#and when they do shes just used for more clear sky angst

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part two

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

word count: 8k

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Cregan Stark finds himself with much waiting to be done. Waiting for different ravens to be sent, and then for the replies to return. Waiting for the arrival of lords whom had been summoned to King’s Landing, and for the answer of whether or not the war will continue. He seeks justice to be distributed to all those whom it should fall upon: whether they had been allies of Rhaenyra or Aegon, all parties who acted dishonorably within the conflict ought to face their rightful punishment. But what the Lord of Winterfell does not find himself waiting upon is the Lady Tyrell.

The very morning after their conversation in the gardens, Cregan pushes open the door of what had once been the small council’s meeting chambers. It has been turned into a temporary headquarters for the Northern lords who are holding court, and for the additional powers at play. While the other lords file out, discussing in hushed and heavy whispers amongst themselves about the political matters that weighed their minds, Cregan pauses.

He is the last to leave the room, pulling the heavy wooden door behind him, and his eyes drift to the girl lingering in the corner of the hall. She curtsies to a pair of lords who look up to see her, and the two men pause their conversation briefly as their eyes rest upon her, hastily bowing in return. But when her eyes meet Cregan’s, they remind him more of a hawk’s than a girl’s. As if they have landed on a mouse she intends to hunt for supper.

But just as it had been the day before, Cregan wonders if he imagined it. As she walks up to him, the expression on her face is nothing short of saccharine. She folds her hands delicately across the front of her gown – today she wears a shade of blue similar to the sky on the clearest day, with white lace at her collar and around her sleeves. There is gold silk embroidered about her waist in twisting florals, with small pink rosettes weaved in between. The dress is reminiscent of others Cregan has seen her wear, but perhaps he thinks so because of its signature plunging neckline.

“A moment of your time, Lord Stark?” Lady Tyrell’s voice floats in the air between them as clear and bright as a morning bell as she approaches. Birds can be heard chirping from a nearby open window. The sun has only just settled in the sky, hanging lazily after its absence the day before due to the storm that had washed in overnight.

Cregan is in a rather poor mood after the lack of developments from the morning meeting, but offers her a dip of his head. He stands before her, chin downturned to look her in the eyes, his own eyes narrowing a moment.

“Of course, my lady.” His tone is gruff yet not altogether unfriendly. It has that detached Northern politeness that she has come to associate with him. There is the ghost of tension about his shoulders, but she cannot discern whether it is from the conversation Cregan had just taken part in, or if he simply lived his entire life like there were rocks upon him.

“It is the court, my lord,” Lady Tyrell begins, sighing quite deeply in a breath that uses her entire upper body. She clasps her hands together tighter, shaking her head gingerly. A few of her loose curls bounce at the movement, and Cregan’s eyes drift to the sides of her face as they do. She takes a step forward softly, clearing intending Cregan to begin walking alongside her.

Cregan has been starving for the last hour. He wants to return to his chambers to break his fast with sausage and poached eggs and whatever else could be found.

He follows her.

The castle is alive and bustling at the early hour, maids rushing about with baskets of fresh linen and pages scurrying off with errands from their lords. A few of them cast their eyes to Lady Tyrell, who smiles at them sweetly. Most return the look with soft smiles of their own. Cregan wonders how many of them she knows personally.

“As I was saying, the state of the court has been weighing heavily upon my thoughts,” She continues, a look of concern once again settling upon her features. Her skirts rustle softly as she walks, and her heels click on the cold stone floor of the hall. Daylight streams in through the open courtyard that they walk past. “You see, the lords and ladies grow restless. What with their being confined to the capital.”

The girl presents the matter of concern slowly, tenderly. As if she wishes to plead her case yet not offend. She gazes up at Cregan after she speaks, meeting his stern look with a flutter of her wispy lashes. Her lips seem to form the perfect subtle pout as she finishes her sentence, and her eyebrows have knitted together to express gentle worry.

Cregan’s jaw tenses the tiniest bit as he hears her words. He is not ignorant enough to think that the nobles enjoy being forced to remain at King’s Landing, but there is not that he can do to remedy it until it is decided whether or not the war will continue, and justice is dispensed.

“Until the investigations and trials are concluded, no one can be permitted to leave.” There is a sense of stoic absoluteness to his tone, as if the matter being up for debate is not even a fathomable thought. His eyes narrow as he peers into hers, searching for a hint of annoyance or frustration. Cregan finds only a gentle amiableness that he believes better suits a deer than a girl.

“A prudent choice, my lord,” Lady Tyrell acquiesces with a dip of her head, her eyes falling to the floor in front of her demurely. Her hands are still folded over top of her lower stomach as the two make their way through the castle. “It is only…discontent often takes root in the gardens of boredom.”

Her eyebrows raise as the words float between them, remaining higher as she casts her gaze still to the stone floor beneath them. To make her words seem like a sad yet true observation. Cregan’s eyebrows draw lower, twitching a bit at her resigned wisdom.

The Lord of Winterfell stops, the last of his heavy steps echoing in the hall. The girl turns around after a moment, facing him. When her eyes lift to meet his, they hold that same softness she has been offering him since she arrived. They observe each other for a moment, before Cregan opens his lips to speak. Warning is dense in his tone as his gaze darkens, the serious look on his face becoming impossibly sterner.

“You take issue with the way I hold this court, then?” It is a quiet phrase yet so heavy when wrapped in his thick Northern pronunciation. Cregan does not need this girl commenting upon the way he has taken and managed the court since arriving; he has more important matters to worry about than a few discontent lords and ladies who whisper scathing things behind open fans and palms.

With the grace of a dancer, she takes the sides of her skirts in between her forefingers and thumbs and draws them upward. Her chin lowers gently, her gaze dropping so Cregan can only see her lashes. She lowers herself into a curtsy, her center of balance remaining perfectly overtop her left leg as her right one slides outward elegantly. Her back is as straight and tight as a drawn bow. 

“I would never presume to, Lord Stark,” Mellifluous and humble, the words drip from her lips as drops of honey from a hive. “I would only suggest, as someone who believes in your cause, that there might be a better alternative that would keep them amused and lift some of the weight from your shoulders.” 

As Lady Tyrell draws herself upright, Cregan feels a dry swallow in his throat at the slow, sensual motion. She does not miss it. Her humble expression melts into a candied smile.

“Of course, should my lord not wish to hear it, I will hardly take offense.” The girl tells him with a sheepish, almost embarrassed cadence, her head tilting down as her shoulders lower. She releases her skirts, the embroidered fabrics flowing down to the floor in waves of silks and satins.

Cregan looks to the side for a moment, his eyes falling to the open courtyard next to the hall. When he turns his head back to face her, his eyes downcast as he finds the words, the softest sound of breath can be heard before he speaks and raises his gaze.

“You have spent much time here at court, Lady Tyrell. You understand it much better than I. I will not be too prideful to hear your counsel.” Cregan retains the gruff quality of his speech, but there is a note of wary respect in the words. He lowers his chin to look at her directly, his head moving slightly as he speaks.

She does her best to not glow with the amusement of such a small yet important victory. Instead, she lowers her gaze again, nodding elegantly. 

“I am honored by your ear, my lord.” There is a pleased rhythm to her words. She does, however, make the mistake of looking up again to note the way the sunlight from the open courtyard next to the grey hall has filtered in just enough that the edges of Cregan’s red hair have caught the light and appear as gold as the embroidery on her dress. It additionally falls upon his broad shoulders and his left arm, which her eyes do, regrettably, land upon for a heartbeat.

One of the maids hurries by, giving both Cregan and Lady Tyrell a rushed curtsy. As the maid’s steps echo down the hall, she gestures for Cregan to continue to walk with her. They maintain a distance of expected propriety between them as they continue, making it rather hard to communicate in a softer tone.

“You have a great many problems that have fallen into your lap, Lord Stark,” She points out with a languid gesture of her arm, her hand hanging elegantly before them for a brief moment. “Least important of all the boredom of the nobles. And yet,” A deep breath is taken from her chest. “It is still an issue, no matter how miniscule.” Her head moves with each fragment of her words, indicating how seriously she takes the problem.

Cregan’s strides beside her are long and heavy, but slower than they had been the day before, in the garden. As if he had noticed that she had been taking larger steps to try and match him. 

Lady Tyrell’s hair bounces enticingly with each phrase and movement, the loose curls and waves that had escaped being swept up into the pinned arrangement that adorned the top of her head free to move about as they pleased. Cregan’s eyes have once again begun wandering. 

“But you are quite fortunate in that it is rather easy to provide them with entertainment.” Her reassurance is offered quite gently, with a sage nod. “Why, anything as simple as a feast serves the purpose quite well. Give them an opportunity to bring out their finest silks and jewels, with the promise of wine and meats and what they crave most: gossip.” 

They turn a corner, Cregan nearly running into a squire who is unable to see due to the amount of armor he is carrying in his arms. He wonders with a flash of irritation just how many people are employed in the castle; there is no shortage of servants running about even at this early hour of the day.

At Lady Tyrell’s words, a dry look wrenches its way onto Cregan’s face while he considers her proposal. The last thing he wants to do at this moment is to oversee the planning of any sort of event, nor did he have the time to spare for it. With a heavy sigh, his brows draw closer.

“I haven’t the time to spare for organizing a feast, my lady.” His words are curt, but he does attempt to soften them, not wanting to offend her.

Lady Tyrell is not offended by him. She simply thinks him rather foolish. There is not a hint of this on her face as she quickly gazes up at him with shock, her loose curls flying as she shakes her head with quick worry.

“Oh, no, my lord, that was not the implication at all,” The correction comes with a soft, apologetic smile and lift of her shoulders, causing her collarbone to catch the light from a nearby window. She holds his gaze steadily. “It was an offer of my services. I have seen many a feast organized here; I could have it arranged by nightfall this very evening.”

When they reach the large main staircase of the castle, they come to another pause. Cregan looks down at her with thinly veiled disbelief as she blinks up at him.

“You would do that?” He cannot help the suspicion sneaking into the corners of his voice. She is volunteering her time to assist Cregan with an issue that did not truly concern her, no matter how worriedly she had acted when she’d raised the matter to his attention. Yet he could not discern any malicious intent, save for her using this an as opportunity to vie for his favor. This, she seems to want greatly, yet Cregan still does not know to what end.

“If it should be of assistance to you, it would be my honor.” Lady Tyrell speaks with gracious acceptance, delicate and poised as she stands before him. Closer, this time, than she had been when they’d stopped before. Cregan can smell the lingering of rose water and some other floral oils. He considers her words, thoughts rolling over them like marbles in a hand.

“Do as you wish, Lady Tyrell. If you can ease the daggers in their eyes, I will be all the more grateful for it.” Cregan’s sigh is weary with exhaustion, and the pressures that only seemed to be added each and every day that is spent at King’s Landing. 

A sparkle glimmers in her eyes.

“I will see to it at once then.” She bids him farewell with a soft smile, and the scent of her perfume drifts over to him as her hair and skirts fan out in a delicate cloud with her turn when she hurries off. His eyes close briefly as he inhales it.

It is with great haste that Lady Tyrell begins her planning for the feast that evening. She gathers all her handmaidens and maids to assist with various messages she needs sent to those who are to be involved in the preparations, as well as to contact other staff to invite all of the lords and ladies who ought to be there. The information mill that is comprised of servants proves quite useful in this instance, and while she would usually take it upon herself to handwrite every invitation, the girl wishes her involvement in this endeavor to be kept quiet yet not secret for now. 

House Tyrell had not spent too much gold during the war, which resulted in her having quite a large resource pool to dip into to convince florists and musicians to cancel their previously scheduled arrangements for that evening and offer their presence in The Queen's Ballroom. Although smaller in size than the two large halls, the room need only host the nobles currently being restricted to the castle. She prefers it, anyhow; the way the candlelight catches against the large mirrors that comprise the walls of the room provides a magical quality to the ambience of any gathering. It makes the overseeing of the decoration a much more manageable task, which would reflect positively on her in the end.

She begins with a visit to the Kitchen Keep, discussing with the chefs and pâtissiers as to what dishes could be made and served on such short notice. They whisper in low, worried tones amongst each other, deep frowns and nods as they page through thick tomes of recipes. Lady Tyrell waits with her hands folded in front of her and a pleasant smile on her face, willing her eye not to twitch at the irritation of having to stand so long in the kitchens when there are other matters to be attending to.

The kitchen staff propose a few different options to her, and after providing a gentle suggestion of her own and more gold to run to the markets with, a menu is agreed upon for the night. When the kitchen door swings closed behind her, she pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a sharp sigh that she has been holding back for some time.

Her next stop is to ensure that the correct dinnerware is being brought out to the ballroom – her head whips around with an unladylike speed as she watches in horror as a maid begins bringing the plateware with the green decorative motifs down the hall. As Lady Tyrell rushes back down the hall to catch the girl, another brief flash of frustration at the foolishness of the choice flits through her mind but there is nothing but sweet concern in her eyes as she recommends gingerly that the plates of a more well-associated color are brought out. 

The maid gasps and nods quickly, as Lady Tyrell squeezes her arm comfortingly and rushes off to find the florists. This she would have to stay and observe during the entirety of the arrangements. Her mother would be beside herself if a daughter of House Tyrell allowed for flowers of improper meaning to be presented at an event she hosted. Even if her mother will not be present that night, the girl smiles with exasperated fondness as her mother’s words ring bright and clear in her head, no different than if the woman was standing right in front of her. 

She guides the florists about the hall, nodding with a pleased glint in her eyes as the flowers stream in through the doors in the arms of boys and girls. Her decision has come together nicely; the apple blossoms, honeysuckles, and white lilies form a delicate and demure profession of innocent devotion and pure intent. Still, she must have her fun.

As a page rushes by with a bouquet of flowers in his arms, she plucks a single snapdragon and inhales the scent gently with softly closed eyes. They would be placed throughout the hall scarcely, likely not to be noticed by too many of the guests. 

It is a lovely flower, brought into the ballroom in colors that reflected those around it. Their heavy association with the concept of truth often leads many to interpret their presence as a promise of honesty. 

Those from House Tyrell recognize the bundles of fragile petals as a warning of deceit.

Her eyes open as she runs the stem between her fingers delicately, gazing down it at fondly. Lady Tyrell presses it to her chest as she leaves the ballroom, her shoes echoing amongst the voices of those finishing up the floral and plateware arrangements. There is still much to be done.

Despite the chaos that stems from such late preparations, the Lady Tyrell manages to both finish the arrangements and ready herself for the feast that evening. The Lord of Winterfell had not been expecting much when she had offered to organize an event that night, but the opulence on display within the hall is nothing short of wonderous. Decadent, but not obnoxiously so, and a clear testament to an effective and practiced hostess despite her young age.

As she glides into the Queen’s Ballroom, Cregan’s eyes land upon her.

She has entered the room slightly later than most of the guests, leading to the turning of many a head as the doors are opened for her. The blue gown she had been wearing that morning has been discarded in favor of a dress of baby pink, with a neckline reminiscent of a heart that plunges low as the two curves meet in the center. There is her signature golden embroidery at the top of the bodice, as well as up the side of the puffs at the top of her sleeves and down her corset. Stitched roses and vines snake down her arms, overtop of fabric of that same pastel color. There are more layers beneath the gown, fanning out in an elegant circle about her when she walks.

Cregan hears the whispers and sighs from some of his men around him as they shake their heads at her beauty, but he can scarcely judge them in good faith when finds his eyes are drawn to her and cannot be torn away. He has never noticed so much about a gown before; he takes note of the thorn detailing amongst the vines at the cuffs, of the pearls stitched into the bottom of the skirt that brushes against the floor, of the way the fabric creases at her elbows when she curtsies to one of the ladies she greets. 

So little of her figure can be seen and yet Cregan is left with a slow inhaling of breath and the flicker of the low candlelight dancing in his half-lidded eyes, his tongue briefly wetting his drying lips.

Lady Tyrell does her utmost to not look too self-pleased as she surveys the room. It is a beautiful, elegant scene. The musicians play string instruments in bright yet slow melodies from the gallery above the ballroom, and the expansive trestle tables have been covered in delicate fabrics. Upon their surfaces rest heaps and piles of meats, fruits, and pies. Their scents waft deliciously though the air, and vases overflowing with flowers are nestled in between the mountains of food. The warm candlelight from the candelabras reflects in the mirrors of the walls in the dreamy way that she loves so.

She makes her way about the room, making polite conversation with various lords and ladies. Asking after their children, husbands, wives, and siblings. The nobles light up and rest a hand on her shoulder gently when she recalls little details they had mentioned when last they spoke, of various illnesses or injuries or marriages or pregnancies.

Many of the guests have already sat down, reaching for thick cuts of meat and having their cups filled with the finest Arbor reds as hearty, half-drunken laughter echoes through the hall. She turns her head the slightest bit, intending to scan the room for the Lord of Winterfell, but discovers his eyes are already on her when she spots him.

His gaze is intense and does not waver when she catches him staring. He is leaning forward in his chair, his heavy brows low, his jaw tight, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. Lady Tyrell feels the remainder of the room dim for a moment, the voices and laughter and candlelight fading slightly in her senses.

She does her best to not show any surprise on her face: she has been seeking to capture his attention after all. It is only that she did not realize how heavily that attention would be placed upon her. It makes her eyes narrow a moment, her nature to challenge such a forceful look. 

Her hand closes into a ginger fist, the pressure of her fingertips in the soft skin of her palm drawing her mind back to civility. She blinks, her eyes soft and wide again, and she offers Cregan a smile before she turns back to greet others. 

One such conversation with one of the Northern lords leads Lady Tyrell to the head of the table, nearer to where Cregan is sat. He watches with an unreadable expression as the lord pulls out her chair, and she thanks him sweetly with the utmost grace and gratitude. Wine is immediately poured into her cup, and the golden goblet is raised to her lips as the lord speaks animatedly in regards to their conversation topic, to which she leans over to whisper something that sets the lord off with a hearty laugh.

The man leans over to Cregan, eyes drooping slightly with the effects of drink, and Cregan lends his ear a moment, watching the Lady Tyrell raise the glass to her rosy lips yet again.

“Here my lord,” The Northern man speaks to Cregan with a deep nod, swaying slightly in his ornate wooden chair. “Lady Tyrell was just telling me of this incident with the –“ His eyebrows knit together with confusion as he loses his train of thought. He gazes down into his goblet, as if to find the answer floating about in his burgundy liquid. When the glass fails to produce the response to his pondering, he turns his head to her.

“The boar, my lord.” Lady Tyrell supplies gently, raising her glass a little, swishing the contents around with a languid motion of her wrist.

“Yes, the boar!” The lord repeats with great enthusiasm, looking to Cregan as he laughs once more. The girl’s gaze settles upon Cregan, and there is a sparkle of knowing in her eyes as the other man drones on. “We shall have to hunt in the King’s Wood ourselves if the events are as amusing as she says…”

Cregan lets the rest of what the man is talking about fade out to a distant murmur, as well as much of the additional conversation in the bustling ballroom. The musicians have switched to a slower piece that floats elegantly throughout the room, and the laughter has grown loud. One can spot ladies cooling their flushed faces with their fans, and swaying lords eyeing the serving girls who rush to refill their quickly draining cups. The candlelight seems to have grown warmer and lower, flickering delicately throughout the ambient room. The wine has been flowing for quite some time, and the effects are evident in abundance.

But when he steals a glimpse of Lady Tyrell’s glass, he pauses as small flecks of golden light swim in the red liquor. Despite having witnessed her lift the goblet to her mouth a few times, the wine is no lower than when she had sat down. 

She has turned to participate in yet another animated conversation with a Northern lord seated to her right, and Cregan cannot help but observe the ease at which she slides from one topic to the next, even with his bannermen. He thought her to be skilled at engaging with Southerners, but her charms do not seem to be hindered by differences in homeland. A soft exhale of breath leaves his mouth as he returns to eating the food on his plate. The edges of the plates are decorated with tiny red flowers.

Later in the evening, the high sound of a fork tapping a metal glass can be heard echoing tinnily throughout the hall. One of the lords stands up from his seat, red-cheeked and grinning, to offer a toast to the Lord of Winterfell for his kind hospitality and planning of the event. Cregan pauses as many sets of eyes find their way to him, and he realizes there is an expectation that he say something in kind.

He rises, dropping his heavy shoulders and lifting his glass. It is a duty he is used to completing at the head of the hall in Winterfell, and it feels odd to do so in this foreign ballroom, with these strange faces staring back at him. Many of whom dislike him, or at least the way he is demanding they remain in King’s Landing until justice has been carried out. They watch like vultures, the easy and amiable air from earlier all but gone as they remember the presence of the Northern lord. But fortunately, Cregan need not keep the attention on himself for long.

“Your kind words are appreciated, my lord,” Cregan begins, his voice low and gruff. His eyes flicker to Lady Tyrell for a moment, perhaps to give her a second of warning with which she can prepare herself. But when their eyes meet, she is already gazing up at him as if she knows what he is going to say. Her hand resting gently on her goblet of wine, ready to lift it. He should not be surprised. “But in truth, I cannot take any credit. It was only thanks to the efforts of Lady Tyrell that this came to be.”

As the pairs of beady eyes drift over to Lady Tyrell, she rises up with a poised posture. Her chin is lowered, her eyes wide and almost shy as she holds the stem of her golden goblet between her fingers. The pairs of eyes that had beheld Cregan so coldly, soften. Here is one of their own, someone they know and can truthfully give gratitude to. She gives a soft dip of her head, the golden jewelry at her collarbones shining when it draws the glint of firelight.

“It is the least I can do, and hardly enough still,” The words ring out softly through the ballroom with the bright clarity of one used to speaking to a crowd. A girlish smile splashes to her lips and brings rosy color to her cheeks as she lifts her glass with her right hand, her left hand resting gently overtop the lacing of her corset. “So here is to you, for gracing my little party with your presence. It is with your laughter that these halls feel like home again, and I am ever so grateful to you for it.”

The hall erupts with whistles and clapping and cheers. Sounds of glasses clashing together in hearty toasts and the bringing out of the dessert at that very moment makes the scene bright and jovial, so much so that an outsider who had no knowledge of what had occurred in the recent past could not guess that the capital had just been plagued with a bloody succession war.

And in the center of it all, akin to the sun in the sky and glowing as such, is the Lady Tyrell. Cregan can bring no glass to his mouth as he watches her, coy and sweet as she once again raises her cup. He knows she is not drinking from it. But her face has the softest glow as she stands above the rest of the nobles seated at the long trestle tables, many of whom are still gazing towards her fondly, murmuring their approvals for the young lady and her gift to them this night. The candlelight dances across her figure, illuminating the lace of her gown, the expanse of her skin above her neckline, the pearls that hang from her ears. 

She shines like she is made to. Dazzling as any star in the heavens, radiant as any fire in the night.

If she were any other woman, Cregan might approach her when the moment presented itself, asking her to meet him as he had that time in the gardens. To walk with her, to learn more about her, to know her. To see if her heart is as lovely as her appearance. But he knows well that this would be more difficult than it seemed: perhaps even impossible. Even as she lowers herself back into her chair, smoothing down her skirts as she settles herself to dine on some of the pastries that have been piled onto the table with whipped creams and fresh fruits, he does not believe he is seeing anything of truth.

Lady Tyrell excuses herself as many of the other nobles begin to trickle out the thick oak doors, off to their beds or to some form of intoxicated debauchery. She wishes to avoid the strong yet firm grasp of a few of the elder ladies, who take her hands into their aging ones and remind her poignantly of the eligibility of their bachelor sons. Now that she is not betrothed, she has felt the hungry eyes of nobles as those of carrion birds circling overhead. Eyeing her body and her title and her family’s gold. It makes her blood hot with irritation and her nerves fraught and spiked. 

There are only so many excuses she can offer as she tries to slip out of the conversation topic with an apologetic smile.

And as the night grows to an end, so does her ever-thinning patience. One more ask upon whether or not her mother has read their proposals sent by raven, and she might simply hurl her still-full glass at the wall to cause a scene and be done with it. To the end of being shipped off to live as a Septa, but she doubts she would be graced with that. No, she is too young and too eligible; even in the face of abhorrent behavior she imagines excuses will be made by ambitious lords and ladies to still have her married to their sons.

The reminder fills her throat with a bitter acid that stings. She pushes it from her mind. The show is still ongoing, and there is one last act she must perform in to consider this day a success. And she takes pride in her thoughtful scripting. 

As she begins to walk towards the doors, she hears the scraping of a wooden chair on the cold stone floor as another starts to leave as well. She folds her hands in front of her lower corset, her arms straight and her palms gripping each other only the slightest bit too tightly. The tilting of her chin down allows for the hiding of the small, wry smile that has wrenched its way onto her lips at the sound of heavy footsteps behind her.

Her hand raises gingerly as she catches her handmaiden following her out of the corner of her eye, signaling for her to wait. The girl, Adelin, takes note of the gesture and nods delicately, giving her lady room with which to carry out her schemes. Instead, she slips out the side of the room to prepare Lady Tyrell’s bath for that evening.

The music has faded to a lazily played waltz, bidding farewell to the guests. The tables are covered with the crumbs and other remnants of the feast, and the flowers have sank lower into their vases. She walks gracefully out of the ballroom, leaving the rest of the nobles who remain to the questionable indulgences that are promised by lingering about.

The halls of the Red Keep are lined with the warm glow of torches, and yet they are never overly bright. She passes stone pillars and wooden doors and knights guarding different rooms before she hears the clearing of a throat behind her. 

So he has given them ample space to speak in private, yet he did not choose to follow her to her chambers.

While she would not have allowed him inside, she had been curious as to where he would initiate the conversation. She wishes it to feel like it is on his terms, after all.

Lady Tyrell turns quickly, the baby pink skirt of her gown billowing out around her as she does. She brings a hand to her chest in a rush, fingers pressed to the exposed skin between her collarbone and the neckline of her dress. A quiet inhale of breath hurries past her lips and she lets her eyebrows raise.

“Oh – Lord Stark.” The words have a quality of breathiness to them, as if she had been startled by the noise behind her but is relieved to see it is only him. She gives him a smile, her hand lowering to her side. It smooths over her breasts before it drops to rest elegantly. Her brows furrow slightly, with good-natured expectation, as she waits for him to speak.

Cregan does not know entirely why he followed her. He wishes to speak with her, but upon which manner? To thank her for the effort she had imbued into the feast that evening? To ask if she truly enjoys speaking with his bannermen, or if she hates the Northern presence in the capital as others do?

His stance is solid and heavy, his wideset shoulders lowered as he casts his gaze to the torch nearest to him on the wall, and then down to the grey floor beneath his dark boots. The stern expression on his face does not waver, as he searches with noble patience for the words he wants to say.

She takes the time free of his piercing eyes to observe him with a neutral expression, roaming over the way a few strands of red hair fall across his face when he tilts his chin down. It looks soft, despite the rugged nature of the rest of his figure, even more so as his hair is tinged with orange and gold in the torchlight.

Cregan has felt an indisputable pull towards her since the moment they first saw each other when he had arrived at the Red Keep. But the more he saw of her, the more unsettled he became. Is he so foolish as to lust after a woman whose character is so inclined towards deception and manipulation? It is as if he is a lad, with an inclination to being blinded at the sight of doe-like eyes and soft lips. 

But no, even as he stands there in front of her, her beauty clear as can be, Cregan knows he is not that susceptible to womanly charms. It is that flash of something in her eyes that he has seen that continues to draw him back. The frustration of want in the face of illusion; of yearning for knowledge that is kept purposefully yet barely out of his reach.

