyes memorize everything you do, every squeeze of your eyes, and drop of your jaw. He drinks it in, thirsty.

Your body tightens and the tension in your body grows, signaling you’re close. Sylus feels the way your body shakes, and he growls, his cock hardening beyond relief, almost as if he was going to cum with you at that very moment.

He found pleasure in pleasuring you, and he needed you to soak him, to drown him.

“Sylus, I…” You moan and your back arches; his hands hold you down as he continues to devour you.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue and mouth working in perfect harmony to bring you to your peak. He can feel your thighs tremble, your body tense up, and he can tell that you’re on the brink.

Sylus growls against you, his voice a raspy command, “Cum for me sweetheart…Let me taste you…”

“I, Fuck…” You let out a whine and come undone not even one second after he speaks.

Your hips buck against his face, his nose rubbing against your clit as he laps in your juices. His mind filled with bliss and hunger, he savors you to the very last drop.

He finally pulls away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence, his eyes burning with a primal fire.

He crawls up your body, his own body pressing against yours, his muscular form a stark contrast to your soft curves.

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and you let out a dirty moan. The two of you loved tasting each other, and he fucking knew it.

His body grinds against yours, his hard length already pressing against your lower stomach through his clothes, hot and aching for you.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his voice ragged and needful, “I need you… I need you now… Please sweetheart…Please…”

You nod and he quickly strips off his clothes, tossing them somewhere on the floor nearby before he leans back down.

His hands are on your hips again, lifting you up to meet him; he can no longer hold back the primal need to be inside you.

With a smooth movement, he pushes into you, a guttural moan escaping his and your lips as he finally feels the heat and slickness of your body enveloping him.

He lets out a deep moan, his eyes closing briefly as pleasure races through him, his need finally being satisfied. He didn’t give you time to adjust, and he instantly thrusts, slowly but not as gentle as usual. The thickness of his length stretching you wide and you whine of pain.

“Sylus, it hurts…” tears prick your eyes although you feel intense pleasure.

“Safe word, baby…” He mutters as he continues his thrusts. Sylus knew if you were uncomfortable or wanted to stop, you’d use the safe word, hence why the two of you came up with it. You’ve never even used it.

You didn’t feel the need to use it, just needed to adjust to his size. But at that moment, he shifts his angle. Bringing your hips up to meet his, his movements growing more desperate, more wild.

His lips find your neck, his teeth and tongue finding every sensitive spot that makes you gasp and writhe beneath him. He worships you like a goddess, the only sight in his eyes.

Sylus’ cock presses deep inside your cunt, shaping your walls to fit him with every thrust. His cock nearly about to burst, edging himself until you cum first. His head drops to your neck, and he peppers kisses along your skin, muttering sweet words and words of dirty greed.

He continues his assault on your senses, his body moving in a primal dance, his need mounting, climbing to new heights as he fucks you.

His hand slides down, finding that sweet, sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing and stroking, wanting to push you over the edge once more. Your moans get louder and he nips harder at your skin before pulling away abruptly.

“Ride me.” He slips out of you with a slight groan and he lifts you up off the bed. Switching you two, he situates himself and lowers you onto his cock.

Your eyes roll back at the fill once again, the fill you missed. His hands grip your hips, leaving bruises that will last for days, but you don’t care to notice, and neither did he.

You bounce with fervor and he meets your thrusts, driving himself deeper inside of you. The head of his cock nearly pushing into your cervix, the two of you savor each other.

Sylus’ head leans back, his eyes squeeze shut and mouth gaping as you ride him. His hands help you bounce faster and harder on top of him.

“Fuck, this was all I needed…You wrapped around me, taking me like a good girl.” He mutters under his breath as he lets out a groan.

“So good, so good at this baby…” Sylus nods as his eyes slowly open to watch you. Eyes watching the way your tits bounce and he insanely leans forward to suck them.

His lips latch around one, and a hand massages and twists the nipple on the other. Your moans grow louder and his cock pulses inside of you, the two of you close.

Your words are blubbering together, and he smirks against your chest. “Cock drunk, aren’t you?” He spanks your ass and your walls squeeze him, his eyes fluttering, knowing what that means.

He can’t control the sounds escaping him, grunts and moans falling from his lips as you ride him, your body a tantalizing sight above him. His body is tensing up, his need mounting, his control slipping.

“Sy… I can’t hold it.” Moans fall from your lips and he nods. His own release is close, but he wants you to come undone first.

Sylus can feel your body tightening around him, your movements becoming more frantic, and he groans at the sensation. He sits up, his arms wrapping around you. Pulling you against him and holding you in place as he thrusts up into you with a new sense of desperation.

His mouth finds your neck, his lips and teeth working the sensitive skin as his body moves beneath you. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in, guiding you, holding you in place.

Your moaning and the sound of skin on skin fill the room, mingling with his gruff moans.

“Cum for me... Cum for me, sweetheart..”

You reach your second orgasm and you nearly pass out, body overheating; you see stars as your body squeezes him.

The feel of your body shuddering around him, the sight of you coming undone in his lap, pushes him over the edge.

Sylus follows you into oblivion, a guttural moan escaping him as he succumbs to his own release, his body shuddering and taut against you as he releases inside of you. Filling you up with his warmth, he groans.

Continuing his thrusts, he finishes a second time, filling you up completely. The walls of your womb painted white. His moans overtaking your senses.

“I love you, I fucking love you…” Sylus whispers to you.

He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried against your neck as he tries to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. You lay limp in his arms, body nearly numb from pleasure.

He holds you against him, feeling your body go limp, your breath ragged and uneven. He can sense your exhaustion, your body still shuddering and trembling, the aftermath of your release and the ferocity of his own.

He presses gentle kisses against your neck, his own body slowly finding its calm as the frenzy that consumed him slowly subsides.

Sylus’ fingers gently thread through your hair. He can still taste you on his lips, the sweet and heady flavor of your desire, a sensation that he’ll never grow tired of.

He presses another soft kiss against your shoulder, his voice a low, gruff murmur.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You mutter a quiet, “Mmm… Tired and sore already…” and he chuckles.

He can imagine that you’re both feeling weary and sore, given the intensity of what just transpired between you two.

He shifts beneath you, gently lifting you off of him and laying you down on the bed, your body still trembling and shaking.

You feel a loss of emptiness as he slides out of you and you fight back a whine. He situates you on the bed so you can get comfortable and relax.

As you’re laid down on the bed, he can see the state of your body, your trembling limbs, the flush on your skin, and the evidence of your release still glistening between your thighs. He takes in the sight of you, his expression full of both concern and satisfaction.

Sylus moves to lie down beside you, pulling you in against him, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. His fingers gently brush against your skin, a silent apology for any soreness or discomfort you’re currently feeling.

“Sy…?” You speak up quietly, and he hums, his fingers continuing their patterns.

“Can you grab a washcloth for me to clean up the mess? My legs hurt and I don’t wanna move.” You chuckle and sigh.

He nods in understanding, his expression soft and caring, although you can’t see him. He shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze still trained on you.

“Of course.” He rises from the bed and disappears into the adjoining bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm, wet washcloth in hand.

Sylus sits back down beside you, his eyes scanning over your body, taking in the sight of your still trembling form, the evidence of their shared intimacy still obvious to your skin.

He slowly, gently runs the warm cloth between your thighs, his touch soft and caring. Once he’s finished, he discards the wash cloth and lays down beside you once again.

Sylus’ hands wrap around you as he molds his body to yours, kissing your back gently. “Get some rest, baby. You’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

He feels his own exhaustion setting in and pulls you closer. Your bodies relax and you fall asleep soundly.

Just before he drifts off, Sylus’ voice, rough and barely audible, breaks the silence.

“I love you… my girl…”

And with that, he succumbs to the heaviness of his lids, letting sleep claim him, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you against his chest.

You’ve never felt more loved even in your sleep.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x Female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house

AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

~~

He was used to playing for second best.

In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son. 

But never from her.

She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.

He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.

It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly. 

She made his miserable heart full. 

Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life. 

He never believed he was worthy of her love. 

And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.

~~

It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.

A day Aemond was dreading. 

It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it. 

Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn. 

“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground. 

“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”

“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.

His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun. 

“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.

“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”

“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly. 

Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.

It was the socialization he dreaded. 

Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight. 

But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.

Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well. 

Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.

His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne. 

“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.

Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.

“It’s been too long, my friend.” 

“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.” 

Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time. 

He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else. 

As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.

He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.

“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously. 

“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.

“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.

Viserys laughed and looked at his friend. 

“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics. 

Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything. 

If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.

Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.

“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line. 

She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.

Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her. 

The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.

Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding. 

He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room. 

She looked at him first. 

She smiled at him first.

It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.

He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.

~~

“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings. 

They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast. 

Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.

“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.” 

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave. 

The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal. 

The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found. 

As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully. 

“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.

“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing. 

Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.

“She’s in her tree.”

“Her tree?” 

The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them. 

He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree. 

She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.

As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them. 

“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”

Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice. 

“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation. 

Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself. 

He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.

“Would you like to sit?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.

Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him. 

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her. 

“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words. 

“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.

His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago. 

“They’re beautiful.”

She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting. 

“Do you draw?”

“No, nowhere near as well as you.”

“You must be shit then because these are awful.”

Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him. 

But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him. 

A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before. 

“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature. 

“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”

No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile. 

She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced. 

Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave. 

He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease. 

She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal. 

~~

The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering. 

She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed. 

She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through. 

With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”

“I was.” 

Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”

She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause. 

“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”

Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer. 

Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain. 

They couldn’t say no to her. 

By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer. 

A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow. 

~~

She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing. 

She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.

Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.

She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm. 

With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat. 

The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair. 

Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated. 

She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table. 

Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached. 

“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily. 

“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”

“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”

“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held. 

“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly. 

“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her. 

“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.

“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”

Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against. 

“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”

Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.

“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”

“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”

He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” He insisted.

“That would be wonderful.” 

He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet. 

By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her. 

She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before. 

“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.

They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had. 

Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.

But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears. 

He had never felt so important. 

~~

King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.

Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history. 

It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.

A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.  

“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior. 

“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day. 

“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife. 

She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door. 

“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl. 

She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.

“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her. 

“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him. 

“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.” 

