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theemporium · 4 months

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[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)

Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember.

One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical.

It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society.

At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like.

And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control.

You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees.

“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort.

“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.”

“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period.

“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you.

And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct.

“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.”

“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.”

Harper hummed. “Maybe—”

“OH MY GOD!”

Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.

The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!”

You still looked equally confused. “Who?”

“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen.

“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.”

“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.”

“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”

Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!”

“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.

“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”

You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”

“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.”

Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.

…

You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie.

It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend.

However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race.

And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony.

And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that.

You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.

The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out.

Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.

You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc.

You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead.

You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—”

“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back.

You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc.

“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.”

You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”

The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you’d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”

And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him.

“What?”

“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”

“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said.

“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”

And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser.

Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction.

…

Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around.

Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day.

So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends.

“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.

You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate.

“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.

“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to.

“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation.

“Do you now?”

“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.”

And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life.

But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.

“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—”

“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.

“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.

“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”

Charles frowned. “I—”

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression.

“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold.

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you.

“STORMY! OVER HERE!”

You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.

“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you.

You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”

Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.

“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”

Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes.

“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”

“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.”

You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.

“That was Charles Leclerc!”

You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.”

“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

You frowned. “I don’t.”

“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered.

“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.”

Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”

“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.”

“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.”

“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”

“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.

“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted.

“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.”

“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

…

You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was.

A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes.

However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque.

You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days.

However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had.

She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.

And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her.

You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you.

No, it was Charles Leclerc.

Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off.

Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh.

It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.

“So, uh, how are you this morning?”

And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing.

You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.

“The weather is great, right?”

Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?

“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”

One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.

Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”

“It’s not my name,” you replied.

He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”

“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.

“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.”

You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.

Charles blinked. “What?”

“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.

“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”

You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.

“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”

Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”

“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.”

He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”

You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder.

…

Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles.

You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.

You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you.

“Bonjour, mon ami.”

You blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It means—”

“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”

Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.”

“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.

“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.”

Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”

“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!”

Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look.

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze.

“You okay?”

Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”

“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”

Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.

…

A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached.

Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike.

“I have a proposition.”

Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”

Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.

You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”

“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?”

“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.

“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.

“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin.

And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.

It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic.

You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you.

You didn't realise until it was too late.

You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis.

He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg.

“Cherie!”

You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you.

He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—”

“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.”

“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.

“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.

“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”

“Charles, calm down.”

The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand.

You looked at him expectantly.

“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.

“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”

He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.

“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”

…

As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days.

And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse.

You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.

And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over.

You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow.

You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes.

But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction.

“Stormy!”

You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.

“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”

“You’re staying in today?”

You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”

“Alone?”

You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”

“I’ll stay with you!”

He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”

“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”

You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.

You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”

Charles smiled at your response.

“Charles, hurry up!”

You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude.

Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”

Melanie frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again.

Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them.

Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So…what’s the plan?”

You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.”

Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.”

Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”

“Then we will make them,” Charles said.

You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”

“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”

You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.

He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return.

“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter.

“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now.

You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”

“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”

“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”

As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.

“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more.

“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.

“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?”

Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re bossy,” he countered.

“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”

“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”

You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.”

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.

“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk.

Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”

And just like that, your smirk dropped.

“What?”

Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”

“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”

Charles blinked. “Huh?”

“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.”

“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!”

“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.

Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”

“Nope.”

“With Evan or anyone?”

“No one.”

“Good.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

…

The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book.

The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away.

The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down.

Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you.

Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.

Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you.

Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.

It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you.

Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down.

“Missing me already?” You teased.

He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.”

You raised your brows in question. “Oh?”

Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.

“Charles—”

But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t.

You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly.

You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note.

meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :)

You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night.

…

“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.”

“Because that’s not fun.”

“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”

“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”

You snorted in response.

You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.

It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque.

There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting.

However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh).

“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”

Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?”

“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him.

Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed.

But here?

It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both.

His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.

“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”

And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.

His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned.

However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.

“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.

You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched.

“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie.

His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”

“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”

“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.”

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”

His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"

Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”

“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.

“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.

“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.

His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both.

“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.

His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?”

You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him.

Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment.

“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.

Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”

“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.

“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.

Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”

“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”

“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.

“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”

A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.

You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin.

But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.

“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.

“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”

Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?”

“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”

“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”

He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”

And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter.

His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.

The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach.

You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.

The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones.

It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you.

Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.

You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human.

But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak.

His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.

You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out.

And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.

“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”

“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”

“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.

…

The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.

The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.

Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch.

For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination.

And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice.

Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door.

You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.

You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”

You frowned a little.

“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”

Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.

“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”

But that? That was your final straw.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did.

But most of all, you just felt disappointed.

In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was.

You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall.

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night.

But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.

…

Charles was absolutely fucking baffled.

He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong.

After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.

The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.

But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.

He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.

But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room.

He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine.

But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t.

He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.

He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came.

The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong.

He just didn’t know what.

And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance.

You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.

And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet.

Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked.

And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach.

He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry.

But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.

His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance.

Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.

…

It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.

It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve.

You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle.

“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.

“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted.

“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.

“Yes!”

“No!”

Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head.

“Fine, first one to the lift wins!”

You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did.

You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes.

And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you.

But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.

But you didn’t respond.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

You kept your gaze facing forward.

“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”

And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal.

“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.

“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”

“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Stormy—”

“And definitely don’t call me that.”

“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.”

You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”

“No,” he stated simply.

You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”

“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”

You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away.

“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”

You blinked.

“It was about Melanie.”

Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.

“What?”

“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”

You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”

“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”

You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue.

“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock.

“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”

“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.

“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”

“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you.

“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.

You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”

“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home.

You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.”

“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.”

And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.

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happy74827 · 6 months

Text

Chaos Theory

[Mike Schmidt x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Mike's crazy schedule finally aligns with one of the so-called "parental meetings" at Abby's school, he decides to see what it's all about. Little did he know he'd come to seriously regret that.

WC: 2,590

Category: Slight Fluff

I failed an exam today, so I wrote this to cheer myself up. I still feel pretty crappy, but this was really fun to write lol.

Also if you see any grammar mistakes, no you didn’t.

『••✎••』

When it came to Abby’s school, Mike was at a disadvantage. He couldn’t go to any of the parental meetings, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was constantly doing something work-related during the time those meetings were scheduled.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on her grades and school attendance. It just meant he couldn't be there for the day-to-day things. Abby was a good kid, though; she never gave him trouble about the things he missed, and she did a pretty good job of keeping her grades up and attending all her classes.

Her teacher, you, was also very understanding of his schedule and position. He wasn’t sure how many teachers would have been as patient with him as you were. It was part of the reason he had grown fond of you, though it had been a gradual process that happened mostly unbeknownst to him.

At the beginning of the year, he had only been concerned about getting Abby acclimated to her new school. She was a quiet kid, stuck to her drawings, and it was even hard for him to get her to open up sometimes. Runs in the family, apparently. But, somehow, you were able to break down the wall that had been erected around her. Abby still didn't talk all that much, but she would always come back from school with a smile on her face. So, Mike was happy.

Then, like all good things, it came crashing down like a house of cards when his work schedule finally aligned with one of the “upcoming” meetings. This one was apparently a very big deal, and it was strongly implied to show up.

He hated these things despite never going to any before, but he just knew it would be filled with nosey people asking questions about his life. His sister. His “wife.”

God, he was already annoyed. The only saving grace was that it was the last meeting before the holiday break, so once it was over, he would be free for a while. Free to do what, exactly? Work, most likely, but a guy can dream.

The bell rang, signifying the end of the school day and the start of his personal nightmare. The door to the classroom was opened by one of the school's assistants, who held a clipboard in hand and waited for the “parents” to enter the room. He had arrived earlier than the scheduled time so he could speak to the assistant and find out what the meeting would entail, and already he knew it was a bad idea coming in here.

The woman was a nosy old biddy that was all too eager to learn the details of his and Abby's life.

He kept his answers short and clipped, but it did nothing to dissuade the woman. It got worse when he entered the classroom and saw the number of other parents who had shown up. He felt like an animal in a zoo; all the eyes followed his movements as he went to sit closest to the wall and away from the rest of the people.

The surrounding parents looked as though they lived in the next town over. They were clean-cut, hair styled perfectly, and clothes ironed. It was like they were trying to be a picture-perfect family.

He looked down at his own attire. His work boots were scuffed and dusty. His pants had a few grass stains from a recent job. His flannel shirt was buttoned wrong, and the sleeves were pushed up. Even his hair was a mess; he had tried to style it but didn't have much success, so he eventually gave up. The only thing going for him was that he had taken a shower before he left, so at least he didn't smell like sweat and grime.

As the meeting began, Mike had to try his best not to fall asleep. It was the typical teacher stuff. How the kids were doing. What the curriculum was for the following year. What their goals were. Blah, blah, blah.