He pushes down the flames of frustration deep into his chest and looks up at Lady Tyrell with a serious yet neutral gaze. 

“What game do you play at, Lady Tyrell?”  There is a rumbling quality to his voice, yet it is not unpleasant on her ears. And despite the forward nature of the question, it is not asked roughly, nor brashly. It is posed with a stern politeness, reminding her once again that he has, the few times they have spoken, acted the perfect gentlemen if she could overlook his Northern tendencies. 

She finds herself pleased. It is rare she is met head on, and still with his maintaining all the expectations of civil discussion. Yet, she will not give Cregan Stark what he desires. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

Her lashes flutter with gentle confusion when she tilts her head gingerly, as if trying to discern what he is referring to. Cregan beholds her visage, his own features still serious as he studies her.

“If you wish something of me, tell it to me plainly,” Cregan’s frustration is not altogether dispersed, simply pressed down. The low tone of his voice echoes deeply between them. His eyes narrow a fraction. “There is no need to put on any sort of act.”

Lady Tyrell blinks at him again, before she casts her gaze downwards. She reaches up to move a strand of hair from her face daintily, her nails brushing against the skin of her forehead. The sigh that leaves her parted lips is reserved and almost ashamed. When she meets his eyes again, Cregan sees the sweet shine of apologetic embarrassment.

“…I had no intention to be dishonest with you, my lord,” Lady Tyrell lowers her voice to a gentler tone. She draws closer towards him, lessening the distance between them as if she is letting him in on a secret. Her steps are gentle, heels clicking on the floor, the sound muffled beneath the heavy skirts of her gown. Cregan feels himself stiffen as she stops in front of him.

She is close, but not overly so. He can smell warm scents of vanilla and amber drifting up from her soft skin. Cregan holds her gaze steadily but his eyes narrow further, his head drawing back subtlety, involuntarily. It is not the reaction he would normally have to a beautiful woman, but one of wary confusion of her intention.

“And yet I am met with your dishonesty each time I speak with you.” It is not an accusation but an observation, one he offers to her with the expectation of her explaining herself.

It pains her to be this near to a man she does not know, with no one else in sight. She steadies her mind, reminding herself of the unique opportunity that has been presented to her in the form of the Lord of Winterfell. Her mother’s wishes flash before her eyes in the form of a parchment scroll and dried black ink. 

Her lips part before she speaks, a rose opening in the flickering torchlight. The storms of his eyes lower to them, a heavy breath in his lungs. There is a shift in the air, a heavier, charged atmosphere in the empty hall. For all of her acting, all of her schemes: she knows there is no falsehood in the way she reacts to him. It is a maddening truth, one that Lord Stark seems to be wrestling with through equal frustration.

Perhaps it brings her comfort to know that he does not wish for this want either.

“I hope you will not condemn a lady for what she does in the face of interest.” Her eyelashes lower over her eyes, and she swallows softly, her lips rolling over each other. Hands are brought together nervously, pressing together in front of her, her thumbs rubbing apprehensively on her palms. An almost imperceptible inhaling of breath sends Cregan’s stomach twisting into a pulsing knot he wishes to undo. 

It is almost inconceivable to him, how deeply she excels at this.

Still, Cregan has come here with the intention of figuring her out at least partially, and if he has to do so through a twisting forest of more lies and manipulation, so be it.

“Is that what this is?” Cregan asks lowly, eyes heavy and lidded when they fall across her face. Across her demurely lowered eyes and cheeks flushed with faux embarrassment and pink lips. The tug in his chest is low and getting lower, his blood hot. “Interest?”

A thick breath of a question. He steps towards her slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes dart up as he brings their bodies closer, the heat from his own nearly perceptible now. The wideness of his shoulders and his imposing height are not lost on her then. If one were to stumble upon Cregan from behind him in the hall, his figure would completely conceal her own. 

Cregan catches it then, while his eyes are searching hers. An emotion, raw and pulsing. Lady Tyrell’s lashes flutter as her eyes quickly flick up and down his face, and her breath catches rather violently in her chest. Sharp enough that Cregan can hear it and see the way her ribcage stutters with the force of it. Her eyebrows twitch, raising and then lowering at the intrusion to her space.

And there, for the first time, the Lord of Winterfell thinks to himself that there is truth in front of him.

Her shoulders pull back, like she means to draw away from him. The left one raises slightly as she angles her torso to at least retreat with her right side, her arms coming together in front of the bodice upon her chest. Cregan looks down in the space between them to see the way the nail of her right thumb has pressed so deeply into her pointer finger that the skin is turning a ghostly white.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Her eyebrows raise upwards as she tries to wrestle with her sweet tone, but it is less sure than it had been before. The smile upon her lips is not as pronounced as is typical of her, but rather tight. “I did not mean to offend, I only…”

Her lips open once more after she trails off, but no sound escapes them. It brings Cregan pause.

“You desire me, that is what you are telling me?” Cregan feels the need to lower his voice, to take some of the gruff edge from it. He does not understand why.

It takes all that Lady Tyrell has to not jerk back. She takes a slow breath, eyes still not able to meet Cregan’s directly as she settles to stare at the dark fabric of his clothing. It takes her a heartbeat to pull the words out. “I only wished to express my favoring of you.”

It is a quiet phrase, and it does not seem to want to come out of her mouth. Like she had reached into her throat and pulled it out reluctantly with her fingers. Finally, her eyes slowly gaze up to meet his again.

“If you do not want it, I will take no offense, Lord Stark.” There is a silence that falls between them, in which Cregan should very well tell her that he wants no part in her scheming and manipulating and court games. But he finds his throat rather dry and instead says nothing. 

Taking this as the end to their exchange, Lady Tyrell presents him a curtsy that is not as precise as her last had been, and takes her leave from his presence. 

She knows that her steps are slightly too fast, echoing in rapid succession of each other as her shoes click down the halls. The fabric of her dress has been gripped in her hands so that she can move with greater ease, her knuckles almost white. 

Cregan stares after her for a moment, left with far too much to think upon. He had seen a fragment of something genuine, although he could not discern its nature, and he imagines she is leading him slowly towards the thing that she wants. And if she is feigning desire, aside from whatever instinctive and primal tension that drips from their every exchange, then Cregan feels with almost certainty that it is marriage she seeks. To be the Lady of Winterfell and secure an alliance between the Reach and the North. 

Ambitious, he can acknowledge that. He turns, retreating back down the hall towards his own chambers. Yet something unnamable tugs at the back of his mind.

As soon as her door closes behind her, Lady Tyrell lets out a strangled gasp, the sound clawing its way up her throat viciously. Her hands bring themselves to push down on her chest, but to her frustration, she finds them trembling. Shaking, her fingers pale, and she balls them into fists before ripping them forcefully through her hair, yanking out some pearls as she does so. They clatter to the floor and roll about beneath her feet.

The pacing that she begins is with the intention of calming her racing heart, and she bites at her lip deeply as she strides back and forth before the fireplace, opening and closing her hands. 

It had been some time since she had needed to charm a man like that alone. It was necessary, she knows this, as she wants his favor and now does not have the added hindrance of her honor and betrothal as a shield. She can no longer murmur reminders of her royal intended when a man draws too close to her space.

It is a shield she misses dearly, guilty at the thought of missing her late betrothed’s imposing shadow more than the boy himself.

And this is a dangerous game. She knows its nature well, which is why she does not like to play it. She has seen many women do it, and the consequences of when it goes awry. Cregan Stark is a stranger to her. 

A stranger of great importance, a stranger she is attracted to, but a stranger nonetheless. Her eyes remain downcast to the fire, lost in the warm depths. There is no light in her eyes.

[yuridovewing]

OH FUCK OFF!!!

[cilliansmesoftly]

chase it

pairing: tyler owens x fem!reader

summary: tyler has been harboring a severe crush on the team’s new meteorologist, but he’s scared she’s smart enough to reject him.. why can’t he follow his own mantra?

warning: best friends to lovers, love confession, angst, kissing, one bed trope, virginity lost, steamy smut!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she haunted his dreams, she plagued every thought running through his head. all the meaningless hookups he’s had could never compare to you, and he hadn’t even had you yet. he hasn’t had a kiss, hell, he hasn’t gotten more than a proud pat on the back from you. so why couldn’t he escape the hold you, unknowingly, had on him?

his entire brand was based on chasing fears. to not let it hold you back from the things you want most. tyler had you in some ways, at least. he had you as a best friend, his most trustworthy companion. the two of you got along so well, was it worth ruining?

he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. he’d much rather have a tornado pick him up and throw him into the sky than risk you not being in his life. you were too important to the team, to the cause, and to him. you got offered the opportunity to prove your meteorology skills on the field rather than behind a computer, and you couldn’t pass it up. you risked your career for this, and tyler would be damned to be the one to take that from you just because of a silly, gut-wrenchingly painful crush.

the team was at a local motel in oklahoma after a long day of chasing. dozens of other teams were in the parking lot, tailgating. tyler could hear the strum of guitars, singing, and laughter outside the window of his room. it was small, it had a strange smell that he didn’t want to know the source of. his eyes were fixed onto the box tv sitting on the dresser before a knock was heard at the door.

tyler sighed before getting up, his legs and back sore from how hard he had rode the truck today. the poor red dodge was battered and beaten from debris and tyler’s body was slammed around in his seat, but god, he loved it. he loved the chase, the adrenaline, the thrill. he could do it all day everyday without so much as a thought of fear. however, his breath hitched in his throat when he opened the door to reveal you in all of your gorgeous glory.

“hey.” you sighed out with a small smile. tyler cleared his throat and opened the door wider to let you in from the cool springtime breeze. “the motel doesn’t have anymore rooms. i’ve talked to every employee and every manager i could find.”

“just stay with me.” he spit out fast and without thinking. you’re best friends, you love each other. what could go wrong with sharing a bed for one night?

“oh, thank you.” you sighed in relief and wrapped your arms around him, ty took a step back from the impact, but quickly recovered and took in as much of your touch as you would give to him. “you mind if i shower real quick?”

“no, go ahead. you got clothes?” he asked once she stepped out of the embrace. he would kill someone to see her in one of his shirts. he imagined it baggy on her frame, her legs out on display and barely anything underneath the fabric. he imagined himself running his fingers down the smooth, soft skin of your thigh as you cuddled into him.

“did you hear me?” you snapped yours fingers in front of his eyes with a smile etched onto your face. he shook his head to clear the thoughts and raised his eyebrows, silently telling you he did, in fact, not hear what she said. “i asked if i could borrow one of your shirts, if you don’t mind.”

“i don’t mind at all.” he said, walking around the bed to his duffel bag. he pulled out one of his favorite shirts, it was worn and comfortable, and he tossed it to you. you caught it with feeble hands, giving him a death stare. he knew you were clumsy and he used it to tease you any chance he could. he chuckled at you, watching as you just shook your head and walked into the small bathroom.

if his thoughts were running before you got here, now they were sprinting a full on triathlon. racing and branching off into a million different scenarios for how this night would go. maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere. maybe he’d put out the fire that was burning him alive, eating him up with desire. but maybe it would turn into something more. maybe he’d chase his feelings, maybe he’d ride this fear and turn it into everything he’s wanted since he met you.

if you feel it, chase it.

he repeated his tagline more than a hundred times in his mind. telling himself over and over and over. and in the middle of telling himself one last time, you stepped out of the bathroom and his breath was stolen from his lungs. your hair was wet and it was dripping onto his shirt that fit you so well. it suited you, wearing his clothes. it felt good, it felt normal.

“i feel so much better.” you smiled, climbing into bed. tyler was sat on the chair in the corner of the room and you frowned at how far away he was. “you coming to bed?”

tyler nodded and stood up, he pulled his shirt over his head and you swallowed. his abs were carved and chiseled, a deep v-line at the end of them, just above his belt and leading into his blue jeans. you had to stop yourself from staring before he caught you. he sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing you, as he pulled off his boots. you almost reached out to graze your fingers over the tanned skin of his back, but you caught yourself. you can’t fall for the face of your team, you told yourself. even if, at night when you were all alone, you imagined the two of you together. you thought about living together, chasing storms for a living and making the most out of chasing your fears, making the most out of life.

you thoughts were interrupted as tyler started to unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans down. you smiled when he caught you looking, so you tucked your face into the pillow on his side of the bed so he could undress.

“you can watch, darlin. you know i don’t mind.” you could hear the smirk in his voice and you shook your head against the soft pillow with a giggle.

“shut up.” your voice was muffled by the pillow, making tyler laugh under his breath. he pulled a pair of grey sweatpants out of his bag and slipped them on, collapsing on top of you on the bed. you groaned under his weight, trying to toss him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “ty, i can’t breathe.” you laughed out. he only snuck his hands around your waist, tickling your sides. you shrieked, your knees trying their best to buck tyler off of you. your laugh was music to his ears and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. he braced his legs to straddle you, so you couldn’t escape his unrelenting hands. you were wheezing, trying to toss and turn away from him.

tyler suddenly stopped and as you were trying to catch your breath, his lips met yours in a soft, but quick kiss. your eyes shot open and you gently pushed him off of you. tyler sighed, opening his mouth to apologize, but you cut him off.

“i can’t do this, ty.” the nickname falling from your lips made tyler feel like a child getting scolded for coloring on the walls.

“why not?” his voice was pleading, his eyebrows were pinched, making a cute little wrinkle appear on his forehead. you sighed, bringing your knees to your chest.

“because you’re my boss. you’re the leader of our team. i don’t want to jeopardize our relationship.” you shook your head. your brain was thinking clearly, logically. but your heart, on the other hand, was screaming at the top of its lungs, trying to get you to confess how you feel, how all you’ve ever wanted in life was someone like tyler. someone who makes you feel safe, secure. someone who would push you to live life to the absolute fullest, never letting fear take the wheel.

“we wouldn’t jeopardize it, y/n. i-i like the shit out of you, baby.” he dropped his head onto the bed in slight defeat before looking back up at you. “we can make it work.” his heart was pounding out of his chest, he was begging you to let this happen. he couldn’t face you if you didn’t.

“i-” you sighed, shoving your face into your hands. in and out, you breathed. thinking of every possible outcome that this could bring. “what about all of your other girls? the ones you take up to your room at night and never speak to again? are you gonna do that to me?”

“y/n, i would never to that to you.” he said lowly, taking your hands away from your face. your eyes were slightly watery and red-rimmed. his heart broke at the sight and vowed in his mind to never be the one to make you look like this again.

“how do i know that? you’re tyler owens. tornado wrangler, and known lady killer. how can i be sure that you won’t leave me for someone better?” you asked. you were honest in your questions, voicing every doubt you had, though there were only a few.

“there is no one better. there is no one that knows me better than you, y/n. no one who makes me laugh more, no one who makes me smile more, no one who can ground me like you, even in the face of a disaster.” he climbed to your side, taking your face in his hands to make you look at him. a slight tear fell down your cheek and tyler thumbed it away. you sighed, looking down while shaking your head.

“what if this isn’t a good idea?” you asked, your voice small and full of trepidation. he scoffed and pulled you closer, practically sitting in his lap now.

“i haven’t had an idea this good in a long time. you can vouch for that. most of the choices in my life aren’t very smart, but this one?” he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “i’ve had to build up so much courage and strength to even hint that i wanted this. i was scared.”

“you? scared?” you scoffed. “what’s all that talk about riding your fears then?”

“i guess i felt it… just took me a while to realize if i didn’t chase it, it’d slip from my fingers.” he kissed the top of your head and you leaned up to capture his lips. it was slow, gentle, telling him everything he needed to know about how you felt. you wanted this.

“you know, you took my breath away when i first met the team.” you said against his lips, and he groaned, leaning his forehead onto yours.

“all these months we’ve wasted, we could’ve had each other on the first day. i thought my legs were gonna give out when we picked you up at the airport. you were the most beautiful thing i had ever laid eyes on, baby.” his words made your heart ache, no one had ever said anything so sweet to you before and you knew were in good hands.

“no day with you is wasted.” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him down to kiss you. you swiped your tongue on his bottom lip, begging to explore him. he didn’t even think before opening his mouth wider and intertwining his tongue with yours, massaging all around. he groaned into the kiss like this is all he’s ever wanted, which is true. his hands found your waist and pulled you under him. one of his knees were between your legs and the other was braces beside your right leg. he brought his knee up higher, allowing you to grind down on the soft fabric of his sweatpants. your mind was racing again, trying to find the right time to tell tyler. as if he could sense your thoughts, he pulled back slightly, panting.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hand came up to caress your cheek and you leaned into his touch before hiding into his forearm. “what is it?”

“i’ve- i’ve never…" you trailed off with a frustrated huff. tyler didn’t catch your drift, looking at you with confusion, but also patience and admiration. “i’ve never done this before, ty.”

“oh,” he replied, and you sighed into his skin. “we can wait.”

“what?” you looked back at him, your brows furrowed slightly.

“if you want to wait, that’s okay. we don’t need to rush.” he said gently.

you thought for a moment. you trusted tyler with every bone and fiber of your being. there was no one else you thought would be more careful and gentle than him.

“can you teach me?” you looked at him with hopeful eyes and tyler had to hold back from bucking into you at your innocent expression. so cute, so sweet.

“yes, baby.” he sounded so sincere, proudly honoring the fact that he would be the first you trusted enough to guide you through this. “as much as i love how you look in my shirt, can i take it off?”

you nodded, but he tsked with a shake of his head.

“gonna need your words, sweetheart.”

“yes.” you breathed out, your body tingling in arousal and slight anxiety.

“relax.” he said into your ear before kissing your cheek. his fingers grazed your sides where his shirt had rode up on you, he slowly slid it up your body and over your head, tossing it onto the motel room floor. “i got you, okay?”

“okay.” you nodded.

“you’re breathtaking.” he whispered, leaning back to take you in. the valley between your breasts was beckoning him to kiss the skin, to mark his way all the way down the length of your body and all the way back up. “never seen anything so pretty.”

you blushed at his words, covering your face with your hands, but tyler whined and brought them back down.

“don’t hide from me, darlin.” he toyed with the hem of your panties. a simple cotton pair that had lace trim at the top, he looked up at you for approval before sliding them down your legs and into the pocket of his sweats. his body shivered at the sight of your perfect center, glistening in arousal. he brought his index finger up to gather some of the slick and spread it around your core, unabashedly licking the rest off his digit.

you moaned as he kissed your clit, swollen and pleading for attention. tyler cooed as you writhed underneath him. “gotta be still, honey.”

“can’t.” you breathed out, feeling his breath hovering right over you was torture. tyler laid his forearm over your belly, a firm pressure to keep you from moving. his mouth was all over you, sucking your clit, kissing the inside of your thighs. you were a whining, moaning mess. as you leaned up a bit to watch him, you caught him rocking his hips into the mattress. a filthy, heavenly sight that had you falling back with a cry of pleasure. he was getting himself off on eating you out and you couldn’t take it anymore. “ty, i’m close.”

“hold it, darlin’.” he ordered, prodding his fingers against your hole. “gotta get you ready for my cock, doll.”

you could’ve sworn you saw stars in your vision. the stretch was beautifully painful and your hands white-knuckled the sheets at the sensation. tyler was still working your clit and it took every ounce of strength you had not to come. he slowly let you get used to the feeling then added a second finger and you hissed, trying to pull back. “she’s a tight little thing,” tyler looked up at you. “not sure if i’ll fit in there.”

you gasped as he started to rut his digits into you, scissoring and stretching your walls to get you better fit for taking his cock.

“ty,” you breathed his name, already working up to your orgasm again. you were drunk off of his touch. it only got harder to hold off your climax as tyler brought your legs to sit over his shoulders, completely drowning himself in your slick. his eyes were closed, looking like the face of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. with a few more thrusts of his fingers and his lips working wonders on your clit, your walls clenched around him and your back arched off the bed. tyler groaned into you as you came, bringing you impossibly closer to his face. he worked you through your orgasm, licking up your slick and making he sure he got every last bit, almost too precious to waste.

“you taste like fucking candy.” he muttered, crawling up your body to plant a messy kiss to your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips and you swiped your tongue over his bottom lip before indulging in him. everything about tyler, you loved. you loved how the stubble of his cheeks felt against your chin and cheeks. you loved the way you could feel his cock against your tummy in his sweatpants.

“take them off.” you said against his lips, woozy from your orgasm and only driven by pure lust. your heels pushed back on the hem of his sweats and tyler laughed at your impatience.

he made a show of undressing. teasingly climbing off your body and tugging the material down his legs before stepping out of them. your mouth watered at the sight of him through his boxers, looking painfully hard. he smirked as he watched how your face dropped when he finally slipped off his underwear. you recovered quickly, sitting up on your elbows to beckon him to you.

he leaned down, kissing your ankles and dragging his tongue all the way to your belly before pressing a kiss there too, he made his way all the way to the valley of your breasts. his lips and tongue sucking marks onto your skin and his hands caressing your breasts.

“you’re such a tease.” you whined collapsing back onto the pillow in frustration. tyler laughed, laying his head down on your chest.

“i’m just enjoying this.” you raked your hands through his sandy blonde hair, relishing in the way he gazed so deeply at you. “need to cherish this.”

���if you don’t fuck me in the next two seconds i’ll call boone to come do it.” you said it with a straight face, fighting the sides of your mouth to not quirk up.

“don’t say that ever again.” he rumbled seriously, his big hands spreading your legs wider for him. “this is mine.”

“prove it.” you challenged. your dominance wavered as ty let the tip of his cock gather your arousal, hitting your clit as he rocked against you. he bent down to kiss you, trying to distract you from the stretch as he slowly pushed into your heat. “oh, dear god.”

“you got it, baby.” he pushed back the hair on your forehead, kissing your cheek sweetly. your hands found solace in his hair again, pulling at the root when he bottomed out. tyler groaned at the pain, already holding back from his own peak. “you feel so good.”

“y-you can move.” you encouraged, panting as if you were running a marathon. tyler slowly pulled out and pushed in, cherishing the sweet little sounds you let out before rocking into your hips faster.

the sounds of your wetness, the joint moans and groans coming from both of you, skin hitting skin, it all had your head feeling dizzy. you were so high on the moment. the adrenaline was coursing through your veins, you wished this could happen every night after a day of chasing.

“you’re doing so good, angel.” tyler’s voice broke you out of your thoughts and you cupped his cheeks to pull him into a kiss. your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. the new angle forced him even further into you. tyler nipped at your bottom lip, his hips moving to the rhythm of their own song. “i’m getting close.”

“turn me around.” you gasped against his lips. tyler didn’t think twice before pulling out and turning you, hoisting you up so you were on your hands and knees for him. he marveled at the sight, slipping back into you easily. you both moaned at the feeling. ty was hitting your spot with every thrust and you had to muffle your loud noises with the pillow under your head.

“you’re all mine.” he growled into your ear, his hand gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling you up so your back was flush against his chest. his left hand reached around your body to circle your clit and you had to fight the urge to collapse back onto the bed. your bodies had a slight sheen of sweat to them and the room started to feel stuffy and hot. “say it.”

“i’m yours.” you mumbled.

“look at you, cock drunk.” he teased, your walls were clenching him with every thrust and he was losing his pacing. you felt so good, better than he imagined. “you wanna ride me?”

you didn’t have to say anything, you felt him pull out and suddenly you were on his lap, rubbing his cock through your folds, your head thrown back in bliss. tyler could come right then. to know he was the one making you feel like this while looking like that. you looked like an angel had just fell down from heaven and landed in his lap. you lined him up with your entrance, the two of you watching as his cock disappeared inside of you. you started to bouncing on your feet, the spongy spot inside of you getting abused with every movement you made. your knees were buckling from the pleasure and tyler caught on, matching his thrusts with your movements. his hand was rubbing up and down your back, the intimacy of it all made your heart ache.

“i love you.” your lips spewed the words faster than you could think. tyler flipped the two of you back over, kissing your lips before leaning back. his rough hands, calloused from work, dragged up your thighs, to your calves bringing them up to rest on his shoulders, he hugged your legs so that his face was all cute and smushed between them. his hips never wavered and you were so, so close to your peak.

“i’ve always loved you.” you came just as soon as the words left his lips and he was right behind you. his cock twitched as he emptied everything he had inside of you, your legs fell off his shoulders and he collapsed onto you.

the next few minutes were spent catching your breath, fingers tracing skin, and sweet kisses.

“i’ll be right back.” tyler whispered against your lips, getting up and going into the bathroom. you cuddled against the duvet and watched him in awe. he came back with a wet rag, and he carefully spread your legs to clean up the mess you two had made. you hissed at the overstimulation and he kissed the inside of your thigh in apology. he threw the rag into the bathroom without even looking to see where it went and cuddled back in bed with you.

“i meant what i said.” you said quietly, you cheek pressed into his warm chest. “i love you, ty.”

“i meant it, too. ever since i first saw you, i knew it.” tyler’s fingers traced the skin of your back, drawing unknown shapes. “i’ve always loved you.”

“how in the hell are we gonna explain this to the team”? you shook your head against him. you could only imagine the looks on their faces when the two of you walk out of your room in the morning. the once best friends turned to lovers overnight.

“i’m pretty sure they all know.” he laughed under his breath. “i overheard boone and lily making a bet about when we would get together.”

“that’s what they were talking about?” your head shot up in shock and tyler smiled at the expression on your face. “well, lily knew i had a crush on you, like, months ago.”

“yeah?” he asked. “i told boone about mine, too.”

“i wonder who won the bet.” you giggled into his chest.

the room fell into a comfortable silence, you and tyler just enjoying each others presence before sleep finally took over you. tyler fell asleep soon after, your bodies intertwined and hands laced together.

the morning after, you and tyler got a text from boone about a huge cell forming a few miles from where you were. scrambling to get ready, the both of you walked out of the motel room to greet the team who all looked at each other with knowing smiles.

“don’t say anything.” you scowled at the team, who all shrugged like they didn’t know what happened. tyler smiled, his arm wrapping around you and slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

“sorry about the room thing, y/n.” boone apologized to you, but your brows furrowed.

“how did you know about that? you were asleep.” boone smiled and took a few steps back.

“i might’ve slipped the manager fifty dollars to tell you there weren’t any rooms so that you and ty would hookup.” he said sheepishly, his feet turned to be ready to run at any time. lily shot up from her seat on the tailgate of the truck.

“what?!” she shrieked. “you cheated, asshole!”

“you owe me some money, lil.” boone stuck his tongue out, but sprinted away as lily started running after him.

“welp,” tyler watched as his team went into full defense mood, trying to get each member on either boone’s side of logic or lily’s. “think the tornado will wait on them to stop fighting?”

“fat chance.” you leaned against his chest, looking up at him. tyler looked down and his heart melted at the sight of you. finally his girl is in his arms. he could swoon. “i think we owe boone a thank you.”

“how long do you think they’ll fight?” he didn’t even look over the bickering friends. his eyes were solely focused on you. “can i sneak you back into the room for a few minutes?”

you thought for a moment, watching boone and lily cuss each other like siblings before looking up at tyler. “yes sir.”

the two of you ran off, back to solace of the room, tornados to be wrangled, but you couldn’t care less. if you feel it, chase it.