It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.

~~~

She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic

princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.

“What is this thing?”

Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.

“That’s a beetle.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”

The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands. 

Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.

“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”

The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.

“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”

Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.

“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.

“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”

“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”

Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.

The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving. 

Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.

Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window. 

“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.

“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”

The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious. 

Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.

Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.

The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name. 

“Hmm?”

“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.

“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”

“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”

Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower. 

“Here.”

She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.

Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair. 

The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“You two are pathetic.”

“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.

Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.

“Do what?”

“Antagonize him.” 

“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why would anything happen to me?”

“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.

“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries. 

~~

A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

She recognized the boy immediately. 

“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze. 

But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her. 

“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew. 

He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.” 

Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her. 

He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood. 

“I just want to go to my chambers.”

“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.

Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves. 

He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.

Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze. 

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair. 

“Were you in the dragon pit again?”

He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless. 

“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon. 

She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense. 

“They gave me a pig.”

Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed. 

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”

“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”

“Aemond-”

“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”

Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence. 

“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”

Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history. 

“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”

The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her. 

He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her. 

“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”

“You would want me there?”

“Of course I would.” 

She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”

~~

Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around. 

How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.

His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil. 

Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra. 

He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised. 

He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her. 

She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself. 

He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.

“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again. 

His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes. 

“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile. 

“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard. 

He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard. 

He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes. 

By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him. 

The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Aemond!” 

His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her. 

She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book. 

He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.

“Why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”

He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend. 

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly. 

Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond. 

She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him. 

She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him. 

“You could never intrude.”

Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him. 

“I’d rather be with you.”

Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant. 

She chose him. 

No one had ever chosen him.

~~

She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.

She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure. 

A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave. 

She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.

“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.” 

The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free. 

“Is he alright?”

Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him. 

“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.” 

A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him. 

The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival. 

On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother. 

She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached. 

Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed. 

“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words. 

“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.” 

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.” 

She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”

She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her. 

After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.

She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying. 

It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could. 

On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.

“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.” 

She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her. 

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before. 

She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.

The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could. 

He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks. 

His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar. 

She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers. 

“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile. 

He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair. 

“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities. 

“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear. 

“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks. 

His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred. 

The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming. 

The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted. 

She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him. 

Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye. 

“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.” 

It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.

“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

“Aemond, I-”

“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks. 

Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life. 

“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!” 

She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste. 

Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost. 

Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything. 

~~

She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet. 

The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered. 

“Darling?”

She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side. 

“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”

“I’m fine.”

The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.

“Was it not what you expected?”

She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”

Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.” 

She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away. 

“Aemond?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave. 

“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat. 

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”

She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt. 

“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”

She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”

The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful. 

Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now. 

~~

She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong. 

Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised. 

As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort. 

As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.

She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold. 

She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left. 

She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived. 

It suddenly struck her. 

They were marigolds. 

She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them. 

Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile. 

She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes. 

I am deeply, truly sorry.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said

Please forgive me

- Your Aemond

Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow. 

The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.

She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.

She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.

“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.” 

The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior. 

They were the last things on her mind.

Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together. 

Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him. 

She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation. 

Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers. 

Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry. 

He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain. 

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world. 

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”

Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time. 

He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.” 

She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.

He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him. 

She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him. 

“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day. 

Aemond sighed and bowed his head. 

“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.

“Like what?”

“Like you were horrified of me.”

“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears. 

“But-”

“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.” 

The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.

“You… you’re not-”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.

“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”

The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath. 

He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.

He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child. 

But none of it mattered. 

She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.

Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.

“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.” 

Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter. 

His first laugh since the incident. 

From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side. 

The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish. 

Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.

The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying. 

“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her. 

“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”

“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”

Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate. 

“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”

“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily. 

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl. 

But they all had a duty to perform.

~~

Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed. 

“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.

Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins. 

Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm. 

“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”

“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.” 

Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly. 

Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time. 

She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her. 

“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers. 

The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them. 

She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her. 

Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands. 

She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on. 

Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer. 

She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place. 

He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her. 

She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life. 

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her. 

She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker. 

She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.

“It’s alright.” He assured her. 

He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe. 

A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep. 

The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays. 

The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers. 

Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew. 

She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him. 

~~

I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx

[celestialwrites]

unbothered character dialogue + prompts ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

@celestialwrites for more!!

♡ “breathing air that you contaminate deeply unsettles me.”

♡ constantly putting their feet on their superior’s desk/table.

♡ “please remind me why you are relevant.”

♡ always commenting at the worst moment possible.

♡ “life was far more peaceful when i thought you were dead.”

♡ when someone is yelling at them, the character pulls out a book and just starts reading.

♡ “i gave my last fuck two decades ago, you’re going to need a time machine to find it.”

♡ sees a dead body and just sighs, turns around and goes to the breakfast diner across the street.

♡ “if he opens his mouth again i’m calling the cops for a noise disturbance.”

♡ has one hobby that they get really prickly about if people interrupt or make fun of it.

♡ “when did you finally decide to be helpful?”

♡ sees another character having a panic attack and asks them to quiet down so they can finish their crossword puzzle.

♡ “maybe if you were as tall as your ego you would have seen it.”

♡ other characters having to remind them to either pretend to care or not speak at all during important meetings/situations.

♡ “i could bring the heavens crashing down, remember that the next time you interrupt my coffee break.”

♡ being the key part of the team’s plan but will continuously sleep in.

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3

[starlightervarda]

I can't sleep so Star Trek TOS/SNW dashboard simulator

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

to this day I can't understand why they're called the Three Musketeers if there's FOUR of them? Did Dumas just forget his own main character???

🪴 plantdad Follow

You've got to be kidding me

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

I know right? A mistake like this would never happen in Russian literature!

5,324 notes

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

After months of taking care of everyone else on this giant tin can I really earned this shore leave. Now I get to drink, relax, flirt with some lovely ladies and sleep until noon 😎 Just what the the doctor ordered!

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

Update: A fucking purple tree ate five crewmen. Again.

955 notes

🖖 iamspock Follow

Despite being among humans for close to a decade, I still find their tendency to overcomplicate and avoid aspects of social situations to be confusing at best and infuriating at worst. So much time is wasted on tedious matters such as who gets to 'make the first move' or 'not come off too strong'.

For example, everyone aboard my vessel is keenly aware of Lt. Uhura and Engineer Scott's 'budding romance'. But their need to extend their oddly avoidant courtship ritual, rather than outright state their interest in one another, is pointless, as well as frustrating to witness.

Why do they do this? Why not 'get it over with', as they say?

I encourage answers from all cultures, human or otherwise.

💅 janicethemenace Follow

I'm sorry Scotty and Nyota are WHAT

💉 xtinechapel Follow

DELETE THIS

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

SPOCK NOOO HE DOESN'T THINK OF ME LIKE THAT 😭

🔧 scott-free Follow

But I do! I thought you knew and were just being nice about it!

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

DMing you rn 😳

🖖 iamspock Follow

You're welcome.

24,103 notes

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

PSA: If you visit Antares VII, stay clear of any yellow plants, their pollen can have some...inconvenient effects on the biology of humanoid peoples.

My XO and I suffered through troubling symptoms until it was almost too late. Thankfully, we figured out a cure in time.

🪴 plantdad Follow

I can only find info on the symptoms. What was the cure? 👀

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

Do I really have to say it?

6,322 notes

💊 mmmbenga Follow

The galaxy if Klingons didn't exist

⚔️ glorytotheempire Follow

Wow. Humans are openly advocating for our disappearance yet Klingons are the bad guys? I thought your federation stood for peace.

💊 mmmbenga Follow

Cry harder you genocidal wrinkly-faced bitch I hope your planet gets sucked into a black hole

#If you think a joke is on par with what they do then book an MRI because you might have brain damage #fuck Klingons and anyone that sympathizes with them

35,007 notes

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

So I can either skim through this asteroid belt on Warp 2 for 3 hrs or on Warp 5 for 15 mins

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

Erica no! That's not how navigation works!

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

FLOOR IT???

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

ERICA NO

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

HOW ABOUT WARP 7 FOR 15 SECONDS?

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

ERICA YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH THE SHIP

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

I AM GOING TO HARNESS LIGHT-SPEED TO ZIGZAG THROUGH THE VOID

🚀 mitchiemitch

ERICA P L E A S E

112,517 notes

�� sirsilverfox Follow

I know some species are very private, but you'd think they'd share the important stuff, esp when we should trust each other by now.

How are we supposed to enjoy my weekly dinners if you all don't tell me what to watch out for :/ This is the third time this happens to the same person and I had to get the answer why from our CMO

💫 numerouna Follow

Wait what did I miss while I was gone

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

Spock got wasted on my chocolate fudge cake and hit his head on the counter ://///

2,904 notes

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

Safe Haven Hangman

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: cheating; unplanned pregnancy; swearing; smut; angst

.

.

I’m laying on the couch and stupid romcoms blare from the TV. For some reason, my eyes glance down to the coffee table. They land on our wedding photo. Bradley is cupping my face with his hands, about to kiss me as I beam up at him. “AGHH!” I throw the remote at the frame and watch it fall to the ground, shattering. Tears fall down my cheeks as I think about the events of the past few weeks. Our 4th wedding anniversary. How he was so happy, showering me with presents and affection. After the months of emotional distance, I couldn’t believe it. The next day was when my world came crashing down. A letter in the mailbox that was addressed “Mrs. Bradshaw”. A long, handwritten confession from a young woman. Tear stains marked the page. She said she never knew about me. She said Bradley told her he would leave me when they found out she was pregnant. That was 4 weeks ago. I haven’t spoken to Bradley yet, but the front door lock has been changed. He hasn’t tried to come home. He has tried to call a few times and has left hundreds of texts. I texted him this morning to come over to grab his things, but he hasn’t answered. I have felt angry, sad, vengeful.. every damn emotion under the sun. There’s a knock at the door and I yell, “Not right now, Bradley!!” There’s a soft voice on the other side of the door, “Y/n, it’s me. Please let me in.” I wipe my cheek and walk to the door. “Jake, I am fine.” “No you aren’t.” I open the door and he throws his arms around me. I breathe in his scent, cedar wood and jet fuel. Jake and I met a decade ago, the same night I met Bradley. I was the new tech guru at Top Gun. Phoenix had invited me out to the Hard Deck with the squad. Jake caught my eye, but Bradley made the first move. Before I knew it we were dating. Then engaged. Then married with a house not too far from base. Jake was there for everything. He wasn’t just Bradley’s friend, he was mine too. He was the first one I’d call if something happened when Bradley was deployed. He’d drop whatever, or whoever he was doing to come help. He has been trying to get a hold of me for weeks, but I have shut myself in the house since the letter. Maverick approved my last minute leave, no questions asked. Jake pulls back and scans my face, “Y/n, talk to me.” I walk to the office and hand him the letter. He reads slowly, like he can’t believe what he sees. After a few minutes he sets it down, “Has he been here?” I shake my head and I see a muscle in his jaw twitch, “What do you need me to do?” I shrug, “I put everything of his in boxes. My attorney already sent over paperwork. I just need to have him come over and sign it. Can I ask you something?” Jake nods and I look down at my hands, “Did you ever see him with her?” Jake puts his hand on my shoulder, “No. I noticed he was acting strangely, but if I saw anything I would’ve told you.” Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into him. His scent calms me down. I hear keys try the lock and then the doorbell rings. I look at my phone. Bradley had responded.

B: Anything you want. On my way.

Jake grabs my hand as I walk towards the door, “Do you want me to be here for this?” “Please. Just stay in the office for right now. I’ll let you know if I need you.” He nods, turning back into the office.

.

.

I open the door and Bradley is staring at his feet. I motion for him to come in and he follows me to the kitchen. He looks over to the pile of his things in boxes. I sigh, “It’s all there.” His glassy eyes meet mine, “You changed the locks.” I scoff, “You got another woman pregnant.” “Y/n, I never meant for any of this to happen. You know how much I love you. How much I always will.” I slide the folder filled with paperwork towards him, “If you love me so much you can sign these, take your things, and leave.” He opens the folder and tears spill down his cheeks. Bradley reads through it all and I hand him a pen, “Once you sign this, everything is done. No court, no drama. You owe me this, B.” He takes the pen and signs, “Are you gonna sell the house? I see here that’s all you want. You can have whatever, Y/n. I mean it.” I shake my head, “I just want the house. I don’t need your money. I’ll be just fine.” “I’d be okay to pay spousal support. Or give you half of my retirement? After everything it would make me feel-“ I laugh, “B, I don’t care what will make you feel better. Your money means nothing to me. Your money won’t help me. You broke my heart. You are building the life I wanted with someone else. I want you to be as far away from me as possible.” He nods and silently walks boxes to the Bronco. When he grabs the last one he turns back, “So this is it?” I nod and grab my rings out of my pocket, handing them to him. “You can keep those. Really I don’t mind.” Tears sting my eyes, “B, I don’t want them. Please take them back.” Bradley slides them into his pocket and gives me a weak smile, “I’m sorry, Y/n. Take care of yourself, okay?” I nod, “You too.” I shut the door and slide down until I am sitting on the floor with my head in my hands. Jake walks over slowly and sits beside me, “You okay?” I can’t even look up, “10 years. 10 years went down the drain in what, a few weeks? And he is the one crying? He started a whole new life with her! And then he asks me if this is it? Who does he think he is?!” Jake pulls me into his chest and holds me tight while I sob. My body is shaking and it feels like I can’t breathe. I’m not sure how long I cry for, but it feels like forever. Once I calm down, we stand up and Jake wipes a tear off of my cheek, “Hey, how about I order your favorite take out and put on a movie? Just like we would during deployments?” I smile and nod my head, reminiscing on all the times Jake was there for me. How kind he always was. How he always noticed the little things. Bradley meant well, at least at first he did. He was always wrapped up in the next mission or training. Part of me always hoped he would retire young and we could actually live. Travel. Enjoy each other. But now I know how our story ends, and it is far from anything I imagined.

.

.

When I get out of the shower, Jake is on the couch with our takeout on the coffee table. He chuckles, “I kind of ordered too much because I didn’t know what you wanted.” “Thank you, Jake. You really don’t have to do this for me.” “Yes I do. You have been one of my closest friends for a decade, Y/n. I hate seeing you like this.” I nudge him with my elbow, “I’ll be okay. I’m thinking about going somewhere far away, rural. Maybe getting some cattle. And a couple of dogs.” “Okay while that does sound great, you don’t have to leave. You know how much Top Gun relies on you.” My eyes get watery all over again, “I know. I don’t want to leave y’all. Y’all are my family. I’ll think about it.” He turns on a comedy and I try to turn my brain off. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I wake up to the sun shining and I am in my bedroom. There’s a note on my nightstand,

Y/n,

Didn’t want to wake you. Have an early morning, but call if you need anything. Hydrate.

Jake

There’s a glass of water beside the note. I smile and put the note in my top drawer. Jake may be known as the jerk of the squad, but he has always treated me so gently. My mind starts to wander. What would have happened if Jake made the first move? Does he ever think about when we first met? He had been flirty and sweet, but Bradley was bold. He swept me off my feet. But what if it had been Jake? I shake the thought out of my head and log onto my computer to start chipping away at all of the paperwork that has piled up in my absence.

.

.