Mike didn't care. He trusted you, and he knew his little sister was smart. She didn't need someone holding her hand and telling her what she was doing right or wrong. He knew this because he did that, and she didn't need it.

What did interest him, though, was the fact you kept looking his way. You didn't look at the others, and when you spoke, it was usually aimed toward them, but he saw the way you would look at him from the corner of your eye. He figured you were probably in shock that he actually showed up this time.

The meeting dragged on, and he was ready to leave. There were a few moments he had caught himself nodding off as he needed sleep, and this wasn't helping him. But then, like everything else in his life, the universe decided it was his time to suffer.

There was one woman who had sat at the front of the classroom. She wore her hair pulled back tight in a bun, her shirt was pressed, and her face was set in a permanent frown. He hated that lady; she reminded him of his good-for-nothing aunt who only wanted to criticize every choice he made.

The lady was also the mother of the most spoiled, brattiest child in the whole class. That damned kid had made it her life mission to torment Abby. He had come home more than once with her complaining about it, and when Mike had brought it up with you, you had told him that you had spoken with the parent.

That, of course, had done nothing. The child was an annoying pest, and he hated the way she treated Abby, but his sister had learned early on to deal with the bullying on her own. It didn't stop him from wanting to throttle the little shit, though.

The woman, the one who had started all his problems, took the opportunity to start a round of questioning. The first few were innocuous until they weren't.

"You seem to be a very patient woman." The woman had spoken to you, but her eyes were locked on him. "Is it a skill that was learned?"

The question itself was innocent enough, but the inflection and tone she used were meant to cut. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was alluding to something. It was always something, but he had to force himself not to say anything; the woman was a viper, and if he said something, she would attack without hesitation.

"I think anyone can be patient," You had responded diplomatically. "It's just a matter of the situation."

The woman didn't look happy with your answer, but she didn't pursue the line of questioning.

"Well, I couldn’t help but notice a certain someone who decided to finally drop in."

There it was. That was the opening.

Mike could tell you didn’t like the turn of conversation, and you were clearly trying to divert it elsewhere. It was no use, though. Mike could see the glint in the woman's eye as she prepared for the kill. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were cold. "I was starting to think that Mr. Schmidt had abandoned his responsibilities. Wouldn’t be the first time someone in that family did such a thing."

He couldn’t help but have visions of his accidental mall incident from last year flash in his mind when he processed what the woman had said. He could easily hop over the desk and deck her right in the mouth. He had the muscle for it, and it was very tempting.

However, he would not.

If there was anything Mike had learned over the years, it was how to control his emotions, even if the situation was dire. The last time he had lost his cool, he ended up getting fired, but that was a long time ago… okay, not really, but the point was, he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He wouldn't give the woman the satisfaction.

Mike leaned forward in his chair, arms crossed over his knees, and looked the woman straight in the eyes. "That's funny. I could say the same thing about your kid."

"Excuse me?!" She hissed, and she seemed offended. Good. He hoped she was offended.

"Okay, okay." You intervened, hands up as if to placate the two of them. "Let's keep this civil, okay? The last thing we want is to be kicked out of the school for brawling. That's not beneficial for any of us." You then looked back at the woman. "Let's not bring personal matters into this."

"Personal matters?" The woman was appalled at your statement, and her voice was so loud in the quiet room. He could tell many of the other parents were looking at them now, and he felt the weight of their gazes on him. It only made his anger spike. "That monkey of his tried to bully mine for three months now, and she's never done anything."

Monkey? Monkey?! Oh, he was going to kill her. It was one thing to talk shit about him; he was used to that, but Abby? No. Absolutely not. His little sister was the best damn thing to come into his life. He wouldn't have it.

But before he could say something, before he could even get out of the chair, you had done something he would never have thought you would. You got up and went to your desk, then you returned, holding a paper. You held it up for all the parents to see.

"This is a drawing my students did a few weeks ago," you started, and he was surprised at the level of calmness you were exuding. "The assignment was for them to draw the thing they loved the most."

Hearing those words, Mike had a feeling what was coming next, but he wasn't going to say anything. It would be like tempting fate. Still, he watched as you grabbed one of the papers, and then you turned it around so he could see it. Abby had done the drawing, and it was not only of him but of everyone else in her class as well. She had even drawn you standing near her with a kind smile. It was the picture she had brought home from that field trip months ago. It was a nice picture. Really nice. He liked it, and he knew Abby was proud of it.

"I made copies of every drawing so the parents could see them," You continued as you held out the picture for everyone to see. "So, tell me, would a bully do this?"

Your voice had a bite to it now, and he could finally see just how angry you were. He was surprised at how much control you were exerting. The other parents, however, were shocked at your sudden display of emotion. Even the woman, who had looked as though she was ready to take you on herself, looked like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't know what to say. No one said anything. Even he was shocked by your sudden outburst.

You were normally such a mellow person. Understanding, even. Always ready to listen, always ready to understand. You were the one who was there to help when something went wrong. You were the person who everyone turned to. You were… nice. You were a kind person. You were—you were just like Abby. That's all he saw in you now. You were just like his sister. You were just like her. You had that same determination and that same look of knowing something that others didn't, but there was also something else. You were a fighter, too. It was just something he hadn't noticed until this very moment.

You weren't the nice teacher everyone thought you were. No, you were more. You were the person he knew his sister was becoming.

"And to answer your question from before," you continued, ignoring the growing outrage from the other parent. "I'm a very patient woman because I understand that not everyone has the same opportunities. Some of us have a responsibility to provide the basic necessities for our family, which can often lead to not being able to attend these types of meetings.”

You looked directly at the woman when you spoke the last part, and you did not look happy. At all. In fact, he was pretty sure that was a little vein on the side of your head.

"Not everyone can be at their best every moment. Not everyone is at their best all the time. Not everyone has the privilege to complain about things not going their way. So, while I am a very patient woman, I will not have any of this derogatory about my students and their guardians." The calmness in your voice was gone, and your voice was rising, and you had started pacing back and forth behind your desk as you spoke. "Because if there is one thing that I cannot stand, it's someone who criticizes others just to make themselves feel better."

You went on to speak about your experience with the woman's daughter, explaining that a meeting needed to be called upon to address the issues with the child. You didn't stop there, though. No, you also spoke about how she should have addressed the situation when it was first brought up and how that, in turn, impacted the rest of your class. You had even pointed out some of the other parent's children who had done the same thing.

Suddenly, this meeting wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

It took a while, but once you finished your little speech, everyone had finally gotten over their shock and embarrassment. The meeting, as such, continued without incident, and by the time it was all said and done, Mike was ready to go home.

As he stood from his seat and made his way to the door, however, you stopped him. You had your bag in your hand and your coat on as well.

"I just wanted to—"

"You don't need to apologize," Mike cut you off. He didn't want an apology. He knew you weren't at fault here. In fact, he was surprised you took the time even to defend him. That didn't happen often. "I was expecting something like that to happen, but I appreciate you speaking up for Abby. She's got a good teacher."

He thought you would be embarrassed or even annoyed, but instead, your face lit up, and your cheeks turned red. "Oh, uh, well, it's my job. It was what I needed to do."

"Maybe, but you did it anyway. So, I appreciate it." He looked around the room and noticed everyone else had left. Even the nosy assistant had disappeared. He didn't know what to say, so he settled with saying the first thing that came to mind. "And hey, maybe next time you can tell them this is why I don't go to these meetings."

Your laugh was light, and you had a smile on your face. He liked the sound of it. He liked seeing it, too. He also liked the way it lit up your eyes. They had a beautiful color. So bright, so shiny. It was almost hypnotic.

"I'll consider it."

Mike wasn't sure how, but somehow, he knew you were telling the truth.

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jaylver · 2 months

Text

ROCKLAND — P.SH

synopsis: almost like a nightmare, park sunghoon plagues your present just as much as your past regrets had done. however, this time around, you and him decided to right your wrongs one last time.

pairings: non-idol!sunghoon x afab!reader

genre: exes to lovers, miscommunications, angst, second chance romance

warning(s): profanities, brief mentions of smoking, drinking, partying and alcohol

wc: 8k

a/n: i'm BACK. this has been in the works for far too long because of the constant writer's block so i'm not sure if it's good or not, plus it's my first exes to lovers so please be nice <3 greatly inspired by gracie abram's "rockland", so do give it a listen too! please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx

If there was one thing you’d regret forever in this lifetime, it would be ending things with the love of your life.

You admit it, you’re selfish. Selfish for wanting to leave the town you grew to hate, selfish for prioritising yourself and chasing your dreams, choosing to leave the people you loved instead. Painted a villain in the eyes of many close to the person you once went home to and even the man himself. But, how could he fully blame you when he was equally selfish too?