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ Make U Love Me

logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutantfem!reader

♪ you’re tired of going places where you can’t scream and shout ♪

tags: featuring the biggest asshole, scott! cheating, a little angst, violence, mentions of blood and death, slight exhibitionism, kissing, edging, dom logan, sub reader, creampie, pregnancy, oral, multiple orgasms, falling in love, etc…

note: heavily inspired by robin thicke’s song with the same title. wc: 4.7k — put my heart into this.

you were scott’s girl. nothing more, nothing less.

it wasn’t what you thought it would be, well back then at least.

scott was loving when you two first started dating. he would take you out, treat you like a queen, and was very attentive. but, that all started to change when his first love died in the midst of battle. jean grey.

the day she died, is the day your relationship did too. that same guy you fell in love with, turned into the guy you hated. everything stopped. he was no longer the perfect boyfriend, he was more of a royal asshole.

he wouldn’t make love to you, he wouldn’t put you on missions with him and when you confronted him about the change—it would always end in a fight. you didn’t deserve this, you knew you didn’t. but, you couldn’t break up with him. that small piece of your heart wouldn’t allow you.

you knew there was a part of him that still loved you. well, you thought he did. that all changed when you and the crew got the news. jean was alive.

“i don’t want you going after her, scott! what’s so hard to understand about that?” you raised your voice, brushing past your boyfriend and putting the onions you just chopped into the hot skillet—continuing your recipe for tonight’s dinner.

when the professor told everyone that she was alive, scott’s ears perked up and practically begged the professor to let him be the one to go and find her. charles urged scott that it wasn’t a good idea. something could go wrong and she might no longer be the jean we all knew….she could be possessed by an evil force. the dark phoenix.

but, of course scott wasn’t trying to hear that. his mind was clouded with thoughts of the red head. he was still deeply in love with jean. just the thought of her had him going crazy. you knew it and it pissed you off, which brought upon the current argument you two were having now.

“what i don’t understand is why not? she’s one of us! i have to bring her back, with or without your permission!” you turned to him, eyes slowly turning into a deep red; the flames from the stove started to rise—searing the vegetables that sat in the iron pan.

scott started to slowly back up, swallowing thickly as you inched closer to him; afraid of what you might do next. he locked his visor onto the burning food, which he tried to pull your attention on to, but you didn’t budge. that is until you heard someone clearing their throat.

your eyes went back to its normal state and you calmed down once you took a look at logan, who stood there watching the whole ordeal. you looked back at the food and turned the stove off before looking back your boyfriend, “come back with her and see what happens, scott.”

———

you didn’t come out of your bedroom for dinner that night and neither did he. hell, you barely got any sleep last night—too busy tossing and turning in your bed, thinking about scott and jean together. and when you finally did get some sleep, the sun started to peak over the horizon—a beautiful hue of orange painting the sky.

when you finally woke up, you pulled yourself into a much needed hot shower, before putting on your favorite pair of flare jeans and a cute top paired with some leather boots—heading downstairs to see what was happening for today. the children passed by, running and walking to hangout after class, while you made your way down the wooden stairs—looking for your boyfriend.

you wanted to talk to him about yesterday, hopefully to make peace with what transpired—but it seems like he had other plans when you spotted him holding hands & walking with the newly resurrected jean. and to top it all off, he was wearing a big toothy smile like he was kid in a candy store. oh you were pissed.

they disappeared further into the mansion as you stormed downstairs—eyes darkening while you were hot on their tails, ready to confront them; that is until you were trapped between two big muscle bound arms. “let me go logan!” you tried to free yourself from his grasp, but there was no use. he wasn’t letting you go.

“need you to cool off. don’t need you to go all ‘flame on!’ on them today.” he chuckled and ushered you towards the front door, both of you going towards the academy’s garage and pulling off in his car.

you tossed back your shot of vodka, grimacing at the strong burning sensation, before tapping your glass for more. logan had took you to a bar, so you could drink to your hearts content and stop that flame from igniting within you.

“he’s a fucking asshole.” you spoke, downing your drink again then turning to look at the male sitting right next to you. he nodded in agreement and sipped on his whiskey, letting you vent to him.

“I feel like such an idiot, falling in love with someone who doesn’t love me.”

“his fault he couldn’t see what right in front of him.” you passed, wide eyed, looking at the side of his rugged face while he finished off his drink. what did he mean by that?

“pretty lil thing like you deserves to be treated like a princess, not by someone like him.” his compliment made you press your thighs together and shift in your seat.

“and who’s gonna treat me like one?” you hummed, placing your hand on his arm, pressing against him. it might been the liquid courage that had you feeling so bold, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

logan grunted and smirked, shaking his head before his pretty hazel eyes locked on yours, “careful, doll. don’t know what you might be getting yourself into.”

“maybe i do~” you flirted back, lips ghosting his ears, making goosebumps rise on his skin. you wanted him badly right now. you didn’t care that the two of you were out in a bar, it made no difference. you wanted to take him right here and now.

“let’s play some pool.” he got up from his seat and grabbed your hand, making you sigh in response. maybe you were getting ahead of yourself?

———

the two of you played pool for the next couple of hours. logan was surprised to see that you were really good at the game, even more shocked that you had him on a losing streak. “good thing you didn’t put money on it.” you teased, striking the 8ball into one of the holes, winning your fifth game for the night.

“would ask you to play another game, but it’s time we get back to the mansion. bar’s bout to close.” he pointed out and you took a look around, seeing only four patrons left and the bartenders cleaning their glasses. you pouted and racked the balls back into the middle of the table, before grabbing logan’s hands and leaving the bar.

the two of you stood outside of the car for a bit, logan puffing on his cigar while you enjoyed the night’s cool breeze—mind running rampant with what happened in the bar between you and him.

“lo—“ you began, making him turn his attention towards you—the sight of him blowing out smoke did something to you; everything about the male aroused you. why didn’t you see him like this before? maybe you would’ve been happier with him.

“can i kiss you?” you breathed out, stepping closer to him; body heat overpowering the crisp air outside. “doll….” he began, but you stopped him—not ready for him to reject your feelings just yet.

“I know you felt something in there with me. if i felt it, i know you did. so, kiss me. prove me wrong….” you pulled him by his flannel, eyes sparkling with hope and desire; as they flickered to his lips. he searched your face, before he flicked his cigar on the ground and pulled you in close—his lips melting on yours.

you wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands moved to the middle of your back, before falling to your ass—squeezing the plump flesh through your jeans. as much as he wanted to pull back, he didn’t—you were so addictive, he just had have all of you.

his tongue slipped into your mouth and he picked you up and placed you on the hood of the car—kiss becoming passionate by the moment. the taste of the cigar he just smoked and traces of his whiskey had your mind spinning, and your cunt throbbing. “logannn~”

“i know, princess. smelled how bad you wanted it inside of the bar.” he grunted and his thick fingers quickly unfastened your jean’s button, tugging them down slightly—before he slipped his hand into your pants, rubbing your throbbing clit through your yellow panties.

“shit you’re soaked. he’s never made you feel like this, right?” he grunted in your ear, pulling your panties to the side and finally connecting the tips of his fingers to your aching clit, rubbing it slowly.

“no never, he never made me wet like this—fuck—only you lo~” the sweet moan you let out drove him insane, it fueled him and he couldn’t help but to quicken his pace; making your back arch off the hood of the car. gasping, you reached down to hold onto his wrist, trying to stop his pleasurable torment—but it did nothing. he kept going, making you buck your hips up into his palm.

“so needy. summers is such an idiot for letting this go.” logan moves his fingers down to your sodden hole, palm pressing right down onto your clit, making your body jolt in response. despite the tight confinement of your pants, his hand was able to work wonders on your lower half—pumping in and out of your cunt.

you gushed over his fingers each time it hit your spot. the pressure that was building up in the pit of your tummy was becoming unbearable. you desperately needed to let go, show him how good he made you feel.

“gonna cum—all over your fingers!” you warned, eyes starting to roll back into your head as you felt that feeling you loved so much start to burst. that is, until he pulled his fingers away. your eyes shot opened and you watched him suck your juices off of his digits.

“gotta get you home, doll” he fastened your pants and helped you off the hood of the car; before going to the passenger side, opening the door for you. shooting daggers at him as you stomped your way to the car, you watched as he hopped in the driver seat—ignoring your stares.

you didn’t bother opening your mouth to speak either. too frustrated, tired and horny to talk. so, you opted to lay your head against the window and watched as the trees became blurred on the way back to the mansion.

as logan pulled the car up the school’s drive, you could see the resurrected red head and scott standing outside—their lips glued on one another. you shared a look with logan and shook your head. you didn’t have the energy anymore, it was obvious where his heart lied.

getting out of the car, the two pulled back once they noticed the both of you approaching—scott looking like he had seen a ghost. “baby! i-i—“

“go to hell scott” brushing past them, you slowly made your way to your room—logan a few feet behind. logan looked at scott and just shook his head. idiot.

he just planted you right into his hands, and boy was he going to keep you there.

———

the following weeks started to get better and better for you. getting closer to logan was the best thing to ever happen to you. the two of you would spend almost everyday together, most of the days ended with you finally getting to cum around his fingers and all over his face. you were happier, almost like you were in the beginning before scott ruined it. and he noticed it to.

but, you didn’t care what he thought about what you were doing. he ruined his chances of being happy with you ever again and he knew it.

currently you and logan were in an empty class room, with him between your plush thighs; working a third orgasm out of you for today. small hands were tangled in his soft brown locs—tugging them as you grinded your orgasm out on his face. logan pulled away once you calmed down, his beard and half of his face being covered in your slick—which he happily licked up; well what he could.

he helped you off the table and pulled your skirt up while peeling your cold wet panties off. “these? are for me,” you blushed, watching him put them in his pocket before pulling you close. his hands fell to your rear and those eyes that you loved to get lost in, stared right at you; before he pressed his lips against yours.

you melted in the kiss. your body relaxing as the two of you moved in sync, hands moving across each other’s bodies. ever since that day at the bar, you noticed a change in yourself. a change you slowly welcomed. love. you were falling deeply in love with the wolverine. it was different type of love you and scott had. this one felt like one of those love’s where you could see the two of you grow old and have a bunch of mutant babies.

you wanted to tell him how you felt, how he made you feel, but you were scared. scared that he might reject you. so, you opted for the latter. being his friend with benefits.

“logan, I wanna suck your dick~” you pulled back, eyes traveling down to his noticeable bulge, then back up at him.

“don’t wanna hurt you princess. plus ive got a class in fifteen minutes,” he warned and you smirked, slowly sinking down to your knees. “so? ill make you cum in ten~”.

the clinking sound of his belt being dropped to floor, along with his pants, filled the room. he watched with low eyes as you pulled his fully erect length out—cock twitching when he heard you gasp. you now understood why he never fucked you, he was way too big. there was no way your walls would survive that, right?

your mouth salivated at the sight and you couldn’t slowly feel yourself becoming even more aroused. gripping his cock and swiping your tongue over the tip, you moaned at the taste of his sweet precum, before you took him into your mouth. he tossed his head back, loving the feeling of your warm wet mouth around him, while you slowly started to take him even deeper.

his big hands practically flew to the back of your head when he felt you gag around him, once he hit the back of your mouth, slowly creeping into your throat.

“did you just cum? hm, princess?” he locked eyes with you, smelling the familiar scent of your arousal—knowing exactly how you smelled when you came.

you whimpered, still slobbering all over his cock before the grip on your head got tighter and he pressed your pretty little head down harder; nose nuzzled in his bush of brown hairs.

you gagged, but he didn’t give you time to adjust as he continued to repeat his actions—pulling you off of his cock by your hair before forcing you right back on; fucking your mouth to his liking. the more he moved the more arousing it became for the both of you, causing you to relax your throat, letting him fill it with his thick cock.

the sound of you gagging and sucking on his cock along with the smell of your cunt dripping with excitement, had the six foot two man going feral. his pretty eyes fluttered in the back of his head and he forcefully pushed your head deep in his bush— letting out one of the sexiest growls you ever heard as he poured thick ropes of cum down your throat.

the warm sensation had you dripping right onto the classroom’s wooden floors, moaning at his taste before you swallowed. his grip loosened and you pulled back, gasping for air.

“told ya i could make you cum~”

———

finding yourself back into your room, you were scared by the dark figure sitting on your bed; making you jump out of your clothes like a cartoon character. flickering on the light, scott sat on your bed wearing a plain look on his face.

“the hell you doing in my room, scott?” you kicked off your shoes, glaring at the brunette. he adjusted his visor before getting up, towering over you a bit.

“you and logan been really close lately. what’s up with that?” you stared at him before giggling. he wasn’t possibly serious? you ignored him and tried to move around him, only for him to grab you and pull you back.

“grab me again and that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. get out of my room and go be with jean. me and you are finished.” you stared into his ruby red colored visor, making sure he got the point. the mutant scoffed and shook his head, “fine. go be a whore for logan, sure he’d love that.”

you didn’t even give him time to react before sending a fire induced smack to his face, causing him to yell out from the painful sensation. he was quick to recover, ready to aim his optic lasers at you; until a fist came flying at him—knocking him to the ground. logan stood there for a minute, taking a look at you to make sure you were alright, before pouncing on scott.

you watched as logan nearly beat him bloody before stepping in, tugging on his black button up—begging him to stop. however, the raspy voice of the professor entered all of your minds, stopping everyone’s movements.

‘the dark phoenix has risen and attacked me. jean grey is no longer with us. teachers, meet me in the infirmary’

logan looked at you and grabbed scott, slinking him around his shoulders, “go meet me in the infirmary. im gonna take him to his room and have hank look after him.” you nodded and practically raced to the infirmary, meeting the rest of the x-men. they surround xavier’s comatose body, talking amongst each other about what was going on, until ororo started speaking.

“the professor was attacked a few minutes ago by the x-men we once knew as jean grey. however, the friend we knew and once loved is now gone and is being possessed by a dark entity. this being is catastrophic and we must stop it before it’s too late—” she paused and took a look at her fellow mutants, before raising an eyebrow.

“where’s scott?”

“he’s out of commission for a while. ill catch him up later.” logan’s arm snaked around you waist, appearing behind you and answering her question. she nodded and continued with the details of the mission, before listing out names of those who would be on it.

you and logan were the main frontmen for this mission. storm had converged a plan on how it should go down, along with a plan b; warning you guys that there’s a slight chance it might end bad. she put her faith in you and the team, before dismissing everyone. the mission would take place tomorrow.

———

sitting on logan’s surprisingly soft bed, you relaxed while he was in the shower. your mind was running rampant about what could possibly happen tomorrow. being that this could possibly be the end, frightened you, especially since you haven’t told him how you felt.

“logan?” you called out, listening to the calming sound of the shower running.

“yeah?” he responded and you got up from his bed and stripped out of your clothes, joining him in the shower. the sight of his nude, wet body was breathtaking. so very breathtaking, that you couldn’t help but break down and cry—sobbing as the warm water painted your face.

those thick eyebrows raised and he immediately pulled you close, rubbing circled on your back; along with rubbing your head. “hey, talk to me. won’t be able to understand you when you’re crying like this, princess.”

you nodded in his hairy chest before pulling back, sniffling. this was the time to let it all out, let him know how you feel.

“i love you. i love you so fucking bad, logan. you’re all i think about. i think about us getting married and having a litter or two of kids…” he laughed at and kissed your temple, before urging you to continue.

“you’ve been there for me for a while now. you uplifted me and showed me what true love is. and it pains me to know that there’s a possibility that tomorrow could take this away from me.” more tears poured out of your eyes and he cupped your face, kissing away your tears.

logan honestly felt the same. he fell in love with you the moment you joined the x-men. even when you got with scott, he still loved you. he just knew it was fate that the two of you were meant to be. he moved his lips down to your soft plump ones, making you melt on the spot.

the kiss the two of you shared held such passion, that you wished you could stay like this forever.

“i love you too, princess. but, you will tell me this tomorrow; when we win.” he kissed from your lips down to your neck before stopping at the middle of your chest—kissing one of your mounds and holding the other; earning a moan from you.

“in the meantime, how about we get started on that litter?” you giggled and nodded your head, before your back was against the wall with his cock in between your legs—warming up from your heat, while he pinched one of your perky nipples and sucked on the other.

slick started to pool and drip onto his cock as he continued to tease your sensitive breasts, fueling your arousal. “please, baby….don’t tease me—wan’ you inside of me~”

he pulled away from your nipple with a ‘pop’ echoing after, still teasing the other one with his rough hands, a smirk painted on his rugged face. “you sure you’re ready for that, doll?” he asked and you nodded profusely. lifting up your leg, he rubbed himself on your slick coated slit, using your essence as lubricant and then pushed himself into your tightness.

he threw his head back from how you felt, and your walls clung to him; clenching and unclenching around him. the pressure he was putting on your clit, had you cumming prematurely. he smirked and pulled himself out, making you whimper; already missing how he filled you up—even though it was just the tip.

he repeated that process, pushing his cock in and pulling you out, earning more lewd noises from you and your pretty pussy. “logannn, please fuck me already!” he grunted in response and slammed himself inside—filling you to the brim with his cock. you squealed from the pleasurably painful sensation that coursed through you, kissing him to distract you from the pain.

the grip on your leg tightened as he started to pound your sweet little pussy, walls stretching past its normals limits. the more he fucked you, the more your cunt became molded to the shape of his cock. it was evident that you were made for him.

by now, the water had gotten cold and he continued to rut inside of you—cunt coating his cock with your creamy white fluids. he was drowning in your sweet fluids and he didn't need a floatie—he had reached nirvana.

in one swift motion, the shower was off and you were in his arms—legs wrapped around his waist while he was still inside; carrying you out of the shower & over to the bathroom sink. he pulled out momentarily as he placed you on your feet and turned you around, your fat ass facing him; while he plunged right back inside of your middle.

pushing your arch down, placing his hands on your hips—he reached deeper than before, causing you to scream. “dick too big for you baby?” you nodded and he chuckled, grinding himself against you until he started to pound you silly.

you tried to open your mouth to speak, to warn him that you were going to cum, but your mind was too fucked out to process anything; so you let out a sweet moan. “go ahead and cum for me princess. could feel her twitching around me.”

it was amazing how he knew your body so well already and it didn’t take long for you to heed his words, cumming hard on his dick while he continued to make your cunt his. the tightness of your walls squeezing him, broke him and he couldn’t help but to cum buckets inside of you—filling your tummy up with his kids.

the two of you panted, bodies shaking as your orgasms came over you—your head being pulled back so he could press a kiss to your lips.

“i love you, princess.”

———

blood covered the blue and yellow suits the team wore as the dark phoenix made paint out of their blood. the fight wasn’t going so good. some of you were gravely injured, possibly on the brink of death, while some of you tried to catch your breaths; still able to fight.

you looked over at a bleeding logan, worried about the wounds he had received, catching his eyes. “don’t worry, it’ll heal.”

he charged towards the being, claws fully unsheathed, with you and few others following suit; only to be tossed away like peons. you laid there in pain, ready to accept defeat, until you heard the crunching of the dirt nearby. turning your head you were shocked to see scott, staring down the possessed body of his old lover.

scott turned to look at you and logan, and smiled before inching closer toward them. your eyes shot open, you knew exactly what he was going to do. “scott! wait,—“ but it was already too late.

with the help of colossus, the leader of the x-men was tossed over to jean—grabbing onto her before a red flash of light blinded you all. once it cleared, the two were gone. the only thing that stood where they once were, was scott’s yellow & red custom visor.

you sat there in disbelief. you never expected this to happen. yeah, you his guts, but you never expected him to sacrifice himself. better yet, die.

“c’mon doll, let’s go home~” logan’s raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts, holding out his hand which you gladly accepted. you turned around, looking at where he was one last time, before turning around heading back to the jet.

——

5 months later.

“and here lies the visor that was once used by our leader and hero of the x-men, cyclops. he will be missed.” logan spoke to the new students joining the academy—giving them a tour, stopping at scott’s memorial.

“logan~” your voice called out to him, making him turn his attention over to you—his beautiful pregnant wife. “alright kids, gonna turn this over to our new teacher; ms. frost,” the blonde stepped up with a smile and took over while your husband jogged over to you—kissing your growing belly before moving up to your lips.

“we’re gonna be late! this is the appointment where we get to see the baby’s gender!”

it might’ve started off rough, but you were finally happy and in love.

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June - 

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten. 

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?” 

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins. 

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton. 

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks. 

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.” 

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs. 

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!” 

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up. 

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do. 

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face. 

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her. 

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house. 

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house. 

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail. 

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it. 

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him. 

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years. 

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun. 

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves. 

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation. 

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink. 

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive. 

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though. 

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“ 

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more. 

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare. 

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh,  you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs. 

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge. 

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?” 

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?��� Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. 

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!” 

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food. 

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout. 

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight. 

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission. 

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap. 

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up. 

“Does she know that?” 

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer. 

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!” 

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.  

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat. 

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?” 

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one. 

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s. 

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt. 

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door. 

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more. 

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it. 

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him. 

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall. 

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington. 

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.  

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch. 

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room. 

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway. 

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of. 

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen. 

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters. 

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget. 

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse. 

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light. 

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement. 

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat. 

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.” 

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. 

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him. 

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” 

“Is this the bad news?” 

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck. 

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?” 

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch. 

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath. 

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes. 

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

[formulawolff]

xix. when time stood still - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.4k

warnings: ANGST, so much angst, yearning, mutual pining, cursing, mentions of injury, mild violence, sexual innuendos, light smut (you'd have to squint to see it), age gap relationships, banter, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“have you seen this?”

“seen what?” you arch a brow, shoving a bite into your mouth.

“toto did an interview with sky sports,” alex scoots closer to you on the couch. you were to his right, lily cuddled up on his left, “should we all watch it together? it already has almost one million views.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you pick at your food, “that’s unusual. sky sports typically rakes in only thousands of views per video.”

“well we’ll just have to watch and see!” lily chirps, leaning forward so that she can drum along your arm with her hands, “chin up, buttercup! we’re about to watch your mans!”

alex presses play, holding the phone at an angle where the three of you could see clearly. the moment he appears on screen, your heart skips a beat.

he’s disheveled, his fluffy brunette locks sticking up on all ends, the first few buttons of his crisp mercedes polo undone, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the stressful events of qualifying. 

although it was cooling down significantly as the sun had set, he wore no jacket. the sleeves of his polo were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, the veins prominent in the low light. there was an emotion in his gaze you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

lewis and george linger in the background, both of them waving fervently to the camera as rachel brooks begins the interview, clearing her throat. 

she begins with her introduction, your jaw going slack the second she mentions your relationship. she continues, pressing on with a flurry of invasive questions. toto appears just as shocked, remaining silent for nearly thirty seconds before speaking. 

“i initiated our relationship,” he starts, pausing briefly once more, “i approached her a few months ago in bahrain. if we’re being honest here, i had been crushing on her for quite some time. since the news broke of her signing to williams in december of 2022.”

alex’s thumb locates the pause button with lighting speed, stopping the video, “no. fucking. way.”

“that is so romantic!” lily squeals, kicking her feet, “alex, what are you doing? press play! i want to watch more.”

as the video resumes, you can’t help but notice lewis and george’s reactions, how their eyes are widened, lips parted as toto shifts in place, slightly swaying back and forth as rachel clarifies exactly how long he had been interested in you. he responds, focusing his attention directly to the camera, his eyes almost piercing through the lens. 

he mentions susie, quenching the blazing rumors that the two you were involved in an affair. he defends her name, stating that she is not the bitter ex-wife that the headlines claim she is. he affirms that she is the founder and helm of the f1 academy, the mother of their children, and an exceptional co-parent and business partner. 

you find yourself almost too invested in the words, leaning over a few more inches so that you can savor the way his voice is brimmed with passion, bursting with nothing but adoration as he catches his breath. 

that’s when he mentions you.

your heart flutters, a dizzying sensation taking hold as he utters the words i love that american girl.

“oh shit,” alex murmurs under his breath, “you have that man in a chokehold.”

“shhh!” lily hushes him, putting a finger to his lips, “there’s still more!”

rachel glances towards the camera as toto spins on his heel, starting to walk away. she calls out him, eager to dissect his previous sentiment. 

“you said that you loved that american driver. do you mind elaborating on that?”

toto turns, now in the center of the frame, “yes, i did. i love her. there are many whispers that i am just using her, that she is just a little pawn in my game to ultimately sign her to mercedes. that is not the case. it is complete and utter bullshit. she is my entire world. i would never take advantage of her in that manner. i respect her too much to do that. 

now that all of your pressing questions are answered, i have one thing to ask. will you all just leave us be? no more hot gossip. no more lies. let me love my american girl. that’s all. i will not be elaborating further, ms. brooks. thank you.”

that’s when rachel blinks, the hand holding the microphone quivering. 

was it from excitement? from a rush of adrenaline because she was able to pry more information out of him? the exhilaration of knowing that this was going to create a media frenzy?

the camera pans to her, the reporter bearing a smug, shit-eating grin. 

“well, now we know how the illustrious mercedes team principal really feels about the williams driver. perhaps tomorrow we will be able to reach her for an exclusive, one-on-one interview. perhaps will we see another post-race kiss? stay tuned to sky sports f1 for more updates here in montreal, canada! have a great evening! we will see you on the race track bright and early for more coverage!” 

the video cuts out, suggestions popping up on the screen for more related content. for a minute, you sit there, completely and utterly in disbelief at what you just witnessed. alex elbows you, bringing you back to earth. 

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you nod, heat burning in your cheeks, “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“and neither were we!” lily springs up from the couch, making her way over to you. 

she knees alex gently, “move, move, move! i need to talk to my girl.”

“am i included in girl talk?” he teases, obliging to her request, “i want to know all of the tea! she never told me about her time in monte carlo.”

“why not?” lily’s lip juts out as she settles next to you, “hey, what’s on your mind?”

your lower lip trembles, tears blurring your vision, “i-i just miss him.”

“oh lovebug,” lily coos, wrapping tender arms around your frame, “is james still being weird about everything?”

“weird is an understatement,” alex whistles, shaking his head, “he’s on insane levels of a strict father figure at the moment. he almost took her phone yesterday because he was under the impression that she was texting toto.”

“nuh uh!” lily’s eyes widen in shock, disgust painting her features, “alex told me that part of it was due to the team’s reputation? the pr teams want you guys to maintain your distance?”

there’s now a steady stream falling down your cheeks, “y-yeah.”

“oh honey,” lily rubs your back as wails bubble up in the back of your throat, “alex, get her phone for me?”

“why?” he inquires, yet hands her your phone, “her passcode is zero-three-zero-nine-two-four.”

“isn’t that the date you won your first grand prix?” lily’s fingers fly across the screen. 

“yes,” alex answers for you, placing a box of tissues on your lap, “lily, what are you doing?”

“calling toto wolff,” her chin tilts upward, towards alex, “duh! who else would i be calling?”

a few paddocks down, toto wolff paces in his office, his drivers situated in the two plush chairs, scrolling away on their phones. 

there is a thick layer of frustration lingering in the air, clouding around the team principal. 

it was not the heated, fiery rage of losing a race or a car malfunctioning. it was more like the fury of wanting something you cannot have. the desperation of it, the way it tugged and pulled at his weary heart. resentment for the mercedes pr team was accumulating by the second, the team principal firing blazing strings of curses under his breath. 

“everyone is going bonkers over that interview, mate,” lewis’ lips are curled into a devious smirk, the driver flashing his screen, “you should see what they’re saying about you.”

“all good things i hope,” toto snorts, rolling his eyes, “in retrospect, i should have just kept my mouth shut.”

on his desk, the inbox of his work email was flooded with furious messages from the pr team, demanding that he keep his lips sealed for the remainder of the weekend. the team principal was to shoot down any pressing inquiries regarding the williams driver. they even went so far to create scenarios that provided examples of the “proper responses.” answers that he was required to give since he only “embarrassed the team and mercedes brand even further.”

“they’re loving every single second,” george tuts, skimming over the comments, “someone said, ‘well now i get it. that man really put his job on the line to admit how much he loves her. w for the american girl, and w interview.’”