Friday morning rolls around and I throw on my uniform. I have to go back at some point, so I might as well get it over with. The engine of my truck purrs as I make my way to base. Once I park, I walk quickly to my office. There were some hello’s from the squad. I smile and wave. After a few minutes, there’s a knock on my door. “Hey Mav, come in.” He sits down on my couch, “Was wondering when I’d see you again! How are you, kid?” “As good as you’d guess.” He shakes his head, “Hangman talked to me. And Bradshaw. I want you to be the first to know, Bradshaw will be PCSing to Norfolk. He’s reporting Monday.” I feel a pit in my stomach. Tears sting my eyes, “Oh, okay. Thank you for letting me know.” Mav stands up and puts his arms out, “Come here.” I hug him tight and he pats my back before going to the hangar. I look out my window to see a banner that says, “Bon Voyage, Rooster!” Rolling my eyes, I sit back down and keep working. A few hours later, Jake walks in. “Ever heard of knocking?” “I thought friends didn’t have to knock?” “How was the going away party?” He shrugs, “Stupid. Everyone knows what he did. Doesn’t feel like we should be celebrating him.” I laugh, “Let me guess, The Hard Deck tonight?” He walks over and leans on my desk, “Bingo. I’m not really in the mood for that though.” “When are you not in the mood to go drink and pick up women?” He fiddles with my cup of pens, “You know, Y/n, maybe I am finally growing up.” Jake hits me with his shiny white smile and I laugh, “Well I’m going to go by the water to look at the stars tonight, if you wanna join?” “I’ll look for your lantern?” I smile and nod, remembering the first time he found me on the beach. Jake bought a house a few down from ours and Bradley was gone on a very dangerous mission. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go listen to the waves. I had taken my lantern with me and Jake saw it from his back porch. When he came down to check on me, he found me crying and curled up in a blanket. Jake sat there with me until the sun came up. Back then, I wrote it off as him being a good friend. As I sit here with him leaning on my desk, I wonder if that’s all it was. His fingers brush mine, “See you later.” I gulp, “See ya, Jake.”

.

.

When I get home, I take a long shower to wash off the day. Thankfully Bradley stayed far away from me. I go through my closet, wondering what to wear. I settle on a cute little matching set. I make sure to spray my favorite perfume, it smells sweet and floral. I fix my hair in the mirror and then it hits me, what am I doing? Trying to look cute for Jake? A wave of guilt washes over me and I wonder if Bradley felt it when he was with that woman. The sun finally sets, so I grab my blanket and lantern. I head out to my favorite spot right past the dunes. When we bought the house, I was so excited to have the beach as my backyard. It quickly became my getaway. I lay down and gaze up at the stars. The sound of the waves soothes my soul. It isn’t too long before I hear someone walking my way. Jake’s deep voice and southern drawl brings me back down to Earth, “Hey there, Y/n.” He sits beside me and his hand rests on mine, “Hey, Jake.” “See any constellations tonight?” “Ursa Major is right over there.” I stare off at the stars and when I turn back Jake is staring at me. I giggle, “What?” He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “Right now you look like.. you. You haven’t looked like yourself in a while.” I raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” Obviously I know what he means. I knew something was wrong in our marriage. It weighed on me for months. Jake takes a deep breath, “You stopped laughing. And smiling. You stopped being you. I love when you are you.” His eyes meet mine, green and sincere. I smile, “You do?” “Always have, Y/n.” Jake moves closer, just enough to make my heart jump into my throat. I try to collect myself, “You have?” I feel his breath as he responds, “Yes ma’am. Remember that night? At the Hard Deck? Bradshaw got to you first. I have been kicking myself for the last decade.” His eyes are locked in to mine and my heart is pounding out of my chest. Jake’s lips are less than an inch from mine. I thought this would feel wrong, but every part of me wants him. My head is telling me to stop but my heart wins the argument. I lean in just a touch, our lips brushing. Jake’s green eyes turn dark and he whispers, “Are you sure?” I whimper, “Please, Jake.” Our lips meet. He starts off gentle, sliding a hand into my hair. Then his kiss grows hungry, greedy even. It is like he can’t get enough. His hands explore my waist and the curve of my hips. I nibble on his bottom lip and he smirks. His lips move down my neck and he decorates my collarbone with sloppy kisses. I moan, “Mmmm, Jake.” He pulls back and cups my face in his hands, “I have wanted this for so long.” I smile and push him back into the sand, kissing him in a way I never have before. It’s every ounce of tension that has been bottled up between us. It’s an amount of passion that I have never known. We roll around in the sand and I feel like a teenager again. His hands explore under my sweater and he grins, “A lacy bra? For me?” Heat spreads to my cheeks, “Maybe.” He kisses my neck, “Lacy bra. Perfume. You’re really spoiling me, aren’t you darling?” The pet name makes me crazy. I grab the back of his neck and pull him down to me, kissing him like it is my source of oxygen. The creak of my back gate makes us jump apart, fixing ourselves quickly and turning to see who it is.

.

.

An all too familiar voice calls out, “Y/n! Baby! You out here? The front door is locked!” I stand up with the lantern, “Bradley? You don’t live here anymore.” He walks closer and notices Jake, “Hey! Hangman! What’s up dude?” He is obviously hammered. Someone from work must’ve dropped him off, not knowing he’s moved out. Bradley starts wobbling and I go to his side, steadying him. “Thanks baby. What are you up to? You look so pretty.” I sigh, “B, you need to go back to wherever you’ve been staying. Can I call you an uber?” He shakes his head, “Nooo. I want to sleep at home tonight. I miss home. I miss you.” “Bradley, you can’t sleep here. Where have you been staying?” Bradley looks between Jake and I, his drunk brain trying to process what he sees. He finally asks, “Hangman, why are you with my wife? It’s late. You should be out drinking. Lots of ladies at the bar tonight.” Jake shakes his head, “I’m good. Let’s get you back to Bob’s so you can go to bed.” Bradley shakes his head, “No no no. I don’t wanna go. Tell me why you’re with my wife!” I put my hand on Bradley’s chest, “You need to leave, okay?” I order an Uber to Bob’s and we walk him to the sidewalk. He turns to me, “Have you been sleeping with Jake?” I shake my head, “No, B. The only one that cheated in our marriage was you.” He hangs his head and the Uber arrives. We load him in, then head back to the water. Silence surrounds us. Jake finally clears his throat, “I understand if you want me to go.” I shake my head, “Please don’t.” He kisses the top of my head. I take his hand and lead him inside my house.

.

.

This past week I decided to redecorate. Jake looks around, “I like it. Very you. Very Texas.” He motions to my Longhorn memorabilia and I chuckle, “You know, if you weren’t so damn old we could’ve met in college.” Jake rolls his eyes, “I’m only 8 years older than you. We could always take a little trip and go to a football game.. if you wanted to.” I smirk. Jake Seresin. Hangman. Talking about a trip. The man who I have watched avoid relationships like the plague for the last decade. “I’d like that. You know how much I love football.” We sit on the couch and have a couple of beers. Our conversations switch from work, to our friend group, to our families. I’m starting to yawn and Jake stands up, “I can head home.” I stand up and take his hand, “Or you could stay? If you wanted to.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me deeply, “Of course I do.” As he follows me to the bedroom, I realize how nervous I am. We lay beside each other on the bed and watch a lighthearted romcom. I play with his hair, “Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “I am so nervous. The way you touch me.. and look at me.. I..” “You haven’t felt this before?” I shake my head, “Not even close.” He smiles and kisses me gently, “Me either.” Jake continues kissing me, his hands roaming my body slowly and deliberately. He nibbles on my ear and whispers, “You are breathtaking.” My breath hitches and I run my hands over his abs, “Did you mean what you said? About the first night we met?” He nods, “Every word. Have you thought about it, too?” I blush, “I shouldn’t have, but I did.” Jake kisses my neck sloppily, “When would you think about it?” I moan, “On the nights he wouldn’t touch me.” Jake’s eyes grow darker like before, “Oh really? Did you think about me any other times?” “Way more than I’d like to admit.” I smirk and bat my eyelashes. Jake’s voice is almost a growl, “Fuck, Y/n.” I kiss his jawline and down his neck. We finally take a breath, and he pulls me in close to his chest. I look up at him, “Didn’t think you’d be the cuddling type.” He chuckles, “Usually I am not.” He plays with my hair and I could get used to this. The affection. The spark. It could be the newness. It could be the guilt. But, I am going to savor every moment of this feeling.

[skzficdump]

Corrupted by Chocolate

paring: han jisung x fem!reader

gender: smut, stable relationship

word counting: 1.9k (1965)

warnings: unprotected sex (pls be smart), creampie, dirty talk, rough sex, slight degradarion, teasing, multiple orgasm, afrodisiacs, slight corruption kink, dominated and submissive roles

I walk into our apartment, the door clicking shut behind me, and I'm immediately greeted by the rich, sweet scent of chocolate. Jisung is in the kitchen, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he holds up a small, beautifully wrapped box.

"What's this?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I take in the tempting sight before me.

"Just a little something I picked up for you," he says, his voice a low purr. "I thought we could… share."

I take the box from him, my heart already racing with anticipation. "You're up to something, aren't you?" I tease, opening the lid to reveal an assortment of decadent chocolates.

Jisung leans in, his breath hot on my ear. "Maybe. But I promise, you'll enjoy it."

I can feel the heat radiating off his body, and I know he's not just talking about the chocolates. I take one out of the box and pop it into my mouth, the rich, velvety flavor exploding on my tongue. There's something else there, a slight tingle that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Mmm, that's good," I murmur, my eyes meeting his. "What's in these?"

He grins, a wicked glint in his eye. "Just a little something to… enhance the experience."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness. "Afrodisiacs?"

He nods, his gaze intense. "I want you, Y/n. And I want you to want me just as badly."

I can feel the chocolate working its magic, my body already responding to his words and the promise in his eyes. I take another chocolate, this time feeding it to him, my fingers lingering on his lips as he takes it into his mouth.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groans, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

I smile, feeling a surge of power and desire. "Then show me, Jisung. Show me how much you want me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls me close, his lips crashing down on mine in a hungry, desperate kiss. His hands roam my body, exploring every curve and line, as if memorizing me. I can feel his need, his desperation, and it only serves to fuel my own desire.

"Jisung," I gasp as he trails kisses down my neck, his teeth nipping at my sensitive skin. "You're so needy."

He pulls back, a dark, hungry look in his eyes. "For you, I am. I'm always fucking needy for you."

He spins me around, pressing my back against the counter as he grinds his growing erection against me. I can feel the heat of him, the hardness, and I know he's not going to last long. Not tonight.

"Tell me what you want, Y/n," he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Tell me what my little slut needs."

I shiver at his words, my body responding to his dirty talk. "I want you to fuck me, Jisung. I want you to use me for your pleasure."

He groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he pulls me against him. "Fuck, yes. That's what I want to hear."

He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the counter as he pushes my skirt up around my waist. His fingers hook into my thong, pulling it aside as he leans in to kiss me again, his tongue invading my mouth as his fingers find my clit.

"Already so wet for me," he murmurs against my lips, his fingers circling my sensitive nub. "Such a good little slut, aren't you?"

I moan, my head falling back as I give in to the sensations. "Yes, I'm your little slut. Your needy little slut."

He chuckles, a dark and promising sound. "That's right. And I'm going to make you beg for it. Beg for my cock."

He continues to tease me, his fingers working my clit with expert precision, building me up higher and higher. I can feel the orgasm building, my body tensing as I chase my release.

"Please, Jisung," I whimper, my hips bucking against his hand. "Please, I need it. I need you."

He pulls his hand away, a cruel smile on his face as he watches me squirm. "Not yet, my little slut. I want you to earn it."

He steps back, his eyes raking over my body as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing his toned, tattooed chest. I lick my lips, my eyes locked on his as he teases me, drawing out the moment.

"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me how much you want it."

I slide my hand between my legs, my fingers finding my clit as I begin to rub myself, my eyes never leaving his. He groans, his hand moving to his pants as he strokes himself through the fabric.

"Fuck, you're so sexy," he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire. "Such a fucking tease."

I smile, feeling a surge of power as I continue to pleasure myself, my body winding tighter and tighter. "I want you to fuck me, Jisung. I want you to use me for your pleasure."

He growls, his pants dropping to the floor as he kicks them aside, his cock springing free, hard and ready. He strokes himself, his eyes locked on mine as he moves closer, his body pressing against me.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "My cock? My needy, desperate cock?"

I nod, my body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, please. I need it."

He smiles, a dark and promising expression. "Then beg for it, my little slut. Beg for my cock."

"Please, Jisung," I whimper, my body aching with need. "Please, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. I need you to use me for your pleasure."

He groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he lifts me, impaling me on his cock in one swift, deep thrust. We both let out a satisfied groan, our bodies fitting together perfectly.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. "So tight, so wet. My perfect little slut."

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, but quickly picking up pace. He fucks me roughly, our bodies slapping together with each powerful thrust. The kitchen fills with our heavy breathing and the sounds of our pleasure, the counter shaking with the force of his movements.

"Such a good little fuck toy," Jisung growls, his voice a deep and dangerous rumble. "Taking my cock so well."

I moan, my head falling back as I give myself over to the pleasure.

Jisung's hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin as he uses my body for his pleasure. He leans down to capture my lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing my sounds of pleasure.

"Come for me, my little slut," he commands, his voice a deep and dominant growl. "Show me how much you love my cock."

My body obeys, my inner muscles clenching around him as I find my release, my orgasm crashing over me in a wave of pleasure. Jisung follows soon after, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm as he fills me with his hot cum.

He holds me close, our bodies still connected as we both come down from our high. Jisung leans down to kiss me softly, a contented smile on his face.

"You were right, that was fucking incredible," I whisper, my body still tingling with the aftermath of our passionate encounter.

Jisung pulls out slowly, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sees his cum leaking out of me, a creampie evidence of our rough and passionate fuck. "Yes, it was. But I'm not done with you yet."

He lifts me off the counter, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom, his cock already hardening again. He lays me down on the bed, his body covering mine as he kisses me deeply, his tongue invading my mouth.

"I need more, Y/n," he murmurs against my lips. "I need all of you."

I smile, feeling a rush of love and desire. "Then take me, Jisung. Take everything you want."

He growls, his hands roaming my body as he kisses a path down my neck, his teeth nipping at my sensitive skin. He sucks a mark into my flesh, a dark, possessive claim that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Mine," he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You're mine, Y/n. Every fucking inch of you."

I moan, my body arching into his touch as he continues his exploration, his hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He teases my nipples, his tongue and teeth driving me wild as he sucks and bites, his hands squeezing and kneading my breasts.

"Please, Jisung," I whimper, my body aching with need. "I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me."

He chuckles, a dark and promising sound. "Not yet, my little slut. I want to play with you first."

He continues to tease me, his touch light and feather-like, driving me wild with desire. He kisses and bites at my neck, his hands exploring every inch of my skin. I'm a mess of need and desire, my body begging for release.

Finally, he relents, positioning himself at my entrance, his cock hard and ready. He enters me slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked on mine as he fills me completely.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice a low, desperate groan. "So tight, so wet, como si fuera la primera vez.."

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, his body pressing against mine as he kisses me deeply, his tongue invading my mouth. I can feel the pleasure building, my body winding tighter and tighter as he takes me higher and higher.

"Jisung," I gasp, my nails digging into his back as I hold on for dear life. "I'm close. I'm so close."

He growls, his pace quickening as he chases his own release, his body slamming into mine with a desperate, needy force. "Come for me, Y/n," he commands, his voice a deep and dominant growl. "Come all over my cock. Show me how much you love me."

My body obeys, my inner muscles clenching around him as I find my release, my orgasm crashing over me in a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I cry out his name, my body convulsing as I ride out the storm, my vision going white as I lose myself in the sensation.

Jisung follows soon after, his body shaking because of the overstimulation as he fills me again with his hot cum.

He collapses on top of me, his body slick with sweat as he pants, his heart racing against my chest.

"Fuck, Y/n," he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied groan. "That was… fuck."

I smile, feeling a rush of contentment and love. "Yes, it was."

He rolls off me, pulling me into his arms as he kisses my forehead, his eyes soft and gentle. "I love you, Y/n. More than anything."

I snuggle into his chest, feeling safe and loved. "I love you too, Jisung. Always."

We lay there for a moment, our bodies still tingling with the aftermath of our passionate encounter, our hearts slowly returning to normal. But I can feel Jisung's cock stirring against my thigh, and I know he's not done with me yet.

I smile, a mischievous glint in my eye as I look up at him. "Ready for round three?"

He grins, a dark and promising expression. "With you? Always."

[chilling-seavey]

I feel like TWIG needs some angst so imagine George finding out that you and your little ones got into a car accident

You are so right, anon 💕 Sorry it took me a bit to get to this one but I had to make sure I was in the writing mindset for angst!!

Warnings: Minor descriptions of car crash, injuries, and shock

It wasn’t quite the same as the real thing; stuffed in a replica of the recent Mercedes chassis facing a large arched screen displaying the virtual circuit of Baku. After almost a decade in the sport, George could have driven those streets with his eyes closed but he knew there was no place for cockiness behind the wheel. Every turn and choice must be meticulously calculated and perfected to pull every second out of the care safely. 

He was just starting another flying lap in the sim when the tone of the speaker tore him from his focus. One of the technicians spoke to him through the windowed wall of the simulator booth,  “George, your phone keeps ringing out here. It’s your wife. Why don’t you take five?”

A spark of concern flickered in his chest, wondering why you were calling multiple times when you rarely so much as messaged him when he was at the factory. He climbed out of the simulator and stepped through the door into the adjacent room that held a few long desks stocked with computers housing impressive data sets and graphs. The employees that took up the seats kept their attention on studying the results of the session while George picked up his phone from where he had left it at the table at the back. 

He noticed three missed calls from you and before he could call you back, his screen filled with your name and contact image with another incoming call. The urgency had his stomach churning and he stepped out into the hallway for a moment of privacy as he answered it.

“Hey, my love, sorry, I was in the sim.” he spoke into the phone, trying not to sound too worried, “Is everything okay?” 

“Hey, yeah, we’re okay,” you answered. 

He could hear the tension in your voice, the slight waver to your words. Somewhere in the distance, there was chatter and the muffled sound of an announcement. 

“I just…” you tried to continue but your words seemed to halt. 

George sat down in a chair in one of the small lounges in the factory, “Love, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry,” you breathed, your exhale shaky, “I’m with the kids at the hospital. We, uh…there was…fuck.”

He could tell how shaken you were by the fact you were unable to even piece sentences together but the fact he was only being given bits of the story was sending him into a spiral. With a tight breath, he pressed urgently, “Are you okay? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, we’re fine.” you assured him quickly, “Some bruises but…we’re all fine. Just…got into a little car accident. Came here to be checked out just in case.”

George was filled with equal parts relief and dread. Relief that you were all okay but dread that there had been enough of an accident to have you think about going to the hospital to get checked out. He didn’t even have to think about it before he stood up from the bench and started back down the hallway towards his private room, replying, “Okay…okay, my love, I’m on my way, alright? I have your location, I’ll head to you right now. Stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed in an exhale lined with a moment of relief, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God, baby, do not be sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. I just have to change and I’m coming right to you now.”

“Okay, I love you.”

The shock-stemmed flatness of your voice was chilling.

“I love you too,” George replied easily, his tone extra warm and gentle, “I’ll see you soon.”

He was sure he had never changed faster in his life, tugging off his sim-ready race suit in exchange for his street clothes before he had even alerted his team that he had to go. When he returned to the simulator room to say he was leaving and why, he didn’t even wait for a response before he was closing the door behind him and making a beeline for the stairs of the factory. 

The parking lot of the Brackley headquarters was packed but George’s reserved parking spot wasn’t too far from the front doors of the building. He checked your location on his brisk walk to his car, zooming in on the map to see what hospital you were at and, once he was sitting behind the wheel, he typed the location into the GPS in his car. 

It was ironically a sunny day in England that day, the roads dry and clear as he navigated through the countryside from Brackley to Cambridge. He silently cursed the hour-and-a-half drive as his impatience was settling on his shoulders but he didn’t let it deter him from focusing on the roads ahead. The piece of mind came with the awareness that you were okay.

Once he was parked outside the Addenbrooke Hospital on the southern point of the city of Cambridge, he was hurrying across the lot towards the entry doors, phone pressed to his ear as he called you. You directed him to where you were waiting and once he emerged through the double doors into the waiting room of the wing you were in, his heart was racing. 

You stood from your chair at the sight of him and he rushed to meet you, swallowing you up in a careful embrace. You clung onto him tightly, fingers clutching the back of his shirt and your eyes screwed shut as you buried your face in his neck. He could feel your heavy sigh of relief in his arms as if the tension and stress had been completely dissipated from your body with a simple hug from him. 

Across the waiting room, your two children were distracted by some toys in the corner, playing together, unbothered, as if it were just another day. Watching them for a moment over your shoulder, the only thing George could notice about them was the blue bandaid on your son’s temple.

You pulled away from his embrace a little, voice still a little shaky from the shock as you updated him on the well-being of your children, “She’s the best out of the three of us, basically completely unharmed. Little guy’s cut was from the impact…hitting just the right part of his carseat. I took the worst of it.”

George tore his attention away from the children to look back at you, finally getting a proper look at you up close. It was then that he noticed the bruising over your nose and down your right cheek and jaw, colouring your skin in purples and greens. His eyes trailed down your profile to where you held out your trembling hands, your right wrist wrapped in a bandage.

“Just a minor sprain,” you assured him before he could worry too much. You tried to make light of it with a soft, “The paramedic said it was likely from how hard I was holding onto the wheel when we were hit. She said it was like my ‘mama bear’ instincts took over, trying to keep control of the car the best I could.”

George pulled in a shaky breath and moved back in to hug you again if needing to feel you there, that you were really okay. Your arms smoothly wrapped around his shoulders as he pulled you close, both of you just holding onto each other for a moment. 

“What happened?” George finally asked. He felt as though he had been keeping that question on the tip of his tongue since you had first called him, wanting to know but also wanting to save himself from knowing the cold hard truth. 

You sniffled and pulled back just enough to look at him, although your eyes were downcast as if in shame, “Some idiot made a right turn at an intersection without looking. I braked and swerved just enough to not get entirely t-boned but he hit almost directly on the front driver's side. Hence,”

You held up your sprained wrist.

“Saved the kiddies though.” you mumbled. 

George gently set a hand on your face and pulled you in to press a kiss to your head as if he could pour all his love into that simple action. 

The power behind it had your eyes welling with tears and you whispered out a shaky, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

George tenderly trailed the back of his finger over your uninjured cheek to swipe away a stray tear, “What on earth do you have to be sorry about right now?”

“We took your C63.” you whimpered, another heavy tear dripping down your cheek, “It’s…so fucked. So, so fucked. I know how much you love it…how much you protect it and I didn’t think—”

“Shhh,” George hushed you softly, gently rubbing your biceps comfortingly as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, “The last thing on my mind right now is the car. I hadn’t once thought about the car since you called me. You, the kids…that’s all I care about right now. That’s all I care about ever.”

“Okay,” you choked out through a sob, lifting your hands to hide your face as you burst into tears in the middle of the hospital waiting room. 

George’s arms encircled you and he pressed another kiss to your head, cradling you against his chest and surrounding you with his love and comfort. As much as he adored that car, he truly didn’t care about it in that moment as he held you in his arms. He had trusted you with it, knowing you were always a safe driver, but the one thing that he always knew was the scariest part of driving was that you can’t control what anyone else on the road does.

As he held you, he whispered words of reassurance to you, reminding you with a serious, “We can fix up a car…we can get a new car…but I can’t get a new you.”

His comfort had the damns breaking, causing you to let out your bottled up emotions into his neck with a sobbing, “I was so scared.” 

His heart nearly broke at your confession and he rubbed his hand over your back, comforting you in the only way he knew how and the only way he could offer, “I know, my love. I’m here. I got you.”

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[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

Additional Warning(s) for This Chapter: Brief Reference to Vomiting

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 4.1k

CHAPTER 5: November 1977 - February 2004