Park Sunghoon thought keeping you in the cage of this small town was going to make him a happy man. He often fantasised about the possibility of you and his future together, completely pushing aside the thought of you leaving, until it actually happened.

He was angry. He let himself be consumed by his own feelings and mindlessly projecting his anger and blame on you, while you regretfully did the same.

Pools of tears and venomous words spewed out of impulse left you scarred and broken down. It was a bad ending that you’d see in movies coming to life. The moment you had everything packed and goodbyes said, you figured leaving was for the best, now that your ex hates you and his friends who probably felt the same.

It was a shame, though. Heading to somewhere far from home with a heavy heart knowing you didn’t have the chance to see him once more. Frankly, you were a coward, and so was he.

That explained why returning back home was the scariest thing you had to face in a while.

It was ironic, wasn't it? Coming back to the place you wished for years to escape and actually doing so, but eventually having to return after you dropped out of the college that you've been praying and praying to get into, only for it to be overwhelming and the city lights couldn't compare to the starry night of your hometown.

You suppose you got the thing you wanted, but it just wasn't what you imagined.

Freshly twenty-two and out of school, you figured home was what you needed in your next step before deciding if you should re enrol. However, you find yourself not having the guts to face your family and friends, not after the promises turned out to be empty.

"You should quit smoking,"

Yunjin, your cousin and practically your closest friend growing up, was just a distance away when you spotted her, leaning against her car with a cigarette in hand. You found it amusing how she didn't cave into vapes instead in this day and age.

"Y/N!" She pushed the bud of her half smoked cigarette into the wall, then started jogging towards you, her dress flowing in the wind and boots making obnoxious clicks against the ground. There was a sense of relief in her eyes, her usual smile that you missed graced your presence. "God, I missed you, things aren't the same without you here,"

In the span of a few seconds of her hug, you took the chance to digest her words. Did that mean the traditions you've upheld are now gone? Parties, trips to the beach, all those?

"What?"

Yunjin pulled away, still managing a small smile. "I don't think things were ever the same since you left … and after you broke up with Sunghoon,"

You blinked, looking away into the distance. "I don't think I'll be welcomed,"

Yunjin scoffed, slapping your arm and scurrying to get your bags. "Don't say that! So not true. Everyone in the family is waiting for you to be back—"

"And talk behind my back about my failure in graduating? Yeah, no,"

‘‘That’s not going to happen,” Yunjin sighed, struggling with your bags and declining your help, but you still forcefully grabbed some knowing she’d eventually crumble. “I think they’ll get it,”

Would they?

Once you are settled into the car, bags successfully loaded into the trunk, you let yourself melt into the comforts of Yunjin’s passenger seat, finally getting to close your eyes and drift away. You thought it was best before having to face everything and everyone once again.

“What’s your plan now, anyway?”

Without opening your eyes, you envisioned a distant image in your head. “Take my time off and see if I’d like to re enrol or not. If I don’t, I’ll just go plan B,”

“Which is?”

“Accept the job offer in London,”

Yunjin almost hit the brakes out of shock, the news that came from you felt like it had hit her in the face, but somehow, she managed to keep her cool and not get you both killed. “What?” she shrieked.

“What?” you questioned back, sounding nonchalant as if this was just another normal offer that didn’t seem particularly significant. But it was.

“You have a job offer in London and you’re coming back here,”

“I left the city for a reason, it’d be stupid to go to another one right after,”

Yunjin exhaled, blinking in stupor. “Right,”

“How’s … everyone?”

Yunjin knew you weren’t referring to your family. Of course you’d know how your own family was doing, that’s a no brainer. What you were trying to mean was your old friend group. You couldn’t blame them for being mad at you, after all you were only a part of it because of Sunghoon.

“Heeseung’s graduating soon,” this was the first update you’ve gotten from Yunjin after those years away. It took you every will not to ask her about them, but here you were now, finally giving in. “They’re still the same, nothing’s changed,”

“What about him?”

Yunjin seemed hesitant, obviously holding back something that she didn’t want you to know. “I’m not going to explode upon hearing, you know that, right?” you joked lightheartedly, but secretly dreading hearing about him.

“I think he’s seeing someone,”

“Good for him,”

Would it be a crime to admit that you still missed your ex? Something in you was wishing you could rekindle a connection again now that you’re back, but all that hope shattered. If he had already moved on, why couldn’t you? Even after knowing how he probably hated and resented you for doing what you did, you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him back.

“That’s all?”

“You want me to go full crazy ex mode? You’re insane,” you shook your head, smiling a little, hoping Yunjin didn’t notice the speck of sadness swimming in your irises. “Whoever she is, I’m sure that I would like her … if I were slightly nicer,”

She let out a ‘tch’ in response, though grinning. “What are you going to do with them around? There’s no way you’d be able to fully avoid them,”

“What can I do? I’ll just have to coexist.”

Coexist was a funny word. How were you able to do that when you couldn’t even fully get over Sunghoon in the first place? Thinking about meeting him in flesh already made you feel like doubling over and projectile vomit. That was how pathetic you were, what a shame.

Settling in was easy. It was natural to be back home, way better than being in the noisy city and constantly surrounded by a bunch of fake friends. The question of why you left in the first place started burning your mind as you tossed around trying to sleep, but it only persisted to bug you. Then came the thoughts of Sunghoon and the friends you left behind, which prompted you to be fully awake, sitting up in bed.

It wasn't the greatest idea to reach for your phone and search for his contact name, just to recall the day you deleted his number. Yet, your memory never failed you, remembering the digits like it was first instinct, fingers already typing his number. Your thumb hovered over the green call button, a haze in your mind.

Inevitably, you shut your phone and dug your head into your pillow. He would've laughed then, if he had seen this happen, the exact moment of you almost caving in and finally saying the sorry you never gave him.

The pictures you saw of him on social media here and there made you wonder how he was and if he had already forgotten about you. There were a few recurring appearances of a girl that seemed to linger by his side in group pictures that caught your eyes. Who took your bed when you left? Who laughed at everything that he said? Was it that girl?

Just like the time you first had a crush on Sunghoon, you stayed awake thinking about him, except this time around, you were filled with regret instead of hope.

"Heeseung asked me about you,"

Yunjin's random confession in the middle of the day had surprised you. Lee Heeseung, the best friend of your ex who you swore hated your guts, asked about you? Shocker.

"What did you say?"

"I said something along the lines of you figuring out life and just chilling here until the time comes," Yunjin shrugged, and you nodded slowly. "But there's something he said that made me a bit … confused?"

"What?"

"He said they wanted to see you again,"

You raised your eyebrows, a hint of scepticism flashed over your eyes. "They want to see me? Tell me a better joke next time, thanks,"

"I'm not joking! I mean, he did say excluding Sunghoon, but the other guys wanted to know how you were now that you're back," Yunjin winced a little at the mention of your ex, but you waved it off.

"Are they treating me to dinner or something?"

"Well … no. But Heeseung asked me to bring you to their next party, which is in a few days," Yunjin's gaze softened, hand patting your back. "You know you don't have to come if you don't want to. I mean, after all that happened with you and them and Sunghoon,"

You let out a small sigh, absentmindedly fidgeting your fingers. "It's all in the past now. I'm sure Sunghoon has moved on with another girl, and maybe—just maybe—the guys do hate me less."

You never went to that party Yunjin mentioned.

It was hard to admit but you knew, deep inside you, you were afraid, too cowardly to face the people you once knew. Instead, you chose to linger around like a lost soul in a town full of the ghosts of your past.

It didn't help that the party was also in Sunghoon's house. How did they expect you to go in the first place? You thought you'd never step foot in there after you broke it off with him, and you were adamant on keeping it that way, but your heart got the worst of you.

On the night of the party, you drove around the neighbourhood, eventually stopping across the street of his house. You didn't know what got to you to do so, but you guessed reminiscence and bright lights coming from the house were the reason. The music was loud, people were coming in and out of the house, and the only thing you could think of was him.

That thought alone was enough to have you drive away, leaving the house further and further away into the background just as the memories of him being pushed into the back of your mind.

Rotting in your bed wasn't how your early 20s were meant to be spent, and avoiding almost everyone most definitely wasn't the case either.

Your family and Yunjin were the only people you saw daily, as for the friends you once had, they were long forgotten or didn't even bother to reach out. Except for Heeseung and the others.

That, to you, was a really funny thing to think about. People who stuck by you after the break up and swore to be your closest friends didn't try contacting you once you moved back, knowing damn well word traveled fast in the town; whereas the friends you thought hated you were the first to reach out.

"I'll go to that party," you said to Yunjin on a sunny afternoon tanning session by the pool, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, hiding the apprehension in your eyes.

"Really?" Yunjin almost jumped out of her seat. It was a party she had brought up days ago, still persistent on taking you out. At least this time around, it wasn't in Sunghoon's house, but her friend Chaewon's. "That's great! Chaewon and the girls are super nice, you'll love them. Let's pick a nice outfit for you, okay?"