“someone by the user ‘mercedesgirl’ posted,” lewis snickers, suppressing his laughter, “‘you know what? good for them. she gets to be railed by the one and only toto wolff. he probably fucks her so hard she can’t see straight. also, no man talks about a woman like that in front of a camera without being absolutely whipped. he loves that girl.’”

“oh really?” toto raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest, “i mean, they’re not–”

a vibration in his pocket interrupts him, lewis and george both setting their phones on their laps, intrigued by the potential caller. 

pulling it out of his pocket, he quickly glances at the screen. 

my golden girl 

swiping across the cool surface, he brings the phone to his ear, “hallo, baby.”

“oh!” the voice on the other end is not familiar, “hi! um, it’s lily he, one of your girlfriend’s close friends.”

hmm. this was odd.

“i was wondering if there was any possible way we could get her over to the mercedes paddock? or your hotel room? she’s in shambles right now over that interview and i think she really could use some of your snuggles or something.”

“is she crying?” toto could pick out the quiet cries in the background, his heart sinking, “do you know why she’s so upset?”

“not really. i think she might be stressed out with everything going on with james and your pr teams,” the voice is light, airy and delicate, “but i think she could really use some time with you. in private. are you busy?” 

that prick. 

what else could he have possibly done or said?

“no,” toto’s eyes dart towards his drivers, “i’m not busy at all, actually. does she want to spend the night with me? i can tell you which things to pack in an overnight bag.”

lewis leans back in the chair, hands on his head as george puckers his lips, making kissy faces. 

“just text me!” lily chirps, “i’ll get her ass in the shower. maybe if she knows she’s going to see you, she’ll perk up. see you soon!”

the line clicks dead, toto pointing a finger at both of his drivers, “you two! out!”

“come on,” lewis groans, “we don’t get to see your precious baby? what if i want to say hi?”

“unfortunately for you,” toto scoffs, crossing over to his desk, “i have places to be.”

“do you want me to call theodore?” george offers, rising to his feet, “i can get the car arranged so no one notices the two of you together.”

“that’s not a terrible idea,” toto dips his head, turning to lewis, “are you going to be helpful or are you going to just sit there and continue to terrorize me?”

“i can help, i can help,” the driver waves a hand, “what do you need me to do?”

“i need you to escort her over here to the paddock or to the car,” shoving an arm into his jacket, the team principal scoops his keys off the desk, frantically gathering his belongings, “will you be able to do that for me?”

“aye aye, captain!” lewis salutes, “you need me to text her?”

“please,” toto whirls around, searching the space, ensuring nothing important was left behind. 

who knew that a simple rendezvous would require such meticulous planning?

well, it seemed when your pr teams desperately tried to keep the two of you apart, your friends would be the ones to step in. 

especially when the two of you were two desperate, yearning messes. 

and when it came to that, toto was eternally grateful. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“i missed you.”

one hand rests on the small of your back, the other kneading into your shoulder blade as your head is nuzzled into his chest, traces of his cologne flooding your nostrils. a simple heather gray t-shirt clings to his top half, boxers hanging on his hips. 

you’re in one of his crewnecks, the garment nearly framing your figure effortlessly. your lashes flutter as tender kisses pepper all over your face, covering your nose, apples of your cheeks, jawline, temple, and forehead. 

“i missed you more, schatzi,” he murmurs, “do you feel better now?”

you had reunited with the team principal in his lavish hotel room approximately an hour ago, lewis hitching a ride with you so that it didn’t raise any eyebrows. george was the one who coordinated theodore’s arrival to your motorhome, meticulously choosing a time in which you wouldn’t be stopped by any lingering members of the williams crew. 

it was quite ridiculous, really. the hoops you had to leap through in order to spend just a few hours with your beloved team principal. 

yet, it was worth it.

so beyond worth it.

the embrace you were greeted with was unlike one you had ever encountered before. toto’s arms nearly swept you off your feet, lifting you a few inches above the ground as he held you tightly against his chest, squeezing with so much force you couldn’t breathe. strings of german filled your ears, bursting with nothing but love and adoration. 

it was like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. 

yet, you were on the same wavelength, nearly erupting into tears once again as he whisked you into his room. 

there was a coziness that rippled in your heart as the two of you laid together, oh so joyful to be reunited once more. 

“so much better,” your lashes flutter, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, “this probably isn’t our smartest idea.”

“i think we’ve made plenty of dumb decisions,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest as he drapes the comforter over you, fluffing it so that it covered any exposed area, “are you nervous for the race tomorrow? the bottom half of the grid is not where i expected you to be.”

“it is what it is,” you exhale, “i could barely get any grip on my tires.”

“it was pretty slick out there. were you distracted by other things?”

“maybe,” you mutter, burying your head into the fabric, “i don’t really want to talk about racing right now.”

“i understand,” he hand drifts, wandering to your rib-cage, “lily mentioned something about james earlier. i just want to know if he had anything to do with your qualifying lap, that’s all.”

his touch his light, nearly feathery as his fingertips drag along, “i mean, i did get into it with him a few times. nothing serious, really.”

“let me know if it’s anything that i need to address, all right?” his hands envelops your breast, his palm radiating warmth as he squeezes, “i want to ensure that you’re not being harassed or anything. i can handle it, but it would destroy me if you were mistreated over something like this.”

“you worry too much,” your breath hitches in your throat as he rolls your nipple between two fingers.

“it’s my job,” his mouth hovers by your ear, “if anything happened to you? oh god. i don’t know what i would do. lately, every time you step foot onto that track, i think my heart rate elevates. i just get so nervous that you may get hurt or something even far wo–”

tilting your chin, you glance upward, pressing a finger to his lips, “i’ll be okay, baby. that’s why the safety regulations are in place. to protect me.”

in the dim light, you notice the glossiness in his gaze, misty even as he responds, the words barely audible. 

“that is true. but you mean everything to me. the safety regulations aren’t enough. i need to be the one protecting you. from everything. i hope you know i’m counting down the days.”

“counting down the days till what exactly?” the pad of your thumb wipes away a tear as it falls. 

“i’m counting down the days until you’re at mercedes. the day when we’ll be able to be together for the rest of our lives. the day where i’ll finally be able to go forward with our future.”

“our future?” your heart swells as he leans in.

“yes, our future. the future in which i’ll be able to make you my wife.” 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“and it’s lights out here in montreal! the canadian grand prix is underway!”

“push, push.” the command floods in, “you should be able to overtake magnussen.” 

“got it,” you swallow thickly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, “let’s fucking do this.”

as george flew out from the pole position, max hot on his tail, your mind hones in from the chaos of the starting stretch, focusing on the task at hand. 

if you were able to overtake kevin magnussen, then you would more than likely be able to do the same to the ferrari boys as well. that would prove to be a challenge, as both of them were vastly competitive, but the determination set your heart ablaze, goading you to step on that pedal. 

this was it, the canadian grand prix. 

one of the crucial races. just another rung up the ladder to that final destination. 

the world driver’s championship.

and by god, you were going to get there by any means possible. 

yet, kevin was hellbent on maintaining his position, veering in your path. 

on the track, every inch was necessary in order to overtake another car. if you miscalculated the distance by even a hair, the results could be catastrophic. 

cursing under your breath, you alleviate the pressure on the pedal, “he’s not giving me any fucking room guys.”

“you’ll have your opportunity,” james’ voice chimes in, “just be patient, american girl.”

“well i want it now,” you counter, gritting your teeth, “how the fuck am i supposed to be the world champion if i can’t even manage a fucking pod–”

that’s when a horrific crunching noise cuts you off, the world around you slowing as you’re propelled several feet into the air, the wind whistling. 

it was like everything all around was frozen, your car rolling, barreling towards the barrier. blood roars in your ears as you gasp for breath, the panic crashing over you like a tidal wave.

oh god. 

this was it. 

squeezing your eyes shut, you brace for impact, one last image flashing across your mind as the car collides against the rigid surface.

toto and his beautiful eyes, the mocha depths glittering like stars as he dimples form, bearing a wide, radiant grin as his nose scrunches.

that damn smile. 

it was going to be the death of you. 

i love you. 

you hear a voice. his voice. so rich and brassy, thick with the accent you had grown to absolutely adore.

that’s was the last thing you hear before everything goes dark. 

in the stands, fans jump to their feet, their attention lasered in on the scene before them. alex albon of williams racing screeches to a halt, scrambling out of his car.

he stumbles slightly the first few steps, desperate to reach his fellow driver, buried among the wreckage. he shouts across the track, his field of vision blurred as his voice falters. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck! i’m coming! i’m coming for you! hold on!”

calls come buzzing across the radio waves. 

“red flag! we need the fucking red flag!”

“red flag! fuck! where is the safety car?”

“where is the fucking safety car?”

“hello! we need a red flag!”

“where is the medic? we need a fucking medic!”

in the mercedes paddock, a team principal rips off his headphones, his chest heaving as he frantically makes his way towards the entrance of the garage, scanning the track. 

he makes out the outline of alex albon, desperately tugging you out of a pile of crumpled metal and tires. 

as his line of sight falls on you, all he can see is the way your head rolls, limbs lolling as he lays you on the ground, his pleas crying out.

“where the fuck is the medic? she needs help!”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

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let me know if you would like to be added for chapters xx. & xxi! as always, thank you all for the endless support on this series! the compliments, comments, and asks i have received over the course of the past month or so have meant the world to me! i love you all so much! <3

[ln444]

my english love affair

cw: MDNI+18, f!reader, strangers to lovers, soulmates au, fluff, smut, maybe slight angst? depends on how you see it lol, fingering (f), penetration, soft dirty talk, a lot (like a lot) of kissing and sharing long gazes, whipped lando again bc im obsessed sorry.

now playing: english love affair by 5sos, let me by zayn.

notes: omg this took so long 😭 i'm not really confident abt my smut, i feel like i'm writing fluff way better but i hope you like it!! i might write a part 2, let me know if you like this one! enjoy🤍

requested by anon | requests open!

______________________________________________

“when the lights go out, she's all i ever think, i can't forget my english love affair, today i'm seven thousand miles away”

the thought of finally going back to his f1 driver life fills lando with excitement. sure, lando loves england — it's his home, after all. but nothing can compare to the rush he feels when he's in an f1 car, traveling all around the world and meeting his fans.

for his last night town, lando's friends convinced him to hit the club. normally, he prefers staying in to rest before the start of the season but a little fun doesn't hurts, right? he won't have much time to do it during the grand prix.

despite his fame, lando still gets surprised when someone recognizes him, especially at the club. he knows he's known for his looks, and he's aware of the attention from admirers, but it still catches him off guard in real life. sometimes, the attention can be overwhelming, especially when he just wants to have a good time with his friends and ends up with some overly clingy girls.

lando decides to excuse himself, seeking some fresh air. the pressure of the coming season is getting to him, and the situation doesn't help. he finds a quiet spot with a few people smoking and making out, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a relieved sigh.

suddenly, a voice startles him from his thoughts, "did your friends force you to come here too?" his head jerks towards you, and you're standing beside him, out of nowhere. he takes time to answer, surprised by your unexpected presence. after realizing that he left you without any response, he clears his throat, a bit confused, "nah, just needed some fresh air" he mumbles, a small smile forming on his lips. you chuckle slightly, and comment "not surprised, having so many girls fawning over you must be exhausting", there's a small hint of tease in your voice that makes lando's smile grows.

finally, as he turns to study your features under the soft glow of the night lights, lando finds himself entranced by your captivating beauty, the grace of your features leaving an indelible impression on him. he can't help but get lost in your eyes shining in the dim illumination, making it difficult for him to look away. it takes him a good minute to quickly look away, thanking the night for hiding his rosé cheeks.

he gazes at the sky, trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound awkward — and also trying to get his shit together. he suddenly feels the need to make a good impression. "i mean, it's not that i don't appreciate the attention, but wow, they can be quite persistent."

his hands find their way into the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes avoid meeting yours, fearing he might get lost in them again. "yeah, i know. they're my friends," you say with a small chuckle, not because he's making fun of them, but more because of the use of the term 'friends.'

lando's eyes widen, and he turns to you, 'i'm sorry, i didn't mean to-' but he stops himself, looking down, feeling too embarrassed to find the right words. you laugh softly and move closer to him, your shoulders brushing and lando can feel his body tense up due to the closeness.

"hey, it's okay. i don't really consider them my friends, anyway," you say nonchalantly and lando lets out a sigh of relief, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "wow, that's nice for them", you both laugh and lando doesn't miss the way you subtly lean into him, your shoulders finally touching. he turns his head away from you, clearing his throat once more, trying to control the warmth spreading through his body.

"hey", you suddenly call out after a minute of tranquil silence and lando dares to meet your gaze, instantly regretting when he's captivated by your radiant eyes. he finds himself unable to look away and you both share an intense, unspoken connection, as if you've known each other for years. everything feels perfectly right at this moment.

"wanna get out of here?" you finally suggest, your words barely more than a whisper, your focus entirely on lando's mesmerizing eyes. you take his hand, both fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces and you let him drag you in the dark streets.

after a walk filled with stolen gaze and silly conversations, you found yourself on lando's couch, engrossed in his f1 souvenirs and you have never felt so much passion, feeling your heart soften every time your see that sparkles in his eyes. lando never thought that his night will end up like this. sure, he might ended up with a girl from the club like he usually do, but this time was different. he never really experienced this; having sweet and innocent conversations with a stranger from a club. the atmosphere is tranquil yet there's a subtle tension in the air.

lando couldn't help but be his flirty self, playfully teasing you from time to time. however, your responses makes him somewhat nervous — it's a new sensation to him, having a girl making him feel this way. perhaps it's the way you gazes at him with patience and attention, your lovely smile that you share generously with him or how closely you listen to his random f1 stories. lando and you end up scrolling through photos in his phone, with him recounting the stories behind each one. he couldn't help but feel his heart melt your reactions; your smiles, your laughs, and your curiosity as you ask for more details and share your own anecdotes.

a soothing silence descended, and the two of you sit beside each other, thighs and shoulders lightly touching. lando struggles to contain the fluttering feeling in his stomach when you turn to look at him. he dares to meet your gaze, trying to focus on your eyes rather than your enticing lips. lost in each other eyes, you can't tear your gazes away. a brand new emotion envelops both of you, one that's strangely familiar yet undeniably unique, as though destiny has brought you together in this very moment and lando can't help but wonder if soulmates might actually exist.

you finally speak, after what feels like an eternity, in a soft voice, "you can kiss me, lando", you whisper like it's a secret. lando stomach tighten and he don't even take the time to answer, gently placing his hand on your cheek to pull you for a shy kiss. your lips discover each other, timidly and your hands instinctively slides around his neck to pull him closer.

you can't seem to get enough of each other, savoring every moment as you explore each other's mouths. lando's hand venture on your hips, and the chill of his touch sends shivers down your spine, as you suppress a soft moan in your throat. the kiss grows more intense, both of you yearning for more. without the need for words, you share an unspoken understanding of each other's needs, as if you've been intimately connected for ages. out of breath, you both finally pull away, foreheads touching, sharing a playful gaze, giggling and blushing like teenagers experiencing their very first kiss.

after one last sweet peck on the lips, lando takes your hand and stands, guiding you towards the bedroom, careful not to stumble due to both your impatience and the lingering dizziness of that passionate kiss.

not wasting time, he gently guides you onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you. he can't resist the urge to pause and admire you, your eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the dim lights. before he gets lost in that gaze, his eyes roam to study every detail of your face, causing you to blush and squirm beneath him. your arms tighten around his neck, and you chuckle, bringing lando back to the present. "like what you see?" you whisper, stealing a smile from him as he draws closer, his lips teasingly brushing against yours. "oh, absolutely," he murmurs before capturing your lips in a kiss. this time, it feels different; electrifying.

lando's hands slips, beneath your dress, and this time a whimper escapes your lips, making lando smirk through the kiss. his hands dares to explore the skin of your thighs, creating an unusual feeling in your stomach — and making your pussy slightly throb. your fingers finds their way into his curls, gripping onto them as the kiss becomes messier; your tongues dancing together.

"just take it off already" you huff and puff, seeing lando struggling and he lets out a chuckle "damn, someone is impatient", he says, teasing you, before finally taking your dress off. his eyes travel your body, and you've never felt so vulnerable, your cheeks burning. lando let out an unwanted groan, completely loving the view and he stares a bit too long until you pull him for another kiss to put him out of his thoughts. he takes a moment to kiss you back and it's your turn to slide your hands beneath his shirt, playing with the lines of his abdomen, making him moan softly against your lips.

after a good minute of kissing and touching, you finally take off his shirt and his pants, on the way, leaving you both in your underwear. lando leaves kisses along your jawline, going down to your chest, his hand sliding in your back to unbutton your bra and the way your boobs bounce out of it makes lando groan, feeling his erection grows. your grip on his hair gets tighter as you watch him play with your nipples, flicking it and licking it and the view drives you crazy.

you moan his name softly, pulling on his hair to make him look at you and you share a long stare, full of lust, both craving for more. you pull him for a sloppy kiss, trying to show how impatient you are and lando gets the message, pulling down your panties and getting rid of his boxers.

lando's mouth leaves yours and is replaced by his fingers, stealing a whimper from you. your eyes meets his as you suck on his fingers and, if they could, his eyes would burn holes into yours. lando found himself getting more and more impatient, the way you suck on his fingers with that irresistible look making it harder for him to contain it.

pulling out his fingers out of your mouth and without leaving your eyes for a second, his two fingers found your hole, slipping gently in it and you throw instinctively your head backwards, a moan escaping your mouth. lando take a good look at you in that position before taking the opportunity to leave kisses on your exposed neck, fighting the urge to suck on it to not leave marks, not wanting to overstep your boundaries.

"feeling okay?" he whispers softly, his breath hitting your skin, making it difficult for you to fight the whimpers escaping your mouth. lando takes a minute to look at you, to make sure that you don't feel any pain or discomfort.

"mmh'yes, you can move, please oh my god" you desperately says and lando can't help but pull you for another messy kiss. his fingers start moving in you, stretching your walls and you become a moaning mess, your eyes closing and lando takes advantage of it to admire you, his moves getting faster and faster.

"are you close, princess?" he murmurs close to your lips, feeling your body trembling and hearing the way your moans gets louder. you can only shake your head; feeling the bottom of your stomach getting warmer and the nickame almost make you choke on your moans. lando slows down to make scissors movements, his thumb rubbing your clit to help you reach your climax. he can't take off his eyes of you, inspecting every aspect of your face; the way your face crunches and your mouth is slightly open to let multiple sounds out of it. he could almost come just by this sight, his own crotch getting bigger.

with a loud and long moan, you finally climax, arching your back and lando plant soft pecks on your neck, whispering sweet words to you and telling you how good you're doing. breathless, you absently stroke his hair and close your eyes for a moment trying to calm the beat of your heart but lando makes it hard; his hands traveling your body and his lips attached to the skin of your neck.

the sudden emptiness when lando pulls out his fingers make you whimper and he lift his head to meet your gaze — he lost count of how many times he got lost in your eyes tonight. your hand make its way to his cock and the sudden touch makes lando slightly startle, a groan leaving his mouth. before you start stroking it, his hand comes to stop you immediately and you look at him, confused and with a hint of worry; silently asking him if you did something wrong.

"wanna fuck you now or i might go crazy", he says, almost whimpering and you slightly laugh, pulling his face closer to yours. "someone is impatient huh", you tease, a small smirk forming on your lips and he can't help but mirror that smirk. "how can i not when you look at me like that?" he takes your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you again, his body getting closer and his cock brushing on your pussy makes you both moan through the kiss. you take his dick, once again, in your hand to guide it through your hole this time. and slowly, he penetrates you, a long groan escaping his lips at how tight you feel around him and you break the kiss to moan loudly.

"so fucking tight, baby, just for me", he mumbles close to your lips and you can't even answer, too overwhelmed by the way he's filling you — and his dirty words. when you finally adjust, he doesn't waste any minutes and start moving. you both moan in unison, holding into each other like your life depends on it. he watches you go crazy over his cock; the way your eyes gets watery, the way you hold into the sheets — your other hand too busy pulling his hair —, the way you can't control the continuous moans, his name slipping out of your mouth from time to time and encouraging him to go deeper into you. and he does go deeper, slowing down the pace to thrust into you as deep as he can, reaching your sensitive spot.

"right here? like that, baby?" he moans, feeling you tightening around him. his voice makes it harder for you to hold your growing orgasm. your hand leaves the sheets to hold onto his shoulder, your nails crawling into his skin. lando suddenly feels the urge to look at you in the eyes — maybe because his orgasm is getting close too. his hand finds a way to your neck, his fingers wrapping around it gently "look at me, angel", he says in a husky voice that could make you come at any moment. struggling to keep your eyes open, you try your best to hold his gaze, the way he's looking at you making you insane.

his thrusts gets faster and you can't control the sounds escaping from your mouth anymore. you look away for a moment, too overwhelmed and lando's hand travels to your face, cupping it gently to keep it straight "eyes on me, love". you obey, meeting his gaze and it's all too much for you.

you don't even have to use words for lando to understand that you're getting close, the way your eyes gets watery and your body shakes is enough. with his hand going back to your throat, lando accompany you into your orgasm, enjoying the way you scream his name and you manage to hold his gaze. his own orgasm comes a few minutes after yours and he makes sure to pull out before ejaculating, his groans echoing in the room. he immediately falls besides you and you both just stay like this: his leg over yours, your hand still in his hair as you try to catch your breath. lando uses his last drops of strength to grab a tissue from the nightstand and clean his fresh cum on your stomach.

he pulls you close again, linking your legs together and letting you play with his hair. the silence is so peaceful; the warm of your bodies making you both relax immediately. a smile unconsciously forms on lando's lips at the sight of your tired face, your eyes shining in the almost dark atmosphere of the night. you look back at him, smiling back and giggling, making lando raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"what's so funny?" he says, fighting the smile growing on his lips. "i just slept with the lando norris", you tease and lando groans, hiding his face in his arm. "i knew you were a fan!" he replies playfully, playing along. you laugh in sync and lando's heart feels at peace; all the worries about the incoming season completely forgotten. your hand gently plays with his curls as you absently stare at the ceiling, an unbeatable smile on your face.

lando, on the other side, can't take his eyes off you, watching you slowly fall asleep and enjoying your fingers in his hair. and just before you completely close your eyes, you turn to him, offering him a last kiss; so tender and passionate that your hearts both might burst out of your chests. pulling out, lando watches you fall asleep, not fighting the smile on his face anymore.

he usually struggles to sleep before an important day but this time, his mind is only filled with you and this night spent by your side. and just like that, it's lando's turn to meet the sandman.

-

with a groan, lando struggles to reach and silence the blaring alarm. the morning sunlight aggressively shines through the curtain, making him shield his face with his arm, staying in half asleep state for a minute as he gradually gets out of it.

then it suddenly hits him; you're no longer beside him.

lando suddenly starts to panic, jolting him into full wakefulness. he springs out of the bed and desperately search for any signs of you in every room of his apartment but you're nowhere to be found. he mutters curses under his breath, passing a hand to his messy hair — the thought of you messing his hair last night making him even more frustrated. defeated, he returns to the bedroom, his gaze falling on the tousled sheets where everything happened. as lando realizes that he didn't even ask for your name, frustration festered within him, causing him to clench his hair.

however, amidst his self reproach, a small piece of paper on the nightstand catch his attention, and he immediately rushes to it.

"we will meet again, i promise. you're going to kill it, lovely boy. y/n, x"

lando can't even fight the smile creeping on his lips, his heart softening — it was beating way too fast just by the thought of not even knowing your name. he sinks back onto the bed, your smell immediately hitting him and making him even happier. he reads those few words repeatedly and his hands falls onto his chest, holding the paper close to his heart as he whispers your name again and again, savoring its melodious sound. lando can't help but tell himself that soulmates might exist.

"i am going to kill it,", lando murmured to himself, a foolish grin etching on his face.

______________________________________________

part 2?:p join the tag list here!

masterlist

[emmyrosee]

you asked for angst and I hate angst but imma give you some bc I love you.

It is widely accepted that the Miya twins dad is not in the picture. Mama Miya is a single mom and is worshipped by her twin boys. They always prioritize taking care of her bc "she's got no one else but us". Which is great, its one of the reason why you feel in love with your man. But it becomes a hindrance when he starts missing out on things important to you. Esp when their mom didn't even need them there at that moment.

Could work for either Osamu or Atsumu.

I hate my brain.

LIT RALLY HAD A PIECE SIMILAR TO THIS IN THE WORKS BUT I GOT TOO SCARED TO POST IT ABDBEJSBEEI SO THIS IS NOW MY OUTLET 😯🫶🏻

—-

The moon is high in the sky when Osamu finally comes home, your hands buried in the sink as you wash dishes that have been sitting there far too long.

You’d asked osamu to do it, but he hasn’t even been home to look at them. A phone call from his mother took him straight from work to her house almost two hours away, leaving you to your own thoughts and feelings.

You adored Ms. Miya. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was your feeling of neglect brewing in your chest, with each time he leaves you with no regard for your needs.

“Hey Angel,” he hums as he finally crosses over the threshold, toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys on the hook. He says nothing when you merely grunt back, but he does make his way over for a kiss.

You return his kiss, despite your own desires to not, you just wanted to be close to him again, feel his hands cradling your body and relight the love in your soul.

“How was your night?”

“Quiet,” you sigh. “Just… cleaning up from dinner.”

“Shit, you made dinner?” At that moment, his stomach growls, “I was so busy at Ma’s I didn’t get the chance to eat. Do we have leftovers?”

You nod sadly, “yeah. Help yourself.”

“…everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

He clears his throat and picks up a plate from the strainer, “are you sure…? these used to have a design on them.”

You scrub harder.

“Talk to me, baby. I don’t like us keeping secrets from each other.”

“We don’t have secrets. If you can’t use your cognitive thinking skills as to why the person you’re going to marry is mad at you, that’s not my problem.”

“Is this about today?” He asks, voice dropping in defeat.

“Usually is.”

“Baby, you know I-“

The plate snaps under the force of your scrubbing, but you don’t focus on that, though osamu’s brows shoot up.

“Your mother needs you, your mother comes first, your mother asked you, your mother this, your mother that, I KNOW, OSAMU!” You bark, wet fists balled angrily and teeth gritted sharply. “I know the damn drill!”

He takes a step back and raises his hands in surrender, but his brows are furrowed in worry, “hey… it’s okay-“

“It’s not okay!” You yell. Your hands come up to grip your chest, “what about when I need you? Hmm? Where’s my turn to be selfish and need you-“

“My mother is not selfish,” he growls. His brows furrow, “you damn know that.”

You roll your eyes, “no, she’s not. But I want to be. I want to be the big important thing in your life for once, I want to be the thing you run to; I want to be the one you drop everything for.”

“You are, but she needed me today, atsumu couldn’t make it-“

“Yeah, what was the big emergency today, huh? Problem with the internet? Phone bill? Fridge cleaning?”

He doesn’t say anything; merely scratches the back of his head, looking at you with tired eyes as if you’d done this dance far too many times. Which you had- but that’s not your fault.

“Tell you what,” you begin, using your wet hand to grab the engagement ring from the edge of the sink and grab his hand to put it in, “when you can give me more than 4 hours out of the day, you can propose to me again.”

He grips your hand sharply, and for a moment it snaps you back to reality for what you were saying, how venomous and toxic your words were, and your jaw slacks softly, “I… didn’t mean that-“

“We are not going to be this couple,” he snarls. “We are not going to weaponize our engagement when we get into fights. Understand?”