November 9, 1977. 4:30 AM

I saved James for the 5th time on October 9 and my stomach is killing me.

I got home earlier than I thought — I should’ve known Jonny was gonna be a disaster of a date. He told me at the last minute to dress nice and then took me to a wedding. A WEDDING! I thought he was gonna take me to a fancy restaurant, but no. He took me to a wedding, pretending that I was his longtime girlfriend when this was our second date. So I pretended to break up with him and left immediately. 

Of course, I wasn’t going to date Jonny for long, but it still would’ve been nice to be with a man who doesn’t treat you like trash. He was truly a reminder of why I stopped trying to date decades ago, regardless of my curse. Too many shitty people everywhere.

I came home and just crashed onto my couch. I dozed off in the middle of the day, but then I woke up at a party at a giant mansion. Luckily, I was still in my dress from that failed date so I didn’t stick out. Or, maybe it wasn’t luck — maybe you knew well enough to put me in that dress.

When I woke up at that party, I was confused. It always takes me a moment to realize I’m not dreaming — that I’m there for one person.

I moved past all of the snobby people to find James and couldn’t help but notice how many security guards there were. There was a guard almost at every entrance and they all tried to look tough. But based on what I’ve seen from James, these men have no chance against him.

There was a hallway that didn’t have a guard. I’ve learned at this point that those are signs pointing me to James. I kept walking until I heard a loud thud from a private study. When I opened the door, I saw him right by the door, standing over a man — some politician — with a gun in his metal hand.

It’s been about 9 years since I last saw him and I missed him, but he hasn't aged a day and he looks even colder and stiffer than before. The person in charge of him is still trying to carve away the young man from Brooklyn. But when James looked up and raised his gun at me, he stopped.

He’s done this before — look at me and take a moment to realize who I am…but I think it happened faster this time. He was more of a machine than he was back on that plane, and yet James came back in those eyes quicker than before. He kept his gun up, but I managed to walk up to him without him shooting me. I think he looked nervous to see me

I wanted to talk to him, but I felt the pull so I grabbed him. He let me grab him because I think his body knows now I’m not a threat. Considering I’ve saved his ass 4 times by that point, he better know I’m not a threat. I grabbed him and pulled him away and I was stabbed in the chest. I want to say I’m used to being stabbed now, but it still sucks.

What I’m not used to, on the other hand, is getting caught after getting hurt. James shot the guard in the head as he caught me, just like he did on the plane. He helped me lie down and looked at me for a long time. He was wearing his mask like before, but I only needed to look into his eyes to see how confused he was again.

He was supposed to walk away. Let me die alone while he went back to wherever he came from like he did on the plane…but he stayed. He sat next to me, keeping me company as long as he could. I wanted to ask him where he was from — who was in charge of him — but I couldn’t say a word without coughing up blood. I really wanted to ask because if I knew…maybe I could try to free him from his prison.

But then, you’ll never believe what happened next.

James touched my face.

He moved closer and held his hand — not the metal one — against my cheek. His hand was surprisingly soft He blinked at me like he was trying to figure out where he knew me from.

I no longer believe that he doesn’t remember me because we haven't seen each other for years, or that he pretends not to know me… I think he actually doesn’t remember me. He’s always confused when he sees me. 

Are they torturing him so badly that he forgets who I am? Who he is? 

But despite forgetting me, I saw James fighting in those frost blue eyes before I died.

If they’re somehow making James forget who he is, I think I can be the one to get him to come back.

<><><>

February 2, 1978. 5:19 AM

It’s been 3 months and here I am, thinking about how James touched my face like a dumb teenager with a crush. He

Your pen and journal flew across the room before you fell back into bed, throwing the covers over yourself as you let out an irritated yell.

<><><>

August 14, 1981. 5:19 AM

I started to read about James.

I don’t know what made me do it all of a sudden, but when I walked by our archives, I had the urge to find articles about him. I asked Carl if I could look through wartime records from the 40s — he was a little confused by my request but showed me where they were. I never mention James to him.

Considering he was with Captain America for most of the war, it was easy to spot his name. There were so many stories about him and the Howling Commandos taking down HYDRA bases and freeing the prisoners.

I forgot that his middle name is Buchanan. 

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes.

What a name.

There was also a photo of him. He was young and proud, standing tall with his unit with a smile on his face.

I almost forgot what his smile looked like. It’s pretty cute

I read the articles slowly as if it was my first time reading them. It wasn’t — I read the same papers decades ago when they arrived at my doorstep. I kept up with the news to make sure he was alive, still going out and fighting against HYDRA like the hero he was is.

I remember feeling proud of him, even though I didn’t really have the right to. I wasn’t his family or friend, or a name that would show up in his file or stories about him. But I gave him back to the world twice, so I let myself believe a little bit that I had a small hand in the man he became. A hero. A fighter. A soldier who held the line when others couldn’t.

Because of James, I allowed myself to believe — just for a while — that this curse was a blessing.

<><><>

May 30, 1987. 6:48 AM

I saved James for the 6th time on April 30. I woke up on my couch with the left side of my back burning. 

I went to bed after an uneventful day at work and woke up in a city I’ve always wanted to visit. Tokyo. It was really pretty. There were all of these neon lights that eventually did hurt my eyes, but they lit up the streets in a gorgeous way that I could barely see here in Maine.

It took me a bit to find James this time because I woke up in an empty apartment. I thought he was in the building with me, but then I saw that one of the windows was open, meaning he was outside. I found myself in a dark alley and just wandered from one place to another. I did get worried at one point because I thought maybe I missed him and I already failed. But my worries went away when I finally found him standing by a dumpster in another alleyway.

He heard me and immediately pointed his gun at me, but I didn’t care. I just knew he wouldn’t shoot me. Even if he did, I would’ve saved him anyway. He lowered his gun as I walked up to him, but then I felt the pull and noticed the red dot on his chest. I moved in front of him and the bullet hit my back.

James didn’t let me fall again. I was surprised, but he actually ran to catch me. I think he was already moving towards me before the bullet hit. He moved me out of the way, hiding me behind the dumpster before he used his own rifle to kill the sniper. It reminded me of him from the war. 

He moved me against the wall and watched me. He didn’t look as confused as before — not as distant. I asked him who was in charge of him and he didn’t respond, but I could see in his eyes that he was surprised by my question. I don’t know if he could tell me, even if he wanted to. 

I didn’t realize it for a while, but he was pressing on my wound. It wasn’t until he shifted that I realized his hand was on my back. I think he was trying to figure out what to do, but also didn’t understand why he should save me to begin with. 

I pushed his arm away and he let me. I think he finally understands that he can’t stop me from dying.

I called him James and he said he didn’t know who that was. I tried to explain, but he touched my face before I could. He’d touched my cheek before, but…it was different this time. 

You know when you wake up from a dream and you can’t seem to remember what it was about? And as the day goes on, you might remember bits and pieces but still not get the full story.

I think he’s tired of waking up from a dream. It was like he was trying to memorize my face rather than just remember the bits of me. Trying to hold onto whatever I am to him.

He was finally close enough that I managed to touch his face too. I felt his temples — there were scars there again. I couldn’t see them in the dark, but they felt new. I asked him again who was in charge of him and he didn’t tell me. Then we heard a lot of yelling in the streets — numerous men looking for the person who killed their boss. I told James to leave and he didn’t.

When he looked back at me, I didn’t know what to think.

He looked afraid. 

Afraid for what? I don’t know, but I’ve never seen him afraid. I only saw his eyes, but there was definitely fear there. I wanted to comfort him and

He reached for my necklace and opened my locket again. He stared at it for a long time before looking at me. He asked me who I was, and I said that I was someone who was there to save him. He asked why I saved him, and I said he deserved to live. 

He didn’t understand that.

He tugged lightly on my locket like he wanted to take it — to take something that would remind him of me — but I didn’t let him. I told him to leave before he was caught. He tucked my locket back into my shirt, took one last look at me, and disappeared.

But I think he knows I’ll see him again. I want to see him again.

<><><>

June 6, 1987. 9:15 PM

I’ve had many different careers in my life, and yet I always find comfort in being surrounded by texts.

Right now, I’m using my career to my advantage. I want to figure out why James’s memory is loose — why he can never remember me at first, or himself for that matter. I’m gathering any books and research papers in the library that might lead me somewhere.

I want to fig

I have to 

I will figure this out. I have to get James to come back.

<><><>

The front door slammed open and you rushed into your apartment, eyes welling up with tears and breath coming out erratically. You rushed to your bedroom and ripped the drawer of your bedside table open, your hands trembling as you grabbed your journal and pen. You quickly scribbled down the start of your entry.

January 25, 1990. 6:42 PM

I can’t fucking do this. I

The journal fell to the floor as you stumbled to your bathroom, your stomach no longer happy with your meal from earlier.

<><><>

January 25, 1990. 6:42 PM 11:25 PM

I can’t fucking do this. I

I threw up. Like, a lot. All because of a theory that seems too real.

I’ve been reading novels and stories for many decades, keeping up with history and fantasies from around the world. But I’ve always avoided reading anything gruesome or tragic — I deal with enough bloodshed and loss in my life.

But ever since my last encounter with James, I started to read about anything I could find about memory loss. I found novels, research, and memoirs about what it means to lose your memory. But then I ended up having to read horrifying cases of experiments and medical studies, and it took me a while to get through them because I have a weak stomach for this kind of thing. I know it’s ironic considering I’ve died in the most gruesome way imaginable, but when it happens to other people, it makes me sick.

For years, I wondered why James always seemed to forget me, trying to grasp me like I was just out of reach. I tried to tell myself it was because I only saw him after so many years apart or a form of amnesia, but the way he touched my face told me that there was something more to this than just forgetting — than just being forced to go on missions as a ghost. I slowly started to suspect it was some form of mind control, so I started to read about anything that was about altering the brain.

I knew something was wrong. But when I read about studies where electric shocks were used to wipe a person’s mind, I wanted to scream. 

It's not drugs. It’s not mind control. 

It’s brainwashing.

Those scars on his temples make sense. They’re burn marks. There were always new ones whenever I saw him — evidence that they were ripping him apart to make the perfect soldier, only meant to follow orders and nothing else. They’re forcing him to forget. That’s why he doesn’t remember me. His instincts tell him that I’m a friend, but his mind has to piece me back together.

No wonder he looked so scared when I told him to leave. Leaving means to go back to THEM and get burned and torn apart all over again. I wish he told me who was doing this to him. If I knew, then maybe I could get the authorities involved — put him on someone’s radar and find a way to get him out. I have to find out next time. I have to free him.

But how do you free someone who doesn’t even know they need to be freed? Every time I see him, he looks at me like I’m a distant memory, something slipping through his fingers even though I’m standing right there. And yet, he always reaches for me, just enough to make me see that James is still in there. I need James 

But if I keep showing up as a reminder of who he was, does he feel more pain when they shock him? Does it hurt more when there are more memories to burn away?

I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t want him to die either. I need him to survive long enough for someone to free him. 

I have to save him over and over and over again. I don’t care how many times it takes. 

<><><>

October 7, 1998. 7:26 AM

I saved James for the 7th time on September 7, and I woke up just in time to miss my baby’s 100th birthday.

You have a twisted sense of humor.

I was gonna spend the whole day celebrating her, but that day happened yesterday. I’m so bitter about it but I know that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always been fucked up.

But still, you couldn’t have given me this? I’m sure with how you’ve controlled my life, you have some say in deciding when James needs me. I’m not mad about saving him — I’m mad that you couldn’t have let me comfortably walk around yesterday to celebrate my baby girl. Get some of our favorite eclairs and maybe a teddy bear — one that has a dress and pretty shoes that she would’ve liked.

You let me lose her when she was 6. You know I still grieve over her. Did you not have the decency to let me enjoy my baby’s big day?

I fell asleep after finishing my book and I woke up in the middle of a fight at a warehouse. I was hiding behind a crate, surrounded by weapons and gadgets, listening to a bunch of men yelling in what I could only assume was Russian. 

I looked over the crate and I saw James killing men left and right. He was more robotic than before — every move he made was calculated and efficient. It’s been 11 years since I last saved him, and he's only become more skilled at ending lives. There was so much blood and those men didn’t have a chance. 

Then I felt the pull and looked over to see one of the men hiding too, but he had grabbed a…I think it was a gun? It looked strange like it’s been tinkered with. It reminded me of the weird, strange weapon James fought against back in the war. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure James was attacking an arms dealer of some kind at the warehouse — the weapons they were using were not normal.

I ran in front of the man as he shot at James and holy shit — whatever he used was painful. It got me in my thigh, which was surprising because I’m so used to getting hit in the chest or stomach. Leg wounds aren’t lethal, but that just meant that this weapon was deadly enough to take me out like that.

The man who shot me was so confused and distracted by my presence that he got shot in the head. I looked at James and he was different. He was still terrifying but when he saw me on the floor, he turned into an animal. He went through the other men so brutally, slicing their skin so fast that their blood would hit the floor before their bodies did.

He was angry. He was normally collected, but he was horrifying then. I was actually scared that he would kill me next in his rage, but I couldn’t get away. My thigh was burning so much that I couldn’t move the rest of my body. I just closed my eyes, hoping to die quicker to stop the pain.

But then I was no longer on the floor. I opened my eyes to see his cold ones. He was carrying me in his arms — he never did that before. He held onto me tight and ran out of the warehouse. I didn’t know where we were going, but he carried me like I wasn’t a burden. 

We eventually ended up in an abandoned building, empty except for some medical kits and cases with bullets. I think that was where supplies were dropped off for him. He laid me against the wall and grabbed the kits.

I never expected that he would try to help me. I could barely keep my eyes open until he started to put pressure on my leg and I screamed. Fuck, I screamed so loud because it really hurt. I don’t know how much blood I lost, but that didn’t stop James from trying to fix me.

But I didn’t want him to. There’s no point — I always die in the end. I told him to stop because it was better to end my pain than to pretend he could help me. I’ve saved him so many times, but there he was trying to return the favor. But it wouldn’t work.

I was crying from the pain. I told him to stop again and he wouldn’t listen to me. James ignored me and kept on trying to tend my wound, but I was already cold and felt death approaching. I just wanted it to stop. I tried to grab his arms and I begged him to stop.

Then he yelled.

He fucking yelled “no” at me.

He was so desperate

I have known this man for so many decades, and yet we’ve only ever spoken to each other a few times. It was only ever a few quiet words, and most of the time it was only me talking.

He’s never yelled at me before.

We just stared at each other. I was surprised but him? James was appalled by what he did, like he didn’t know he was capable of…that. In his eyes, I saw a terrified young man, bruised by war yet so loved by others. He wanted to save me. God, he really did want to save me.

I wanted to see him. So I reached up and he let me pull his mask down. He wore despair and pain in a strange way like he couldn’t figure out how he could feel this way after so many years of being a killing machine. 

He was so lost, so I held his face, touching the scars around his temples again. I asked him whose orders he was following and I saw his lips tremble, like he wanted to tell me but something in his body stopped him. I kept on asking him and he kept on opening his mouth, but no words ever left. He couldn’t tell me.

He was still holding onto my wound when I told him to let me go. He listened that time.

But instead of letting me sit against the wall, he picked me up and put me in his lap.

It was like we were back in the war when I was dying in the mountains and James held me close. That was fifty years ago and we’ve both been broken again and again since then, but the comfort I felt was the same. James said sorry to me back then, and I knew he was saying sorry again despite not speaking.

I finally got to tell him his full name. James Buchanan Barnes.

He looked at me like I said a random string of words. But I said his name again and he said he doesn’t know who that is. I said that it was his name. Hopefully, that’ll help his memory. Maybe he’ll remember who he is and escape wherever he’s from. Maybe he already has. James wanted to ask more and I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t. I lost too much blood to keep talking and stay awake.

But when I looked at him one last time, I realized something else. He was scared. He didn’t want me to die because he needed my presence. Because maybe…maybe I’m the only thing still human left inside him.

I died in his arms, but I felt his hand on my cheek before I did. He whispered Rose again and I felt my heart beat faster despite dying

I can only hope that he’ll find another way to be human without me.

<><><>

January 16, 2004. 10:38 PM

January 17, 2004. 9:13 PM

February 18, 2004. 10:10 AM

I have never been more scared in my life until January 18.

I saved James for the 8th time, but I almost failed.

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl

Thanks for reading :)

[abdy-18]

Fanfics where Yor takes care of Loid will always be my favorite because Yor genuinely enjoys taking care of the people she loves; it's her way of expressing affection and she wants to take care of her (fake) husband, not because she feels the obligation to do so because of the traditional wife role but because that's how her heart is.

Loid, on the other hand, has never had anyone to truly take care of him since he lost his mother. His life has been a constant cycle of loneliness and distrust. Even if his handler or some senior agent ever showed him the slightest empathy or suggested he take things easy, he would probably have assumed they were only doing it because he was a valuable asset, a resource they had to protect for utility. Twilight would surely think that, the moment he stopped being useful, they would throw him away like just another object.

But then Yor cares for him when he's most vulnerable, unable to contribute anything, when he feels like he's nothing but "useless," Yor is there, attentive, genuinely caring for him without expecting anything in return. She not only takes care of Anya, but also keeps the household running smoothly, showing him that everything will be okay even if he can't take care of everything himself.And for the first time in a long time, Twilight lets his guard down. He allows himself to relax, let the exhaustion catch up with him, and finally rest because Yor, Anya, and Bond give him a peace he never thought possible.

I have all of these in my ao3 bookmarks but I need more please 😭 if anyone knows more please tell me 😭

Harbor by frumplebump

Succumbing to the flu is not a luxury Twilight can afford, but when his immune system betrays him, Yor is there for him.

swing the spinning step by firewoodfigs

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an overworked and underpaid spy must, at some point in time, be so besieged by a terrible flu—in order that his lovely wife might take care of him. 

Something More by Thurito for nightofnyx8

The first thing the spy felt in the morning was such a strong weight on top of him that for a moment he thought it was someone who finally found his identity. His heart jumped, but as soon as his eyes were open and the man felt himself waking up more, he noticed what it was. He was sick. Twilight was sick. For the first time in more than a decade.

But I'm Here and So Are You by EmmyGracey

The Forger family returned to their hotel room after the airship crash wanting nothing more than warm clothes and a little bit of rest. When it’s Yor’s turn to get cleaned up she notices the cut on Loid’s head is bleeding again. She needs to take care of that. Loid’s not used to being taken care of. He finds it rather nice.

Spies Don't Get Paid Enough by Justanotherfannerd

Twilight does a shady mission that goes awry and Loid and Yor deal with the fallout. Purposeful obliviousness and injuries ensue. It's probably for the best that Anya is at a sleep over while all of this happens. or Twilight gets hurt, Yor plays doctor, and the both of them hide behind obliviousness.

Consequences by Raindrops_On_The_Pavement

Loid Forger is not indestructible, despite being Westalis's best. (I suck at summaries but I promise the story is good) Just a Loid Forger sickfic because why not? (The intro is a bit slow, but it gets sickfic/angsty dw)

A way out by MDSpencer

Twilight faces the consequences of his actions, and he seems to drag his family down with him

The Man From Mars by neejmorp

Something was wrong with Yor’s husband. He wore a constant smile on his face. It fooled colleagues, neighbors, and friends alike. The three people in his life who knew him best — his wife, his daughter, and his handler — all knew better. There was something off about his eyes. Loid survives a near-death experience following a mission abroad, but the incident impacts him and has an affect on his relationship with his family—particularly Yor.

You need to knock out this blondie more often :3

[izumkay]

~"IMPATIENT"~

—SYLUS♡

Summary- Sylus was too impatient. After a long, intimate dinner, the tension between you two was unbearable. As soon as you both stepped into the car, he couldn’t control it anymore—his desire was too strong.

Warnings!- MDNI. Contains sexual content, car sex.

A/n- here's a Sylus fic as promised🔥🤭

The night had been perfect. Dinner was decadent, the conversation smooth—every moment with Sylus had left you feeling breathless, his charm almost too much to handle. But you could feel it, that electric pull between you two, building with every shared glance, every brush of his hand against yours.

As soon as you were in the car, that’s when it happened. The door slammed shut, the engine hummed to life, but neither of you made a move to drive off.

Sylus was already looking at you like he hadn’t just been patient all night. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated with need. "I can’t wait anymore," he growled, his voice thick and raw.

You didn’t need another word. The tension between you two had been too thick, too overwhelming all night long. He was hard, desperate, and you could feel the heat rolling off his body, radiating onto yours. His fingers were already tugging at your seatbelt, pulling it off you before you could even respond.

The second your seatbelt was undone, his hands were on you. His fingers gripped your jaw, turning your head towards him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took you by surprise. You could feel his breath against your lips, heavy and impatient.

"You have no idea how badly I need you," he muttered against your mouth, his hands sliding down your body, finding their way to your hips. The urgency in his touch was unmistakable—he wasn’t waiting any longer. He was done being patient.

His hand was already between your thighs, hot and firm, the pressure making you gasp as his fingers brushed against the inside of your legs, dangerously close to where you needed him most. But he was in control, teasing you, his lips moving down to your neck, marking your skin as you squirmed beneath him.

"Sylus, please," you gasped, but he just smirked, the bastard loving every second of this power he had over you.

"Please what?" he teased, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "I’m not stopping until I have you, right here. Right now."

You shuddered, your heart racing as he yanked your legs apart, making room for him. The car suddenly felt small, suffocating, but all you could focus on was the heat between your legs, the pulsing need that was now impossible to ignore.

Sylus pulled you onto his lap, your body pressed flush against his, and you could feel the hardness of his cock straining against his pants, just waiting to be inside you. The urgency was unbearable, both of you knowing there was no turning back now. His hands were at your waist, pulling you against him as his lips met yours again, rough, desperate, the kiss almost violent as you both tried to get closer, closer, the car now a blur of heat and need.

There was no more talk, no more waiting. It was only about one thing—getting lost in each other.

"Fuck, you’re so fucking wet," Sylus muttered, pulling at your clothes with a frantic urgency. "Couldn’t wait another second."

Sylus wasn’t playing games. There was no slow build-up—he was done with the teasing, done with the waiting. His fingers pushed your underwear aside, his palm gripping your thigh as he lined himself up, the heat between you two unbearable.

"Sylus—" You gasped, breathless, as he guided you onto him, his cock sliding against your wet folds. He groaned at the feeling of you, so hot, so ready for him, and the sound of his groan sent another shiver down your spine.

Without another word, Sylus slammed into you, filling you completely in one deep, fast thrust. You cried out, your body jolting from the force of it, as he groaned loudly, barely holding back. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging in as he started to fuck you hard, rough, relentless.

"Fuck, kitten," he growled, his voice thick and husky, "You feel so fucking good—so tight around me." His thrusts were deep, sharp, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over, each stroke sending you reeling.

You couldn’t help it—you moaned, loud and broken, your nails scratching at his chest as you felt his cock pounding into you with no mercy. There was no slow rhythm here, no gentle caresses—just raw, unbridled need.

"Don’t try to hold back," Sylus grunted, leaning back just enough to look you in the eyes, those dark, predatory eyes filled with hunger. "I want to hear you. All of you."

The way he said it, with such authority, made your chest tighten, but it was also the most intense thing you’d ever heard. You couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t keep the moans from spilling from your lips.