Yunjin was by far the most enthusiastic one between you and her. She was picking out dresses and tops, literally rummaging through your closet for anything, and you had to remind her it was just a college party. So, you settled for a skirt and a plain top.

"Will you be okay? I'll stick by you," Yunjin had her arms around you, standing by the front door of Chaewon's house, hearing the music blaring from the inside.

"I'm fine—I think I'll be fine—I just don't want to run away from everyone anymore," it was mostly true, you thought it was inevitable to hide all the time, that wasn't how you're going to spend your life living.

"If there's anything, tell me, okay? We'll leave if you're getting sick," Yunjin gave your arm a final squeeze of assurance before crossing the threshold.

It was the same as every party you've gone to. Loud music, drunk college kids, liquor and beers strayed around, it reeked of your nightmare in a nutshell there.

Yunjin's friends were all as lovely as she had promised. The host herself was wobbling on her feet but managed to grace you with her humour. There was Sakura and Kazuha that you learned were foreign students.

Throughout the night, you were stuck by Yunjin, going from circle to circle and introducing yourself or recognising some of your past school mates. But, almost inevitably so, Heeseung, Jay and Jake had made an appearance too.

"Y/N," Jay was the first to call your name, causing you to turn your head at the familiar voice.

Your thoughts during then were jumbled into a mess. The people you were fighting to avoid were standing in front of you, all of which were much different than the memories you had of them in mind.

Three of them had grown taller, gained some muscles and matured in many ways. Jay's hair was dyed pink, Heeseung got new piercings and Jake had a tattoo on his finger. It was strange to admit they're the same people you knew despite feeling the complete opposite of familiarity.

"Hey—" you were cut off by Jay closing in and pulling you into a hug, this for once was something you remembered about him.

"We're so glad you're back," he whispered into your hair, squeezing you tight. It reminded you then that you were friends with him and the guys before you even dated Sunghoon, that connection was deeper than it seemed, and for it to be severed just because of a breakup was gut wrenching to realise. "We're sorry, Y/N, we're so sorry,"

His apology was genuine, that's for sure. Once you pull away, you let both Heeseung and Jake take turns to hug you, whispering apologies into your ear. It was odd, to accept their apologies and having to start afresh. You held onto them, just taking it in. To forgive was a big step, but maybe it was your first step.

You sat there, catching up with them and slowly getting comfortable just like the old days. Heeseung graduated and got a good job offer, Jay and Jake were still studying, both of which were in the same university. You were relieved there was nothing too awkward between you and them, or else you would have regretted your choices.

The night continued on with a few small talks and eventually you had to excuse yourself to the toilet. You wondered how Chaewon's house was so big, with halls that seemed to never end, or it could just be the effects of alcohol.

Stumbling around, you held onto the walls, passing by rooms occupied by people probably doing something unspeakable. You thought your peace of mind would be intact until the end of the night, but you were wrong. Upon turning a corner, you froze.

It was Sunghoon. It was him.

Grief was a funny feeling, especially when it comes to someone you once knew. You stared at him and there he was, like a ghost from your past coming back to haunt you. He was the shell of the person you loved, and you couldn't help but grieve the person he once was. What was he like now?

Before you could even turn around and make a run for it, his wandering eyes landed on you. He had the same thought process as you. Realisation, panic, sadness, confusion all mixed into a heap of feelings.

Your feet started moving on its own, as you stepped back, he took a step forward. Your breath became ragged, heart thumping hard and blood pumping in your ears. He was nearing, and you were running away, it was the same as before.

"Y/N!" He called out, and all it took was him to say your name again to have you stop in your tracks. Gosh, you were pathetic.

He was standing before you now, closer than he was a moment ago. It was then you realised how much he had changed too.

He was taller, smile lines etched much deeper into his face, almost changing along the same wavelengths with the others. There was something different about the way he looked at you, however. From love in his eyes that eventually changed into hatred was now filled with longing and confusion.

"Y/N," he repeated, disbelief evident in his voice, as if he couldn't believe you were there.

"Sunghoon," you blinked, a frown unknowingly making its way to your face. You let a few beats of silence pass, conflicted and nervous. "I—I should leave,"

"No—!" his hand reached out for you, but you didn't feel his touch. He didn't dare to touch you, letting his hand linger before pulling it back to his side. "I mean, you don't have to leave,"

"I thought you hate me,"

Sunghoon's gaze fell to the floor, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. He met your eyes once more. "I should hate you, shouldn't I? But I don't think I do, I never did,"

You blinked, a little surprised, a little hurt. All along he had made you think he hated your guts but he actually didn't? "Oh," you seemed to have lost the ability to talk or to compute a proper sentence.

You thought of the things you wanted to ask him. If he was still angry at you or if things were working for him. But, what came out was the question you've stored in the back of your mind instead.

"Are you with someone new?"

You figured he didn't expect such a question from you, much as you didn't expect yourself saying it. It was an itching thought, one that made you look like a typical ex, but you couldn't help it.

"I'm not," he sounded almost exasperated, as if having to squash down this rumour for the thousandth time.

"Oh … oh," you didn't know what to say, averting your gaze away from him and finding comfort in the wall behind him.

Sunghoon paused, gaze following yours, looking reluctant whether or not to continue the conversation, but alas, he did. "How have you been?"

"Bad," you laughed a little, and Sunghoon's ears perked at the sound of it that he hasn't heard for ages. "You?"

"I quit skating,"

That was surprising. How could he have? Skating was his dream, his past, present and supposed future, but now, it came crashing down. You didn't know if you should feel sorry for him, as you have been a part of his journey, but one bit of you also seemed to have started mourning the changed Sunghoon that stood before you.

"Why?"

He shrugged, hands slipping into his pocket with a solemn look. "I lost interest. I'm into music now, I'm in a band with the guys,"

You heaved a breath, a deep one. Ironic it was that he was doing music now when he was the one criticising you in the past for wanting to pursue it. Who even was this person? With a new appearance came a new personality, he was much further away than you thought despite the physical distance.

"You've changed," you didn't know what prompted you to say that, maybe it was the disbelief or the denial that he was someone new, but whatever it was, neither of you could deny the fact that he did change. "I'm scared of the person you've become,"

A beat passed, an unreadable expression on Sunghoon's face that you couldn't distinguish even though by now you thought you'd know every one of them.

"And I'm scared you're still the same."

Seeing Sunghoon that night seemed to have altered something in your life. Somehow, he was everywhere you went.

Who was working at the register? Sunghoon. Who was at the park? Sunghoon. Who was at the party Yunjin managed to drag you to? Sunghoon.

It was haunting.

All those little encounters didn't mean you talked to him like normal, though. The awkward tension in the air still remained, seeing each other only reminded you and him both of your pasts, and you hated it. That explained why you were having a hard time seeing him at another party you were at.

Yunjin was much more of a party goer than you expected, and she successfully convinced you to go to all of them. It was fun until you got drunk and started being emotional. Your efforts of hiding from Sunghoon that night failed when he barged into the empty room you were sobbing in, whether it was accidental or not, you didn't know, you wished to not know.

"Y/N?"

His voice brought back the times he called your name. Both the good and bad ones. You stared up at him from the ground, tears welling your eyes. The person you were looking at was someone you thought was a soulmate, but now stood as someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

"W–what are you doing here? Why are you crying?"

The alcohol messing with your brain was processing his words, but what came out from your lips was the total opposite of an answer. "I'm sorry, Hoonie,"

Sunghoon's eyes widened at the nickname, the privilege that only you had. He kneeled down, taking a seat on the ground opposite you, a visible distance in between.

"I hate this—us—I feel like if we gave it one night, to talk, to just feel—you'd hate me less and make it alright," you choked back the sobs building up in your throat, the dizziness making you unaware of how Sunghoon reached out only to hesitate and pressed his hand back to his side. "Just wish that we could fight now, I'd hold you on the comedown ��" your voice faltered, head leaning onto the wall.

"Y/N, you're drunk, we can talk this out another day," Sunghoon striped off his jacket and covered your exposed thighs with it. "Just … don't avoid me. I–I don't hate you, I just hope we can have a decent conversation without thinking about the past,"

He admitted it, how the two of you had secretly been thinking about the past, letting it be a big wall in between instead of growing from it. Yet, you could tell the unspoken anger and sadness still lingered, choosing to pour out gradually and unknowingly.

"Bet you wish you never even met me," you started slurring, hand gripping onto his jacket tightly. "I can't blame you, I broke your every heartbeat," your eyes were shut, images playing in your mind, not knowing the saddened look dawning on Sunghoon's face.

"Let's get you back."

In your sleep that night, you saw him. He was there, so far yet so close, and just like reality, he was hard to reach, harder to understand compared to before. He was a knife cutting deep, leaving a mark that constantly reminded you of the past.

How could you even make everything go back to the way it was?