“It just came out-“

“Then keep it in. Do not question my love for you in such a meaningless fight. Do not give me the ring that I decided to give you back, sheerly because you’re mad at me. We’re not going to be a couple that threatens our love from each other. You know better than that.”

The room is silent, the only noise coming from the creaks of the house and osamu doesn’t let go of your hand. His eyes are firm but they shine with betrayal, and his Adams Apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

You sniffle under his intense gaze, “all I wanted was for you to come home,” you whimper. “I got a promotion at work. I cooked dinner, I bought a cake, I-I-I just wanted you to show up.” Your bottom lip wobbles as he simply nods at your words, encouraging you to speak up more if you need to. “I hate sharing you all the time. I want to be selfish and have you come home to me, and not have to wonder about when or if you’re going to come home because of how far away she lives.” He lets go of your hand to wipe a stream of tears that dribble from your eye.

“I just miss you, ‘samu…”

He takes a deep inhale in before pulling you in for a hug, cradling you close and letting you cry in his chest. “Thank you, for being honest,” he says softly, kissing your head. “It must be frustrating to have to share my attention, especially when you have something important to tell me.” He lets you cry it out for a few minutes, before squeezing you closer, “but you have to communicate with me. You have to tell me if you’re feeling neglected. I can’t be here if I don’t know, baby.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m sure you wanted to surprise me today, and I’m sorry that fell through.”

You nod in his chest, relishing in the smell of rice and cologne, mewling and squeezing him tighter.

“How about we take tomorrow off?” He hums, pulling back to cradle your cheek in his big hand. “We can celebrate your promotion, and be together, yeah?”

“W-What about the shop?” You whimper. “That’s more important-“

“No.” He pulls back and looks down firmly. “Don’t finish that sentence. The shop will be plenty fine for one day.” He smiles softly, “after all. Need to celebrate my baby’s big break.”

You give him a watery laugh before inching to be closer to him again, more than anything just glad to be in his vicinity after so long.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you whispered.

“Hmm… what was that?” He asks, cheekily.

Brat.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you repeat, this time with some giggles.

“One more time?”

“Osamu!”

He snickers and places a kiss on top of your head, “I’m so sorry I was busy with Ma all day. I didn’t think it would take that long.”

“What did she need?”

“Eh, she needed her oil changed and god knows atsumu’s not going to do that.”

You laugh against his chest and nod, “he’d never risk messing up his hair like that.”

“Never.”

[jnkgrnde]

— no time to die, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — in which, in place of silena, it’s you who dies from the drakon.

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of poseidon)

content includes — mc death dont jump me 🙁, clarisse pushing percy, also percy crying, angst sawry again, clarisse + sadness don’t jump me, gets a lil graphic

authors note — got inspired while i was editing ep 8 im sorry 🙏🏾

it was during the battle of manhattan when it happened.

you and clarisse got into an argument over her refusing to help the camp, all because her pride overshadowed her morals, her humanity.

the conflict escalated, eventually ending in her telling you she didn’t care if you stood with her or against her, you could go and die in the war and she wouldn’t care.

a harsh, burning slap and the slamming of the cabins doors came soon after that.

it was the next morning. all of camp, except for the ares cabin, were getting final things situated. you and percy were inside the poseidon cabin, saying goodbye to your second home for what could be the last time.

percy could see the anxiety and stress on your face. you knew clarisse didn’t mean what she said, but she still hasn’t apologized. “we’ll make it.” percy told you. if there was one person who could read you other than clarisse, it was percy.

you looked up at him. tears were welling up. you knew you were one of the last people who needed to be weak, especially in a time like this; you and percy were the main ones leading the camp into this.

“i’m scared, percy.” you told him. “what if i don’t make it back to her—“ “you will. we will make it back, or i’ll haunt the gods for as long as they live. so, forever.” you laughed at him. you loved him, fully biological or not.

the conch blew, signaling that it was time to go. you looked at each other with knowing; today could be your last day, whether you liked it or not.

“come on.” you grabbed all that you needed before heading out and shutting the doors to the old cabin. outside, there stood waiting the entire camp. it was silent, a deathly wave of uneasiness washed over the crowd.

you surveyed the crowd. annabeth, silena, and more. people you’ve spent a majority of your life with so far. you shouted out a word of command, and soon the footsteps of soon to be soldiers echoed through the camp and into the fields, soon off to manhattan. clarisse and the ares cabin were in the back, standing their ground.

you pressed your lips together firmly. you let your eyes show it — you still loved her no matter what, and she knew that.

clarisse let you walk into your own death, cemented in stone by her herself.

the air electrified when the drakon was unleashed.

dust was kicked up in the air. bodies of sleeping civilians were slowly clearing out from the campers getting them to safety. the hotel where everyone was residing was getting full to burst, injured campers everywhere.

you were tending a younger child of hermes wounds when you heard the roar of the creature. a sickening silence fell over the room. “oh, gods.” you whispered.

it had to be you.

there was barely anyone left; half of the campers were injured. the other half were off fighting kronos’ soldiers.

it just had to be you.

you looked at the hermes child you were tending to. you wrapped them up as quickly as you could before ascending up the stairs. you saw percy squatting next to annabeth. “y/n?” annabeth whispered out.

“what’s wrong?” percy turned around when he heard her say your name. “percy,” you rushed forward to grip his shoulders. “i’m so, so proud of you. everyone’s proud of you.” the drakon’s wings flapped loudly.

“what are you talking about?” he furrowed his eyebrows. he was so confused, not realizing what was happening. your panicked eyes looked frantically at the sky. “i love you. more than you know. always remember that, okay? you’re going to lead us to victory, and i’ll be right there beside you.”

percy’s gears started turning. “no. no, what are you doing?” he shot up, his face morphing into pain and desperation. “percy i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” you unsheathed your sword. “y/n, we promised!” you ran to the dood you came through, not being able to deal with the pain of looking at your brother for one last time.

“we promised you’d make it back to her!”

you could your heart squeezing. squeezing so hard that it broke into a million pieces.

“she’ll.. we’ll be okay.”

you said anything, just to not have to face reality of how clarisse would feel.

clarisse felt like something was off. maybe it was the look in your eye before you left, or maybe it was the way the clouds were starting to form, indicating a storm was coming. her heartbeat pumped a little faster when the sun wasn’t shining and thunder started to clap.

she didn’t feel good.

“we’re leaving, let’s go.” she threw a bag at michael yew. “what?” “you heard me.” he was confused. clarisse was usually never one to back down from a standoff. “why?” clarisse sighed out frustratingly. “i just have a feeling. round up the chariot and everyone else. be at the front of the camp in five minutes.”

michael wanted to be defiant but there was a look in clarisse’s eye, telling him all he needed to know.

“dad, if you’re going to be a good father to me one last time, let it be this time.” you whispered out. you felt a tug in your stomach, and a fire hydrant beside you exploded. you forced the water to lift you into the air and follow the drakon.

the golden creature wasn’t hard to spot, although it was much bigger than you imagined. the sound of thunder boomed above you. “that’s probably not good.” the drakon started to head towards the main group of fighters who were attacking kronos’ army. you yelled at a curse before speeding towards it. you came below it, cutting it off.

you slashed your sword against it’s neck. the creature roared in anger, and soon fluids fell onto your face. you groaned in disgust but the drakon just roared at you.

“man, i heard you.” you willed the water to bring you on top of the drakon. the drakon roared as you gripped it’s horns. “come on!” and you reared the drakon back. the drakon turned and flapped around, kicking up dust.

its greenish-yellowish eyes glowed throughout the sky. you kicked around it’s body, trying to find a soft spot before finally finding one around its ribs. “there you go.” you stabbed your sword into its ribcage, and fluid fell onto your leg. you wailed in pain at the burning sensation. the drakon bellowed in anger and pain at the stab.

the acid was quickly burning it’s way down to the bone of your leg, and you knew you had to move fast. the drakon start moving faster, and you started to lose your balance. you spotted the roof of a building, and gripped the horns as hard as you could to steer it towards the rooftop.

you landed and tumbled off of the back of the drakon. “oh my gods.” you cursed out, finally feeling the acid burn. muscle was starting to show, soon to be bone. the drakon hissed out, hot air reaching you. you were quick to try and stand up, struggling with your leg.

you used your sword as crutch, before lifting it and tightening your grip. you stared the drakon down, accepting what was about to happen. you started walking towards the drakon, picking up speed.

you let out a war cry, knowing it would be your last.

the ares cabin rode into the city on the chariot with clarisse leading. she knew something was off when it slowly started to rain.

“where is she?” she scanned to find you below, not thinking to look further. “oh, gods. clarisse!” one of her siblings called. clarisse looked up, and her heart dropped. there stood you, facing off against the drakon.

“no, no, no!” she steered the chariot towards you. she watched as the drakon slashed it’s claws deep into your stomach. blood was starting to dribble out of your mouth, but you didn’t dare stop. you couldn’t.

the fate of the world depended on it.

you were tired. so, so tired.

you were losing your life force. your face paled, your blood seeped out of you in multiple places, but you refused to give up. you refused to let percy, clarisse and the others live in a world that was dominated by kronos, so you pushed.

it was almost over. the drakon was almost done with you, yet you kept fighting.

‘please..’

suddenly, you felt your body vibrate. there was a pull in your stomach, and everything fell quiet. the fighting below you stopped.

you panted, looking at the drakon. “i’m not letting you go until i win.” hydrants exploded, and ocean water met you on top of the building. “so if i have to die to save them, you’re going with me.”

water circled around you, and you ran forward, launching yourself onto the drakon. a familiar voice yelled out, but before you could realize who it was, you stabbed the drakon in the neck. you willed the water to bring you to the hudson river, and you hung on as tight as possible.

you guided the water back into the ocean, and soon, you were submerged in the dirty hudson river.

there was silence for a moment, before you were launched out of the river. the drakon was killed and submerged, the water spirits making sure of it.

the water guided you onto the streets of manhattan, close to the hotel. you were in pain, and you knew the ocean couldn’t help you this time. campers sped out of the hotel, and percy pushed through them. he ran towards you, cradling your head.

“no, please— why aren’t you healing?!” before he could get an answer, clarisse reached the street. she jumped out of the chariot before it could fully land and sprinted towards you. “y/n!” she moved percy out of the way before taking you.

“‘m sorry.” you didn’t know who you were apologizing to at that point. clarisse, percy, both of them, the camp? it was all a blur. “don’t be sorry, sweet girl, please.”

“percy..” you whispered out. “is she okay? is annabeth okay?” you asked. annabeth was like the little sister you never had. she was one of the people you loved most, and it pained you even more to leave her too. “she is, she’s healing. if you can just- just pull through, just live, you can see her— we can see her.”

tears welled up. you looked back at clarisse. tears were streaming down her cheeks, her lips trembling. “i shouldn’t have said all those things to you, y/n, i’m so sorry.” she sobbed. “this is my fault-“

you brought a hand up to her face to wipe her tears. “clar, it’s okay. it’s over.” your breathing started to get wheezy. “it was my time anyways. it’s okay.” you repeatedly told her. “i love you. always will.” you told her. your breathing evened out, eventually coming to a stop. “no, gods, please!” she usually never prays to the gods, but just this once she wished your father would be useful and bring you back, but nothing.

soon, a glow surrounded your body. it was like they were holograms, the sea creatures. there were fish, stingrays, sharks. they formed a circle, eventually rotating up towards the sky.

the ocean had come to say goodbye.

everyone watched as the creatures left, and the glow around you soon dissipated. it was silent, before it started raining, announcing the death of a child of poseidon.

rain fell on clarisse as she watched you. the rain fell onto your face, blending in with your tears that slid down your cheeks right before, clearing the path of dust on them.

she held you tighter as she let out a loud, blood curdling scream. a scream of anguish, a shout of pain, as she realized that you were truly gone.

[https-sourlimes]

to the life you claimed insignificant ! . . .

featuring — jiaoqiu x gn!reader

synopsis: meeting your lover up again at the xianzhou luofu under a blue moon after his treacherous assignment succeeded. (the same day he has a dialogue with the merlin's claw)

consists of: 1k2+ of my word vomit. angst but with comfort eventually. MAJOR 2.5 QUEST SPOILERS (sfl and come back when you're done playing ^^). insert crying reader, my desperation during the coping stage. really, really encouraging and giving jiaoqiu a lot of love that he deserves.

when the alchemy commission receives cases of injuries after the false wardance's success, you are quick to arrive at the luofu that same evening, omitting all proper welcoming methods made for a guest and travelling all the way from the xianzhou yaoqing on a starskiff as soon as the news reaches your ear.

your heels clicking on the cobblestone floor rapidly, wandering across a cheerful, unsuspecting town in a pre-wardance bustling atmosphere with a burden in your chest.

stopping by the entrance of the working area, you encounter lingsha, who seems to be waiting for you in the first place.

"ah... i reckon that you are the guest general feixiao informed us about; she said you will be visiting–"

"jiaoqiu, the doctor. i'm his lover," lingsha is taken aback by the urgency in your voice as you compose yourself. "my apologies, miss, please lead the way."

"i understand your emotional state right now, please don't feel bothered, follow me."

there is no room for pleasantries, and lingsha seems to understand it as she says nothing more on the long walk from the port to the elixir research terrace. the thing you perceive about this place is that in contrast to the healer's market of the commission, it is silent; you can only hear the calm sound of waves crashing over white sand, buildings' dim lights and a few locals scattered around, all under the bright moonlight.

----

jiaoqiu stands out there again, this time no moze nor feixiao anywhere near, just him under the bright blue moon, inert and pensive. the calm breeze reaching his ears, he flutters them, his left hand resting on the railing. he tries picturing the scene of the glittering sky above those bubbling waves, mind travelling back to all that happened, only to grieve himself at the painful moment when he sat leaning against the wall, felt like being torn apart, eyes blurring, words incoherent. he could've done better than that, but his sacrifice has already done for the best.

it was a big loss, indeed. jiaoqiu cannot cry. his condition right now (for the sake of his eyes) does not allow him to. he swallows the choke stubbornly slinking in his chest that urges his tears to run while distracting the mind to something else, but when he thinks of you, he cannot help himself.

he avoids the ill feeling in his heart at the fact that he will never be able to see your pretty appearance ever again, set aside how your pouts and the faces you make surely appeal to him. he surrenders to the idea of watching you in his infirmary daily, concentrating on your work with the alchemy, even making his way to scare you off then pamper you with kisses later as to make up for it.

it's agonizing... he feels useless; his life is entirely upside down now perhaps all he can do is nothing other than sit still and be a burden to you, to the merlin's claw, and to moze most of the time. in the worst case, retiring from being a doctor.

"jiaoqiu?"

he steps back, surprise written across his face as he recognises that voice. that warm, honeyed voice that he longed to hear, but then if only his eyes were clear, he could sprint towards you and shove you up for a good breath-taking hug. yet he cannot. he smiles sadly and pictures the sight of you urgently running towards him in his mind by the clicking sound of your shoes on the stairs, your soft panting and the whispers you breathe. finally, he can feel you again, by your undeniable soft herb scent, his hand in your hair as you sink desperately in his embrace, your face buried in his shoulder.

"thank my lucky stars... you are safe," jiaoqiu hears that crack in your voice when you say it; he sighs in relief. after all that happened, you're still his, and even loving him so kindly like this.

"[name], is it really you?" he chuckles, heart warm. "travelling a long way here just to look for me?"

"of course!" you exclaim, voice angry. "who would have thought you'll screw yourself up this bad, huh??"

jiaoqiu will tease you for the cuteness he found in that sulky remark but he quickly falters when he senses warmth and dampness on his shoulder as you begin to shudder slightly.

"darling, are you..."

he halts. his grip around you tightens, heart twists. the injured foxian then lets out a sigh, his soothing manner on your back tender and reassuring.

"don't cry. you'll wound me badly for it," he coos. "there, there. i got you. it's okay, i got you."

you pull away, your hands resting on his face, your thumb gently brushing against his left eye, the amber colour opaque.

"my poor boy..." he heard you, jiaoqiu wishes he could see your face right now; he wouldn't want to forget it ever, his palms reach you in return, wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks.

and when you pull him in for a clumsy, desperate and affectionate kiss, your wet cheeks brush against his, jiaoqiu mind's rest assured, he needs you, needs your love more than anything he could risk his life for. you are always enough for him.

----

against all odds, jiaoqiu returns to the xianzhou yaoqing, it takes you quite an amount of time to make him feel used to the new circumstance and encourage him to continue his career as a healer with the support of the love of his life. everybody is surprised.

well, he can still make prescriptions based on your description and the picture in his mind of the condition the patient is in, no? the cooking is done by you with his instructions, and you're doing the best you can for him, motivated by chaste love and care.

you find yourself engaging in most cooking sessions with him. without his eyes, jiaoqiu only relies on you to do the cutting and separating herbs and ingredients in portions, and you also never forget to help him get used to the feeling of cooking with a "blindfold" on as he insists.

"woah, slow down, jiaoqiu. here, let me help,"

jiaoqiu smiles fondly as he nudges affectionately against your scented hair, your grip firm on both his hands as you guide him to cut the veggies. you scoff.

"attention, please. don't sniff on my hair like that."

you shake your head slightly with a sigh, knowing too well that this cooking session will end with a clingy jiaoqiu greedily requesting more of your kisses, probably leaving the kitchen and the meal he wants to cook undone. no matter how extraordinary he is as a healer, he is just your baby...

that is a scenario on the bright side. and, admittedly, this new life at times can be disheartening and demanding, there are countless times you have to hold his face with adoration, eyes pleading, your kisses on his cheeks are tender, clearing up his thought of the insignificant role he plays, convincing him into believing that he is your noteworthy, and perhaps... making him feel loved and cared for is your top priority – you were never an unimportant individual, my love. i love you.

nevertheless, you'll have to get used to new adjustments made specifically for your lover and pursue the cure that general feixiao promised him on that destined day. things are well settled, at least by now. and may the journey your future holds be calm and peaceful with the ones that you love most, jiaoqiu.

© 2024 https-sourlimes. all rights reserved. (banner source: jiaoqiu official illustrations from pom pom's official weibo.)

ending notes: please visit my big sister q (@/akutasoda) for her jiaoqiu fic – hold my hand, lean on me – where she ate and left no crumbs splendidly with the adjustments that you can possibly make for the pink fox after the 2.5 quest! (my ending probably sucks but it's a happy one for my own sake...) and shoutout to @/synqiri for proofreading this little piece!!!

[prentissluvr]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand. 

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough. 

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam. 

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.” 

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace. 

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be. 

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

[romanoffsbish]

I’m Fine 🙂 / Save Me 🙃

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Familial / Sisters)

Warnings: Angst w/Bittersweet Ending | Reader Dies | Black Widow / Red Room Canon | Addiction | “Cry for Help”

All she had left was the memory of you. | WC: 1,512

"Do you ever feel like you're all alone in this world?"

Natasha looked up from her laptop quick. "What?"

"Like, no matter how hard you try, no one will ever love or regard you in the same way you do them?"

——

Natasha tried to approach you gently, "Y/N." Yet she wasn't quick enough as you jumped back. "Shut up."

There was a fire in your eyes she hardly recognized, and she took a step back. Looking in your eyes hurt, because you were not the same little girl who used to pick flowers from the garden just for her hair and part of her took blame for that. "Don't try and pretend like you do." If you were a wine you'd be the most bitter. "I don't know why you even keep me around Natasha."

The redhead scoffed bitterly, "because I love you!" It stung to feel the burden in her words—you're hurting yourself just to spite her, but she hurt you first and with the way your mind was racing this made sense.

"Or is it because you feel guilty?" You countered, and hit it on the head as she whispered, "Y/N, please..."

Crushing her the same way she did you the day she left you behind, in a place built to destroy a dreamer like you, in the hands of a man set out to punish you for the mistakes of the woman you loved the most. Ouch.

"Do you think the world would miss me if I vanished?"

"Of cou—." You mindlessly cut her off, words tinged with vitriol, "Of course not. You're the one they'd hold the candlelight vigils for, you'll be on a mural and I'd be the one the stray cats would miss, because just like them I know what it's like to truly have no place."

"Have you been smoking pot?" It reeked the longer she stood closer to you. Then you all but confirmed it as you grew defensive. "Is that all you can ask Natasha?"

Natasha clicked her tongue. "Answer the question."

"Yes," you monotoned, "what does that change?"

"Everything." You grew rather frustrated, "but how?"

“You’re not making any sense,” she tried to reason but you laughed incredulously, “this is the first time in my entire life that I am making complete sense, Natalia.”

"I don't like it when you're like this, sestra."

"I'm always like this." Natasha sighed, "yeah..."

"Yeah?" Natasha nodded shamefully and you couldn't stop the sob from breaking. She hated you.

"Then I won't be anything to you, anymore."

Natasha shot up in a cold sweat, her wife beater tank top sticking to her skin, the words of your last fight still ringing in her head; a cry for help and she was useless.

"Fuck," she hiccuped, her knees pulled to her chest as she sobbed alongside the sky just outside the window. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to force the pity she felt for herself away, the grief...

There were so many things she could have said; done.

I don't understand, but I want to; talk to me...

Had she ran after you, would it be different now?

Could've grabbed you by the arm. Don't go. Stay.

I love you more than you could ever know.

Instead she scoffed, 'at least I can finish my paperwork now,' and let you storm out the door without noticing the keys to her brand new jet black Porsche were gone.

Yelena still won't return her calls. Melina and Alexei are beside themselves in a grief harsher than her own. Though she internally wagers that her loss was the greatest, because you were her little widow first...

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

"Natty?" the blue haired girl looked at you with a wide grin, the innocence of the nickname you gave her was endearing and in the same breath, twisted. It was clear to her you didn't remember much of the before. You were four years her junior, so similar to Yelena, this life was honestly all you'd known. "Da, malen'kiy pauk?"

Natasha laughed just as soon as you giggled. It brought her joy to know, that for a while, you could be free of the harsh shackles that awaited you all back home.

"A little girl at school today told me about how in her family, when a person goes away, that they can become something else when they visit." Natasha nearly lost the joy on her face as you curiously approached death. In her mind the hope you held onto was futile, that when you shoot someone between the eyes, they are as good as gone, but she could never destroy you like that.

Instead, she gave life to your wonder, "What would you want to be then, a kitty?" You shook your head and blurted your answer easily, "malen'kiy pauk." The gaps in your teeth only made your smile more endearing, and the redhead opened her arms to you. You launched yourself into your sister's arms and gripped her tight.

"Then I could visit you," you mumbled against her shirt and the natural redhead tensed. The idea of you no longer existing felt unpleasant—her walls crumbled the moment you and Yelena entered her life but this was the first time she'd felt anything excruciating.

"Moya malen'kiy pauk," she chuckled softly so as to not cry instead, she placed a kiss to your cheek then hoped your childlike attention span would change the tune.

Then a familiar jingle sounded and you were scrambling into the house, shrieking for your mom.

Natasha shook her head and walked to the old man who knowingly parked out front of your house. He handed the redhead three ice creams, and a disk.

—————

You stood next to Natasha in the line for lunch, which was just a tasteless tray variety of essential nutrients. It was rule of thumb not to talk in line, but you were never one to follow the rules, and neither was Natasha.

"Are you scared of death?" Natasha frowned. "What?"

"I think a healthy fear for the end is fair, but I'm not losing sleep over the concept. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm honestly not," you shrugged, stance indifferent but Natasha unfortunately believed you as you went on to say, "just wondering if I'm alone."

"Never with us," Yelena chimed in. "Death is an inevitability, just a matter of the when and how."

It wasn't hard to see to the fear in the blonde's eyes as she kept up her indifferent demeanor. Deep down, Natasha knew she was still that little girl from Ohio, who up until recently called fireflies, forest stars.

—

"I can't believe it," your tone clipped, the warmth you used to greet her with was gone. "I'll be back," she lied without realizing, but you could see it clearly. "Izhets."

(Liar)

"Y/N, I am going to end it once and for all," she hoped you could see the bigger picture, a promised freedom.

"Tozhe tupoy," you chuckled humorlessly. "There is no end, just more opportunities to build up defense."

(Dumb too)

Natasha fell for the American's words of ignorance.

"I love you," she said with certainty before she was one with the shadows, the last piece of your hope gone as it'd been years since you last caught sight of Lena.

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

A loud cry outside the purposely cracked window pulled her from her bittersweet thoughts of you...

Natasha stood beneath the tarp of your balcony, eyes downcast on a gorgeous white cat, paws soiled by the mud she trudged through with her three kittens. The redhead set a plate of food down for her then settled down beside her, towel in hand as she dried her babies.

The light of the moon cast over the kittens, reflecting off their varied fur patterns. A black one meowed, calling to her first among the litter, he hissed softly at the unfamiliar lift but settled fast as she began to dry his fur, pulling off grime and putting him to sleep.

The same occurred with the next boy cat, who was a gorgeous shade of gray, with faint swirls of orange.

Lastly, the smallest of the three, a gorgeous blend of white, brown and orange. She was the most vocal.

A grateful purr came from the mama cat when the redhead moved on to her paws, her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected contact, and when Natasha lifted her own gaze she gasped. With the light now on her face the color of her eyes was clear, a tear streamed down Nat's face without warning. The color and deep feeling of understanding behind them were just so, you.

"Oh my," a subdued laugh left her as she caught sight of something else, she scooped the feline into her lap, and placed a finger on her wet, pink nose in waiting. The blur of black transferred right on over and the woman smiled truly for the first time in eight months. "Dobro pozhalovat' domoy, moy malen'kiy pauk."

(Welcome home, my little spider)

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰɪx ʜɪᴍ (ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ)

ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

"ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴀɴ, ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ."

Word count: 9,700. (sorry)

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Sister.

Warnings: Angst, smut, incest, mention of non-con, violence, blood.

The sunrise on the garden balcony was a spectacle of light and color. The sky bathed in shades of pink and lavender, reflecting its warm glow over the colorful petals of the flowers and the cool fountains surrounding them. They were in that corner of tranquility, enjoying one of those rare moments when time seemed to stand still.

Away from the exhausting bustle of the palace and the endless boring lessons that usually occupied them, they were seated on a marble bench. Lucerys gazed at the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, while she looked at the small piece in her hands, a little sky-blue horse that belonged to him, her best friend, who always carried it. Her mind was at peace, enjoying a restorative calm, complemented by the sound of the leaves rustling and the gentle waves caressing the sand.

Suddenly, he broke the silence, rising above the murmur of the garden. He cleared his throat, a sign that announced the importance of his forthcoming words. His eyes sparkled with a light that was more than just the sun’s.

“Have you heard the news?” he inquired, his tone soft and gentle as he regarded her. Though his tone was casual, the faintest hint of a smile revealed his restrained excitement.

Intrigued, she turned her head toward the sound of his sweet voice, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes met his. “What is it about?” she asked, filled with genuine interest.

Lucerys leaned forward slightly, an air of mystery about him. There was a palpable warmth in his anticipation, akin to the whisper of a breeze through the clouds. “It appears that a proposal has been made,” he began, pausing dramatically for effect before adding, “between the two of us.” 

A wave of emotions washed over her, a mixture of surprise, relief, and an uncontainable glee. Her brows arched in astonishment as her mouth fell slightly open.

In an instant, her lips broke into a smile, accompanied by a small laugh. “I am pleased it is you” she said. “We will be together for all time.”

Seeing her reaction, he returned the smile with one that illuminated his entire face. His cheeks took on a rosy hue, and his eyes reflected a happiness that seemed to mirror her own.