"Sylus—please, harder—" You gasped, your back arching as his pace quickened, each thrust slamming into you so deep you felt like you were being torn apart in the best way possible.

"That’s it," he grunted, "You like it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Don’t even try to deny it."

His fingers were all over you now—pinching your nipples, dragging down your neck, your thighs, before finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles. The combination of his cock slamming into you and the way he made your clit throb had you seeing stars, your body reacting to his every move like it was a drug you couldn’t get enough of.

"Come for me, kitten," Sylus growled, voice low, pushing your body past its limits. "I know you can’t hold back much longer. Let go for me."

You did. Your orgasm hit like a freight train, shattering through you, your body trembling, clenching around him so tight you thought you might suffocate from the intensity. The sound of your name falling from his lips in a dark, guttural moan as he spilled inside you made everything feel too much to handle.

He didn’t stop though. He kept fucking you through it, his movements erratic, fast, riding out his own release as you both collapsed into the moment, bodies tangled in the heat of the car, drenched in sweat, and lost in each other.

After a moment of silence, Sylus finally pulled out, his body still shuddering from the intensity of it all. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand gently brushing through your hair as he pulled you closer. "I’ve been wanting that for so long," he murmured, his voice softer now but still thick with lust.

Sylas was still catching his breath, but the way he looked at you—hungry, dark, full of that same desperate need—told you that he wasn’t anywhere near finished. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, a lazy kiss that quickly deepened when he felt you moan softly against him, wanting more, needing more.

He didn’t wait for permission. Sylas’ hands were on you instantly, fingers trailing down to your slick folds, his touch firm and urgent. His middle finger found its way inside you, pushing deep as you gasped, your body shuddering, feeling that familiar rush of pleasure as his fingers explored.

But it wasn’t soft, gentle, no—Sylus didn’t know how to be gentle.

He did, but he's feeling too good for that.

His fingers slammed inside you, the intensity of his movements making your body tense, your back arching as he dug into you, pushing you to the edge with every thrust of his fingers. He knew exactly how to hit that perfect spot that made your legs tremble, your entire body clenching around him in a desperate need for release.

"Fuck, kitten," he growled, voice rough and broken, "You feel so good, so fucking tight, I can’t get enough of you."

His fingers moved faster, harder, curling inside you as his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, the pressure building with every stroke. The way he played with you, knowing exactly how much pressure to use, how fast to go, made your head spin. It was intense, the way his fingers were working you—too good, too much, and yet you wanted it all.

"Sylus—please, I—" you couldn’t even finish the sentence, your voice breaking as your orgasm neared, and you were so close, so fucking close. You couldn’t stop the moans that were tumbling out of your mouth, your body shaking, begging for more.

"I know," he said, his voice low, dark, almost cruel. "I know exactly what you need." His fingers pushed in deeper, faster, his other hand gripping your hip as he pressed you down into the seat, holding you in place while he fucked you with his fingers like he owned you.

It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn’t enough. His hand moved relentlessly, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you were reacting to him. "Come for me," he urged, his voice thick with lust, and you couldn’t hold back any longer.

Your body tensed, the wave of pleasure crashing over you so hard that you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your walls clenched around his fingers as you came hard, your moans louder, your body trembling as he continued to fuck you through it, prolonging your release until you were completely undone beneath him.

Sylus didn’t stop though—he kept his fingers inside you, working you through the aftershocks, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out every last bit of pleasure as your body quivered with sensitivity.

"So good for me," he murmured, his voice low and satisfied, but still full of need. "You’re mine now, and I’m not letting you go."

His thumb traced the outline of your clit, teasing it just enough to make you whimper, but before you could even react, he pulled out his fingers. he was pulling you closer again, his lips finding your neck as he whispered dark promises against your skin.

Sylus’s hands were all over you, pulling at your clothes, but before he even had the chance to strip you down completely, his lips were on you—demanding, relentless. His mouth traveled down your neck, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasped, your body already reacting to his touch, but he didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. His mouth moved lower, sliding over your collarbone and down to the curve of your breast, lips closing over your nipple with a low groan. He sucked hard, pulling it between his teeth as you moaned, your back arching, craving more.

"Sylus…" you whispered, but it came out more like a plea, your hands trembling as they threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

He didn’t answer—he didn’t need to. Instead, his hand slid between your legs, teasing, caressing, before he gently pushed you back against the car seat, giving him more access.

Then—he was down. His mouth was between your thighs, his lips brushing against your skin before he licked a slow, teasing stripe up your folds. The moment his tongue made contact with you, your body jolted, a choked gasp leaving your throat as your hands grabbed onto his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to devour you.

"So fucking sweet," Sylus muttered, his voice low and gravelly as his tongue flicked over your sensitive clit, the tip teasing before he sucked it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as you moaned loudly, your body trembling in response.

You were soaked, and Sylus didn’t waste a second—his hands pushing your thighs apart, forcing you open, making you feel exposed in a way you had never experienced before. And he loved it. He loved seeing you so helpless, so needy beneath him.

"Tell me how good I make you feel," he growled, his voice muffled against your skin as he licked deeper, his fingers now rubbing your clit in slow, teasing circles while his tongue fucked you in the most intense way.

Your body was on fire, every nerve in your body sparking to life, the pleasure quickly becoming overwhelming. He was relentless, his tongue moving faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, his teeth grazing against your clit with just enough pressure to make you cry out.

"God, Sylus, please," you begged, voice desperate and full of need, but he didn’t let up. He just continued to suck, lick, and tease, his hands holding your thighs open as you arched, gasping, almost losing control.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled away, leaving you gasping for air, your body shaking from the intensity of the pleasure.

He didn’t give you time to recover, though. He yanked you up onto his lap, your legs straddling him as he pressed his cock against your slick entrance.

"Now," he muttered, voice thick with need. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel in other ways."

Sylas doesn’t waste another second. The second you’re on top of him, he’s grabbing your waist, pulling you down onto him with a harsh, primal force that has you gasping, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. His cock slides into you effortlessly, the pressure making your body arch, your legs trembling as you adjust to the stretch. He’s so deep, so fucking perfect, and you can barely think with how full you feel.

Sylas groans, his hands tight on your hips, holding you in place as he begins to thrust up into you, hard and unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, each thrust knocking the breath out of you, his cock hitting places inside you that make your entire body shake.

"You feel so fucking good, kitten," he grits out, voice strained as he fucks you with deep, relentless strokes. "Can’t believe how tight you are, how perfect. Fuck."

You can’t help but moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as you begin to move against him, riding him like you’re both completely lost in the moment, driven by nothing but raw, animalistic desire. Each time you press down onto him, he groans, the pleasure evident on his face as he watches you fall apart on top of him.

His hands move to your breasts, his fingers squeezing and kneading, pinching your nipples as he watches the way you squirm, the way your body reacts to him.

"Look at you," he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction as you ride him, "so fucking beautiful, so fucking needy. You want it harder? Want me to fuck you like I own you?"

"Yes," you gasp, your voice a broken, desperate whisper, but he doesn’t wait for more. He grabs your hips and slams you down onto him, driving deeper, faster, rougher, until you can’t breathe, can’t think, just feel the intense, overwhelming pleasure of being completely fucked out.

He chokes back a moan, watching your body bounce, the way you take him like you’ve been waiting for this your entire life. His grip on you tightens, pushing you down on him as he slams harder, each thrust more forceful than the last.

The pressure builds in your stomach, tight and coiling, and when he lowers his hand to your clit, rubbing it with hard, fast circles, you snap—your body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure rocking you to your core.

Sylas doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down as you come, instead he keeps fucking you through it, his pace only growing more frantic, his moans louder, deeper.

"Fucking hell," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. His hands tighten on your hips as he groans, pulling you down onto him one last time before he’s spilling inside you, filling you up with everything he’s been holding back. His cock throbs inside you as he comes hard, his body shuddering beneath you, his breath ragged and heavy.

For a long moment, you both just stay there, chests heaving, bodies tangled, lost in the aftershocks of everything you’ve just shared.

Finally, Sylus presses a lazy kiss to your neck, a contented groan slipping from his lips. "Fuck, kitten," he whispers. "I don’t think I can ever wait that long again."

You can still feel the heat of him inside you, but something about his words, his cocky grin, makes you crave more. You shift in his lap, feeling his hard length still twitching beneath you, wanting to take control, wanting to feel him again.

Without warning, you slide off him, kissing your way down his chest, hands skimming over the solid muscles of his abdomen. Sylus watches you, his gaze dark and predatory, his breath quickening with each movement you make.

You drop to your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes, giving him a teasing smile. Your fingers gently unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper.

He exhales sharply, already hard again, and you can’t help but smile at how badly he wants you.

You pull his cock out, already thick and leaking from the earlier orgasm, and you lick a slow, teasing stripe from the base to the tip, watching him tense, his hands gripping the edge of the seat.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice rough with desire. "Just like that, kitten."

You look up at him, lips parted, and without breaking eye contact, you take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking gently. Sylus’s fingers thread through your hair, guiding you just slightly, his breath coming faster as you start to take him deeper, your tongue swirling around him.

"Shit," he curses under his breath, his hips bucking into your mouth, but you let him, letting him fuck your mouth slowly, every thrust pushing deeper as you keep your lips tight around him.

His moans get louder, more desperate, and he can’t help but pull your hair, forcing you to take him all the way down. You gag slightly but push past it, letting him feel the back of your throat, your mouth warm and wet around him, the taste of him filling you completely.

"Goddamn, kitten, you’re so fucking perfect," he mutters, his hips moving faster now, fucking into your mouth with hard, deep thrusts.

You don’t stop—your hands gripping his thighs for leverage as you take him harder, faster, hearing the desperate groans spill from his mouth as he loses control.

He pulls you off him suddenly, breathing heavily. His fingers grip your chin, lifting your face up to meet his hungry gaze. "You don’t get to stop now, kitten," he growls.

You smirk, reaching for him again, but he’s already grabbing your shoulders, pushing you back up against the seat as he kisses you roughly, his tongue invading your mouth. "I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name."

You gasp at his words, the need in his voice turning you on even more. Without warning, he lifts you again, positioning you back on his cock, sliding inside you with one fluid motion—deep, filling you in one powerful thrust.

You both moan in unison, the car rocking as he fucks you again, but this time, he’s even rougher, his grip on your hips tightening.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he groans, voice thick with desire. "Ride me—show me how much you fucking need me."

Sylus’s grip on your hips tightens as he drives into you with force, the car rocking with each punishing thrust. His movements are relentless, no longer slow or teasing—he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t control himself anymore.

Your body jerks forward with every stroke, your hands clutching at his chest for support, but he doesn’t let you back down—he keeps you exactly where he wants you, taking you deeper, fucking you hard enough to make you see stars.

"Fuck, kitten, you’re so fucking tight," he growls, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth, his breath coming faster. "You’re mine, all mine."

The way his cock slides in and out of you—deep, rough, filling you completely—has you screaming his name over and over, your back arching as pleasure floods your body. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, and all you can focus on is the way he’s fucking you so hard, so deep, so raw.

His fingers find your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles that send you spiraling.

"Come for me again, sweetheart," he demands, his voice low, dark, "Let me feel you come all over my cock."

Your body reacts on instinct—every nerve in you trembling, shaking under his touch as the orgasm hits you. The release is violent, coursing through you, making you clutch at him, moaning uncontrollably as you come around him.

Sylus doesn’t stop, though.

He keeps fucking you, deeper and harder, his own release building as he watches your body tremble beneath him. "You feel so good when you come for me," he groans, his pace never slowing. "I’m not done yet, baby."

You can barely process the words before he pulls you onto him, fucking up into you, pounding into you from below, his fingers digging into your skin.

He’s lost completely in the pleasure now, no longer holding back, no longer patient—just the sound of your cries and his grunts filling the space.

And then, with a deep, low groan, he finally pushes inside one last time, filling you up with his release, making you feel every inch of him as he spills deep inside you, his hips grinding against you to milk the last of his orgasm.

The car is quiet for a moment—just the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath, still trembling in the aftermath.

"Shit," Sylus murmurs, his voice rough and satisfied as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "You’re incredible."

You both collapse back into the seat, the car now littered with the aftermath of your intense fuck. Your body is still shaking, legs trembling as you try to breathe normally, the hot, thick air around you making your skin feel even more sensitive. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, heart still racing as you feel Sylas pull you close to his chest, his arms holding you firmly.

He’s still buried deep inside you, his body pressing against yours as he breathes heavily, trying to catch his own breath. His hand rests on your lower back, gently massaging you as if he’s trying to calm both of your racing hearts. "God, kitten," he murmurs, his voice still rough, his chest heaving. "You really know how to make me lose control."

You smile softly, letting out a shaky breath, your hands tracing the muscles of his chest, feeling him still so strong, so dominant beneath your touch.

"You’re the one who couldn’t control yourself," you tease, eyes twinkling as you look up at him. "Could barely wait for the damn car."

He smirks down at you, his eyes dark with the same hunger he had earlier, but now there’s a cocky edge to it, a confidence that only makes him more dangerous. "Can’t help it when you look like that," he replies, his lips curling into a grin. "You make me want you everywhere, sweetheart—right now, right here."

Your fingers trail over his abs, teasing, just barely grazing the skin as you lean in to kiss him gently, a soft, lingering touch that leaves both of you breathless once again.

"Next time," you whisper, voice low and playful, "maybe we should take it somewhere with more space."

He chuckles darkly, his hands sliding to your hips as he pulls you closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. "I’ll fuck you anywhere you want, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You just say the word."

And as the kiss deepens, you both fall into each other, the world outside forgotten—just the lingering heat, the intensity of the moment, and the promise of more.

Dividers by- @omi-resources

A/n- I hope you liked this super long ahh smut, I tried to make this fast as I can😔💗

—Check out my Masterlist for more!

[alchemistc]

Listen I know @cecilyv and @liminalmemories21 are slow cooking an absolute masterpiece of a Mummy AU that I am going to eat like a gourmet meal, but I just watched The Mummy again and spent the whole time thinking about this, so here have a completely different take:

"No, Maddie, absolutely not. Do you remember what happened last time? There were boils, Maddie. Boils. On this face? Never again."

Maddie mumbles something that Buck can't quite parse but one word sounds vaguely like a name he's spent seven years trying to forget, and it's only when Chim pops up behind her like the freakiest Jack-in-the-box he's ever seen that things kind of become inevitable. "They took Jee, Buck."

---

It's not that he doesn't love this shit. He does. He loves it despite the fact that it's a hand me down interest from parents he's still struggling to have any sort of relationship with. He loves it despite the literal boils this particular special interest have caused him. He loves it despite the fact that he's pretty sure he met the love of his life on one of Maddie's little expeditions, and then the guy had disappeared into the wind. Not before a mind-blowing celebratory night and the most tender forehead kiss he's ever experienced (and he's including Maddie, here, so that really should say something) with the hazy dawn light filtering into Buck's hotel room.

He'd thought he was getting breakfast in bed. A coffee, at least.

Instead he'd been ghosted.

Which is incredibly ironic, considering.

The point is. The point is coming back home with a bunch of gold and maybe a broken heart hadn't killed his enthusiasm for digging into this stuff, following the research trails until every literal and metaphorical stone was turned. He loves it.

He would absolutely not be here if this were anything but family.

"Oh good, you made it," says a familiar voice from somewhere to his left, and Buck tries to give Maddie the evil eye, but she's too busy grinning at her husband.

Buck twists just enough to get a good look at the cleft before he's stomping his way back towards his suite.

---

Tommy is, of course, flying the fucking plane that's going to get them where they need to go.

Buck will admit he'd done a deep dive into piloting during one of his lamer spirals. He knows all sorts of facts about every helicopter known to man and quite a few of the planes.

"We're going to crash," Buck says, when the engine to his left makes another sputtering noise and then starts blowing smoke behind them.

Tommy frowns. "We're not going to crash," he mutters back, and then tips his chin, calls out loudly over his shoulder. "Maddie, Howie, you two strapped in?"

Buck isn't a fan of the tenor of his voice.

Who is he fucking kidding? He's a huge fan of that voice. He's been hearing it moan his name in his dreams for more than half a decade. Any version of that voice is something Buck wants to latch onto and never let go.

"We're not going to crash," Tommy repeats, and glances over at Buck like he's trying to drink in the sight of him.

---

They manage to salvage a good two-thirds of the water, two of Bucks suitcases ("You don't pack light, do you?" Tommy had asked, getting the bag that was almost entirely books over his shoulder like it weighed next to nothing. "Sorry my baggage is such an inconvenience." hadn't been his wittiest rejoinder of all time but it had made Tommy flush an interesting shade of purple.) and about twelve guns from the wreckage.

"Guns are notoriously not great at stopping ghosts."

Tommy glowers and continues cleaning his gun. In the firelight, his eyes have taken on a shade of blue that Buck absolutely isn't trying to memorize.

"Good thing human men took your niece, then, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that was great, no."

Chim whispers something to Maddie that makes her grin, and Buck scowls at them both.

---

"I'm so goddamn tired of boils, Maddie!"

"It's - you look fine. We just have to send Billy back where he came from and they'll clear right up. Just like last time."

"And if they don't? Your brother's going to die loveless and alone because no one's gonna want to kiss a face full of boils!"

Tommy hums to his left, shuffles, checks his watch, which definitely got broken in the crash. Buck is absolutely not thinking about the full-on make out they'd had in the middle of a graveyard full of fucking murderous ghosts while the boils were still definitely there on his face.

---

Apparently he should have brought a gun to a ghost fight, he thinks, when he glances down and catches sight of the red stain steadily growing on his shirt.

"Evan!"

Maddie's doing her chant thing over by the dias, and Jee's safely tucked in Chim's arms, and -

"Tommy," Buck manages, when Tommy catches him mid-fall and leans him back against the side of a truly hideous mausoleum.

"Hey. Evan, hey. You're - Maddie's just gotta finish up a few more lines and then you'll be good, okay? No more boils. You'll get thousands more kisses from however many people you like, alright?" He sounds a little panicked. Which is fair, considering. Ghost bullets fucking hurt.

"God, you're an idiot," Buck manages between wheezes. Things are - things are looking a little blurry around the edges. Buck lowers himself to a sit and sinks hands into the earth beneath him. "I'm gonna die still in love with the stupidest man who ever lived."

"You're not going to die," Tommy says, and he's eye level now, pressing at the spot where Buck's life is leaking out of him. Blue eyes, cleft chin, that stupid curl that never failed to release itself to settle over his forehead.

"Perfect time to completely miss the point," Buck manages through clenched teeth, and when Tommy's eyes catch his they look - terrified.

He's expecting it, maybe, a little, because he's being a little shit and that had always driven Tommy a little wild. Still. The press of lips against his is nice, and the tongue and teeth are even better, right up until he can't hold in the cough any longer and spits up blood right into Tommy's mouth.

"You're not gonna die," Tommy says, desperate now, as the world starts to tilt on its axis, and Buck curls a hand over Tommy's forearm and smiles.

---

Death isn't great. Kinda boring, actually. He's been here for five minutes or maybe an eternity when things start to go a little wonky. The endless nothing is either shrinking or expanding and Buck can't quite figure out if it's black or white or maybe just nothing and then it's shattering and shaking and gone.

---

"Ow," Buck says, and blinks open his eyes to find blue ones staring back.

They stay like that for a moment.

"So, you're O for two," Buck says, and Tommy immediately starts crying.

---

Tommy shifts a hand over Buck's jawline, calluses catching on a bit of scar tissue the boils left behind this time. Apparently they only clear up completely if you're still alive when the curse is broken.

"So there's a job," Tommy says, grooves on his face deepening, leg shifting restlessly over top of Buck's thigh. It's a trick - he knows it is, but he's still coming down off the high and Tommy's smile could probably make him do anything even if he hadn't just given Buck a Top Ten orgasm.

"No mummies. No ghosts. I swear to god Tommy if it's anything haunted I'm going to get those thousands of kisses somewhere else."

Tommy's grin is a little smug for his liking. "Have you ever heard of a Dybbuk box?"

Against his better judgement, Buck immediately begins spewing every bit of knowledge he's ever retained about them.

[helvegen-s]

ten millimeters

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: for ten years, they were rivals—pushing, challenging, never backing down. But one night, after a race that changed everything, the line between them finally shatters. Now, with nothing left to hide behind, they’re forced to face the truth. Because this was never just about racing—it was always about them.

Word count: 12k (patience, my friends, patience)

TW: car crash, strong language, sexual content

A/N: enjoy this because I’ve pulled out all my hair trying to write something, and this is what came out. I wanted to be consistent with my updates, but my peanut brain doesn’t seem to agree… I LOVE OSCAR WITH ALL MY HEART

other drivers content will be coming soon...

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

masterlist

Lena Bauer had learned to navigate a world that had always seemed determined to challenge her. For as long as she could remember, her life had revolved around a single purpose: winning. Not for recognition, not for glory, but because victory was the only language she understood. She grew up on the circuits, under the scorching sun of karting tracks, with grease-covered hands and her heart pounding in her throat every time she put on her helmet. She never knew how to be anything other than a racer. And she never wanted to be.

Oscar Piastri, on the other hand, was the kind of driver who made speed look effortless, who turned precision into an art form. Always methodical, always analytical. His talent wasn’t explosive but constant, like a sharpened blade that, over time, became a lethal sword. While Lena raced with fire in her eyes and fury in every maneuver, Oscar was all calculation and patience. He was the cold storm that swept through without ever raising its voice.

They met as children, on a karting podium where Lena, holding her trophy high with a fierce smile of satisfaction, turned to find him watching her. The second-place finish didn’t seem to bother him. There was no anger, no envy in his expression—only a silent acknowledgment: she had been better this time. Only this time.

From that moment on, their paths became intertwined with the inevitability of a storm and the certainty of an impending collision. They grew up together, chased each other through every category, overtook one another in championships that carried them across continents. And when they finally reached Formula 2, their rivalry became something heavier, sharper. There was no room for two drivers like them. Not when both were willing to risk everything to win.

That season, the incident happened. Silverstone. Final laps. They were fighting for victory in a battle anyone else would have called suicidal. But neither Lena nor Oscar were the kind to back down. She forced him to the limit, leaving barely ten millimeters between his car and the barrier. Ten millimeters that decided a race, a championship… and a wound that never quite healed.

Oscar was out. She won.

And when she stepped out of the car, she didn’t look for him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew what she would find: the icy fury of someone who never forgets.

Now, in Formula 1, the world celebrated her arrival. The first woman in decades on the grid. Red Bull’s great promise. The one person Oscar Piastri couldn’t simply ignore. And when they faced each other again at the pre-season press conference, he knew nothing had changed.

Lena smiled, tilting her head slightly, radiating that overwhelming confidence that challenged him without the need for words. Oscar held her gaze, impassive, but Lena saw what others couldn’t: the spark of defiance in his eyes, the shadow of Silverstone still lingering in his expression.