Sunghoon was on your front door step the night everyone was out for dinner except you.

You hadn't expected him to turn up, thinking it'd be you that stood at his doorstep instead as you still had his jacket from that party (which you do not want to think about again).

"Sunghoon. Hey," the door was opened and you leaned against it, trying your best at hiding the hint of pining in your gaze.

"Oh, hey," he greeted back rather stiffly, dressed in a simple attire with the classic white Lacoste sneakers that he always wore. "I–I wanted to—"

"Take your … jacket?" You cut him off half way, nerves wrecking your brain.

A beat passed, Sunghoom visibly gulped. "Y–Yeah, my jacket,"

"I'll go grab it for you," you jerked your thumb over your shoulder, awkwardly scurrying back in to retrieve his jacket and coming back to see him chewing on his bottom lip, seemingly nervous. "Here. Thanks for it,"

"No problem," Sunghoon coughed, grabbing the jacket but absolutely paying no mind to it. His stare was straight at you.

"That's all, right?"

"Yeah,"

"Yeah," you echoed, hating the sudden rigidness between the two of you. "Bye then, Sunghoon,"

"Bye," Sunghoon said, looking dazed. Weird.

You saw him backing away and decided to close the door, but before you could even do so, a force had stopped you from closing it. Not a force, much rather a hand, his hand. The door was pushed open, and you physically jumped at the suddenness of it. Your eyes met Sunghoon's sorrowful ones.

"Don't push me away, Y/N, not again,"

"Sunghoon,"

He made his way in, closing the door behind him and you let him. Was this seriously happening?

"You said you wanted to give us one night to talk, so I'm here now. I didn't care about the jacket, I cared about you. I hate seeing us like this, it's like we're strangers," Sunghoon let out a frustrated huff, eyebrows furrowed.

"We can't just pretend nothing has happened between us,"

"So you want me to hate you instead? You're saying as if it's easy, Y/N, feelings don't work that way!"

"Then how do we go back to how it was? We can't, that's the truth. You're not the same person I used to know,"

"Cut the bullshit. I'm the same as I was, maybe just a little different than I was years ago, but that doesn't change anything. When does that ever stop you from loving?"

Were you too scared to love?

Sunghoon ran his hand across his face, wetting his lips. "You’re scared of change, and I don’t think that’s something new about you,”

Ouch.

“But I really wish you could let it all go. I don’t hate you, nor do I harbour any anger regarding the things that happened years ago. It hurts, it did, but seeing you now made me feel the opposite of all those emotions,” Sunghoon took a deep breath in, and you were holding yours. “I think about you a lot, actually. I regretted a lot of the things I said and done, and I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there for you and giving you the support you needed. I should've fought for us and not leave, I–I—" Sunghoon choked, unable to hold in his overpowering emotions anymore.

You didn’t say anything, instinctively closing in and pulling him into your arms, letting his head lie on your shoulder, ignoring the feeling of his warm tears soaking the fabric of your shirt. "I'm sorry too, for leaving you so easily,"

You stood there with Sunghoon in your arms, inevitably crying along and sobbing out your own apologies, the ones you had owed him and hidden all these years. He held you tight just as you did, and it felt like the nights he had you in his arms whenever you cried. You eventually calmed down whereas Sunghoon was still composing himself, avoiding your gaze.

You took the opportunity to hug him again, tighter and firmer this time, as if trying to stop him from running away.

"Can we start over? I don't want us to be strangers,"

You heard a sniffle, then a shaky breath of relief. "I'd love to,"

Pulling away, you locked eyes with him. They were twinkling brighter than the stars in the skies outside, filled with a spark of hope. "I'll make us some hot tea. Do you want to … stay over?"

"Can I?"

"I really want you to."

It didn't take more to convince Sunghoon to stay, all you had to do was ask and he'd listen.

That night, you and him hid in your room, talking for the whole night until the break of dawn. Nothing about the way he talked had changed, nor his laughter or the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. He told you about the band and some side gigs, offering to bring you to some too.

You laid there in bed laughing all night, occasionally peeking over the side of your bed to check up on him who slept on the extra mattress, only to meet his eyes and freeze.

The red string of fate tying you and him together was beginning to reform.

Not feeling dread every time you saw Sunghoon was a new start for you. In fact, you were glad to see him.

The misunderstandings and complexity built up over the years were finally addressed, leaving you to peace and a small hope of rebuilding what you had with him. But you kept that thought away for now, holding onto the pieces you had at the moment.

"Come to one of my gigs," Sunghoon made a trip to your house on a random afternoon, a box of your favourite chocolate covered strawberries in his hand. He never forgot anything about you, didn't he?

"Are you bribing me or asking me?" You said despite accepting the box, your heart squeezing at the thought of him remembering the littlest details about you.

"I'm asking you but also offering a gift," he let himself in, almost like always, and you didn't even notice, just letting him do so. "I saw it and I thought of you so I got it,"

"Thanks," you waved the box a little, setting it down on the table and leaning slightly against it. "You still remember,"

His gaze softened. "Of course I do," his hand by his side was itching to reach out, but it never did, instead, he played it off by giving you a smile. "So, what do you say? This Saturday, watch our gig at the pub,"

"Are you singing?"

"I wish I did," he laughed, and you momentarily recalled the times you had karaoke sessions with him. Curse reminiscence. "I play the bass, Heeseung's the front man,"

You nodded slowly, picturing them as a band and smiling slowly. You've missed them, and it was then when you realised it. "I'll go,"

"Really?"

"Obviously, do you want me to say no?"

"Well, no," Sunghoon chuckled, quite literally unable to hide his excitement from the way he's grinning widely. "I'm just … glad, and surprised, and happy,"

You bit back a smile, shaking your head at him. "Text me the details, will you? I don't want to miss it."

Saturday rolled around quickly. You and Yunjin were sitting in a corner of the pub, beers on the table and whispering gossip about some of your high school classmates. High school might've ended years ago but gossip never stopped.

"Alright, folks, the next act is someone you already know, they are not strangers," the manager of the pub stepped onto the small stage, announcing Sunghoon and the guy's band. "Please welcome … April Nights!"

April?

You bit your tongue, an odd feeling boiling in your stomach. April was the month you broke up with Sunghoon and left for university, it was more than just a coincidence for him and his band to have 'April' in their name. All you knew was the sinking feeling never went away.

"You alright?" Yunjin noticed your silence, casting a worried glance at you.

"April …" you mumbled, eyes staring straight ahead at Sunghoon who was setting up his bass on stage. "There must be something behind it,"

"What?"

"Nothing,"

You shook away that feeling currently eating up and put your focus on Sunghoon instead. It wasn't your first time watching him perform. It has always been him on ice in a big arena, but now it was him on a small stage at a dingy pub.

Sunghoon's eyes wandered all over the room, finally landing on you, a smile spreading on his pretty face. You managed a small smile, waving a little to let him know you're there, you're actually there and not a figment of his imagination, a dream that he has been wishing on for far too long.

The first song they played was an ABBA song. To be specific, it was your favourite ABBA song that you would listen to with Sunghoon in the past. Was it a coincidence?

You knew Heeseung had a vocal of stars, but to hear it for the first time in years was sending you into heaven. However, you failed to keep your focus on him, redirecting it to the bassist. You couldn't stop looking at Sunghoon, and his gaze wouldn't leave yours either.

The second song soon came by, and at that point onwards, you knew it wasn't a coincidence. It only took two songs for you to realise that Sunghoon had prepared a set list of your favourite songs. The band was currently playing Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls, a song you had loved ever since forever.

You shouldn't be feeling light headed, but you were.

The set ended almost a few hours later. It was filled with your favourite songs, undoubtedly. The whole time, you were truly holding your breath, especially when Sunghoon was holding your gaze.

While people were filing in and out of the pub gradually, you stayed. It was well past midnight and Yunjin's cheeks were pink from the alcohol, wandering off to join Heeseung and the others. You, on the other hand, were sober as hell, waiting for Sunghoon with nerve wrecking anticipation.

"Hey, hey, hey. How did we do?" Sunghoon slid into a seat like an apparition appearing out of thin air. You jumped a little, but melted into a smile at the sight of him.

"You guys were great," it was genuine, because they did do amazing, probably more than just amazing. "'April nights', an interesting name,"

Realisation dawned on Sunghoon's face, he swallowed thickly. "I—yeah. April was an interesting month,"

"The set list …"

"Right, the set list," he chuckled, shifting on his feet a little nervously and stiffly. "I figured since you're here I'll play some of your favourite songs,"

"Oh," you let out softly, not knowing what else to say, this was something you found yourself acting around Sunghoon now. "That's … nice,"

Sunghoon gouged your expressions and the tone of your voice, a slow frown etching onto his tired face. "Did you not … like it? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable,"

"No, it's not that! I'm just—" you paused, thinking of an appropriate word to describe how you felt. Frankly, you didn't know your exact feelings. "—surprised and … confused?"