The promise of a shared life, now formally announced, felt as natural as the descending sun. Their friendship had been a constant source of joy and stability, from their childhood games to their conversations filled with dreams and confidences, and in that moment, the bond was evident.

As the day melded into morning, they dreamt aloud of all they would do when the time came. They would live in Driftmark, sail the open sea every day they could, and the others would fly on Arrax's back, exploring every realm and enjoying adventures far, far from King’s Landing.

She moved hastily toward her brother. Each stride, each heavy step seemed to echo in her mind, a reverberation of the anguish she felt as she traversed the silent corridors of the palace. Her face, impassive and devoid of expression, could not reflect the emotional storm that tormented her.

Upon reaching the door, her hands trembled slightly as she turned the knob. The maester, who was in the midst of his work, offered a respectful bow before withdrawing, leaving them alone in the deep gloom, barely interrupted by the faint rays of light filtering through the window.

The room was enveloped in a dense atmosphere, and the air was thick with a penetrating smell of blood and medicinal ointments, a constant reminder of the suffering manifesting within.

The tense friction between the children of Rhaenyra and their own siblings had always been present, but what occurred that night surpassed any expectations of enmity, turning the journey to Driftmark into an explosion of chaos, destruction, and despair, marking a turning point for all. And now, Aemond lay mutilated, wounded inside and out beyond repair, his body marked by the traces of brutality.

The bond between them had never been one of great closeness; she respected and valued him, of course, but always felt they aimed at very different things. He had a powerful, dominant presence, determined to protect her from what she perceived as invisible enemies and to educate her on intricate politics from which she only longed to escape.

Despite all this, he was her brother, and the sight struck her with unrelenting force, tearing at her from within, and the blood tie was felt immediately, throwing her toward him with urgency. His face was bruised, with traces of dried blood scattered across his skin, and his left side was completely bandaged.

She approached the bed cautiously, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile balance of the situation. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. The coldness of his skin and the sharp pain reflected in his features made her feel as though the world was crumbling around her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks uncontrollably.

The silence of the room was broken by a fractured whisper. “Let me take care of you now” she said, almost like a plea, the weight of regret and sincerity in her promise resonating in her voice, clinging to the hope that she could offer some comfort. 

She felt lost, trapped between the piercing pain of seeing Aemond suffer and the cruel disbelief that Lucerys was the cause.

He nodded slightly, squeezing her hand and showing a small smile with the remaining strength he had.

Over the following moons, she stayed by his side, reading aloud fragments of books he used to enjoy, trying to distract him from the pain and make him feel he was not alone.

One time, while they were in his chambers, the weight of her questions prevented her from thinking about anything else. Her family had preferred to keep the details from her ears, but she needed the full, raw, and unadorned truth to face her own pain and sense of betrayal.

“May I ask you something?” she murmured with cautious hesitation. Aemond looked at her, his uncovered face showing his wound, which, although it had not diminished his beauty, bore testament to the deep suffering he had endured. He nodded, granting her permission to continue. “What precisely happened that night?”

His expression darkened with anguish as he began to recount the events in detail, sparing no harsh truth. He described how he had been ambushed, how ruthless insults and merciless blows had rained down on him just because, and how the violence he had suffered had left an indelible mark not only on his face but also on his spirit. His narration was laced with a sharp sense of injustice and humiliation.

Lucerys had brought a dagger and his siblings and cousins, under the assurance that Aemond would be isolated, and it seemed that the conflict had left a bitter sense of dissatisfaction.

Each word and revelation felt like direct strikes to her gut, leaving her paralyzed, her hands quivering as she struggled to grasp the gravity of what she had heard.

Her dearest and closest friend, the one with whom she had shared laughter and secrets, the one with whom she had dreamed of building a life, turned out to be the perpetrator of such indescribably atrocious violence that she could hardly believe it. The actions of that boy, in whom she had placed all her trust, felt like a treachery that cut to the very essence of her being, shattering her deepest convictions.

She recalled all those times Aemond had told her about the callous jokes he faced and the dangers of associating with cold, ambitious people, and how she had thought he was exaggerating. Now, she understood the truth with terrifying clarity: he had always sought to shield her from the darkness of their world, and his warnings had materialized in him.

“They will not be satisfied with this” he intoned gravely. “They will not rest until they have eradicated all who pose a threat to their rise — Aegon, Daeron… me.” Fear enveloped her strongly, realizing that unity was more crucial than ever, and recognizing that she had lost the one she loved most in the world.

“And to think we were to be married” she whispered later, more to herself than to Aemond. The acceptance that the future she had once envisioned was no longer hers shattered the heavy silence, leaving behind a sound of broken dreams.

He regarded her with an intensity that was both earnest and fierce, his gaze reflecting deep sincerity.

“I would never have allowed it” he declared firmly, charged with a fervor that made clear how much his love and desire to protect her meant. Tears welled in her eyes as she faced him. “He is a bastard, and every bastard is a monster by nature” he added with disdain. 

She had always abhorred such notions; she knew Lucerys for who he truly was and had never believed he fit such descriptions. Yet now, she found herself doubting.

She nodded, relieved to have avoided what seemed like it could have been a curse, and grateful to have Aemond by her side, who seemed to be her only refuge amidst the storm that her world had become.

As the years went by, her feelings began to transform in ways she had not anticipated. At first, her heart was flooded with excruciating pain. Seeing her brother suffer was a torment, every lament, every sign of ache, cut deep into her, creating a sense of helplessness that seemed inexhaustible. It also hurt her to adopt a new image of Lucerys, with a completely different light.

That pain gradually dissipated, replaced by something more intense, a relentless fury towards Lucerys and blind devotion towards Aemond. His resilience and bravery which he showed without complaining, were worthy of worship, and fascinated and inspired her in ways she had never imagined. 

Her life began to revolve around him, at a pace that seemed synchronized with his needs. While he dedicated most of his time to training, challenging his physical limits, she became a constant and discreet presence, a faithful shadow moving through his surroundings. She took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and she manifested in every small gesture, from carefully bringing his meals to delicately cleaning his wounds and changing the bandages with loving precision.

Each night, when sleep eluded him, he would call for her, and she would come, ready to provide a refuge of comfort and support, trying to make the hours of wakefulness a bit more bearable.

Amidst all this, something withered while something else bloomed, an emotion that overflowed and transformed into something much more mature. The first sign of change was the blush that would take over her cheeks every time he whispered his sweet thoughts to her.

He told her that her care was the greatest comfort he had received, that her love was the greatest blessing in his life, that she was everything he had always wanted, and that he hoped to have her by his side forever, forever. These, filled with genuine affection and a fragility he did not share with anyone else, began to penetrate her vulnerable heart.

Aemond, who had grown into a man of imposing beauty, now occupied a special place in her heart. Every feature of his, every gesture, every look seemed to be wrapped in a strength that captivated her completely. The way he moved, the way his eye shone with an intensity that only she seemed to grasp, made her pulse quicken, as if every beat of her heart was an ode to his existence.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, she sat on the edge of the window, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of the sea, which reminded her of what once was, while listening to the restless waves crashing on the shore.

Her mother entered with a resolute step. “I wished to speak with you, my dear” she said with a voice trying to remain calm and her face marked with tense lines. She turned to her, a faint smile on her lips at recognizing her presence, and nodded softly. 

Alicent gently took her hand and guided her to the nearby settee. They both sat down, and the silence that followed was laden with a heavy anticipation, palpable as the pressure before lightning splits the darkness.

Feeling the weight of unspoken words, she looked at her with concern. “What troubles you, mother?” she asked, intertwining her hands in an attempt to share the emotional burden as the sadness in her mother’s eyes did not go unnoticed, even though the reasons behind it were not clear.

Alicent sighed deeply before murmuring, her voice breaking. “I am worried about you.”

She looked at her, her curiosity growing with each passing second. “Worried about me? Why?”

Her mother paused, looking at her with apprehension. Finally, she gathered her resolve to speak. “Your relationship with Aemond…” She cleared her throat and licked her lower lip before continuing, carefully choosing her words. “Your brother… he is not the same since the events that befell him. And I wonder whether it is wise for you to remain so close to someone like him” she said cautiously.

Her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. “Someone like him?” she asked, her tone reflecting her unease.

“You know what he is” her mother replied in a whisper, as if fearing the consequences of voicing her thoughts.

“He is just hurt, rightfully so,” she defended, “and I can help him” she added urgently, trying to make her mother see the determination on her face.

“No, you cannot.” That was an unexpected blow. “Besides, do you not think that what you are feeling may not be entirely genuine? You lost Lucerys, and you needed someone to fill that void.”

Her mother’s words struck a sensitive chord. She looked at her with seriousness, her expression shifting from confusion to profound sadness. “That is not true” she whispered firmly, her voice trembling. “And do not say that again.”

“You may view matters from a different perspective than I, from where you stand” Alicent continued, still gentle, attempting not to alarm her further. “And you have seen how your sister has been since she got married” she said, tears beginning to pool and her lips pressing together to stifle them. “I wish not to condemn you to the same fate”

Exasperation took hold as she defended their relationship, knowing that not all could comprehend. “Their love is not the same as ours” she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Aemond is not as you believe.”

“Perhaps it would be wise for you to distance yourself from him” Alicent finally suggested. “A change of scenery, some distance, might offer you clarity.”

Suddenly, she stood up, pulling her hand away sharply. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

“I am going to send you to Old Town. There, you may meet new people and choose the husband you desire.”

“I want Aemond!” she retorted, shouting as she neared a breaking point. “Do not do this to me” she pleaded, her face reddened by the tears that finally began to fall as she clutched her chest, which seemed to be closing up.

“I merely wish to care for you” her mother said through tears, rising to follow her as she began to pace around the room. “I seek what is best for you” she added, her hands reaching out in an attempt to touch her.

“He is what is best for me,” she countered, “and I am what is best for him.”

“No, he is not” Alicent said, her voice rising into a cry filled with anguish. “He will ultimately tear you apart.”

With a heavy heart, she faced her mother. “Attempt to keep me from him if you must” she threatened, her voice full of defiance. “Send me to the ends of the earth if you want, he shall always find me upon Vhagar.”

Alicent reached her side, cradling her face in her hands with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a love that contradicted her words. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their foreheads touching, both trying to steady their breathing and meet halfway.

“If you will not do it for yourself, at least do it for me” she pleaded, a call to empathy that made her waver. She finally pulled away, stepping back. “It is decided, then” she said with a trembling voice before retreating, shaking her head, her face soaked with resignation.

The rest of the day dragged slowly as she remained locked in her chambers. She had leaned against the wall, seeking solace in the cold of the stone and the salty air that seemed to try to dry every tear that rolled down her cheeks. Shadows lengthened as the light began to fade.

She couldn’t get out of her mind the vision of another future that had collapsed before her eyes. The image of a destiny that once seemed promising and full of hope had now turned desolate, again.

She would be bound to an unknown lord, forced to accept a marriage she did not want, raising children fathered by a man she did not desire, facing a life that offered no freedom or happiness. The weight of an existence with no option to choose her own path pressed on her little by little, like sinking into water.

The door creaked open almost imperceptibly, and Aemond appeared in the doorway, his figure marked by exhaustion. He walked towards her with silent steps, calling her softly, but she was so immersed in her thoughts that she barely heard him. Only the warmth of his proximity pulled her out of her reverie.

When she slowly turned to look at him, the sadness in her face, with swollen eyes and tears still filling them, made his expression shift to one of alarm. “What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as his brows furrowed.

She endeavored to speak with resolve, but her voice betrayed her struggle to remain composed. “Mother is going to send me away,” she said, her voice cracking, “to find a husband.” Aemond’s reaction was immediate. His eye widened, and his jaw tightened, indignation clear in his demeanor.

“She dares to take you away from me?” he exclaimed, his tone rising. One hand encircled her waist with a strength that was both tender and firm, while the other rested on her neck, ensuring she felt his sincerity.  “I will not allow it” he declared with fervor. “I will not allow you to be wed to some mere lord.”

She bit her lower lip, the effort to contain her sobs making her tremble. “It is decided, she said” she whispered, the sorrow in her words intensifying his grip.

“She has no word in this” he asserted with a voice seething with fury. For a moment, he allowed her tears to flow freely as he held her, her forehead resting against his chest.

After a few moments of finding comfort in his embrace, he gently pulled her away, taking her by the roots of her hair and compelling her to look up. “To whom do you belong?” he asked with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

She met his face, her devotion undeniable in her eyes. “To you” she whispered, her voice soft.

He nodded slowly, a small, approving smile curling the corner of his lips, casting a soft light over his stern features. Despite the roughness of the skin of his hands, calloused from the sword, his thumbs softly traced hearts on her blushing face as their gazes interlocked in a silent dance.

“Then prove it” he whispered, his voice low and laden with deep meaning, a glint in his eye. “Let no tongue dare question it.”

Her pulse began to race with a nearly painful speed, each beat pounding in her chest, marking the rhythm of an uncontrollable desire, and her breath grew labored. She looked at him with a mixture of expectation, her eyes shining. Then, her lips parted, a gesture that sealed a tacit pact.

She had imagined this moment countless times, each scenario more vivid than the last, but she had never felt brave enough to act on those desires. Excitement enveloped her like a surging tide, threatening to sweep her away into uncharted waters.

Without warning, he leaned in, and their lips met in a tentative kiss, igniting like the first flicker of a flame. She responded with a relieved sigh, the initial caution melting away into a deeper surrender. Their breaths intertwined, ragged and heated, as the kiss grew fiercely.

Although their mouths had joined before, never with such haste. The tip of his tongue gently slid over her lips, seeking to pave the way for a more intimate exploration, while her hands gripped him tightly, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.

Her fingers glided over his chest, ascended his neck, and finally tangled in his soft hair, pulling him toward her with an uncontrollable need.

In that moment, she was aware that she was transgressing established rules, breaking from the expected, and that her mother would undoubtedly feel a profound disappointment, but for once, she allowed herself to be swept away by the force of impulse, yielding to him without reservations.

Her lips, red and moist from the kiss, were slightly parted, gasping for air as their eager hands hurried to undress one another. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed with a sense of urgency.

With her back pressed against the cool sheets and him dominating above her, she couldn't help the jolt of nerves that coursed through her stomach. She delicately removed his eyepatch, placing it on the nightstand as if shedding the last remnants of restraint.

As he kissed her fervently, she felt his hardness pressing against her entrance, intensifying her longing. She moved her hips toward him, seeking the union.

When the need for another breath became imminent, without uttering a single word, he began to trace a path of kisses that glided softly down her neck, where each touch made her skin prickle, awakening sensations she had never experienced. 

As his lips descended, warmth grew within her, and the air became hotter. He reached her breasts, where he placed his hand over one, provoking a shiver that coursed through her body. Gently, he caressed it with his long fingers, while with the other, he dedicated himself to leaving wet kisses that marked her skin with desire. When his mouth settled on her nipple and began to suck, the slight contact of his teeth left her breathless.

To her dismay, he stopped, looking at her with an eye full of promises, the intensity of his sapphire shining under the moonlight as he continued his descent, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

He buried his face between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt his tongue on her puffy folds, exploring her sensitive flesh. Her cries grew louder as he licked the length of her wetness, drinking deep from her core.

Then, as his tongue flicked against her bud, he inserted one of his long fingers inside her. One of her hands went to his hair, desperate to hold onto something as she felt him savoring every drop of her, in perfect synchronization with his fingers sliding in and out of her.

She threw her head back while pulling his closer, and uncontrollable moans began to escape her lips, each deeper and more filled with surprise than the last. She felt her body begin to tremble under his power, a pressure building inside her, her back arched and her hips pressed against the mattress.

"I feel like... I feel like" she cried, her brows slightly furrowed and her mouth open.

"Yes, my love" he whispered, his thumb expertly attending to her most sensitive spot while his fingers kept working wonders inside of her. “Let go for me” he said, and she felt herself slipping over the edge, her body convulsing and her legs quivering as the ecstasy washed over.

As the waves receded, she lay there, breathing heavily, her body still pulsing. He rose from between her legs, his eyes fixed on hers, and as he kissed her, she could taste herself. 

He loomed over her, his arm planted firmly on one side of her body while the other went around her neck, taking her hair and pulling her back again. "Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a whisper thick with desire, “see who is taking you."

She obeyed, still breathless as he aligned himself with her center, and her legs locked tightly around his waist as he sank agonizingly slowly into her welcoming warmth. A delicious burning sensation settled within her as he stretched and filled her so, so right.

A loud moan escaped her kiss-swollen lips, a symphony of pain and pleasure flooding her every sense. When she brought one of her trembling hands to her mouth to stifle the sounds, he firmly pulled it away.

"Let everyone hear that you are mine" he declared, increasing the speed of his movements, drawing forth more whimpers, resonating in the room while her body writhed, responding to every harder thrust of his hips. “And mine alone.”

After the simple wedding ceremony, held before the eyes of the seven to avoid "upset them any further" her life seemed to have been ripped away from a dream. 

Days passed in a constant sway on Vhagar's back, as he showered her with gifts and spent nearly every moment of the day making love to her at every hour and place, sealing their affection in a nearly oppressive manner.

But time, like an unrelenting moon, began to shift the waters. The maester confirmed her suspicions, that a life was growing inside her, and everything changed abruptly. When she revealed this to Aemond, she had anticipated several reactions: surprise, joy, gratitude, but she never imagined the stoic expression on his face, marked by a veil of displeasure, as if the baby, instead of being a pure blessing, had become an imminent threat to their exclusive bond.

"How can this be?" he erupted, his expression laden with disbelief. "I never allowed any of my seed to remain in you, and" he stammered, shaking his head, “and you, you have drinked the tea, have you not?”

She remained composed, her voice steady as she explained. "The maesters said that, even with our precautions, it is possible. It is not that surprising, given the frequency with which..." She smiled wryly, trying to ease the tension in the air and lighten the mood, but it faded when she saw he was not convinced.

One evening, as she looked at herself in the mirror, the curve of her pregnancy prominent, she saw Aemond enter with his usual gravity. The baby, already making its presence felt, began to move—a small reminder of the life they shared. She smiled and called him, eager for his reaction.

"My love, come here" she beckoned, hoping to draw him near. He approached with an impassive face, deliberately avoiding her gaze. She placed his hand on her rounded belly, but he brushed it away with a slight brusqueness. "Why do you pull away?" she inquired, her voice trembling with hurt.

Then, though wounded, she lifted her hand to caress his face. "I like to think I shall have a little version of you" she commented tenderly, trying to infuse hope into a situation that seemed to be crumbling. However, rather than sharing in her enthusiasm, he appeared troubled.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "What is it that troubles you, my love?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.

"I cannot help it" he replied. "The baby... it changes everything. It used to be so simple, just you and me."

"But it is a natural part of our life together" she attempted to explain, filled with a desperate calm. "It is merely a new phase."

"One I did not ask for" he retorted sarcastically. "Every time I look at you, I feel as if I am losing you. How can you expect me not to feel threatened by this?"

She frowned, her frustration growing. "And what would you have me do?" she asked, with annoyance. When he looked at her, his gaze indicated something deeper. "Aemond" she reproached, her hurt more apparent.

"Do you not understand what this means? It will draw your attention from what truly matters."

She looked at him, still struggling to grasp his anguish. “You are being unreasonable.”

"Do you believe that?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation. "Because I am not so sure. The baby will require all your attention, and I... how can I compete with that?"

She took a step back, shaking her head slowly. “Compete?” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.

"Yes" he admitted, and seeing her reaction, he sought her gaze almost pleadingly. "I never imagined I would have to share you so soon. It is just that..." He hesitated, struggling with his emotions, his eyes drifting to her belly. "The baby... it will separate us once it is born; I will be lost in the change."

Her voice quivered as she responded, desperate to bridge the distance. “No, he will not.”

"The idea that another might possess a part of you... is unbearable" he said, breaking down, frustrated, unable to accept her words.

"But, my love, what we share will not fade. This love we hold for one another does not divide; it only grows" she countered, striving to offer comfort.

"It is hard to trust when everything I know seems to be changing" he confessed, his voice revealing his vulnerability. 

She sighed, with a growing ache in her chest, and embraced him softly. "You are not losing me, you never will" she assured him with a conviction that tried to counterbalance his growing unease.

"No matter what?" he insisted, his tone carrying an intensity that felt more like a demand than a mere question. His embrace was a blend of desperation and control, as if he needed her promise to calm his inner turmoil. “Promise me.”

"I promise" she sweetened her words even further. "Just be good and let me help you, do not shut me out, yes?" she said, planting a small kiss on his furrowed brows. 

However, promises and caresses were not enough to fill the void that had opened between them. In the weeks that followed, his attempts to reconnect with her through gestures, though well-intentioned, did not align with what she was willing to receive or give at that time. It often resulted in awkward and mismatched moments, as his efforts did not meet her current needs. Frustrated, he began to spend more time away under various pretexts and excuses.

"What if it turns out to be twins, as I had?" asked her sister with a playful smile. The scene was serene, with both of them in the room while Helaena meticulously embroidered blankets for the cradle, each stitch an act of anticipatory love. She remained silent while her heart raced. Aemond's concern for their child was already overwhelming; the idea of facing that anxiety doubled terrified her.

Unable to respond, Aemond entered the room bearing a bouquet of flowers. "I thought these might brighten your day" he said, offering them.

She regarded the carnations, her eyes reflecting surprise and a hint of sadness. "They are quite beautiful" she murmured, accepting them with a grateful smile. "Thank you." 

Seeing that he was about to leave, she stepped towards him, her eyes conveying a silent plea for more. "Perhaps you might stay with us for a while. I was thinking we could choose the babe’s name together" she suggested, her tone gentle but laden with hope.

He casted a fleeting glance at the door with an inscrutable expression, and replied, "I shall leave you both to it.”

She felt a pang of disappointment, and with a resigned sigh, returned to her place. Helaena, witnessing the exchange, gave a gentle caress to her belly, trying to offer comfort. "What troubles you?" she asked after a few moments.

"I am worried" she confessed, trying to contain her sadness. "I fear Aemond is not entirely happy about this." Noticing her sister's concerned face, she quickly added, trying to downplay the severity of her feelings. "He simply has not yet come to terms with it."

"It is only natural to feel overwhelmed, but it is not fair for you to bear all the burden" Helaena gently said.

She sought to soothe her, her voice a whisper full of justifications. "It is just that everything has unfolded so quickly for him. At times, I believe he fears losing me more than confronting what lies ahead."

Helaena, clearly preoccupied, took her hands. "Once the babe arrives, you will need to devote a lot of time to him. He must adjust to that reality now" she advised.

"Perhaps when he sees the babe, he will come to understand" she said, though her tone betrayed a lack of conviction. "Did you experience something similar with Aegon?"

Helaena shrugged, her expression showing sadness and frustration. "Aegon was always a devoted father, always happy" she whispered. "I only fear that I was not the mother he had wished for his children."

Although the distance hurt, she faced the pregnancy with the support of her siblings and her mother, hoping that he would overcome his insecurities and find his way back to her. But when the babe was born, the situation did not improve, it only worsened.

As she dined with her sister and mother, the conversation revolved around the latest court topics and the children. It was at that moment that Alicent, with a touch of nervousness, announced:

“On the morrow Rhaenyra’s family shall visit us.”

The words hung in the air, and both Helaena and she looked up from their plates. Her pulse quickened immediately. Although she had maintained a steady anger towards Lucerys, the mere fact that he would be nearby again stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The thought of seeing him, of confronting the past, filled her with a crushing anxiety.

During the court session, Aemond instructed her to remain in her quarters, claiming that she should not concern herself with trivialities. She had suspected a more hidden motivation behind his decision but accepted his command without questioning too much, she would learn the details through Helaena after.

Hours later, she found herself on the balcony of the gardens, her gaze lost in the sea, a place where she used to seek comfort and clarity. Enjoying the breeze on her skin, she felt a presence behind her and knew, without even looking, who was there. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist the urge to see him, to ask the questions that had remained unanswered.

“It is a lovely day” he said, approaching her side. His voice was more deep and mature, but just as sweet as she remembered. 

“Indeed” she replied softly, almost as if Aemond could hear her from a distance.

“It has been a long time” he continued, his words heavy with regret, gazing at her instead of the landscape.

“Yes, it has.”

“Things got out of control.”

She almost laughed at his understatement. “You took my brother’s eye” she exclaimed, her voice laced with indignation.

“And I regret it every day” he confessed, his tone genuinely sorrowful

“Of course you do” she retorted, the sarcasm unmistakable. “It is not easy to forget such a heinous act.”

“I am aware” he said, heavy.

After a few minutes of charged silence, she broke it, her voice reflecting years of resentment and longing. “You ruined everything.”

“I had to act” Lucerys said, defensively.

“Act about what?” She demanded. “Because he claimed a dragon?” She looked at him, incredulous and disturbed. “You brought a dagger to an ambush, you meant to kill him, just because of that?”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, “because he was going to kill Joffrey” he said, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Did he ever tell you that?” he inquired, his voice mingling with frustration and anger. “About how he was about to kill Joffrey, calling him a bastard, when I intervened.” She shook her head, recalling what Aemond had said.

“Do not deceive me” she said, her disbelief evident. “He would never do something like that.”

“I would never have done something so grave without a serious reason” he insisted.

“Speak not ill of him” she warned, her voice rising in a defensive shout. “You were always unkind to him, always.”

“Unkind, yes” he said, his expression torn. “Do you truly consider me a monster?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.

“I did not until that day” she replied firmly.

Lucerys gazed at her with an intensity that seemed to pierce her very soul. “You knew me better than any other” he whispered, making her tremble. “Do you truly believe I could be capable of that?”

She was left speechless, feeling her carefully constructed world beginning to crumble. She turned away, desiring to process what she had just heard. When she noticed that Lucerys was trying to follow her, she raised a hand in a gesture of plea, asking for space.

Upon reaching her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing became erratic, and doubts seemed endless, pulling her deeper into a sea of anguish.

Minutes later, Aemond burst in, and upon seeing her in such a state, he approached quickly, his face overflowing with concern.

“What happened?” he asked urgently, searching her gaze. 

“What happened that night?”

He frowned in confusion. “What night?”

“The night you lost your eye” she said, her voice breaking as she sought answers.

“Do you wish me to recount the events of that night?” he inquired. “Besided, I have already told you.”

She gazed at him intently, silently pleading for the truth. Seeing her resolve, he began to recount. “When I entered the castle, after claiming Vhagar, they were waiting for me. The five of them began to attack me without cause, and Lucerys took my dagger and...”

“Lucerys took your dagger?” she interrupted. “I thought he had brought the dagger.”

He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “I must have made a mistake. It was many years ago” he simply said. Then, his face began to harden, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. He stood up, visibly agitated. “Have you spoken to him?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation.

“Then answer me” she demanded, her voice steely. “Which version is it?”

He remained silent, his gaze revealing anger and disappointment. Finally, he shook his head with an attitude that seemed more mocking than sincere.

“I am at a loss” she said, her voice quavering with confusion and anguish, her insecurity filling every word as she rose from the bed, pacing nervously around the room. She placed a hand on her abdomen, grasping at the air as if it were slipping through her fingers.

“Do you now side with him?” he asked, low. “With the one who took my eye?”

The pain pierced her. Despite witnessing Aemond’s vulnerability, the doubts she had tried to suppress began to resurface. 

“I have always listened to you alone, I have placed my faith in you,” she said, her voice breaking. “But now…” The version of events he had told her seemed increasingly fragile. 

“I wish to be left alone” she asked, feeling hopeless.

But he, with determined steps, his expression tense and eyes fixed on her, stood in front of her. He took her by the jaw with one hand, forcing her to look at him. His eye, reddened by distress, could no longer conceal what was hidden behind it.