They weren’t done. Not even close.

The calendar marked the beginning of a new season. And with it, the restart of a war that had never truly ended.

Oscar had been through enough qualifying sessions to know that the real battle was never against the stopwatch, but against one’s own limits. But that Saturday, as he adjusted his gloves inside the cockpit and his engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, he knew his fight went beyond that.

His fight had a name. Lena Bauer.

The engines roared with the restrained aggression of caged predators as the cars rolled out onto the track. Bahrain was always treacherous in qualifying—the temperature dropped at night, the wind carried sand onto the asphalt, and finding the perfect balance between speed and control was a game of absolute precision. But Oscar wasn’t worried about that. His focus was on the Red Bull number 95.

From the first flying lap, he knew. She was there.

He didn’t need to check the times to understand it. He felt it in every corner, in every fraction of a second flashing on his lap delta. The way his McLaren glided over the asphalt with surgical precision, chasing a shadow that always seemed just out of reach.

Lena.

She had always been like this. Infuriating in her brilliance. Relentless in her determination. She never raced to be among the best, never to collect points or secure a decent result. She raced to win. And that, though he would never admit it out loud, was what drove him insane.

In Q2, as the sun fully set and the track reached its peak, the battle became a silent duel. Red Bull versus McLaren. Lena versus Oscar. Just like so many times before.

On his final attempt, he gave it everything. Every apex traced with a surgeon’s precision, every gear shift perfectly timed. The car danced on the asphalt, the engine roared in his ears, and for a few fleeting seconds, he thought it was enough. That this time, finally, he had been faster.

Until he saw the screen.

Lena Bauer – P1 – 1:29.771Oscar Piastri – P2 – 1:29.784

Thirteen milliseconds.

He let out a bitter laugh inside his helmet—a mix of disbelief and resignation. Lena wasn’t just fast. She was ruthless.

When he stepped out of the car and walked toward the media pen, he saw her.

Lena removed her helmet with that effortless ease that always got under his skin, golden strands of hair falling onto her forehead, a lopsided grin that spoke of victory without a single word. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Oscar felt a rush of frustration and adrenaline pulse through his chest.

"Almost, Piastri."

Her voice carried that teasing lilt that had haunted him since karting—provocation wrapped in feigned lightness.

Oscar shook his head, running a hand over the back of his neck, suppressing the smirk threatening to surface.

"Keep an eye on your mirrors tomorrow, Bauer."

Lena arched an amused brow.

"For you? Doubt it."

She turned before he could reply, leaving him with the retort stuck in his throat and a certainty seared into his skin.

The race hadn’t even begun. The season had only just started.

But his war with Lena Bauer had been going on for years.

Sunday morning.

The Bahrain paddock had been awake since early, humming with the charged energy of the season’s first race day. The desert breeze carried the distant roar of engines in warm-up, the ceaseless chatter of engineers fine-tuning strategies, and the omnipresent presence of cameras, ready to capture every moment.

Lena Bauer walked with the natural confidence of someone who belonged in this world. Dressed in her Red Bull race suit, the sleeves tied around her waist, the team’s logo gleaming under the sun, she looked exactly like what she was—the pole sitter for the first race of the year.

Everyone greeted her as she passed. Mechanics, engineers, members of other teams. The other drivers, gathered near the interview area, welcomed her with grins and playful remarks. Charles Leclerc said something to her in French that made her laugh, Lando Norris held up a hand for a high-five that she returned without hesitation, and even Fernando Alonso gave her an approving glance.

But not everyone seemed thrilled about her presence.

Oscar Piastri watched her from across the group, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set tight. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t greet her.

And she, as always, noticed.

Lena loved it. The way he was the only one who didn’t smile, the only one who didn’t treat her with that easy camaraderie she shared with the others. The way he seemed incapable of ignoring her, no matter how hard he tried.

Before she could tempt him any further, someone approached with a microphone.

"Lena, no one expected you to take pole in your first-ever F1 qualifying. Did you?"

She smiled, tilting her head with an almost insolent ease.

"Yes."

The journalist hesitated, as if expecting a more modest answer—something more typical of a rookie in the category. But Lena saw no need to fake false humility. Why should she?

"So, did you have a perfect lap last night?"

"No," she replied naturally. "It was a good lap, but not perfect. I can find more pace."

The journalist's eyes widened in disbelief, and out of the corner of her eye, Lena caught Piastri's movement. He had heard her. And even though she couldn't see his expression, she could imagine the tension in his jaw, the irritated disbelief in his eyes.

She didn’t turn to look at him. Not yet.

"And how are you approaching today's race? You'll be starting from pole, but Red Bull and McLaren have been pretty evenly matched all weekend."

Lena tilted her head, letting the question hang in the air just a second longer than necessary. Then, she smiled with the same unwavering confidence.

"The good thing about starting from pole is that I don’t have to worry about what’s happening behind me. I just have to be the fastest. And I already am."

She felt Oscar's gaze on her profile like a sharp knife.

Oh, how she loved this.

The starting grid was a perfectly orchestrated chaos. Engineers and mechanics moved around the cars in their final preparations, photographers captured every expression on the drivers' faces, and the air buzzed with the anticipation of the first race of the season.

Lena was at the center of it all.

Standing next to her Red Bull, her helmet still tucked under her arm and sunglasses covering her eyes, she radiated absolute calm. While everyone around her talked, gave instructions, or checked data on screens, she remained still, unaffected by the noise. Only when Helmut Marko approached to say something in a low voice did she nod slightly—but even then, her expression barely changed.

A few meters away, Oscar Piastri watched her.

Unlike her, he wasn’t still. He rolled his gloves between his hands, rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath. Not because he was nervous, but because his body had felt ready for battle from the moment he stepped out of the car after qualifying.

He knew he shouldn’t be looking at her. He knew he should be focusing on his own race. But he couldn’t help it.

He saw her shake Christian Horner’s hand, smile at someone from the FIA, wave Lando off as he passed by. All of it with that infuriating ease, as if this wasn’t the first race of her life in Formula 1, but just another Sunday.

The contrast to his own energy was suffocating.

Oscar was tense, alert, his pulse already racing before even getting in the car. Lena, on the other hand, seemed immune to everything. As if the pressure didn’t affect her. As if starting from pole on her debut meant absolutely nothing.

And the worst part was that he knew it wasn’t empty arrogance. He knew she meant it.

By the time he realized he had been staring at her for too long, he quickly shifted his focus back to his McLaren, trying to regain his composure. But just then, Lena turned around.

She found him instantly.

With a lazy movement, she pulled off her sunglasses—just enough for him to catch the playful spark in her eyes.

"Nice view, isn’t it?" she said casually, tilting her head toward her own car. With her sunglasses in hand, she pointed to the number 95 engraved on the Red Bull’s carbon fiber. "I hope you dream about it tonight."

Oscar clenched his jaw.

"And I hope you enjoy the scenery while it lasts. In a few laps, the 81 is all you’ll be seeing."

Lena smiled, and it was worse than any verbal provocation.

"Oh, I will enjoy it."

And with that, she turned away, handed her sunglasses to an engineer, and put on her helmet with the ease of someone who had no doubt she would still be there when it was all over.

Oscar, for his part, couldn’t remember ever wanting the starting lights to go out this badly in his entire life.

The lights went out.

The force of his McLaren propelled him forward, reacting on instinct, every fiber of his body focused on the first corner. He knew that if he wanted to win, if he wanted to snatch victory from Lena Bauer, he had to do it now.

He saw her move quickly, shutting the inside line with relentless determination. But Oscar wasn’t a rookie. He knew she expected him to back off, to take the corner from the outside and settle for second place.

He didn’t.

He planted his foot on the throttle, keeping his car glued to hers until the very last millimeter before braking. He downshifted at the exact right moment, slid his car to the absolute limit, and emerged from the corner with his front wing just inches ahead of hers.

For a second, he thought Lena would squeeze him out, that she’d return the favor at the next turn. But she didn’t.

His engineer was shouting something over the radio, but Oscar barely heard it. All he saw in his mirrors was the Red Bull clinging to him, Lena refusing to give up even a fraction more than necessary.

The race was a war of attrition.

Lena was never too far. She kept the pressure on at all times, making him fight for every tenth of a second, every corner, every lap. When McLaren told him to manage his tires, he barely held back a disbelieving laugh.

Managing tires with Lena Bauer breathing down his diffuser was like asking a lion to share its prey.

But he did it.

Against all odds, against everything he feared, against the constant threat of her presence in his mirrors—he crossed the finish line first.

He won.

The victory cry he let out over the radio was pure relief.

When he returned to the pit lane, when he jumped out of the car and let himself be swept away by the adrenaline of the moment, he felt that all the effort, all the anger, all the desperate need to beat her had been worth it.

Until he saw her.

Lena was already out of her car, pulling off her gloves with an expression that was…

Happy.

No frustration. No anger. No trace of the bitter sting of defeat he knew so well.

She was smiling, radiant, as if finishing second had been exactly what she wanted. As if the fact that he had beaten her didn’t bother her in the slightest.

And that, more than anything else, infuriated him.

Because if it had been the other way around—if he had finished second—the poison of defeat would have eaten him alive. He would have replayed every tenth he lost, every mistake, every moment where the race slipped through his fingers. He would have obsessed over it until he could fix it.

But Lena Bauer didn’t.

Lena Bauer was celebrating.

Lena Bauer was laughing with her team, joking with Verstappen, flashing a dazzling smile at the cameras.

When she stepped onto the podium, when she shook his hand with exasperating ease, when she offered him a casual "Good job" with not a hint of resentment, Oscar felt victory crumble in his hands.

Because if she didn’t care about losing…

Then how the hell was he supposed to defeat her?

Melbourne, on a thursday night.

Oscar hated these kinds of events.

It wasn’t just the formality, the uncomfortable suits, or the forced smiles. It was the feeling of being trapped in a place where performance didn’t matter, where it didn’t matter how fast you were on track if you didn’t know how to play the other game—the one of image, politics, public relations.

And Lena Bauer knew exactly how to play it.

Since she had arrived, he had watched her move through the guests with an irritating ease. She greeted journalists by name, laughed with other drivers, answered questions with that mix of boldness and charisma that made her impossible to ignore. Meanwhile, Oscar stuck to the bare minimum—interviews, sponsor photos, the occasional neutral comment. But he couldn't help feeling like a shadow in comparison.

Of course, the press wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to put them together.

“Oscar! Lena!” A journalist called out. “Can we ask you a few questions together?”

It was inevitable. Ever since Lena had joined F1, their rivalry had been exploited to exhaustion. It wasn’t just that they had both been rookies at the time—it was the fact that they had competed against each other since they were kids, that they had clashed in every category they had raced in. The narrative wrote itself: two exceptionally talented drivers, destined to fight side by side for their entire careers.

People loved it. Oscar… not so much.

“Of course,” Lena replied without hesitation, smiling with exasperating ease.

Oscar had no choice. He stepped up beside her, adopting the neutral expression he usually wore in these situations.

“It’s been a few races since Lena made her F1 debut, and it seems like the story remains the same between you two—always fighting each other. What’s it like to meet again in the top category after so many years of competing together?”

“Fun,” Lena said with a grin.

Oscar let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Oh, absolutely thrilling.”

Lena shot him a quick glance before continuing.

“Actually, it is,” she insisted, turning back to the journalist. “We’ve always pushed each other to the limit. I expected nothing less from Oscar in F1.”

“Would you say your rivalry is the most intense on the grid right now?”

Oscar was about to give a diplomatic answer, but Lena beat him to it.

“Oh, without a doubt. Don’t you think so, Piastri?”

Oscar looked at her. She was still smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes he couldn’t quite decipher. Was she enjoying the moment, the attention, the story the media kept feeding? Or was she enjoying how much it annoyed him?

“If by intense you mean the most annoying, then yes,” he muttered, earning laughter from the journalists.

Lena placed a hand over her chest, feigning offense.

“How cruel. And here I thought we were almost friends.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

The interview continued with the same dynamic—Lena allowing herself bold answers, comments that bordered on provocation, while Oscar remained more reserved, letting her take the spotlight. It wasn’t that it bothered him exactly. It was more that he found it frustrating how effortlessly she navigated this world, as if she had been born to be in the spotlight.

“And what about this weekend’s race?” another journalist asked. “Will it be another wheel-to-wheel battle between you two?”

“If Piastri can keep up, maybe,” Lena replied with absolute ease.

Oscar exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his eyes on her.

“I’d be more worried about myself if I were you.”

“Oh, I do,” she said, her smile feigning innocence. “That’s why I enjoy it so much.”

Before Oscar could respond, he felt something on his arm.

Lena had linked her arm through his with the utmost ease, as if she had been doing it her whole life. Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, but the sensation of her touch hit Oscar like an unexpected blow.

It unsettled him how easily she invaded his personal space without warning. But what truly caught him off guard was his own reaction—because instead of pulling away, instead of tensing up like he usually did in these situations, Oscar felt his body lean, almost imperceptibly, toward her.

It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t even aware of it until it happened. But when he realized, his first instinct was to tense, to regain his composure.

However, before he could, Lena shifted slightly toward him, and Oscar felt the light tug of her grip, the way her thumb brushed against the fabric of his sleeve. There was no ulterior motive in her gesture—at least, not one Oscar could identify with certainty. Just a bold confidence, a way of reminding him—with the simplest action—that she had no problem getting close, erasing the lines between them whenever she felt like it.

And the worst part was that it worked.

The journalists, of course, didn’t let the gesture go unnoticed.

“Well, it seems like your relationship isn’t just about rivalry,” one of them commented lightly. “Clearly, you’ve known each other for years.”

Lena shrugged, as if the question was unnecessary.

“Of course. Piastri and I have been fighting on track since we were kids.”

“And we still are,” Oscar added, dismissively.

The journalists nodded, satisfied with the response. From the outside, their relationship looked exactly as it was supposed to: two rivals with years of history, who understood the dynamic between them perfectly. Friends, perhaps. Or at least, competitors who respected each other and enjoyed the challenge.

That was what everyone saw.

But Oscar… Oscar felt something else.

The light weight of Lena’s hand on his arm. The brush of her thumb against the fabric of his sleeve. The way she leaned slightly toward him when she spoke, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

There was nothing strange about the gesture. It wasn’t flirting. It didn’t have some hidden intention.

And yet, something inside Oscar clicked.

It was sudden and unsettling, a strange sensation slipping into his chest before he could block it out. It wasn’t attraction—not exactly. It was more like recognition, a realization that Lena could cross certain boundaries with him without his body reacting with the automatic rejection he usually had toward anyone who got too close.

She did it without thinking, with exasperating ease. And the worst part was that he didn’t think about pulling away either.

There was no logical reason for it.

The cameras were still rolling, the journalists were still asking questions, the fans who would watch the interview later would interpret it as just another amusing moment between two lifelong rivals. No one would notice anything unusual.

No one except Oscar.

And that was what irritated him the most.

The atmosphere in Melbourne was different.

Oscar felt it in every corner of the paddock, in every fan chanting his name, in every Australian flag waving in the grandstands. He had imagined this moment countless times, but living it surpassed all expectations.

P3 in qualifying. It wasn’t pole, but it was a solid position. He was ready. He knew exactly what he had to do.

As he walked through the paddock corridors, his mind was focused on strategy, on the start, on every detail that could make the difference. And then, as he turned a corner, he saw her.

Lena was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze distant. It looked like she was waiting for him, though with her, one could never be sure.

"Ready for the big day, huh, Piastri?" she said in her usual tone, one that hovered between provocation and amusement.

"Always," he replied without hesitation.

She nodded, sizing him up for a moment that felt longer than necessary. Then, unexpectedly, her expression shifted.

"You’re going to have a great race," she said, without a trace of irony. "This is your home. Make sure you take a good memory from here."

Oscar blinked, caught off guard.

It wasn’t the comment itself that surprised him, but the way she said it. Without that ever-present edge of defiance. Without the sharpness of their eternal rivalry.

She seemed… sincere.

Before he could find a response, Lena continued, her voice carrying a casualness that didn’t quite match what she had just said.

"And well, it’s a bit surreal, isn’t it?" she added. "We went from fighting in karts on forgotten tracks in the middle of nowhere to this. You, at your home race. P3. In front of thousands of people cheering for you."

She paused, as if unsure whether to continue. But then she gave the smallest of smiles, briefly lowering her gaze.

"I’m proud of you, Piastri."

The air grew heavier in Oscar’s lungs.

He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—her sincerity, the fact that it was coming from her, or the way his chest tightened slightly at her words.

Because it wasn’t just anyone saying it.

It was Lena.

And for some reason, that affected him more than he was willing to admit.

Oscar felt his throat close up for a fraction of a second.

Lena was already straightening up, ready to leave as if she hadn’t just knocked him off balance with those words. As if she hadn’t just said something that would stay in his head for who knew how long.

He couldn’t let it end just like that.

"Lena."

She stopped, turning her head slightly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Oscar swallowed. He wasn’t good at these things, but he couldn’t let her be the only one to speak.

"You’re going to have a great race too."

His voice was steadier than he expected, though inside, he was still trying to regain balance from the whirlwind Lena had just left behind.

She blinked, surprised. For a moment, Oscar thought she would mock him, throw a sarcastic remark to break the tension. But she didn’t.

Instead, Lena smiled. Barely—a flicker of a smile, quick and almost imperceptible, but genuine.

"I know," she replied, with the certainty of someone who had never doubted herself.

And then, without another word, she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Oscar remained there a moment longer, the echo of her voice still ringing in his ears, an unfamiliar sensation settling in his chest.

It wasn’t exactly confusion. It wasn’t just surprise.

It was something deeper. Something more unsettling. Something he wasn’t sure he liked.

And the worst part was that no matter how much he tried to analyze it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake it off when he pulled his visor down and lined up on the grid.

The lights went out, and Oscar reacted on instinct.

The McLaren catapulted toward the first corner, the roar of the engines around him creating a deafening symphony. He held firm in P3, protecting the inside as Verstappen and Leclerc fought ahead.

But there was no time to relax.

Lena was there.

Almost glued to his rear wing, waiting for the slightest mistake to strike.

Ten millimeters.

That was the space Oscar left her in every corner. Just enough not to crash—but no more than that. If she wanted the position, she was going to have to take it by force.

The pressure was relentless. Lap after lap, Lena attacked. She tested the outside at Turn 5, then the inside at Turn 9. She threw herself into every braking zone, making sure he felt her presence like an unyielding shadow.

On lap 23, McLaren called him into the pits. The stop was fast, flawless. He came out just ahead of Lena, who had stopped a lap earlier.

But she wasn’t done yet.

Turn 3.

Oscar saw the Red Bull in his mirrors before she even made the move.

Lena dived down the inside with surgical precision, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how far they could push.

He reacted instantly.

Defended aggressively, leaving precisely ten millimeters between their wheels. Ten millimeters between keeping the position and losing it. Ten millimeters between personal victory and defeat.

The crowd was on their feet.

Side by side, they accelerated toward Turn 4.

Oscar held the line. Barely.

Ten millimeters more, and she would have been the one emerging ahead.

Ten millimeters more, and it could have ended in disaster.

But it didn’t.

Oscar kept the position.

When he crossed the finish line in second place, the radio exploded with his team’s cheers.

"Well done, Oscar! P2 at home, incredible race!"

He let out a shaky breath, a laugh escaping his lips. It wasn’t a win, but it was a solid podium—a result any driver would dream of achieving at their home race.

As he climbed out of the car, the roar of the Australian crowd engulfed him. People chanted his name, a wave of applause that sent chills down his spine as he raised his arms in gratitude.

But then, before he could fully process it, he felt an impact against his side.

Lena.

She had walked up with a grin stretching from ear to ear and, without warning, threw her arms around him. A spontaneous, unrestrained gesture, with no trace of their usual hostility.

Oscar froze completely for a second.

He could feel the fabric of her race suit against his, her arm firmly wrapped around his back.

The cameras caught everything.

Photographers fired away, the images already circulating online, ready to send fans into a frenzy.

And the worst—or maybe the best—part was that Oscar didn’t react with his usual stiffness.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t try to escape.

Almost without realizing it, he returned the embrace.

Ten millimeters.

That was what separated them on track.

But here, there wasn’t a single one.

A couple of hours later, Oscar settled into his airplane seat, resting his head against the window and staring into the darkness of the night sky. The muffled roar of the engines and the dim cabin lighting gave everything an unreal feel, as if he were suspended in a limbo between two worlds.

He should be exhausted. He should be enjoying the moment. P2 at his home race, the crowd chanting his name, champagne spilling over the podium.

And yet, the only thing occupying his mind was the feeling of Lena’s embrace.

It was absurd.

He had raced past her so many times on track—always on the edge, always brushing against each other with surgical precision. Always breaking each other down, searching for every tiny advantage, pushing to the limit.

But he had never felt her like this.

Close. Present.

No helmet. No barriers.

A few minutes earlier, as he boarded the private jet with Lando, he had barely exchanged any words with him. He knew his teammate was probably waiting for him to comment on the race, the podium, something. But Oscar had said nothing.

And Lando, being Lando, wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to figure it out myself?"

Oscar blinked and turned his head, meeting his teammate’s curious expression. Lando was watching him from the seat next to him, one eyebrow raised.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, sure," Lando scoffed, crossing his arms. "I know you well enough to tell when something’s eating you up. You haven’t said a word in two hours, and you just finished on the podium at home."

Oscar sighed. Lando wasn’t going to drop it easily.

"I’m tired," he tried to dismiss.

Lando clicked his tongue, clearly not buying it.

"So it’s Lena."

Oscar felt a jolt of discomfort run down his spine.

"What?"

"Come on, mate." Lando turned fully in his seat, resting an arm on the backrest. "I saw it. We all saw it. Since when do you and Lena Bauer hug like you’re best friends?"

Oscar clenched his jaw.

"It was just… the moment. You know how she is."

Lando studied him, as if trying to unravel something beyond his words.

"Yeah, I do. But you didn’t react the way you usually do."

Oscar looked away, uneasy.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lando smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, I think you do."

Oscar didn’t respond. He just stared at his reflection in the window, barely visible against the darkness of the sky.

Lando was right. He knew.

But admitting it out loud was another thing entirely.

Because if he acknowledged what he felt—if he put it into words—then he would have to face it.

And Oscar wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The problem with Lena Bauer was that she had always been there. Always by his side, always in his way. From karting to Formula 2, and now at the pinnacle of motorsport. Always ten millimeters from him.

Always too close.

And yet, never as much as now.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling in frustration.

"It’s nothing," he muttered at last, more to himself than to Lando.

His teammate didn’t even look up from his phone.

"Whatever you say."

The cabin fell into silence again. The hum of the engine, the flickering overhead lights, the gentle sway of the plane cutting through the night.

Oscar closed his eyes.

But in his mind, he didn’t see the race. Or the podium. Or the crowd chanting his name.

He only saw Lena.

Her smile.

The warmth of her embrace.

The sound of her laughter, echoing in his chest like an unfamiliar vibration.

The way she looked at him, seconds before letting go, that mischievous glint in her eyes—like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she knew what she was doing to him.

And maybe she did.

Maybe Lena Bauer had always known.

Oscar arrived at his Monaco apartment with the deep relief of someone who, after weeks of traveling, noise, and adrenaline, finally had a couple of days to himself.

He dropped his suitcase by the door, kicked off his shoes without much care, and exhaled slowly as he scanned the space. His apartment was exactly as he had left it—neat, quiet, welcoming.

Peace.

That was what he needed.

He had planned these days with precision: sleep in without worrying about schedules, cook something decent instead of relying on paddock catering or airport food, and maybe, if he felt like it, go for a walk along the harbor. But most of all, rest.