"Confused?"

"Sunghoon, we're exes, and you pulling this isn't exactly helping—this—" you gestured to the space between you and him. "Us,"

Sunghoon was silent for a moment, occasionally opening his mouth to say something just to close it before he could. "I—maybe I read it all wrong, I thought—you know what, forget it,"

"Don't. Just tell me," you reached over for him, but didn't touch his hand. "What are we? We're not exactly best friends nor are we enemies. I don't want any tension between us and I don't want you to think you have zero chance at all," you breathed, searching for his eyes. "I would want us to work out again, if that's what you want too,"

Sunghoon's eyes glistened with a spark of hope, relief washing over his face. It was an answer to his question. "I want us to work out. I want us to have another chance," his hand reached out for yours the first time since you've seen each other, feeling the warmth of his touch that you were no stranger to. He carefully and gently intertwined his hand with yours.

"We'll always find our way back to each other."

It was odd but comforting to know that nothing has changed when it came to you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon brought you to your favourite places, ate your favourite dishes, did your favourite activities as an attempt to rekindle everything back. Safe to say it was working.

Just like the first dates you had together, you felt yourself having the same bubbly feeling internally, the same giggles you caught yourself having after a stupid joke he made. Despite all that, over the course of a few weeks, it had you wondering about your relationship with him.

"Will you date him again?" Yunjin could tell you were struggling, even if you didn't say it, it was still quite evident.

"What's with the sudden question?"

"Well, considering he has taken you out on so many dates and still hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend again, I could tell you're troubled,"

"Okay, mind reader," you grumbled and shifted in your seat, hating how right she was. "He said he wanted to give us a chance again, so I was expecting that—you know—we'd get back together soon,"

"Your 'soon' seems a bit urgent, but I don't blame you," Yunjin shrugged, gaze softening at your words. "I can tell how much love there still is between the two of you. It's natural to gravitate towards each other, but time, time is what you need to heal the scars, Y/N. It's been years, give yourself time."

You suppose giving yourself time truly was what you needed. But when you mentally said you needed space, you didn't mean wanting Sunghoon to ignore you.

That's right. He was ignoring you.

How did you know? Apparently, the hard way.

Calls, messages were all brushed aside. You didn't even see him physically. At one point, you considered him dead, but seeing him at a party proved to you that he wasn't.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Cornering him was a challenge, but being headstrong and slightly buzzed, nothing could possibly stop you.

"Y/N?"

"Wow, I'm surprised you remember my name," you seethed, almost stumbling forward and throwing a punch at him. "So, we're playing the game where you get back at me and ghost me after all that we've been through lately? Sweet! Could've given me a head's up though,"

"What? You're the one who's planning to abandon me just like before!"

"What are you even saying?"

"Your email, Y/N. I saw your email. How you have a big job in London and you just can't wait to join, throwing me away like a summer's fling right before you leave,"

"You're not making any sense, I'm not accepting that role!" You were heaving at anger at this point, matching the fumes emitting from Sunghoon's ears. "You dickhead! I'm literally throwing my dreams away and you're here thinking I'm leaving you again? Is that what you thought of first? Oh, maybe you could've just asked me, but you didn't, just like the past,"

Bringing up the past had triggered something not only in you but him. He blinked, keeping silent but chewing anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

"You never changed, huh?"

You heaved a deep breath, shaking your head a little, not to answer his question, but at him.

"Well I guess that makes the both of us."

"I fucked it up, didn't I?"

The night after the confrontation, you woke up on Yunjin's couch with a hangover thanks to your habit of drinking your problems away. Remembering Sunghoon's face and the feelings you felt literally had you shrivelling back into the couch, a deep frown etched on your face.

"Partly, yes, but mostly, no," you felt the couch dip beneath Yunjin's weight as she joined your side, a warm cup of coffee in her hand. "He fucked up first, but I think it's all just a big misunderstanding,"

"I don't we've healed from it," you took the cup from her and drank from it. "He's scared of me leaving and I was considering leaving again. Maybe we're just not meant to be,"

Yunjin sighed, moving her body closer to you and placing a comforting hand on yours. "If you're not leaving, that means you're staying, which also means you get to make it right. You get to have time to mend it all unlike the last time,"

"I have to make it right, don't I?"

A nod of confirmation from Yunjin was all you needed to know your next step. So, you decided to show up at his gig in the same exact pub without thinking through it twice.

"He's not here tonight," Heeseung looked thoroughly puzzled by your sudden appearance, and it seemed none of them knew about the small altercation you had with Sunghoon.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's been acting a bit … off. We asked him to take a night off, maybe you should give him a call."

If only it was that easy.

Walking back home with a dejected heart was not the plan you had in mind. A part of you even thought this was truly the end, maybe he reached the conclusion of going no contact and you have no choice but to accept it. Was this karma?

It didn't help that you walked past the park that you and Sunghoon used to run off to back in the past. The exact bench which you and him sat on still resided there. Your curious mind led your legs towards it, taking a seat and remembering all the memories you shared with him.

Being alone under the night sky and getting accompanied by the dim light coming from the street lamp had given you a chance to rethink your choices about coming back home, whether it was worth it to see Sunghoon once again and try for the closure you never got. Well, look where it got you now.

The ruffles of the leaves got you snapping your head towards the direction of the noise, but it only landed on a figure.

"Y/N?"

You squinted, waiting until the figure walked under the streetlamp to distinguish that it was … Sunghoon. You should be feeling glad now that he was there in front you, but why were you feeling the exact opposite?

"Sunghoon? W–what are you doing here?" You stood up, watching him getting closer, the anguish in his face was clear.

"I–I … I went to look for you," he started, carefully and slowly inching closer until there's a comfortable distance between you both. "You weren't home and I thought … that was it,"

That was a fatal flaw you and him shared, wasn't it?

"I went to the pub to look for you too," your voice came out in a hushed whisper, breathing becoming ragged. "And you weren't there, so I thought … I thought it was the end too,"

"Fuck's sake, I know I said this many times but I'm sorry, Y/N," he sounded desperate, apologetic and almost exasperated. "I'm sorry for assuming things and ignoring you, I guess I never really got rid of the avoiding thing. I'm just … scared of you leaving me and I can't accept it again,"

"I'm not leaving, Hoonie," you were the first to reach out, to touch him and pull him into your embrace. "I didn't think you'd see that email so I never said anything about it. But I'm not leaving, okay? Not this time, never again. I'm here and I'm staying,"

You heard Sunghoon's quiet breathing next to your ear, his calming heartbeat thrumming against your shoulder. "I'm sorry, I really am, Y/N. I said I wanted to make this right but why does it feel like I'm fucking it all up?"

"You're not, Hoon, trust me. If I have to be honest here, both of us have past scars that aren't healed yet. It takes time, one step at a time, and that was what I learned. I think we're not fully healed from the past," you held onto him tighter, spilling all your hidden truths. "We can make it right, but first, we have to forgive ourselves, forgive each other and move on,"

Sunghoon pulled away a little, but his arms still remained around you. It was the first time you were ever so close to him since the split, wholly vulnerable and showing him your truest emotions.

"I forgive you," he whispered, pearly tears threatening to spill from the edge of his eyes. "And I'm sorry again,"

"I forgive you too," your grip on his jacket tightened, a small comforting smile appearing on your lips, one that Sunghoon reciprocated.

"I don't think I'll ever stop loving you," he confessed, a little out of the blue, but it was something he needed to get out of his system before he burst. "Those years when you were away, I see you in everyone else, I don't think anyone could ever compare. I still love you even after this long,"

Your mind was in a haze upon hearing his confession, sincerity and longing hidden in his words but evident in his eyed. For a moment, you thought of what you could say, but nothing came to mind, so you did the first thing your body told you to. You kissed him. Actually, it was more of a peck, a simple quick peck that was enough to shock both him and you.

"I'm sorry!" You saw his wide eyes and wondered if it was a good time to have even done that.

Sunghoon melted into an expression of adoration, a wide smile etched on his lips, as if in both disbelief and relief that you kissed him. "Don't be sorry," he stepped closer, only an inch measured the distance between you and him. The space became smaller when he leaned down, eyes flickering down to your lips. "Can I?"

Was this happening? "Yeah,"

Sunghoon didn't waste any moment in meeting your lips with his. It was natural, easy, for you to kiss him just like first instinct. The amount of desperation, sadness, anger and love were poured into the way he kissed you. There wasn't any urgency, but it spoke louder than intended.

It was short, but it was enough to let the both you know the true feelings you harboured for each other. By the time you pulled away from him, you felt his eyes on you, a giggle erupted from you unexpectedly, and he started joining in.

You really looked like a lovesick fool standing under the streetlamp with your lover.

"Do you want to stop by that old spot we used to go to?" Sunghoon suggested, a little shyly this time.