“Please, let go of me” she begged, frightened. She felt that the man before her was no longer the one she knew and trusted.

“No” he said, with a terrifying firmness. “Everything I have done has always been to protect what is mine.” His hands gripped her skin with a force that promised to leave marks. “But if you wish for me to be the villain” he whispered with icy intensity, “perhaps I should be.”

She frowned, struggling beneath his grip, but he held her immovably with an unyielding strength. Every attempt to free herself seemed futile against his determination.

“You have casted me aside, and now you doubt my word?” he asked rhetorically, his voice taut and sharp. “It is time for me to impose order” he said, jaw clenched, taking her by the hair and dragging her towards the bed.

“Let go of me” she pleaded again through tears. Desperation and pain were reflected in every movement as she tried to escape the embrace that was no longer comforting and warm.

He held her, and her scalp ached from his grip. "You have forgotten who you belong to" he told her, his voice threatening and his hot breath against her ear, while with the other hand he lowered his pants and then began to lift her dress.

In the bathtub, the cold water had already chilled her wrinkled skin, and her vacant stare remained fixed on nothingness. With the tea Aemond had sent and half a jug of wine in her system, she tried to numb the pain.

Helaena found her there and, without a word, helped her up, then chose a blue dress for her—one she had embroidered long ago and had never had the chance to wear.

As her sister worked on her hair, her voice cracked with a whisper full of desolation. “Do you ever imagine what it would have been like?” she asked.

Helaena hesitated for a moment before asking, as if she didn’t already know. “What do you mean?”

“How it would all be if mother had married us to them” she replied, her eyes dry, devoid of any remaining tears.

Helaena paused, feeling the weight of the words. “Every day” with a long sigh, she admitted.

“I wish I knew what it would have been like” she murmured. They remained silent for a few minutes, embraced by the pain, until their mother called them to supper

When their king arrived, carried in a chair by guards, it marked the beginning of the other part of the evening. Aemond, sitting beside her, did not utter a word. Her gaze remained fixed on her cup, as if the drink was merely a distraction in an environment that no longer made sense. 

“How good it is to see you all tonight, together” he said, his gaze sweeping over the table with sadness. “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” he continued, “my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.” 

The news broke her heart, and the pain was evident in the exchanged glances between her and Luke. The rest exchanged smiles, but for her, the moment was one of deep mourning. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

The glasses were raised in a general toast, and she drank from her glass in one gulp, seeking the comfort she couldn’t find. Then she hurriedly refilled her glass.

“Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides” he added, and everyone raised their glasses again. “Hear, hear” they said in unison, while Rhaena congratulated Lucerys with a cheerful whisper. She emptied her glass again, feeling the warm liquid course down her throat.

When he stood up to make a toast, the room fell into anticipation. Every movement he made seemed painful, and this only intensified her sense of sadness. Although her relationship with him had never been particularly close, the proximity of his departure put everything into perspective, and her heart ached at the impending reality.

With a raspy tone reflecting his weariness, the king said “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” 

He attempted to smile, but his effort only highlighted the frailty the years had left in him. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was, but tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire,” he continued, “who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly” he begged, his sorrow evident as he sat down and Alicent helped him adjust his mask once more.

Jace suddenly stood up after a few toasts, drawing everyone’s attention. She was absorbed in her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the empty glass, and the abrupt change at the table jolted her. Aegon returned to his seat, casting curious glances at Jace, while Aemond stood up, his presence imposing silence and attention. She huffed in annoyance as she poured more wine.

When Jacacerys raised his glass, his gaze fixed on Aemond, Helaena listened intently. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond” her nephew said with a smile that seemed more a formality than a genuine celebration. 

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles” with a final sip, he ended his toast, and she watched as the tension mounted.

“To you as well” said Aegon, his tone an indifference that did nothing to ease the atmosphere. Helaena fidgeted nervously, a small tremor on her lips, and she refilled her glass, much to Aemond’s displeasure, who was burning her with his gaze and asking her to stop.

With an unexpected impulse, she abruptly stood up, surprising him and immediately catching Lucerys’s concerned glance. Her glass trembled slightly in her hands, and her gaze settled on Rhaena and Baela, who were radiant with a hope she envied deeply. 

“I would like to toast to Rhaena and Baela” she said firmly, raising her glass with a smile that failed to hide the sadness in her eyes. “They will be married soon.”

The young woman's smiles were a glimmer of happiness amidst the gloom that enveloped her. The sight intensified her pain. She felt overwhelmed; the life they will have is a fantasy she had let go, full of promise and hope, and her reality seemed even darker in contrast.

“It is not so bad, mostly he just ignores you” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Except sometimes when he is mad” she added, her voice breaking slightly at the end of the sentence, and with one last long sip from her glass and a poor attempt at a smile, she sat back down. Tears pooled in her eyes, heavy and treacherous, but she managed to hold them back, though her heart ached seeing the concern, sadness, and anger on Lucerys’s face.

“Or when he is drunk” Helaena added with an equally harsh truth. Aegon was clearly irritated, and Aemond, beside her, visibly tensed. Otto looked at them, his lips slightly turned down as he sighed.

“Let us have some music” Viserys suggested, as a momentary truce, an invitation to disconnect. When the melodies began to fill the space and more wine flowed freely, the atmosphere gradually relaxed.

She was holding Helaena’s hand when they looked up and saw Jace and Lucerys extending their hands with a silent but clear invitation. Her heart skipped a beat seeing Lucerys, and in her broken gaze, there was a trace of hope.

They accepted the invitation with a trembling smile, avoiding the gaze of the men beside them. Nervous laughter escaped her lips as the four of them moved toward the cleared area. 

Though they were not experts in the art of dancing, the joy of the moment became evident. Their movements were awkward but filled with a fleeting happiness. The contrast between the joy of the dance and the internal sadness was hurtful, yet also sweet, like a taste of what could have been.

As they twirled and changed partners, time seemed to stand still, the melody offering them a respite. Helaena and she found themselves holding hands, and her sister whispered with gentle melancholy: “This is how it would have been.” She smiled. For a brief moment, the pain faded.

Applause and laughter filled the room, and Otto and Alicent watched them with smiles, perhaps pleased to see the two enjoying their brief escape, while Aemond and Aegon’s scorching stares were fixed on their backs.

After a few more minutes of laughter, everyone stood up. Realizing what was happening, they also stopped, catching their breath while watching their father, understanding that this might be the last time. They held each other's hands tightly, and when he disappeared through the door, they decided to continue dancing, honoring his final wish.

When Luke extended his hand again, with a nostalgic smile that reminded her of the one he used to give her as a child, a loud thud resonated from the table, startling them. Turning to face the table, they saw Aemond with his glass raised toward them.

“Final tribute” he said, looking at her. She sensed what was coming as she glanced at her mother, who in turn looked at Aemond with alarm. Suddenly, he shifted his gaze to Luke. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey” he said, the tone subtly changing with the second name. “Each of them handsome, wise…” he paused, a small smile curving his lips, “strong” he concluded.

“Come” he said, raising his glass higher, just like Aegon. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again” Jace challenged, chin lifted.

“Why? It was only a compliment” Aemond said as he approached. “Do you not think yourself strong?” he taunted.

Luke landed a solid blow on Aemond, making his face turn sideways, though not a drop was spilled from his glass. Aegon, in turn, went after Jace.

“Enough” Alicent shouted, standing up from the table.

Aemond looked at Luke with a sneering smile as he pushed him to the ground. Seeing Luke on the floor made him smile even more, and then he turned his gaze to her for a brief moment. Alicent tried to reach Aemond, attempting to grab him, but he brushed her off with indifference.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother” he said, turning back to them. Both Luke and Jace were being held by the guards, struggling to break free. “Though it seems my nephews are not quite as proud of theirs.”

She watched him from a distance, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Daemon's intervention, standing firm and stepping in, made Aemond uninterested in continuing the confrontation. He walked with measured steps toward her, grabbing her by the wrist, and dragged her out of the hall, ignoring her protests. She turned her head one last time to look at Lucerys, a trace of desperation in his eyes as the guards kept him apart.

Nights passed since the coronation of her brother, and the silence of her mother's missives had become a deafening echo, a void. No letters, no attempts at negotiation had received a response.

Just before leaving for Storm's End to seek Lord Baratheon's support and his army, Aemond found her staring out at the sea, the sky darkening into shades of gray and deep blue, with clouds threatening to obscure every star.

“I know I have erred” he confessed, his voice carrying a depth of vulnerability. “I should not have treated you in such a manner. You have been my heart’s desire since our youth, always” he whispered, the weight of his confession reflected in the melancholy of his words. “You stood by me in my darkest hours. When everything seemed to be falling apart around me, you were there. Yet, seeing you turn to him… it tore me apart” his voice cracked, and his words flowed like a torrent of anguish, each syllable imbued with deep sorrow.

“I have never known such pain, such abandonment” he continued, as if the wounded child he once was had returned, now with a heart full of desperation, pleading for forgiveness and filled with remorse. 

She felt a tug in her soul, as if the child who once yearned to soothe his pain was listening. Yet she resisted the urge to look at him; she knew that if she did, she would succumb.

“You are aware of their nature, of what they are capable of. You have witnessed it, even if you allow them to sweeten your ears against the truth” he added, his voice heavy with helplessness. “Perhaps you still hold love for our enemy, a love that clouds your ability to see my perspective.”

“But I can remedy that” he said,  like a solemn oath, pointing to his chest with a painful resolve. “You have always been meant for me, and me alone. No matter what, you said” he declared, with an oppressive anticipation, palpable like the fury of a storm about to break.

She, still agitated, kept her gaze fixed on the sea, where the water continued its chaotic dance.

The rest of the day slipped by in restless thoughts. Although anger consumed her and sadness bound her, there was something unbreakable that kept her alert: Aemond remained her brother, the father of her child, her husband. This complexity kept her on edge, and her concern grew when he did not return at the expected time.

Night fell like a dark cloak, and the thunder of Vhagar’s wings echoed through the sky as the waves crashed against the rocks with a rage that seemed to shake the very earth. The night chill seeped into her bones, and her breath condensed into clouds of vapor that floated in the icy air, a cruel irony compared to the warm calm of previous nights.

The sound of the door opening startled her. She turned slowly, but the darkness made it hard to discern his figure looming in the doorway.

“You are awake” his voice resonated between the stone walls.

“I needed to make sure you were well” she replied, straining to see through the gloom.

“Did you?” he questioned, skeptical.

“Yes” she answered. “Come here” she requested softly. He began to move slowly toward her, the dim light of the moon revealing him bit by bit. He was drenched, the rain had plastered his clothes to his body, and he had his arms crossed over his back, as if trying to hide himself from something other than the cold.

“Shall I prepare you a hot bath?” she offered, noticing his disheveled state. He continued to regard her with an unyielding expression.

“No” he replied firmly, approaching.

As he drew nearer, and she could finally see him clearly, her heart raced even faster. She frowned upon noticing traces of blood on his face and moved closer, her concern taking over. “Aemond, speak to me” she urged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you worried about me?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.

“Of course I am, Aemond” she said, gently cupping his face in her hands. He allowed her to examine him in silence. “Are you hurt?” she repeated, fear tightening her chest. “Please, tell me, what happened?” she implored, looking at him intently, her heart pounding wildly.

He gave her a faint smile, resting his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, the blood still fresh, staining the steel like a bad omen, while his left remained clenched at his side. Confusion twisted in her gut as she looked at him, desperately searching for visible wounds, but finding only the sinister glint of his blade.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he opened his left hand, and an eye fell from his palm, rolling to the floor with a sickening thud. The reality crashed over her like a cascade of icy water, freezing her in place. She stepped back, retreating slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as he watched her with a predatory intensity. “What have you done?” she asked, horror and accusation in her shaky voice.

“Only what was necessary” he whispered, deceptively soft. “I have always asked for you, only you, all for myself” he said, taking a deliberate step toward her. “I thought I had succeeded” he continued, moving closer, the shadows in the room deepening and twisting around him like hungry serpents. “But then he came back, and I realized… I remained a second.” His voice turned bitter, poison seeping into every word. 

“Always the second. The second son, then the second love, then your second priority” he said, frowning, tilting his head to one side, his gaze burning with resentment that felt like a knife against her sanity.

A twisted smile curled his lips. “Clearly, I am powerless with the child; that opportunity has passed” he remarked, as if savoring his own despair. “But now, now I am your only love” he declared with satisfaction dripping from his words like blood from his hands. She found herself cornered against the cold, the very walls seeming to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive weight. “And I shall not rest until I have the crown on my head” he whispered in a low growl, absorbing the dim light and plunging the room into an abyss of dread. Outside, the storm finally raged.

[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made of Glass ch. 18

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - CarolxF!Reader

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story. Thank you for the support.

Nothing ever eneds, I thank you guys for being with me to the very end of this story, I hope you like this last one!

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Epilogue

The first snow of the season broke into the sky without a warning.

America wrapped her coat tighter around her body, she glanced around the hall rolling her eyes when her ears finally caught the sound of bickering down the airport bridge. The hand grasping hers called her attention, and she soon watched the same exasperation in Kamala’s face when the both of them found Yelena and Kate bickering all the way out of the plane with the stewardess watching them with relief.

 “Why are the fighting now?” Kamala finally asked dragging America away, “let’s go before anyone here thinks we come with them.”

America chuckled following Kamala down the bridge and into the airport, it had been this way since they decided to make the trip and go to Ulsteinvik for the holidays. Not something Mrs. Khan was happy about, and she had made it quite clear that was expecting a facetime with her daughter as soon as they got home, of this America was to make sure would happen without any delay.

They soon found themselves in a busy airport glancing at the signals around, before going for their bags. It had been almost six months since America had been home, and more than eight years since she had started the Young Avengers team with Yelena.

The world was a better place, but it was always expectant of a new threat that might as well come from the space as well as a different dimension. In all this time, America had lost friends, and had made new ones, she had found loved and had been part of a family that no one thought would be possible in this time and universe.

Kamala ran excitedly after the bags, speaking fast about all the things she wanted to do and see. America had always wondered how someone could speak so fast but she had gotten used to her girlfriend being a chatter more so if she was about to see her two heroes. America smiled happily when Kamala finally realized she had been talking alone while looking for the bags.

“Seriously? You let me rant all on my own so people would look at me as if I’m crazy.”

“I think you’re adorable.” America replied, Kamala rolled her eyes grabbing her hand and dragging her to the rental cars section.

“You’re lucky you can convince me with your sweet talk. Come, I think I hear the bickering from Yelena and Kate down this way.”

It took them at least one hour to get everything ready and to find a car that would take them down the road to their destination.

America glanced out of the window, and as it happened whenever she made the trip, she started remembering that first time Wanda brought her to Norway. She remembered how scared she had been, how lost and angry she felt at that time, and then how she found herself in the midst of more negative emotions that had threatened to just consume everyone around her.

A lot of things had happened since that fateful day and now America couldn’t be happier with the outcome. After a little more than an hour America could see the lighthouse coming into view, her lips broke into a smile and her stomach filled with exited fluttering.

“Gee, I think we made it just on time,” Yelena said glancing out of the window, “it seems as if a storm is coming over.”

“Well, it is just that time of the year, I’m just dying to get home and have bath, I don’t think I have one since we left New York two days ago.”

Kate wrinkled her nose nodding in agreement with Yelena, America rolled her eyes glancing at Kamala before they finally got a sight of the gate leading to the main entrance. America straightened up smiling, the house finally came into view completely and she found the many changes into the property that had happened in the last couple of years.

The small kiddie park to the sight was right now protected with a waterproof tent that protected the full structure and there was a couple of bikes tightly protected into the garage. Yelena parked the car and as soon as America stepped a foot out of the car she was jumped by a bundle of blue that came at her at full speed.

“America!!!” Tommy grinned at her, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist with his hair completely messed up, wearing a light shirt and pants.

“Tommy!!” America grabbed the five-year-old in her arms and lifted him high, he started laughing.

Kamala softened at the sight coming closer only to see another brown-haired kid watching from the entrance of the garage with a frown and a blue jacket on his hand. America carried the kid to the garage, with Billy still scolding at his brother lifting the jacket.

“Tommy! Momma said not out without the jacket!” Tommy pulled out his tongue hugging America tightly.

“Is that all you’re gonna say, little dude?” America knelt down, Billy hesitated before stepping in and hugging America still glaring at his brothers disregard of the jacket.

“Hi.” He mumbled, America chuckled kissing his forehead and pulling him up in her arms.

“It’s so good to see you again, guys.” America entered the place with Kamala and the others following them inside.

America smiled when she finally stepped inside the place she had called home inside her mind and heart. Her nose soon filed with the sweet aroma of fresh cookies, everything inside the house had been decorated for the holidays with a mixture of colours and lights that made the place looked quite homey. Everything inside the house had changed, the pictures that now decorated the main hall and the living room reflected and spoke of the stories that could be told about those changes.

Kamala found herself fascinated by the place, she had been to America’s home only a couple of times but this would be the first time she would spend the holidays with her family. The young woman made her way to the closest cabinet, and her eyes fell upon a picture of Y/N and Wanda smiling into the camera. They both looked completely happy, smiling while showing off the hand wearing the ring in their hands; right beside that one there was a picture of them in the Young Avengers lair with America right after the young woman had graduated from college.

Every single picture was taken at a special moment, and it was a continuity of stories the family had gone through over the years. Kamala let her eyes fell upon the last picture, her smile deepened when she saw Wanda the twins with America and Y/N on each side of the bed smiling tiredly to the camera.

“America?” You came right around the corner with your phone on your hand, your face broke into a grin coming over to the young woman and sharing a hug with her. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

America hugged you back, and you felt how the tension from the last couple of days left her body. The twins were talking in fast Russian to Yelena who was kneeling to make sure she did not miss a single word while Kate watched the scene with a lopsided smile. You chuckled turning to the room, your eyes gleaming happily at all of them.

“You guys are earlier! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, well, this is my fault, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Kamala said turning around, she blushed under your stare. “I just thought we should come earlier than planned because the weather has been worsening in some parts.”

“Always the thoughtful one, right?” You came to the young woman hugging her as well. “It’s good to see you too, Kamala, how is your mom?”

“She is fine, just a little upset I will be gone for over a month.” Kamal shrugged. “She did tell me to tell you that she expects you will come by next time.”

You nodded knowing how Mrs. Khan could get with the subject of her daughter and the family in general. You went to Yelena pulling her up to hug her before kneeling and grabbing the twins.

“You guys, I’m so happy to see you, now some things first.” You declared calling everyone’s attention. “Wanda is asleep she hasn’t felt well lately, so I expect you to be on your best behavious, understood?”

This time around you looked at Billy then a Tommy, both of them nodded squirming around in your arms until you put them back on the floor.

“Yes, mom!”

“Now, guys, remember what we practice?” The twins nodded their heads, Billy went to grab the jacket stretching his hand towards his brother who made a face but put the jacket on.

“Now, help America, Yelena, Kamala and Kate get into their rooms.”

You stood up winking at the young women, “the twins will help you guys settle down, you know for as long as you guys are here this is your home.”

America came to you giving you another hug, the both of you waited until everyone had gone back to the car and leave the both of you alone. The young woman stepped back, her dark eyes finally analysing the state you were in observing the bags under your eyes and the weak twitch of your lips.

“Is everything okay?”

You sighed shaking your head, “not really, Wanda has not felt well and I am out of ideas.”

America could tell you were really worried about your wife, she placed a hand on your forearm looking around then back at you.

“Have you guys talked to the doctor?”

“Yeah, he made some test and it all comes down to the fact that…” You trailed off shrugging, “they think the way the baby is just like Tommy and Billy.”

“they have powers.”

“Yep, and it seemed whatever powers they had it was taking its toll on her.”

The first time around no one spoke of the complications of pregnancy, no one had prepared you and Wanda to face a pregnancy with a set of twins that had powers whose energy sometimes was too much for Wanda to deal off alone. While it had been difficult, America had never seen the level of concern she was seeing in you right now back when the twins were born. You offered a weak smile shaking your head.

“Don’t worry, go get settle and I will wake Wanda so you can say hi.”

“Nah, don’t worry, I will do so when she is up. Don’t wake her up.”

You chuckled shaking your head, “you really have grown a lot, uh?”

“Of course, now that we are here we can help with the twins.” America heard laughter and something crashing into the ground, she winced turning towards the door. “I better make sure they don’t break anything.”

You watched America leave, standing there for a few moments you then turned around and made your way back into your room.

The place was dark, with a single figure resting on her side breathing in and out evenly. Your face softened almost instantly and whatever tiredness or worry you had felt dissipated when your eyes fell upon the figure of your pregnant wife. When you and Wanda had first come together, you had always wondered if a pregnancy was really possible. You wondered how the miracle worked and if Wanda was ready to face the fact that, perhaps, whatever child that was conceived might not be the same twins she had imagined at some point.

The world, the universe decided to prove you and her wrong.

As soon as you two started worrying about if it was possible or not, the miracle worked itself out and soon Wanda had gotten pregnant. The young woman had been terrified and she had cried her eyes out to Natasha because the last thing she wanted it was for you to doubt what was happening. She was so afraid to tell you her latest mood swing and crazy cravings along with the morning sickness had been an unexpected pregnancy.

Natasha had tried to mediate, but Wanda was terrified, she had tried to gather everything she had done in between the time of conception and the moment she found out about it to ensure she had proof of her fidelity to you.

You approached the bed remembering the day Wanda had told you about the twins. She had cried and you had laughed, you knew it was bound to happen. The other Wanda had told you the story, and all you had been doing was to wait. Wanda had been so relief, she just hugged you tightly promising to you she did nothing wrong and that her babies were yours.

The sleeping form on the bed shifted, you knelt in front of her your hand brushing away some strands of hair.

“Hey, sleepyhead, how are you?” You leaned in kissing Wanda on her forehead, the young woman fluttered her eyes open with her lips curling slightly.

“Hey, what time is it?” She asked groggily, you leaned in kissing her slowly melting into the lips until Wanda was putting you to her.

“America and the others are home.” You mumbled in between kisses, Wanda sighed offering a wicked smile.

“So we have a moment for ourselves?”  She wiggled her eyebrows and you couldn’t help but laugh at that, instead of taking into the offer you rested beside her kissing her face and neck.

“Mostly, the twins are in charge of settling them in but that won’t take too long.”  

Wanda pouted snuggling closer to you, her stomach pushing against yours making it difficult for you to actually hug her properly.

“I love you.” She said suddenly, looking up at you, you furrowed your brow never growing tired of her words.

“I love you too.”

This time around the kiss was a reassuring touch of lips, a simple promise of comfort while Wanda held onto your form with need. You broke the kiss, placing your hand on her stomach the little life growing inside her stirred restlessly.

“How are you feeling, love?” You nuzzled your nose against hers, Wanda sighed offering a comforting glance.

“I’m okay, just tired.”

“Soon, my love, soon the baby will be here and I will be able to help you more.”

“You’re doing enough, Y/N, stop worrying so much.” Wanda could tell these complications had affected your greatly.

This pregnancy had turned out to be quite the ordeal, Wanda never thought this time around things would be even more difficult than the first time. The baby inside of her had been consuming a lot of energy, and the young woman could sense just how restless the baby could get at times but mostly whenever Y/N was fuzzing over completely concern or helpless to help in the situation.  Wanda had tried to ease out your worries, but it was just part of your personality and part of who you were , and for that Wanda loved you even more.

“I worried enough.” You kissed Wanda again, needing for this moment to be special, for her to feel your love through the kiss while making sure your child was also aware of your protective nature. “I worried for you and the baby enough, I don’t want anything bad happening to either of you.”

Wanda cupped your face pecking your lips smiling, “nothing is gonna happen, now help me up because I want to greet America, I really missed her.”

You turned around standing up to give space to your wife, Wanda hid away her winced when she felt a pain on her side. When you turned to her she had already hidden her expression before grabbing your hand, squeeing it lightly putting you to her.

“Thank you.”

You blinked confusedly, “why?”

Wanda leaned back and the smile she offered you as enough to melt your heart all over again.

“For this.” She placed your hand on her stomach, then grabbed your other hand in hers. “For Believing in me, in us, for giving me this second chance. I love you so much.”

You furrowed your brows blinking slowly, your arms wrapped around her placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” This sudden outburst of honestly and love was not strange to you, but sometimes hearing Wanda voiced it made you think perhaps something had triggered such a reaction.

Wanda shook her head, grabbed your hand and dragged you to the door of the room.

“I just…I never get tired of telling this.”

You had been successfully distracted, Wanda could see the smile in your face while she tried to hide the pain in her abdomen. Making sure she held onto you she, follow you into the living room ready to greet America and the others while trying to forget her discomfort an enjoy the holidays with her family.

*****

In the next couple of days everyone seemed to fall into a light routine.

You loved having everyone at home, with Billy and Tommy growing up so fast and ready to use their powers, having some helped was always a welcome change. You and Wanda had been working around the baby’s room while making sure everyone was comfortable at home. Kamala and Kate had been ready to help you out while also loving the good share of stories you could share about either Yelena or America.

All in all, the holidays had become a real adventure and you couldn’t be happier to enjoy the time you spent with your family. In all that time, you had noticed Wanda had been quiet with just a few winces that she would brush off to continue spending time with America and the twins. You wished you could brush it off but the fact that Billy had been walking around her with that overprotective glint in his eyes told you there was something else going on.

You dropped on the sofa completely drained; the twins were on the TV room watching movies before getting ready to go to the city with America, Kamala, Kate and Yelena, while Wanda was taking a bath back in the room. You

“Honey! I’m home!!” Natasha entered the place looking around with her arms full of bags, she raised a brow looking around to see you sprawled on the sofa.

“Honey, I’m freaking tired.” You replied eyeing owlish at Natasha, the older woman snorted making her way to you dropping some of the bags on the sofa.

“So it seems. Where is everyone?” Natasha sat to your left, her hand playing with your hair while her eyes flashed concern. “You look sick.”

“Nah, I’m tired.” You replied sitting up while leaning against the older woman, Natasha was not completely sure about your words but for the time being she would let it slide.

“How was your flight?” You asked to Natsha who could only shrugged.

“It was okay, I was actually wondering if I would make it on time.”

In the last couple of years Natasha had been living in France, after he last mission and clear demands for her retirement she had made sure that no one, much less people from any government would find out where she had been leaving after getting off the grid.

“Good, I think you’re just on time, Wanda was getting ready just before we go to the Christmas market.” You straightened up nodding to the different bags now on your sofa. “Let me take you to your room, you can get ready because you are driving.”

“Oh, sure, put me through the torture of driving you and your wife while my sister and America deal with the twins.”

“You know that’s the only reason I invited you guys over, so someone can watch over them while I have my wicked way with my wife.”

You chuckled watching the face that Natasha was making at the moment, she picked up half of the bags while you helped with the other half.

“Please, keep those torrid details for yourself.” Natasha walked right behind you, her mind making a mental note to ensure you would actually have a good night sleep that day while watching over the twins.

“How’s Wanda? How far along is she?”

“She is fine, she just entered the eight month so she is huge and a little cranky about the whole thing,” You stopped death on your tracks turning to Natasha, “please don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

You sighed in relief resuming your stroll, “I think she has been feeling some discomfort, but she is just to stubborn to say anything about it.”

“A discomfort?” This time around Natasha didn’t hide her worry, the last time had been difficult enough and this time around they had tried to make all the right arrangements to ensure the pregnancy was an easy one.

Tony had helped with that.