He collapsed onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, pulled out his phone, and started scrolling mindlessly. Messages from his team, social media notifications exploding with podium photos from Australia, a couple of texts from Lando sending him ridiculous memes. Nothing urgent.

He was about to put his phone down when a new notification popped up on the screen.

Lena Bauer.

He frowned.

It wasn’t like they never talked outside of race weekends—well, actually, they didn’t much—but if Lena was texting him directly, it had to be something important.

He swiped to open the message, and what he found made him blink a couple of times.

Lena: "pastri pls i need help, im movin and the fookin couch dosnt fit in the elevator. i swer i tried with max, charls, even russel but aparntly evryone decidid to disapear at the same time. so now im stuk and if i try to do this alone ill eithr break my spine or end up trapd under it n die. u dont want that on ur consiense do u?? pls be a decnt human bein n help me, ill buy u a bier or idk a whole pizza if thats wht it takes 😭🙏 also if u say no i will haunt u 4ever just so u kno."

He blinked again, trying to process the grammatical crime he had just read.

For a second, he considered ignoring it. After all, he had spent weeks traveling, racing, training. All he wanted was to sleep in his own bed, eat something decent, and not move a single muscle for the next forty-eight hours.

But then he pictured Lena, somehow attempting to haul a couch up the stairs, probably cursing in three different languages, and with a ninety percent chance of actually managing it out of sheer stubbornness.

He sighed.

Oscar: "Give me 15 minutes."

His phone vibrated almost instantly.

Lena: "thankiu ily"

Oscar let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. But as he put his shoes back on and grabbed his keys, he couldn’t ignore the strange warmth that settled in his chest at those three little letters.

No.

Lena Bauer definitely had no idea what she was doing to him.

Oscar arrived at Lena’s building with the address she had sent him in a message. He didn’t need to call her or let her know he was there; the commotion in the stairwell was already guiding him straight to his target.

There she was, locked in battle with a couch.

The piece of furniture was stuck on the first landing, wedged at an angle that defied all logic. Lena, sweating and with the sleeves of her T-shirt rolled up to her shoulders, was pushing with all her strength, muttering German curses under her breath. Every time she tried to turn it, the couch got even more stuck.

Oscar stood at the entrance, arms crossed, watching in silence for a few seconds.

"Are you winning?" he finally asked, the calm tone of someone arriving at a crime scene after the disaster had already happened.

Lena let out a frustrated huff and rested a hand on her hip, momentarily conceding defeat.

"Too late. It’s already knocked me out."

Oscar stepped closer, analyzing the situation with a critical eye. He crouched down, measuring the space, and within seconds, he was already formulating a plan to get the couch out without demolishing the building in the process.

"You tried lifting it sideways, didn’t you?"

"Of course I did," Lena shot back, rolling her eyes. "Do you think I’m an idiot?"

Oscar didn’t respond to that. In his mind, the scene spoke for itself.

"Alright," he said simply. "Then we’re doing this another way."

He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, getting ready for the task.

"What’s the plan, genius?" Lena asked, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed.

"First, we’re going to rotate it. But instead of pushing, we tilt it upward and slide it at an angle."

Lena eyed him skeptically.

"That sounds exactly like what I already tried."

"Yeah, but I’m not going to let the couch win."

Just before getting to work, Oscar couldn’t resist.

He pulled out his phone, and with the ease of someone who already knew exactly what they were going to do, opened the camera and pointed it at Lena.

She, standing there with her arms crossed, brows furrowed, and the couch hopelessly wedged in the stairs, looked like a live-action meme.

"What are you doing?" she asked, somewhere between suspicion and exasperation, hearing the shutter click.

"Documenting the moment," Oscar replied with a smirk, not even glancing up from his phone as he typed a caption.

Lena immediately straightened, trying to snatch the phone from him.

"Don’t you dare."

But it was already too late.

Oscar turned the screen toward her with a triumphant look before posting the photo to his Instagram story. In the image, she was in all her glory—sweat on her forehead, absolute frustration on her face, and the couch putting up a fight.

The caption read:

"The pole position never resists her, but feng shui is a different story."

Lena let out an outraged groan.

"Delete that. Right now."

"It already has likes."

"How long has it even been!?"

"Twenty seconds."

Lena shot him a deadly glare, but Oscar, unfazed, slid his phone back into his pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Alright. Now, let’s deal with the couch."

Lena muttered something in German that probably wasn’t a compliment but gave in.

They worked together, though "worked together" was a generous way to put it. Oscar directed the operation with methodical patience, while Lena tried to brute-force her way through at every opportunity.

"Stop, stop, stop," Oscar said, halting when she attempted to push with her shoulder. "If you do that, you’ll just jam it even more."

"Or I’ll shove it through once and for all," Lena countered, trying again.

Oscar let out an exasperated sigh.

"Lena, please."

She huffed but eventually relented and followed his instructions. With a bit of coordination—and a lot of corrections from Oscar—they finally managed to get the couch past the first flight of stairs.

Once they set it down on the next landing, Lena collapsed onto one of the cushions with a dramatic sigh.

"I am never moving again," she declared, staring at the ceiling. "I’ll die in this apartment."

Oscar leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

"Could’ve been worse."

Lena turned her head to look at him in disbelief.

"Worse? How? With the couch tumbling down the stairs and taking someone out with it?"

"For example."

Lena let out a breathless laugh.

"Give me five minutes, and we’ll keep going."

Oscar nodded, though deep down, he knew this was going to take longer than expected.

When they finally managed to squeeze the sofa through the apartment door, Oscar collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, feeling the exhaustion take over his arms.

“I thought lifting weights at the gym had prepared me for anything,” he muttered, massaging his forearm.

Lena, leaning against the wall as she tried to catch her breath, let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, well, two-meter sofas have their own agenda.”

For a few moments, only their labored breathing filled the space, along with the distant hum of the city drifting in through the open balcony. Now that the sofa was in place, the frantic energy of the moment faded, leaving behind something else entirely.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, feeling his shirt sticking to his skin.

“You said there was beer.”

Lena raised an eyebrow.

“Are you implying I don’t keep my promises, Piastri?”

Pushing off the doorframe, she disappeared into the kitchen. Oscar took the opportunity to glance around the apartment. It was practically empty, save for a few stacked boxes in the corner and the sofa they had just hauled up by sheer force.

There were no paintings on the walls, no decorations—just the space in its purest form. He didn’t know why, but it suited Lena. Practical. Functional. Nothing that wasn’t strictly necessary.

She returned with two beers in hand, tossing one at him without warning. Oscar caught it on reflex, shooting her a pointed look, but she only smirked before dropping onto the sofa beside him.

“Don’t look at me like that. If you’d dropped it, that would’ve been on you.”

Oscar shook his head, but he couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Silence settled between them again as their bottles popped open. They drank in sync, both gazing out at the balcony, where Monaco’s lights shimmered against the night sky.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

It was that strange middle ground, where their usual dynamic wavered between familiarity and something Oscar hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“I didn’t think you’d move here,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

Lena turned the bottle in her hands.

“Neither did I, until I didn’t have much of a choice. Monaco is convenient. No taxes and all that.”

“Yeah, that’s why we all end up here.”

She shot him a lazy smile.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m still not sold on it. I prefer places with more soul.”

Oscar took another sip, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“And where has more soul, in your opinion?”

Lena leaned her head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the empty room.

“Berlin. Maybe London. Maybe somewhere where no one knows who I am, where I can disappear for a while.”

Oscar nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he entirely understood. He had never felt the need to disappear.

“So why didn’t you go to one of those places?”

Lena turned to look at him, studying him for a moment before shrugging.

“I guess, in the end, I like having a little bit of chaos nearby.”

The way she said it, without thinking, made Oscar pause for a second longer than necessary.

Because she said it while looking at him.

He held her gaze for a beat longer, sensing something in her words that unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

Lena was the first to look away, refocusing on her bottle, drumming her fingers lightly against the glass.

“Anyway, thanks for the help.” Her tone was back to its usual lightness, as if the last few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened at all. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come. Probably left the sofa downstairs and used boxes as chairs.”

Oscar let out a quiet snort.

“That could’ve been a creative solution.”

“Nah. I want this place to at least somewhat resemble a home.”

He frowned slightly, something about the way she said “home” not quite sitting right with him. Like the word felt foreign to her.

“Isn’t it?”

Lena turned to him again, eyes sharp, as if seeing more than she let on. Then she smiled, but it was one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Not yet.”

Silence returned between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Oscar took another sip of his beer, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat as he tried not to overthink everything they had just said.

Outside, Monaco continued to glow like a movie set. Inside, Lena shifted on the couch, tucking one leg under the other as she turned toward him.

“By the way, how long are you staying before you have to travel again?”

Oscar blinked at the abrupt change of topic but decided to play along.

“A couple of days. Why?”

“Because now that you’ve helped me with the sofa, it’d be a waste not to take advantage of your handyman skills.”

Oscar eyed her suspiciously.

“Lena…”

She held up her hands in mock innocence.

“Nothing complicated. Just a few more things. A table. A couple of chairs. Maybe a bookshelf.”

“You want me to do your entire move?”

“No, I want you to help. Not the same thing.”

Oscar sighed, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from twitching slightly.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Lena tapped his arm with her bottle, as if sealing a deal.

“We’ll see.”

The following days tested Oscar’s patience.

What initially seemed like a simple favor—helping with a few pieces of furniture—quickly spiraled into something much more chaotic. Lena had absolutely nothing organized. Her boxes were stacked haphazardly in the living room, some half-open, others sealed with an absurd amount of tape.

“Why do you have so many boxes when you basically live in a paddock all year?” Oscar asked the day she dragged him back to her apartment under the pretense of “just helping me move one thing.”

“I don’t know, most of them are books.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“You read?”

Lena shot him an offended look.

"Why do you say that like it’s some kind of miracle?"

"I don’t know. Do you see how you write in your phone? I just never pictured you sitting still long enough to read."

"I have my quiet moments, Piastri. Few, but they exist."

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that—until he saw the stacks of novels, biographies, and even a few technical essays in Lena’s moving boxes. It was a chaotic mix of genres, ranging from thrillers to books on applied F1 mechanics.

"You actually read all of this?" he asked, pulling out a book on aerodynamics with pages filled with handwritten notes in the margins.

"Most of them. Some were gifts I never got around to reading."

Oscar shook his head in disbelief before opening another box. That was how they spent the afternoon—drifting from one conversation to another, moving furniture back and forth, and pausing every now and then when Oscar, with infinite patience, had to explain the correct way to use a power screwdriver.

"Give me that. You’re making me nervous," he muttered at one point, taking the tool from her hands before she could drill straight through the table they were working on.

"You’re such a control freak," she shot back, crossing her arms.

"I’m efficient."

By the end of the day, Lena’s apartment was still far from organized, but at least she had a table, chairs, and a bookshelf that wouldn’t collapse at any second.

They both collapsed onto the couch with a tired sigh.

"Tell me that’s the last of it," Oscar mumbled, eyes closed.

Lena elbowed him.

"Almost."

He groaned.

"I knew you were lying to me."

"Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. Besides, I gave you beer and free food—what more do you want?"

Oscar cracked one eye open, amused.

"A written contract guaranteeing you won’t drag me into this again."

Lena stuck out her tongue.

And for some reason, Oscar realized he wouldn’t mind coming back.

The next few days in Monaco passed far too quickly. Before he could even process it, he was back to his usual routine—simulator sessions, meetings with engineers, workouts, flights to the next circuit.

But something had changed.

It was subtle, like background noise he couldn’t quite tune out. A recurring thought creeping in at the most unexpected moments—while reviewing telemetry data, while pulling on his gloves before heading out on track, while trying to fall asleep in yet another uncomfortable hotel bed.

Lena.

Not because he was analyzing her as a rival. Not because he was trying to figure out how to beat her on track.

Just because she was there.

Because every time he scrolled through Instagram, he stumbled upon clips of their interview together, the comments flooded with people loving their dynamic. Because every time he opened WhatsApp, their chat was never too far down the list. Because every time someone mentioned her name in a conversation, he felt something close to… anticipation.

And now, when he arrived at the paddock, he found himself looking for her without even realizing it.

The next Grand Prix was a brutal reminder of why he couldn’t afford distractions.

From the first practice sessions, it was clear that the margins were razor-thin. Red Bull had the edge, sure, but McLaren and Ferrari were right behind, waiting for any opportunity. And amid all the tension, there was Lena—with that infuriatingly relaxed attitude that somehow managed to get under his skin.

"Ready to lose again, Piastri?" she teased with a smirk when they crossed paths near the hospitality area before qualifying.

"I’m not losing today," he shot back, folding his arms.

"We’ll see about that."

And they did.

Qualifying was chaos. Session after session, the times tightened until there was barely any room for error. In the final moments of Q3, Lena put in a blistering lap, claiming provisional pole. Oscar was still on his flyer, pushing the limits of the track with every turn.

When he crossed the line and saw his time flash on the board, adrenaline surged through him.

P1.

On race day, the tension on the grid was almost tangible.

Oscar was on pole, Lena right beside him in P2. From inside his cockpit, he could see her through the visor of her helmet—leaning slightly forward, hands resting on the wheel, fingers barely perceptibly tightening around the grips.

He knew her too well. He could tell she was planning something.

He also knew she wouldn’t give him a single inch.

When the lights went out, the world shrank to the sound of his own heartbeat and the deafening roar of the engines.

His start was good. Hers was better.

They went wheel to wheel into the first corner, neither backing down, neither willing to be the first to yield.

The battle raged on for lap after lap. Every overtake was met with an immediate counterattack. Every attempt to pull away was thwarted by the other’s relentless defense.

And then—it happened.

It wasn’t a major mistake. It wasn’t a desperate move.

It was a matter of… ten millimeters.

Oscar tried to close the door in a high-speed corner, expecting Lena to back out. But Lena never backed out.

Their rear wheels touched.

And in the blink of an eye, both cars were out of control.

The world spun in a blur of radio static, gravel, and the sickening crunch of carbon fiber meeting the barriers.

The impact was brutal. Not in sheer force, but in the inevitability of it.

Their cars—now little more than shattered debris scattered across the runoff—were the culmination of something that had been brewing for years.

When Oscar tore off his steering wheel and sat up in his seat, the deafening roar of the crowd was muted by the blood pounding in his ears. His hands, still shaking with adrenaline, unfastened the harnesses with a sharp tug.

He jumped out of the car.

And there she was.

Lena had already climbed out of her Red Bull, brushing dust off her fireproof suit as if the crash hadn’t fazed her at all. But Oscar knew better. He saw the tension in her posture, the way her fingers curled into fists, the tight clench of her jaw as she swallowed down barely contained frustration.

They locked eyes in silence, their breathing still ragged, the echoes of the crash still hanging between them.

Around them, track marshals rushed in, ensuring they were both unharmed, stepping between them before either could do something they might regret.

There was no need for words.

What had just happened wasn’t a mistake.

It was the result of every on-track clash, every maneuver pushed to the limit, every time one had tried to prove they could beat the other.

It was the inevitable outcome of ten years of war.

When they were taken back to the paddock, the tension between them was so thick that even the FIA officials seemed to want to stay out of it. Their team principals were too busy analyzing replays of the crash, debating over the radio, searching for arguments to either defend or condemn what had happened.

So they were left in a room. Alone.

The silence was suffocating.

The only sound was their breathing—still ragged, still laced with fury.

Oscar ran his hands through his hair, exhaling sharply, trying to steady the storm of emotions tearing through him.

But when he looked up and saw her standing there, arms crossed, eyes burning, brows furrowed in pure defiance…

He knew.

This wasn’t about the race.

It had never been just about the track.

And then, the storm broke.

The door shut behind them with a sharp thud.

Silence.

Heavy, stifling, ready to shatter.

Lena ran a hand over her neck, clenching her jaw, her breath still unsteady. She didn’t know if it was from the crash, the anger, or the lethal combination of both.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice rough.

Oscar, who had been standing with his hands on his hips, turned his head toward her like he’d been waiting for the first shot to be fired.

"What’s wrong with me?" He let out a dry, incredulous laugh—a sharp, cutting sound. "Are you fucking kidding me? You shoved me into the wall, Lena."

"Oh, fuck off. You left me with no space first."

"There was no more space to give you."

"There’s always space, Piastri, but of course, if you're the one who has to yield, suddenly it becomes fucking nonexistent."

Oscar took a step toward her.

"Oh, I’m sorry—should I applaud you? Should I fucking bow for your sacrifice? If you want to win, maybe try not launching yourself like a goddamn kamikaze."

"And maybe you should try driving like you don’t have a stick up your ass!"

The air crackled between them.

The crash, the scrape of tires, the sound of shattered carbon fiber—it didn’t matter.

What mattered was everything behind it.

Years and years of pushing each other to the edge. Of locking eyes and knowing neither of them would ever back down. Of a rivalry so deeply poisoned that they no longer knew whether they wanted to beat each other or destroy each other.

Oscar took another step.

Lena didn’t move an inch.

"You always do this," he muttered, voice lower now but no less intense.

"Do what?"

"Put me in this fucking situation."

Lena tilted her head, a razor-sharp smile curling her lips.

"Don’t play the victim. It’s not just me."

"Oh, no?"

"You know it’s not."

Oscar clenched his jaw. Lena saw the tic in his temple, the way his fists tightened and relaxed, like he was holding something back—something he had no fucking idea how to deal with.

"Admit it pisses you off," she murmured.

"What pisses me off?"

"That I have you so figured out I know what you're feeling before you do."

Oscar let out a tense, fractured laugh.

"You have no idea what I’m feeling."

Lena stepped closer.

A single damn millimeter.

"Of course I do."

A flicker in his jaw.

"No. You don’t."

"I know it’s not about the race."

Oscar swallowed.

"Shut up."

"I know it’s not about the fucking crash."

"Lena."

"I know you want to kiss me."

Oscar felt something drop in his stomach—an unfamiliar, furious vertigo.

"Shut up."

Lena laughed, but there was no amusement in it. Only a blade, only the undeniable certainty that she was right.

"Why? Because it pisses you off to hear it out loud?"

Oscar gritted his teeth.

"Because it’s bullshit."

"No, it’s not."

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, really? Then why—"

She leaned in just a fraction more, pushing him without even touching him.

"Why do you look at me like that every time we’re on track?"

"I don’t look at you in any way."

"Why do you pick fights over stupid shit, but never over what actually gets to you?"

"Because you’re unbearable."

Lena clicked her tongue.

"Liar."

Oscar felt something in his chest pull impossibly tight.

"Drop it."

But she didn’t.

"Why can't you stand it when others congratulate me? When someone else says I did well?"

Oscar didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the answer was there, lodged in his throat, so obvious it almost made him sick.

Because the truth was spilling through the cracks of his denial, seeping into the fractures of his damned mind until everything fell into place.

It wasn’t competitiveness.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t that she won.

It was that she was there, always, messing up his existence since they were kids.

It was that every time he saw her passing him, he felt something that made no sense.

It was that when she laughed, with that smile that was so unmistakably hers, his chest tightened.

It was that he had spent years convincing himself that all he wanted was to beat her, when what he really wanted was to touch her.

And she knew it.

Lena saw the shift in his face, in his dark, glinting eyes, in the way his breathing turned just a little deeper.

"See?" she whispered.

Oscar ran his tongue over his lips, his fists clenched, his pulse pounding at his temples.

"No," he said.

But it sounded like what it was—a lie.

Lena smiled, but it wasn’t mocking. It was something heavier, more dangerous. Something that sent Oscar’s pulse racing.

"Yes," she whispered. "You see it."

Oscar didn’t move, but he didn’t step back when she leaned in closer. Ten millimeters less.

"Shut up."

His voice came out rough, ragged, completely useless.

"Make me."

Oscar swallowed hard.

The air between them was thick, suffocating. No space. No escape.

They had spent years fighting. Years pushing each other to the limit. Years forcing themselves to believe that all they felt was anger, rivalry, fury.

But fury didn’t burn like this.

Fury didn’t make his hands tingle with the urge to grab her.

Fury didn’t leave him like this, with his jaw clenched and his thoughts in complete chaos because Lena was so close, because he could feel her breath, because he knew—he knew—this was inevitable.

"Say you don’t want this."

Lena’s voice was a challenge, a provocation that curled down his spine.

Oscar closed his eyes for a second.

If he said it, maybe they could pretend this never happened.

That none of this existed.

That they could keep waging their damn war on the track without the truth tearing them apart.

But when he opened his eyes, when he saw the way Lena was looking at him, something inside him just… gave in.

The last barrier shattered.

The final ten millimeters disappeared.

And Oscar kissed her.

The impact was brutal.

No hesitation, no second-guessing, no restraint. Just pure momentum, an inevitable collision that trapped them in a fierce, definitive moment.

Lena gasped against his mouth, startled but not resisting, because her fingers clenched in the fabric of his race suit, pulling him in, seeking more, seeking everything. Oscar didn’t think. He couldn’t. His body reacted before his mind could process it, before he could remember that just minutes ago, he had been shouting at her.

That they had been arguing, that they had been furious, that they had spent years hating each other.

But had they really?

His back hit the wall, and he barely had time to catch his breath before Lena kissed him again—deeper, hungrier, as if they had just crossed a line they would never be able to step back from.

"Son of a bitch…" she murmured against his lips, but she didn’t sound angry. She sounded defeated.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to something, to any rational thought that could pull him out of this whirlwind.

But everything was Lena.

Her breath, her scent mixed with the adrenaline of the race, the feel of her hands gripping his neck.

He wanted her with an intensity that terrified him.

His entire world narrowed down to this moment, to this kiss, to the small, shaky exhales slipping from her mouth when he deepened it.

Lena laughed, barely a whisper against his skin.

"I knew I was right."

Oscar clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around her waist on instinct.

"Don’t ruin it," he growled.

But she did anyway.

"I always knew you’d break one day," she whispered, with a shameless confidence that should have infuriated him.

But there was no anger left in him.

Only this.

This vertigo, this need.

This something that had been pushing him for years—something that, now he understood, had never been hatred.

Lena pulled back just a fraction, her gaze locked on his. The last traces of defiance were still in her expression, but something else had seeped through the cracks.

"And now what, Piastri?" she asked, her voice lower than usual.

Oscar ran his tongue over his lips, still trapped in the spiral of what had just happened.

He looked into her eyes, at her swollen lips, at the shadow of a smile threatening to return.

And then he knew.

"I have no fucking idea."

Lena laughed, and Oscar kissed her again.

The door creaked open.

Oscar and Lena pulled apart at the last second, his pulse still hammering in his ears. Lena recovered faster—she lifted her chin, ran her fingers along the collar of her race suit, and slipped into her usual mask of arrogant indifference, as if they hadn’t just been pressed against the wall, devouring each other with the urgency of people who had waited too long.

The FIA steward entered, oblivious, an iPad in hand and the frown of someone who had spent too much time analyzing replays.

"Alright, both of you need to give your statements on the on-track incident. Bauer, you first. Piastri, wait here."

Lena cast a quick glance at Oscar before moving.

A fleeting look, barely a couple of seconds. But enough.

He held her gaze, trying to read what wasn’t being said.

No regret. No hesitation. Just something sharp, expectant.

When Lena turned and walked out of the room, her scent still lingered in the air.

Oscar ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, as if that could restore control over something he had lost a long time ago.

Ten millimeters.

They had crossed them.

And there was no turning back.

Oscar was still pulling off his gloves when Andrea intercepted him in the hallway.

"Doctor. Now."

"I'm fine."

"Doctor. Now."

Stella’s look left no room for argument, so Oscar let out a frustrated sigh and nodded, peeling off the top half of his race suit as he followed.

But his mind wasn’t on the medical check-up.