"The one nearby?"

"That one,"

"Let's go then." you nodded, casting him a soft smile.

Sunghoon didn't say much, but his hand did the talking by reaching for yours. He held onto it tightly, intertwining his fingers with yours and swinging your interlocked hands as you walked. He might've not said much, but you could tell how he felt.

Feelings might be complicated, and making amends with the history behind a broken relationship was equally challenging, but what mattered most was getting back with the one who you called your soulmate, your lover, your best friend.

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inuyashaluver · 3 months

Note

would you maybe write a Katie McCabe fic with a reader who’s never really had a relationship before so missed out on all the cliche teenage love moments in their teenager years so now that they’re in a relationship Katie goes out of her way to try and make up for all the things she missed and reader just gets to see a whole new, loving side of Katie.

teenage dream - katie mccabe

katie mccabe x reader

description: in which you’ve never been in a relationship, when you miss out on the lovey dovey moments, your girlfriend helps you out

warnings: fluffy fluffy, swearing

a/n: ahh!! such a cute request, made my heart all fuzzy, thank you, lovely, enjoy ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

your girlfriend, katie, is a very. determined. woman. she would do anything for you, without a question, without a second thought, without a doubt, she’s there, and she wants to make sure you know that.

when you stumbled into the arsenal training facility for the first time with your big, curious eyes and sheepish smile, she knew she needed to have you, and that was her plan exactly.

—

you had just been signed to arsenal from sydney fc back in australia. moving to england, specifically to london was one of the scariest thoughts you could muster, leaving everything you knew behind to start a new chapter of your life at just 25.

but thankfully, you had your matildas teammates to help you along the way, fitting in almost immediately and settling into a place you now considered home.

the arsenal girls were your family amongst all the chaos and you truly loved everyone, a particular irish, however, caught your heart more than others.

—

it was one of your first training sessions. you were partnered up with steph, kicking the ball to each other back and forth until she sent the ball way over your head, unfortunately landing right at the back of katie mccabe’s head.

“what the fuck!” she groans, hand cradling the back of her head before turning with a glare to figure out who the culprit was.

only, when she turned around to see your shocked face, she visibly relaxed, offering you a charming smile as you apologised profusely.

“katie, oh my god, i’m so sorry! steph kicked it really hard and then i tried to get it, but it went straight to your head, and then-” you ramble, the words coming out of your mouth faster than your brain could think.

“you know, sweetheart, if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask?” she grins, you blink and look at her in a dazed state, your cheeks lightly dusted with pink as you looked at each other.

she chuckles at your expression, taking a step forward to be directly in front of you.

“o-oh, um” you stutter, she smiles reassuringly but your brain couldn’t comprehend anything coherent at all.

“did you want the ball back?” she asks amusingly, all you can do is nod, katie smiles and places the ball into your hands, purposefully grazing her fingers against yours, she smirks at the way your breath hitched at nothing but a simple graze of your fingers, she loved this.

you thank her softly before rushing over to steph, cupping your flushed face while she looks at you amusingly. you fan yourself and steal little glances at katie only to see she was already analysing your every move. the fluidity of your movements leaving her in a hypnotised state.

you were both driving each other crazy.

—

katie didn’t try to hide her advances on you, the whole team would tease you for your reactions to her flirting and katie relished the whole situation.

she loved that she made you all shy to the point where you couldn’t look at her, even when she was basically doing nothing.

from small gestures of holding the door open for you, handing you your water bottle, helping you put on your tracker, you were a blushing mess. it was even worse when she would shower you with compliments.

“hey, beautiful, i like your boots, or maybe i just like the girl wearing them” she’d call out cheekily from next to you in the change room, “thank you” you say bashfully, making her grin widely as she analysed your face, knowing your brain was malfunctioning.

she’d always spot you in the gym and it was obvious to anyone that the two of you liked each other from every interaction you had.

you’d be training weights and katie would make an effort to linger around you just in case you ‘needed’ help.

“hold on, babe, let me help you” she’d laugh softly, before you even got to attempt to lift the weight off the rack, katie was there behind you with a soft smile.

she’d hover her hands by your sides as you’d squat the weight, giving you encouraging words and smiles that had your body burning.

“two more, darlin’, come on” she cheered, when you finished the set, she grinned happily, “good girl” she praised, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“smashed it, didn’t even need me” she grins, “nah, i did, thanks, katie” you breathe out, smiling at her when she handed you your water bottle with a wink before walking away, leaving you a blushing mess that steph and caitlin were pissing themselves laughing about.

“stunned mullet over here” caitlin teases, you roll your eyes and push her off you when she attempts to kiss your cheek, steph laughs at the two of you as you bicker like kids. you like katie and you were sure of it now.

—

surprisingly, you were the one who made the first move, tired of all her teasing and wanting to take that next step forward. you cornered her after a game one day and she was extremely surprised to say the least.

when you dragged her to the car park by her hand, she interlaced your fingers on instinct and smiled at you affectionately when you squeezed them for comfort.

“katie” you start, “mhm, that’s me, gorgeous” she grins, pulling you slightly closer by your hand.

“i was just wondering if you wanted to..um, i don’t know, go for a coffee or something tomorrow?” you ask nervously, katie was smiling so hard, her cheeks were starting to hurt.

“what, like a date?” she assured, her grin not once dropping at your new found confidence. maybe you were around her too much.

“um, yeah” you mumble, she moves to grab your other hand and pulls you forward, looking at you lovingly. “i’d love to” she kisses your cheek quickly and you try not to let your knees buckle from under you,

“thank you for asking, babe” she places her hand on your bicep and holds it gently, you smile up at her and nod, letting her walk you to her car, departing with a sweet kiss to her cheek that had her stomach swarming with butterflies.

—

when you went to coffee the next day, it was like you’d known each other for years. you were so similar, both of you would talk excitedly about random things while you learnt more about each other.

katie was incredibly respectful, she just did everything right that you couldn’t fault her. she was perfect. she made you feel so incredibly comfortable, she loved that you were so authentically yourself, she loved everything about you.

katie made you so comfortable in fact, about 4 dates in, you’d told her all about your relationship history.

you’d always been in talking stages with people but nothing would ever come of it, she was incredibly understanding and supportive, listening intently to your every word as she caressed your hand for comfort.

in her head, she was planning all the ways she was going to spoil you, to make you giddy in puppy love. she was incredibly determined to give you everything you deserved.

so, when katie asked you to be her girlfriend, she was proud knowing she was your first.

—

when you were at her house cuddling and watching a rom com, you’d expressed mindlessly how you wanted that teenage lovey dovey experience and katie made an immediate mental note to give you that. gently kissing your cheek with a sly grin as you both watched the movie.

the next day, you’d arrived at training to see your locker with little heart sticky notes stuck all over it. you gasp and moved closer, opening up your locker to see a small bouquet of flowers with a little note attached to them,

‘pretty flowers for my pretty girl, from your secret admirer -k’ you were borderline almost in tears over the small gesture, your heart clutching at the thought of her remembering your conversation.

when you went into the change room to find katie chatting to leah, she was left breathless when you rushed over and pulled her into a sweet kiss, letting out a little noise of surprise into your mouth.

she immediately pulled you closer by your hips and smiled into your mouth, you pulled back with a quick peck to her lips.

she smiles brightly when you pull away, you wrap your arms around her neck and tugged her into a hug.

she sways you gently while you thanked her, smiling at leah to see she was recording the two of you with her phone with her own bright grin on her face.

you wouldn’t let go, holding her close to you in an attempt to convey everything you were feeling. she hums at your embrace, her hands gently caressing your waist as she holds you close.

giggling and whispering in your ear as you hold her. you kiss her cheek and part from her reluctantly when you had to change for training.

—

you both had a day off the next day and katie had convinced you to head out on a date. a mini carnival on a sunday afternoon being the location.

you’d walked around hand in hand giggling and chatting amongst the carnival, stopping for photos whenever the two of you were asked.

you both ate carnival food and went on rides, the bright smiles for both of you being the only expressions you’d had all day.

then, katie spotted a photobooth and she immediately dragged you over. there were four photos, katie had you perched up on her lap with her arms wrapped firmly around your middle.

the first photo was the two of you with happy faces with your cheeks smushed together.

one of you kissing katie’s cheek while she closes her eyes in a giggle.

the next one was katie following suit, grabbing your face and jokingly biting your cheek while you laugh.

and the last one, katie pulling you into a loving kiss, the light pink evident on both of your faces.

she grins at you while she watches you look over the photos with a love sick expression.

you really felt like a teenager at this moment, feeling so giddy over the girl, you were so grateful for her.

—

now whenever the two of you are in the gym, katie uses you as the weight, knowing that it made you giggle.

as soon as she saw you in the room, she gestures for you to come closer with her finger, a smirk evident on her face.