“Yeah, I don’t think is anything worth mentioning, but…” You hesitated, your mind was raising red flags, there was something bothering you about the whole situation but Wanda seemed to be fine. “I think the baby is taking up too much energy.”

“So, another powered kid?” Natasha snorted, though her eyes softened lightly. “Are you ready for another one?”

You chuckled shrugging, “obviously, I am not. But I’m just happy to welcome the baby into our lives, I love them already.”

Natasha smiled letting herself be told everything you had done ever since you and Wanda found out about the baby. She was happy to see she didn’t get it wrong the moment Wanda crossed the threshold of that very home to come and ask for help. Natasha had always known the hurt in your heart was deep, and that it would take years to heal, but at the end of the day, your loved for the other woman had been deep and pure enough to just work it out.

And now, after so many fights, so many heartbreaks and misunderstandings, happiness had come alongside peace for the both of you.

“Well, we’re leaving at four, so you ready to make the trip again? I wouldn’t mind if you stay…” You stated watching as Natasha yawned stretching around, the older woman winked at you.

“Don’t worry your little head, Y/N, I’m gonna take a bath and I will be there ready to leave.”

*****

It had become a tradition after the twins had been born.

They had been too small to remember those first times, but Wanda and you always remembered that first time. They were but babies wearing heavy coats and completely covered to protect them from the cold, Wanda had been walking side by side with you, her hand intertwined with yours looking around the town to see the Christmas Market already decorated and filled with decorations appropriate for the holidays. Every year decorations changed, and the Christmas Tree that decorated the main square was usually filled with crazy decorations that brough the attention of the children and everyone in general.

You wrapped your arms around Wanda, the brunette leaned back against your hold her lips curling into a content smile while Billy and Tommy grabbed the hands of Kate and Kamala. Everyone was enjoying the church choir, their voices filling the square with the smell of food and winter.

“Are you happy?” You whispered in her ear, Wanda tilted her head in a way that she could see into your eyes.

Her body relaxed into your embrace with a softening and a gleam you had come to associate with the state she was in. You smiled at her, and soon Wanda was kissing you slowly, the softness of her lips against yours danced for a while until the both of you broke.

“I never thought I would be happy again.” She whispered only for you to hear; you furrowed your brows but your wife eased out your thoughts. “And then you came into my life again and gave me the most beautiful gift ever. So yes, I am happy, Y/N, you are my happiness.”

You nuzzled your face on her hair, your arms tightening protectively around her frame.

“You are my happiness as well, Little Witch.” You pecked her cheek turning your attention to the twins, Tommy was looking back at you two furrowing his brows before turning his attention back to the chorus. “You have given me the most amazing gift anyone can give a person, my family.”

“My wife, such a romantic…” Wanda turned back to the choir clenching her jaw tightly holding her breath for a moment before easing in your arms to try and hide her sudden pain.

While you and Wanda were sitting in the back, America turned to Tommy who was grasping her hand rather tightly. She frowned seeing as the little boy was clenching his eyes close with a stressful expression crossing his young features.

“Tommy, are you alright?”

Billy perked up at the question, he turned worriedly to his brother grabbing his hand frowning at the obvious discomfort coming from his brother.

“Tommy?” Yelena put a hand on Billy’s shoulder to stop him from shaking his brother, Tommy had tears in his eyes lifting his head to America.

The young woman could see the distress behind his brown eyes, his face was contorting into a rictus of pain and confusion.

“Billy…” America started but soon the young boy turned around sharply lifting his hand.

“Mommy!” He exclaimed letting go of America’s hand and running towards Wanda.

The four young women and Billy followed Tommy’s actions, Kamala was the first one to react placing a hand on her mouth her eyes wide open when she realized Wanda was almost on the ground with red mist surrounding her body.

“Shit, what the hell…” America stood up and ran towards them while Kate held onto Billy before he could run towards his mothers.

“Wait, Billy, let’s go slowly…” Kate held onto Billy who was not really struggling against her hold.

Some of the onlookers had also realized that something had happened, many had tried to put their phones out while Kamala lifted a single protective wall around the woman. She and Kate exchanged looks making their way to Wanda.

You should have known that Wanda was not doing okay.

She had erupted into a fit of shivers, before exuding some of her magic and then falling with a hand on her stomach. Natasha was holding her from one side while you were holding the other one; Tommy came right away kneeling in front of Wanda.

“Mommy…” You glanced at your son then at America nodding at her, the young woman grabbed Tommy holding him in her arms.

“Mommy…is fine, baby.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, Tommy shook his head.

“Mommy, the baby…” Tommy started, your eyes open wide in terror when Wanda let out a scream holding her abdomen and crying.

The burst of energy coming from her was almost burning you, Natasha winced almost letting go of Wanda while locking her stare with yours.

“We need to go to a hospital, Love,” You started, Wanda grabbed your hand looking paled.

“Y/N…”

“Mommy!” Tommy struggled against the hold of America, watching with tears as his mom screamed again.

“Damn, I don’t think we can’t move her…” You hesitated lifting your hand, your eyes locked onto your son’s ones. “Tommy, can you help me?”

America put the boy on the ground and he came right towards Wanda, you smiled at him though it came more like a grimace. Tommy didn’t dare to touch Wanda, so he turned to you with big eyes.

“Baby, how is the baby? You can feel them?”

Tommy nodded looking half terrified, half powerless.

“Tommy, is mommy too weak?” You asked again, the boy glanced at Wanda then at you shaking his head.

“Baby, I need you to be strong, you will be with your big sister and your aunty and you and Billy will reach us in the hospital, okay?”

Before Tommy could protest Wanda screamed again, you twitched your hand in the air and the shadows consumed you, Wanda and Natasha. Tommy hugged America tightly, his tears were falling freely getting America’s cheeks and neck wet.

“Mommy.” The little boy whispered, America hugged him tightly lifting him in her arms, she turned to see Billy was now holding onto Kate.

“What the hell happened?” Yelena was as confused as the rest, America leaned back trying to make Tommy lift his eyes.

“Tommy, you know what happened?” America asked softly, the group was already making their way to the car.

“Mommy was sick. The baby was not feeling good.” Tommy mumbled, “she wanted out.”

America stopped death on her tracks, she glanced down at the boy furrowing her brows.

“She?” As far as America knew, you and Wanda had decided to keep the sex of the bay a secret.

No one knew about it, and thus so far all the colours in the room had been neutral colours, or those each one of the family favour. Tommy was crying softly, nodding.

“She is scared, she wants out.”

“You mean, the baby?” America asked once more, Tommy nodded.

“Is mommy okay?” Billy asked, the four women looked at one another then the continued their walk to the car.

“Yes, Billy, she is going to be okay, and your little sister as well.” America tossed the keys to Yelena who wasted not time to go into the car and start the engine.

The hospital was quiet, America and the others came rushing in until one nurse put a finger on her lips glaring at them. America was about to fight, when a hand on her shoulder distracted her. She turned to the source to see Kamala offering a softening stare, America huffed nodding walking towards the reception.

“Hello, good night,” she started in her most diplomatic tone, “I was looking for someone.”

“Of course, tell me…”

“America!” Natasha was coming right in, her pants had some blood on it and the older woman was looking tired.

“Natasha, what happened?”

“Where is Wanda?

“Where is Y/N?”

Natasha lifted a hand, she glanced at the receptionist then back at the women and the twins, she cocked her head signalling a waiting room at the other side of the hall.

Tommy and Billy were holding onto America and Kate respectively, America was comforting the boy in her arms while looking at Natasha waiting for her explanations.

“Well?”

“They are fine, right now they are in surgery.” Natasha explained, she lifted a calming hand to the sudden outburst of inquiries. “Wanda has been feeling the discomfort for quite some time, she didn’t say anything so Y/N or anyone would get scared and Christmas would be ruined.”

“That’s stupid! We wouldn’t care if the baby decides to come first! She could have told us and save us this heart attack.” Yelena crossed her arms looking away. “This is so stupid.”

Natasha let her hand rested on Yelena’s forearm, the young Widow huffed though she leaned closer to the touch. Tommy and Billy were holding hands, the came closer with their eyes filled with tears and their little faces showing the emotions going through them. There was a palpable tension in each and every single person in the hall, the sound of people coming in and out of the hospital alongside the voices of the staff were soon forgotten in favour to Natasha holding the twins.

Kamala grabbed America’s hand leaning against her frame, while Kate hooked her arm with Yelena’s one. The stood there for a moment, America berating herself for not being more attentive and letting those little discomforts pass instead of raised the alarm with Y/N and Natasha and Yelena.

“Is mommy okay?” Billy asked in a thin voice, he cuddled closer to Natasha who nodded briefly.

“Yes, Billy, she is fine.”

“Is her tummy hurting?” Tommy mumbled wiggling the fingers of his hand, “mummy was sad and her tummy was making pum pum pum and not bum bum bum like always.”

Natasha creased her brows at the explanation, she knew Tommy was the sensitive one and he was the one showing magical abilities that would be similar to those of Wanda. You had told her several stories in which the boy would be the first one to know exactly how others feel, and he was always ready to help. He had been the first one to sense something different in Wanda, and was always overprotective of his mother as soon as he found out he was going to be a big brother.

“Tommy, did you see something different about mommy?” Natasha finally asked leaning back, the little boy crossed stares with Billy before nodding.

“Mummy is always shinning,” here Tommy stretched his arms with big, brown eyes, “and she is warm, but…”

“She is gloomy and cold.” Billy ended having heard his brothers theory.

“Is mummy sick because of me?” Tommy’s eyes filled with tears, “I try to be good big brother, auntie Tasha, I swear.”

“Oh, baby no, you’re not to blame.” This time around Natasha hugged the twins tightly. “Mummy is just pregnant and these things can happen to anyone, you did so well protect mummy with Billy.”

“That’s right, Little dude, it’s just that your sibling wants to be born now, it is nothing else.” This time around it was Kate the one saying this, she knelt placing her hand on Tommy’s back.

“You guys are amazing, and right now that baby is going to be the luckiest one having such brave big brothers like the both of you.” Yelena continued placing her hand on Billy’s head.

The twins seemed to calm down under these words, both of them holding onto Kate and Yelena who decided to take them for a little walk to the hospital cafeteria. Natasha waited until they were far away before turning to America, the young woman had the same concern stare as the twins thought she was tyring to hide it behind a façade of faux bravery.

“How are they, really?”

Natasha sighed pointing to the closest chairs leading America and Kamala there.

“Wanda was in pain, her blood pressure dropped and by the time the doctor could do a quick checkup he decided the best option was for a c-section.”

“How is Y/N? Can we see them? What about the baby?” America was bouncing on the chair, her left leg was raising rapidly as she tapped the ground with her heel.

Kamala placed a soothing hand on her leg, leaning closer with her eyes on Natasha. America leaned into the touch dropping her eyes while taking a deep breath, Natasha saw as the young woman started taking deep breaths glancing at Kamala while offering a weak smile.

“Wanda is in surgery right now, they allowed Y/N to be there.” Natasha leaned back, she took a deep breath placing a hand on her eyes. “The doctor said this is normal, and that up until two weeks ago everything was just fine with the pregnancy, I guess having a powered child is really far too much sometimes.”

“Is she gonna be okay? What about the baby?” This time it was Kamala the one asking the questions, Natasha dropped her hand turning green eyes to the young woman.

“They are going to be fine, but we will have to wait.”

*****

 It was past midnight by the time you finally could sit down on the hospital chair.

Your arms were holding the small frame of your daughter, a beautiful baby girl that was fast asleep with a crunched-up nose and closed fists. You held the baby closer to your chest, tears in your eyes while Wanda slept; you had never be so scared before that moment. The fact that Wanda had hidden her pain, and then the news that the surgery could be a dangerous ordeal and probably stressful for both, the baby and Wanda, left you powerless to do anything at all.

It had taken less than a couple of hours for you to almost lose your baby and your wife.

Your heart shrank painfully inside your chest, the heavy void that settled in your abdomen was still tingling inside your body.

“You gave us quite the scare, baby girl.” You whispered poking the kid on her nose, softening the moment she wriggled her nose but kept sleeping in your arms.

There was a knock on the door, but before you could say anything at all the door opened and you could see your friends and family coming on. Your eyes lit up watching as Billy and Tommy came to you rubbing their eyes, their steps were tentative and their eyes were searching around until they found the bundle in your arms.

“Where’s mummy?” Tommy asked in a groggy voice, you glanced at Natasha then at Tommy and Billy.

“Mummy is still with the doctor, baby.” You leaned forward nodding to the twins. “You guys wanna meet your baby sister?”

The boys nodded eagerly coming closer to you, both of them leaned forward being careful in their movements. Their eyes went big, and soon their mouths drew a smile while glancing at you and the baby.

“She is too small!” Billy said with his hand twitching at his side.

“She is.”

“What’s her name?” Tommy asked cocking his head.

“Well, baby, since mummy and I didn’t want to name the baby until they were born, we haven’t decided.” You winced sheepishly lifting your face to the adults in the room. “I guess she would be Baby Girl Maximoff until I can talk to Wanda.”

America approached you, her eyes showing not only how tired she felt but the tears she had shared moments ago with Natasha under the stress of the night. You nodded at her lifting your arms, in a silent offer for the young woman to carry the baby. America didn’t waste any time running to another chair and getting ready to hold the baby.

“You guys didn’t choose a name? Really?” Yelena finally asked watching from afar, while she loved the twins and she had helped raised them, when they had been born she had been the last one to pick them up. They had been so small she was afraid of hurting them.

“Well, we did think about it, we just…” You trailed off letting out a heavy sigh, your hand went to the back of your head scratching softly. “I want to do it with Wanda.”

Natasha gave you a hug, whispering in your ear.

“How is she?”

“She was not doing fine, they took her to the ICU for observation. The baby, she was so healthy and so full of energy…” You hugged. “The doctor thinks is because of her particularity, we still haven’t figure it out and he said if we want he could sent some samples to Stark Industries for further investigation…”

“You want them to dig into it?” Natsha inquired but you shook your head.

“I know my babies are special, Tasha, not because of their powers but because they are ours.” You replied looking while the four women all dotted on the baby talking with Billy and Tommy while making fun of America and Yelena’s childish behaviour.

“I guess at some point we will need to find out if it is too much, but for now everything is just as it should have been…Wanda was just spending too much with the baby and since she didn’t say anything…”

“I know.” Natasha hesitated before grabbing your hand. “You can go, I watch over them and the baby.”

Your face broke into a grateful smile, you leaned in kissing Natsha on her cheek.

“Thank you.”

With one last glance to the baby and the twins, you turned around and left to make your way to the ICU.

This was the quietest place in the hospital.

There were cubicles big enough to hold a bed with the multiple machines necessary to keep a person alive. It smelt strongly to antiseptic mixed with blood, the nurse station was lone but you didn’t need anyone giving you directions, you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

Wanda was paled, with bags under her eyes and her hair sprawl on the pillow. She was fast asleep, tired after the ordeal he had suffered early in the evening. You approached the bed, your heart ripping away at the sight; when your hand grabbed hers your blood turned cold. She was freezing.

With fear gripping up your throat, you leaned in placing a kiss on your wife’s forehead.

“Hey, Little Witch, how are you doing?” You held back your sobs, brushing your lips on her forehead. “You were so brave today, love. Our baby girl is so strong, she is with our family and her big brothers right now. We all are waiting for you.”

You lifted her hand to your lips, placing a single kiss on her knuckles you rubbed the single hand in yours trying to share some of your body warmth through the massages. You wished there was something else you could do, that there was something else you could say but at the moment you were just lost.

Never before did you imagine you would see Wanda like this. Bringing over a chair to be as close to Wanda as you could, you placed another kiss on her hand smiling through your tears you started talking to your wife making sure she knew you were waiting for her.

Wanda felt her body stirred painfully.

She knew she should be worried about, though she was not completely sure what it was.

She opened her mouth trying to grasp the air while her eyes were struggling to be opened. There was something holding her hand, it was warm and comforting, she stirred once more and with some effort made herself open her eyes.

“Ugh…” She let out a moan closing her eyes before blinking away the blinding light of the lights above her head.

“Wanda!”

Wanda knew that voice, without thinking too much she opened her eyes and sure enough they you were. Whatever fear or uncertainty she felt moments ago, it disappeared as soon as she registered your voice and saw your frame through blurry glances.

“Y/N…” Her voice sounded rough, unused, and her heart jumped wildly in her chest when you placed a single kiss on her lips.

“My Little Witch, you’re awake.” There was some commotion she could catch with her ears, she wanted to talk and ask what had happened, but the drowsiness was overwhelming and soon she was falling into a pit of darkness.

The second time she woke up, the light of the day was filtering through the blinds. She opened her eyes slowly, first making sure she would not hurt herself or that her body was actually hers and no more side effects of a drug were affecting her senses. Once she had made herself conscious of her body, she went to remember what had happened.

Like a jolt of electricity her hand went to her abdomen and she went to sit up right away.

A pair of hands on her shoulders stopped her from doing a brusque movement, and it wasn’t until then that she saw your face bringing over a peacefulness she only allowed around you.

“Y/N.” This time around the name came dry, but it was clear.

“Hey, Little Witch.” You stood up bringing over a glass of water with a straw. “Here you can drink just a little to wet your mouth and throat.”

Wanda did that, her eyes moving frantically around the room.

“Y/N, the baby…”

She gauged your expression, and while there was sadness there Wanda could tell you were just relief. You grabbed her hand putting some strands of hair out of the way, leaning in to place a single kiss on her forehead.

“The baby is fine, America and the others are watching over her.”

“Her?” Wanda asked confusedly, you nodded and this time around you couldn’t hide your smile.

“We have a baby girl, my love.”

Wanda sighed in relief, she lifted her head and you understood her need right away. When your lips closed around hers your heart soared with relief and love for the woman you thought you had lost. You kissed Wanda with the emotions that had overwhelmed you in the last couple of days.

“What happened? Are you okay? The Twins?”

“Hey, it’s okay, I will tell you everything and it is going to be fine,” you stated raining kisses all over Wanda’s face, “you don’t know just how much I love you, and how happy you make me every day, Wanda.”

“Y/N, what is it? What happened?” This time around Wanda couldn’t hide the concern in her voice, your actions were making her worried but you just kept placing kisses on her while grabbing her hand in yours.

“Just…give me a moment, please? I need to know you are okay, that you are here.”

“I am here, love, I always will be.”

You smiled before wrapping your arms around Wanda allowing the tears to fall, the fears that had consumed you in the last couple of days finally dissipating under the embrace of your wife.

__________________________

New Years Eve came with a light snow, and the glimpses of a cold wintery sun above the sky.

Wanda sat by the window of the baby’s room.

She was sitting on the nursery glider feeding the baby while everyone got ready to welcome the new year. The last couple of days had been a total rush, with everything happening in the blink of an eye without giving time to anyone to process the events. Wanda had woken up in the hospital after being unconscious for a week, the doctor had been monitoring her case and they had made sure she had everything she needed it to improve her condition but, at the end of the day, everything seemed to be up to her to get along with the recovery.

When she finally woke up, she found herself scared for her baby and her family. He could see the devastating effect the situation had on you, the lack of sleep and the deep pain this caused in you was still visible from time to time in your eyes. It had taken some time, bit after a full check-up and two days under medical observation, Wanda was free to go home.

Christmas had already come and gone, and now she was just waiting to start a new chapter in her life with you and her family. Wanda softened her stare when her eyes fell upon the form of her baby girl. She had been a miracle child; a part of Wanda had already sensed just the power residing inside her. It was all consuming at first until it was finally getting into tune with Wanda’s powers and energy. A part of her had always brushed it off mainly because she thought it was supposed to be that way, but after the scared all of them suffered she realized she should have said something about it.

“You’re gonna be a troublemaker, I can see it now.” Wanda whispered poking the baby’s nose lightly, the little girl opened her eyes watching her with innocence before snuggling closer to her mother.

“I surely hope no, I can already see the kind of trouble she will bring when she starts dating.” You were leaning on the wall watching Wanda in silence, the young woman smiled at you.

“Are you thinking about that already? She is just a child!” Wanda giggled when you approached her, your lips had always been a source of comfort and tenderness, your kisses made her heart tingled and her soul soared with love.

“Our child.” You whispered without breaking the kiss, Wanda sighed leaning against you holding the baby tightly. “How are you?”

Wanda could tell the traces of concern shinning in your eyes, she lifted her hand to cup your cheek offering the most tender smile she could muster you with.

“I’m amazing, love, thank you for always worrying about me.”

You mirrored her smile placing a hand on top of hers, “I don’t know what I would do if you were not in my life, Wanda. After we found one another again, you and the children became my everything.”

“I know, love. You are my everything, you and our family.” Wanda lowered her gaze where the baby was fast asleep. “Elizabeth.”

“Uh?” You furrowed your brows turning to Wanda.

“Elizabeth.” She repeated glancing from you to the baby. “A couple of months ago you started talking about baby names, and this one got you so excited at that time.”

“It has a lot of history, you know?” You replied rather shyly, Wanda chuckled nodding. “It is a beautiful name, I just…you meant it?”

“Yeah, you like it?”

You blinked a couple of times before answering, “welcome to the family, Elizabeth Maximoff.”

The baby was still fast asleep, but Wanda felt her heart melting under your words. She could feel your love pouring right out to her and the baby, your lips bringing comfort before you lifted Elizabeth in your arms placing her on her crib. A flash of doubt passed through Wanda’s eyes, but you grabbed her hand putting her to you, your left hand on her hip and the right hand holding her left hand.

“She is going to be okay, I will watch over her with my shadows and we can go and see what you sons have been working on in the last couple of days.”

“Oh, God, Tommy and Billy,” Wanda exclaimed ready to leave but stopped when you held her back offering a comforting smile. “I forgot about them! I don’t think…”

“They are big brothers now, Little Witch, they understand what you have been doing lately.” You nuzzled your nose against hers. “We all understand. They are going to be out there waiting for you.”

Wanda slowed down her breathing closing her eyes while melting away in your arms.

“I don’t know what I did right to be back in your life, but I just…” Wanda had tears in her eyes, you chuckled kissing her eyes softly.

“A part of me knew you were my happiness, Wands. It took time, and heartbreak but…we are here, together.”

“Do you regret it?” Wanda asked out of the blue, you blinked a couple of times before shaking your head.

“I don’t regret a single thing in our past, Wands.” Wanda furrowed her brow ready to argue but you put a single finger on her lips. “I don’t. Whatever happened, however it happened, it brought us to where we are today, if it hadn’t been because of this you and I would have never found our paths again and would have never understood the importance of being who we are, of always being honest…of never give up.”

Wanda didn’t mean for the tears to start rolling down her cheeks, but it happened. You cupped her face in your hands, your eyes completely locked with hers.

“We got together at the right time, and we came back to each other when we were meant to. Now, we have a family, and a life full of love and adventures, a life away from the dangers of the world.”

“I thought you missed it, that perhaps…” Wanda sobbed hugging you tightly. “I love you.”

You chuckled hugging her back, your arms wrapping comfortingly around her. You knew about her fears, she had told you everything about them in her moments of weakness. You were always there listening to her and comforting her making sure she knew she deserved to be happy and that, whatever bad had happened in the past, shouldn’t be replicated it in her future.

“I love you too, Wanda. With all my heart. You and my family are all that matters to me now.”

“You are the very beat of my heart, Y/N. Thank you for giving me my family, thank you for being my family.”

You kissed her with all the love you held for her. Your lips moulding with hers, your hands mapping her form while putting her closer to your body; Wanda smiled into the kiss her arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders. You pressed your forehead against hers, her eyes gleaming contentedly as they looked into yours.

“Are you planning on the fourth child, Mrs. Maximoff?” You asked earning a light-hearted laugh from Wanda, the woman winked at you breaking the contact while grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the door.

“Perhaps, are you ready for another one?” She asked coyly, you chuckled shaking your head.

“Oh, I am, though I was thinking we could…you know? Have some fun first.”

“Patience, my love, patience always pays, right?”

You grinned nodding, “it always does.”

______________________________________________________________

Author's Note: So, this is the end.

This story was everything to me, and it happened in a moment of my life in which I have to live a lot of things. I grew so much, and I really love the final turn it took. I hope you guys like it as much as I love writing it, and I will see you in the next adventure!

[sonderessence]

What abt a

e42 miles x spiteful blk fem spider reader

so what if miles (1610) cheated on reader with gwen (😒..) and to get revenge on him for cheating on reader with.. gwendolyn.., we get with his earth 42 self!

(if you could make this a series i would literally cry of joy.)

Angst for 1610 Miles (IM SORRY I LOVE YOU POOKIE😭☹️☹️🩷)

Fluff and Romance for 42 Miles (🤭🩷)

DONT HIT MY LINE! ...

1610!MILES & 42!MILES X READER!

WARNINGS: vulgar laguage (cursing), ✦ CONTAINS: 1610!miles being a bitch!!

a/n: imma be honest, i am such a gwen slander after the movie (still love her tho) 😒 but i so love this idea !!

layout inspo/creds: @hiimayee the best miles fic writer!! :3

NOW PLAYING: I HATE U - SZA

part one. ✦ part two ✦ part three

your boyfriend 1610!miles had been acting strange since he saw gwen after all these years, but you just shrugged it off as him being happy his friend was back in his dimension.

you never thought that your suspensions were true when you found your now ex with his "friend" behind your back.

you looked around the predominantly empty library in search of your boyfriend miles, who was nowhere to be seen. it was highly unlikely for him to be late to anything.

maybe something was last-minute? you would go ask his mother, rio, since you go to her for everything in the more frequent months since miles had been acting — odd — but you doubt she would know since her and her husband were out of town.

grabbing the pile of books you and miles you used to study for the test you knew you were going to fail, you scurried your way you the hushed library.

the sky was temperate, the perfect temperature for the park you thought, smelling the fresh, cool air — but focus! miles has to be somewhere around campus. you stuffed your books it your bag and made your way to his dorm, maybe he was still asleep?

you made your way to his dorm and softly knocked on his door, careful not to wake him. there was no answer. "miles?" you called to the door. again, no answer.

you pulled out your phone from your bag and went to his contacts. maybe he was sick or just skipped school? you had fussed at him the week prior to get more sleep, since he always came knocking at your window to late at night.

wait, should you call him? he's probably busy. and with that thought, you put your phone back in your bag and made your way to the morales house. it wasn't far from the school you two attended, so getting there wasn't a problem.

you knocked on the front door, once, twice. where is he? "miles!! you home??" you heard footsteps from the other side and the door opened to see miles who looked like he was in a rush. his hair everywhere and shirt backwards.

"hey! you okay?" you asked, your voice laced with concern for the boy.

"yeah." he said, his voice coming out hoarse. he cleared his throught. "m'fine, wassup?"

"you were s'posed to meet up with me at the library." you meant to sound playful, but your words came out more of a scoff. "look," he started. "i just forgot."

"forgot?? miles, you could have texted me! i was fuckin' worried about you!" you were furious, crossing your arms with a frown. "you done?" he asked with an eyebrow raised — you could see the twinge on annoyance in his eyes and you could hear it in his tone. "am i done?" you scoffed "are you done running off and not checking up on people??"

he didnt know how to answer that. "look, i'm hella busy right now, we can do the study thing or whateva later." he pinched the bridge of his nose. "fine." you muttered as you walked out the door.

a/n: how we feelin' about the first chapter?? i might have gone all out but part two is otw!

TAGS: @kazustqrzz, @kxllanxtdoor ( the tags are being annoying 😒)

©bachirasegoist, 2023 — do not steal or copy works

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden. 

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay. 

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly. 

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice. 

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break? 

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.”  You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.” 

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back. 

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.