She had slipped away.

Lena was already gone when he finished his statement, and no matter how much he searched for her among the crowd of mechanics, team principals, and paddock staff, she was nowhere to be found.

And the scene in that room—the heat of her breath, her lips mere millimeters from his, the echo of her voice tearing apart every excuse he had tried to hide behind—kept replaying in his head like a damn broken record.

"Piastri."

Oscar blinked, realizing he was already in the medical room. A doctor stood in front of him, pointing at the examination table.

"Sit down."

"Is Lena here?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Bauer? No, she already came through. She’s fine."

Oscar pressed his tongue against his palate, frustrated.

Where the hell had she gone?

He climbed onto the table without complaint and let them check his blood pressure and reflexes, but he barely paid attention. His mind was still trapped in that room, in the way Lena had looked at him before walking out.

Because now he knew.

She had been right.

And that pissed him off. It pissed him off so much.

But what pissed him off the most was that, despite everything—he wanted to see her again.

The flight back to Monaco was a blur.

He didn’t remember packing, leaving the circuit, or walking through the airport with the team. His body moved on autopilot, repeating mechanical gestures, nodding at the right moments when someone spoke to him. But his mind was elsewhere.

The corner. The impact. The fire in his chest when he saw Lena’s helmet move inside the car, when he saw her climb out unscathed.

The room in the paddock.

Her sharp voice. The way she had stepped closer. The way she had disarmed him effortlessly, ripping a truth from him that even he hadn’t realized.

By the time he landed in Nice, his jaw was so tense it ached.

He got into the waiting car without bothering to say anything. The radio played in the background, a mix of music and news, but he didn’t listen. His own silence was louder.

He got out at his building and took the elevator up with the same inertia that had carried him through the last few hours. When the doors opened, he walked to his apartment, disabled the alarm, and stepped into the dimly lit space.

The room was silent except for the faint murmur of the sea in the distance.

Oscar dropped his suitcase by the door and stood still in the middle of the living room.

The weight of everything crashed into him all at once.

He exhaled, running a hand down his face.

He knew sleep would be impossible.

He didn’t even think. He just pulled out his phone, opened their chat, and sent his location.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

Seen.

Nothing else.

No message. No reaction.

Just the damn double blue check marks, glowing on the screen like a reminder of how much of an idiot he was.

Oscar clenched his jaw and tossed the phone onto the table. He sank onto the couch, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.

It had been a bad idea.

No, it had been a fucking terrible idea.

What the hell was he thinking?

He shut his eyes. The crash. The fight. The kiss.

Everything they had held back for years had exploded in that room. But now, after the frenzy of the race, after the adrenaline and the rage, all that was left was the emptiness.

The hum in his chest wouldn’t quiet.

And then the doorbell ringed.

Oscar opened his eyes.

He froze.

Didn’t move at first, as if his brain needed a few extra seconds to process it.

Doorbell. Again.

This time, he got up. Walked to the door, feeling his own pulse in his fingertips.

He opened it.

Lena.

Standing in the doorway, that same unreadable glint in her eyes.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

She stepped inside, and he shut the door behind her.

And then, everything unraveled.

The moment the door clicked shut, the silence between them became unbearable.

Lena didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. She reached for him first, hands gripping the front of his shirt, dragging him down into a kiss that was anything but soft. It was raw, demanding—filled with every word they hadn’t said, every feeling they had swallowed for years. Oscar barely had time to react before instinct took over. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, as if the space between them was something offensive, something that needed to be erased.

She tasted like adrenaline and defiance, like the echoes of their fight still lingered between their teeth. He could feel her pulse hammering against his fingertips, mirroring his own. Every inch of his body was wound tight, coiled with tension that had nothing to do with the race and everything to do with her.

Lena backed him into the living room, their steps clumsy, uncoordinated in a way that betrayed just how frayed their control was. They hit the edge of the couch, and Oscar barely managed to turn them, pressing her back against the armrest as his weight settled over her. She didn’t protest. If anything, she arched into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

A shiver ran down his spine at the sensation, sharp and electric. It made him want more.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his breathing ragged. Her lips were swollen, parted, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. There was something wild in her eyes, something reckless and unguarded, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Lena smirked, tilting her head just slightly. “Are you going to overthink this, Piastri?”

Oscar exhaled sharply, something close to a laugh escaping him. “Shut up.”

She did. But only because his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over the familiar lines of her body with a newfound urgency. The couch wasn’t enough. The room wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed all of her.

Without breaking contact, he lifted her, ignoring the way she gasped in surprise before her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He carried her through the dimly lit apartment, only stopping when her back hit the bedroom door. The impact made it rattle, but neither of them cared.

He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop.”

Lena’s fingers traced the edge of his jaw, her touch softer now, more deliberate. Her voice was quieter when she answered. “I won’t.”

That was all he needed.

The door gave way behind them, and they stumbled inside.

And then, everything really unraveled.

Clothes hit the floor in a messy, frantic rhythm. Hands moved with the kind of desperation that only years of restraint could create. Oscar traced the curve of her spine with his fingertips, committing every detail to memory. Lena’s breath hitched when his lips found the sensitive skin of her collarbone, her fingers tightening around his shoulders.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered names and stolen breaths. Every touch, every movement was a conversation in itself, a language they had long denied speaking. And when they finally collapsed together, bodies tangled in the sheets, neither of them spoke for a long time.

Because for once, there was nothing left to say.

The room was quiet now, save for the rhythmic sound of their breathing and the distant murmur of the sea drifting through the open window. A soft breeze ghosted over their damp skin, cooling the lingering heat between them.

Oscar lay on his side, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Lena’s bare waist. He watched as goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, fascinated by the way her body reacted to him even now. She didn’t move, only observed him in silence, her dark eyes half-lidded, unreadable in the dim light.

He followed the curve of her ribs, the dip of her stomach, moving slowly, deliberately. There was something intoxicating about it—about this rare, quiet moment where neither of them had to fight or prove anything. Here, in the sanctuary of tangled sheets and shared breaths, they were just themselves.

Lena exhaled softly, shifting slightly under his touch. ““How long?” she finally asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Oscar knew exactly what she was asking. He exhaled slowly, his fingers stilling against her skin.

“Always.”

Lena’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Oscar turned on his side to face her fully, his eyes scanning hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Since the first race. Since before I even knew what this was,” he admitted, voice rough. “I thought it was competition. I thought it was rivalry. I told myself that wanting to beat you was all there was. But it was more than that. It was always more.”

She held his gaze, unreadable for a moment, then let out a quiet breath. “I hated you for so long,” she murmured. “Or at least, I wanted to.”

His lips twitched slightly, but there was no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that?”

She huffed a short laugh, shaking her head. “I told myself it was just about winning. About proving I was better. But then, when you weren’t there, when you moved up first, it felt… wrong. Like something was missing.”

Oscar’s fingers curled around her wrist, thumb brushing against her pulse. “I felt it too.”

Lena swallowed, then shifted closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted. “I’ve spent so long pushing it down, convincing myself it didn’t matter.”

Oscar’s grip tightened slightly. “Then don’t push it down anymore.”

A beat of silence.

“And if it ruins everything?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar inhaled sharply, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Then at least it was real.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if letting the words settle. When she opened them again, something in her expression had shifted. Resolved. Certain.

“No more running,” she said.

His fingers tangled with hers beneath the sheets. “No more running.”

And this time, when she kissed him, it was slow. Certain. Like something inevitable finally falling into place.

A few moments passed before Lena broke the silence again, a smirk playing at her lips. “I have to say, for all that tension, you weren’t half bad.”

Oscar scoffed, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. “Not half bad? That’s all I get?”

She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. “I don’t know… I might need another round of evidence before I make my final judgment.”

Oscar groaned, burying his face in her neck, his laugh muffled against her skin. “You’re impossible.”

“You like that about me,” she teased.

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze with something softer now, amusement and something deeper mixing together. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”

She sighed, stretching out beneath him. “God, I can’t believe it took us this long.”

Oscar leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder. “Guess we were too busy trying to destroy each other.”

“Healthy,” she deadpanned.

He chuckled. “Extremely.”

Another pause, comfortable now, before Lena turned her head to look at him again. “So… what now?”

Oscar traced a lazy circle on her hip. “I guess we figure it out.”

She snorted. “That sounds dangerously close to a plan.”

“I can be responsible sometimes.”

Lena raised an eyebrow. “You literally just sent me your location instead of saying actual words.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “Fine. Not my best moment.”

She grinned. “But it worked.”

He smirked. “Yeah. It did.”

And as the night stretched on, tangled together in the quiet of the room, the weight of ten years finally felt lighter.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

How about jealous Ginny for a prompt? I mean there are plenty of jealous Harry stories but for once I want to need to see a jealous Ginny! Loved the overprotective Harry btw❤️🩷

They - quite literally - run into her at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Ginny was walking backward, grinning wickedly at Harry as she tried to surmise just how many photographers would swarm Diagon Alley once word had spread that he was there, while Harry continued to argue he should at least be allowed to don the Invisibility Cloak. 

“No, no, I’ll look insane talking to myself all day. You’ve got to face society, sometime, Potter,” Ginny was saying. “Some would say it’s your responsibility, no your duty to–”

“--my duty?”

“--to spend the day dodging photographers for your girlfriend. Isn’t that your whole deal? Self-sacrificing, hero–”

“Rita Skeeter is worse than Voldemort.”

It was precisely the moment when Ginny let out a loud, unattractive Ha! that her back came into contact with a person turning away from the bar. It’s all a bit of a flurry for a few moments - a folder of papers flutters to the floor, Ginny stumbles and corrects herself with an “Oh Merlin I’m so sorry,” Harry jolts forward helplessly as though to catch… something. 

Ginny turns to apologize more earnestly, when she realizes that she knows the person she’s just crashed into. 

“--I’m such an idiot, are you– Oh! Cho!”

“Er, hi,” Cho Chang says, a bit ruefully. “It’s good to – oh, no, don’t worry, I can–”

Cho flaps her hands uselessly, for Harry has bent over to pick up the papers Ginny had knocked to the floor. 

“Here,” Harry says, stuffing the papers haphazardly back into the folder and thrusting it out toward Cho. 

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then a horribly awkward silence swallows them all. 

Ginny struggles for anything to say. The only idiotic thing she can think to say is - You look pretty - because Cho does. Her silky black hair is swept up into some elegant looking chignon, and it’s clear she’s done up her makeup a bit more than usual. She’s wearing smart robes that are fitted elegantly, and her soft-pink nails are perfectly shaped. 

“Are you two off to Diagon Alley?” Cho says, with an air of desperation to fill the silence. 

“Yes,” Ginny says, latching on to the subject like a life raft. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Picking up school things for Ginny.”

“Oh!” Cho says, turning to Ginny in surprise. “Do you have another year of school left, then?”

The question, in conjunction with Cho’s very grown-up elegance, leaves Ginny feeling particularly infantile and irritable; their two-year age-gap seems suddenly to span decades. “Yep,” Ginny says, a note of petulance creeping into her tone. “Finishing up my NEWTs.”

“Good for you!” Cho says, in a way that manages not to sound patronizing, even though Ginny's certain it is. “I don’t know if I could go back to school, after every–”

Harry, shooting an alarmed glance at Ginny’s expression, interjects. “Did you do some shopping today, as well?”

“Oh! Er, no. No I… I just finished up a job interview, actually, in one of the back rooms here.”

“Did you?” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. “Nice. Hope it went well.”

“Me too,” Cho says, looking at Harry a bit shyly, now. Ginny narrows her eyes. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. The job - it’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Really?” Harry says, and he sounds genuinely interested now. “What role?”

“Oh, something administrative. I’m not very interested in field work, I’d much rather be working on the policy side of things, but – well, I’d actually wanted to thank you. Everything was so in flux after—well, in May, and I never got a chance to–”

“Thank me?” Harry says, sounding baffled. “You don’t–”

“I do,” Cho insists prettily, wringing her hands prettily, sounding pretty. “You were so brave, what you did. Facing him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you– And honestly, I wouldn’t even have had a chance at this job if it weren’t for the DA. I think they only interviewed me because I mentioned I’d been a part of it–”

“Really,” Harry says awkwardly, “it’s nothing, you don’t need to–”

“It’s isn’t nothing, at all!” Cho says emphatically, tucking a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’ve made such a difference for everyone and I’ve been wanting to tell you but I–”

“Don’t be modest, Harry,” Ginny interjects hotly. Cho’s gushing so much they all might drown in it. In fact, Ginny wouldn’t mind all that much if Cho did. 

Harry shoots her a wary look, and then turns back to Cho. “That’s, er, really nice of you to say.”

“I mean it,” Cho says. “I heard you’ve joined the Aurors, is that true?”

“Er, yeah–” Harry says, ruffling his hair anxiously. It strikes Ginny then, as it so often does, that Harry is quite good-looking, now. Not that he hadn’t been, before, but months of regular eating and living out from under the thumb of the threat of constant death has been good to him - go figure. He’s filled out and bought clothes that fit and Ginny’s very much enjoyed it all until this moment, when it strikes her that he could stand to be a bit less handsome, all piercing eyes and messy hair and wry smirks directed at Cho bloody Chang. “I have.”

“I knew you would,” Cho says, like she’s some insider expert on Harry’s tendencies. “We’ll be in the same office, then, if I get this job!”

“Oh!” Harry says, coming up short. “That’s—” he shoots a glance at Ginny. “That’s great.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ginny says in a passable impression of earnestness that she’s positive does not fool Harry. “Really, really, wonderful.”

Cho looks at Ginny as though she’s only just remembered that she’s there. “Yes, well. Are you still interested in doing the Quidditch thing, Ginny?” Cho asks. 

“Oh, who knows?” Ginny says brightly. “Maybe I’ll do the Quidditch thing, or maybe I’ll go be an Auror too. It’ll be a regular party, the three of us.”

Cho’s smile falters a bit. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. “Just lovely.”

Harry coughs, and then they’re plunged into a miserable silence once more. 

“Well,” Ginny says heartily. “We’ve got to get a move on. Those photographers won’t dodge themselves, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Cho says. “Well, it was lovely to see you both.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. 

“Best of luck at school, Ginny,” Cho says, and Ginny hates that she sounds like she means it. “And maybe I’ll be seeing you in the office, Harry.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry chuckles, “Maybe! Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then she gives them an awkward wave and departs. 

Once the door has closed with a jingle of the bell above it, Ginny turns to Harry, her eyebrows raised.

“Ginny…” Harry says with trepidation. 

“Looks like you’ve got a new office best mate!” Ginny says with supreme sarcasm. “I’ll tell Ron he’s been usurped, he’ll cry for a bit but I’m sure he’ll manage–”

“She might not even get the job–”

“Oh, no. She will. I mean, she name-dropped you and the DA, that’s sure to give her a leg up, never mind that she wasn’t even at school last year with the worst of it, never mind the whole thing disbanded because of her stupid friend–”

“I don’t think that’s what she–”

“I’m just so glad that while I go months without seeing you, you’ll get to pal around with Cho Chang, I was so worried that you’d get lonely without me, but now–”

“Ginny,” Harry says with an awkward laugh. “Come on, you know that’s not how it is.”

“She can go on thanking you for what a bloody hero you are,” Ginny continues. “I don’t think anyone’s told you that in about five minutes, so it’ll be good to get a nice top up from her when you’re feeling down.”

“Well, sure,” Harry joins in. “You know I can’t go more than six without being reminded.”

Ginny pats his chest. “So brave. There. Do you think that’ll last you until we get to the book shop?”

“I might need a quick round of applause in the apothecary.”

Ginny snorts. “Oh, come on, then,” Ginny says. “Maybe we’ll run into Fleur’s little sister, too, if we’re really lucky.”

They make their way through the brick entrance to Diagon Alley - a far cry from the days of the war, the street is bustling and busy once more. They take a circuitous route to Flourish and Blotts, taking care to walk quickly so that not too many people take notice that Harry Potter is in their midst, and because Ginny cannot bear the sight of her brothers’ joke shop, once alive and bustling and colorful and loud, boarded up and quiet. It’s a bit too on the nose. 

They make it nearly to the front door of the book shop before Ginny can’t take it anymore. “Did you hear the way she asked if I was doing ‘the Quidditch thing’?” she snarls, halting them just outside the door. “Like it was some cute little hobby, never mind that she was a Seeker too. Not a very good one, mind, but still!”

Harry has the gall to look faintly amused as he pulls her off to the small alleyway next to the shop. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Professional Quidditch is really difficult, she knows–”

“Oh you’re sure, are you?” Ginny spits, rolling her eyes. “Just like she just knew you’d become an Auror? Someone alert Professor Trelawney, we’ve got another Seer on our hands. No one without a powerful Inner Eye could’ve possibly predicted that–”

Harry grins and shakes his head. “You do know I’m not thrilled about this either, don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ginny rants. “It’s perfect, your girlfriend will pop off to Scotland and you can hang round with your ex instead!”

“My ex?” Harry says, an eyebrow raised. “We went on one date when I was fifteen and it was terrible.”

“Oh that’s only because you were both traumatized,” Ginny says airily. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at the chance to reconnect now that you’re both older–”

“Ginny,” Harry says, the amusement replaced with something firm. “You’re not really worried about this, are you?”

Ginny can’t look him in the eye. She’s so irritated, so bothered, that it takes her a moment - she wants to say yes of course I’m worried, did you see how annoyingly pretty she was and the way she looked at you - but she doesn’t. Because it’s not true, not really. As she’s tried to rebuild in the rubble after the war, Harry’s been the one thing she’s sure of through all of it, and she reckons he feels the same. No, she knows he does. She knows he’s not interested in doing anything with Cho Chang.

Ginny takes a deep, calming breath, and meets his eyes. “I just really fucking hate that she might get to see you every day and I–” her voice catches. 

Harry pulls her in and gives her one of those hugs that seems to calm every cell in her body, like he might be able to shield her from everything bad in the world. She can’t believe that in two weeks, this is a comfort she won’t have, anymore, reduced instead to stolen moments at Hogsmeade weekends and words scribbled in letters.

“I really fucking hate it, too.”

Ginny burrows her head deeper into his chest, and breathes in the woody smell of him. Finally, she says. “You were right, you know. I can admit it.”

“What?”

She pulls back and looks at him. “I really should’ve let you wear that damn Invisibility Cloak.”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

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A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared. 

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt. 

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands. 

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car. 

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being. 

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car. 

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you. 

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked. 

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off. 

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot. 

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away. 

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks. 

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament. 

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in. 

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny. 

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in. 

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave. 

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car. 

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied. 

“Look, man—” you started. 

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised. 

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it. 

“Oh-kay,” you muttered. 

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. 

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked. 

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head. 

“Well, do you know anything about the case?” 

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along. 

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked. 

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled. 

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge. 

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said. 

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!” 

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing. 

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered. 

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights. 

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him. 

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them. 

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible. 

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response. 

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door. 

“Your car okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process. 

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room. 

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together. 

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall. 

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around. 

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom. 

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean. 

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it. 

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled. 

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his. 

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted. 

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again. 

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—” 

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest. 

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?” 

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said. 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him. 

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out. 

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive. 

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops. 

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped. 

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation. 

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.” 

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered. 

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward. 

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him. 

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off. 

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up. 

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully. 

“Sam!” 

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her. 

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you. 

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots. 

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled. 

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest. 

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car. 

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought. 

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window. 

“I think,” Sam responded weakly. 

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother. 

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car. 

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs. 

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor. 

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau. 

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.” 

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly. 

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid. 

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head. 

“No, no, I shouldn’t—” 

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college. 

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. 

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat. 

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map. 

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in. 

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist. 

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex. 

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat. 

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away. 

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay. 

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.” 

Dean then began to drive off. 

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped. 

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail. 

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment. 

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom. 

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex. 

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed. 

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say. 

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly. 

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’