“come here, baby” she entices, you roll your eyes amusingly and make your way to where she was sitting. you stand in between her legs with your hands on her shoulders as she held your hips, looking up at you as you brushed away a loose hair that fell from her ponytail.

she only let the embrace happen for a few seconds until she lifts you up bridal style, squatting with your weight like it was nothing. every time she’d get up she’d hoist you up in her arms and you would yell and giggle at the height, holding onto her for dear life even though you know she’d never drop you.

“katie!” you giggle when she peppers your cheek with kisses while she held you, feeling her smile against your skin.

“mhm?” she mumbles, moving to your other cheek and continuing her little kiss attack. you laugh brightly when she moves her lips around your face before she moves to kiss your lips gently, lasting for a few seconds until she put you on the ground.

she smiles satisfyingly at your pink cheeks, making an effort to playfully slap your behind when you bent down to pick up her water.

“easy, mccabe” you taunt, passing her the water with a kiss on her cheek, she chuckles and takes a sip while she winks at you before she helps spot you as usual.

—

everyday with katie offered something new, she absolutely spoilt you with an amount of love you didn’t even know was possible.

it only got more intense when you moved in together, happily and easily calling you cooper’s other mum.

not to say you didn’t spoil her either, you showed your appreciation to katie through simple gestures that she was incredibly grateful for.

there was a lot of love and mutual respect for one another that was obvious to anyone and you both couldn’t be happier.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - just pretend it’s you! ily beffy

liked by stephcatley and 44,232 others

katie_mccabe11: the missus is pretty cute

view all comments

yourname: mammy katie

↳ katie_mccabe11: mammy (y/n)

leahwilliamsonn: still don’t know how you pulled this one

↳ yourname: luck of the irish

↳ katie_mccabe11: watch it.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader

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boldlyvoid · 1 year

Text

Employee of the Month 2: Stocking Stuffers

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader | Part One

Summary: Christmas is the season for Giving

Warnings: food mention, appearances from eddies friends, teasing, kissing, lots of fluff, meeting the family, gift exchanges, Eddie's scars, the truth about Hawkins + the upside down, love confessions, oral sex (m+f), hand jobs, squinting, cum play, first times, Protected p in v sex

word count: 13.9k

Eddie makes her breakfast the next morning, with Wayne trying to sleep on the couch in the living room, thinking he has no idea that Y/N slept over last night… it’s not like her coat and her shoes are by the door or anything.

They eat quietly in his room, they haven’t talked about what happened last night or the fact that they’re dating now… she quietly eats with a confused look on her face like she’s thinking really hard, it’s cute.

He stares at her with a smile, “what’s on your mind, princess?”

“Huh?” She looks up at him finally, wiping away any trace of what she was thinking about. “Oh, I just… I can’t believe this is real and I’m not dreaming right now like I actually slept over last night. You actually like me, that actually happened last night…”

“You’re a big girl now,” he teases first. “No, but really, I feel the same, it happened really fast.”

She nods, fighting a smile as she remembers it fondly, “but it was nice…”

“Waynes out there,” he whispers, pointing through the wall, “you can’t get all horny on me when he’s here, I have to behave.”

“Shut up,” she smacks his knee lightly. “I am not getting all horny on you I was just saying, it was fun and I would like to do it again sometime… with my boyfriend.”

“We work together again tonight, and tomorrow,” he reminds her. “And if you don’t have anything to do on Monday, you’re more than welcome to stay every night, so we can, you know…”

“You can stay with me on Sunday night?” She suggests, knowing Monday was Christmas eve and her mom wouldn’t let her miss it. Not since her dad died. “And we could spend Christmas together if you wanted? I think my mom would actually love to have you at the table too.”

He nods, “I’d love to, I think Waynes working nights but he’d be able to come to dinner before work?”

“I’ll talk to my mom about it,” she fills with glee. “You know, I wasn’t going to say anything but I’ve been working on a Christmas present for you and I’m even more excited to give it to you now.”

“Thank god,” he feels a wave of relief wash over him. “Cause I got you something too and I didn’t want it to be weird if you didn’t get me anything, I was freaking out a bit about it.”

“Really?” She can’t believe it. “You didn’t have to do that?”

“You didn’t have to get me anything either, but’cha did,” he reminds her, giving her the biggest heart eyes ever. He’s so gone for her it’s a little dramatic how much his heart aches for her when she’s right there in front of him.

She returns to her plate with a big smile, stabbing her fork into the scrambled eggs with a shake of her head and then she points it at him, “you’ve gotta stop being so cute before I jump on you again.”

He drops it there, they finish their food and he brings them all back to the kitchen carefully. The two of them get dressed again, he brings her coat and boots over to the other door by his room, not wanting to disrupt Wayne at all. He bundles up and heads out to start the van about 5 minutes before she’s ready to go, making sure it’s nice and warm when she gets inside. He holds her hand on the ride back to her place, he walks her to her door and kisses her with the promise of being back at a quarter to 8 for work.

And then he’s alone again.

The pressure of it all shows up when he’s pulling out of her neighbourhood. So he doesn’t turn back towards the trailer park, instead, he heads downtown. He pulls right up beside Steve’s Beemer at the video store and heads inside with a feeling he can’t shake off.

“Hey, stranger,” Robin lights right up, she was home for the holidays and working with her one best friend, surprised to see another already. “What are you doing up so early?”

“It’s noon?” He laughs, “but uh, I had to drop my girlfriend off at her place before work.”

“Girlfriend!?” She lights right up, “the girl you like from the grocery store, right?”

He nods, “yeah, she uh, she came over when I was sick last week and made me some soup and read to me and tucked me in and I was like, I’m so stupid she clearly likes me too so I kissed her yesterday and now she’s my girlfriend.”

“Wow,” she leans on the counter with her head in her hands, “Steve! Are you hearing this?” She calls over to him in the back room.

“What?” He pops his head out to see Eddie, “oh, hey!”

“Y/N’s his girlfriend now,” Robin points at him with a smile, more of a shit-eating grin, really. They’ve been keeping a bet on when it would happen. “You owe me 20 bucks.”

“Come on, you couldn’t have waited till after Christmas?” Steve complains, happy for him, but out $20.

He shrugs, “sorry man, she wanted me sooo bad, I couldn’t say no to her.”

“Shut up,” Steve can tell he’s exaggerating. “How did you find a girlfriend before me?”

“Charm, raw sex appeal, pure luck,” Robin uses it as an opportunity to bully Steve, “it’s not his fault you lack those things.”

“Fuck you both,” he slaps $20 on the counter and heads back towards the stock room.

“Wait, I needed to talk to you, specifically,” Eddie calls after him, following him towards the back room. “I have a question that only you would understand…”

“Okay,” Steve seems concerned but he holds the door open and lets Eddie into the staff-only room full of VHS cases. “What’s up?”

“Have you… I mean, has anyone seen— ugh this is so weird man, I’m sorry,” he leans against the table back there with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, the scars… has anyone seen your scars, you know, when you’re… intimate with them?”

Steve nods, “yeah, I’ve been taking good care of them now so they’re not too bad and when they ask about it I just lie and say it’s road burn from a motorcycle crash and they buy it.”

“How do you take care of them?” He genuinely didn’t know there was a way.

“I learned from this one girl that bio oil helps with stretch marks and lightens them so I tried it and look,” Steve pulls his shirt up and moves his vest out of the way. The scars aren’t as red as Eddie’s, they’re almost the same fleshy pink as the rest of him. “You want some, you can have the rest of my bottle, I think this is as light as they’re getting for me.”

“If you don’t mind?” He genuinely wanted to try anything that would make them a little less visible. “I just don’t know how to explain to her why I have these.”

“Have you considered the truth?”

He shakes his head, “her dad died in the earthquake. How do I tell her we almost stopped it from happening but missed it by a few seconds and now her dad is dead?”

“We can give her someone to be mad at, tell her we killed Vecna, we made sure it’ll never happen again,” Steve knows that’s not much, but it’s something. “If you want, we can all help tell her? Nancy’s home as of tonight and staying here all week, or you know what? Bring Y/N to our Christmas party on Monday and we can tell her then… unless you want to wait till you’re more serious?”

“We’re pretty serious,” he can’t help but blush.

“Wait, you’ve fucked but she hasn’t seen you shirtless?” Steve can read Eddie’s face better than anyone. “How?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Eddie bites his lip, keeping his secrets to himself. “But we didn’t have sex, we just, you know…”

“I don’t,” Steve crosses his arms, playfully. “Explain it to me, pretend I’m an idiot—

“I don’t have to pretend.”

Steve points at him with a glare, “hey.”

“What?” Eddie laughs it off, enjoying how easy it was to bug Steve. “We kissed and did stuff, you don’t need to know anything else.”

“Fine,” Steve gives in. “I’m glad you’re happy though, man, you’re like glowing right now.”

He nods, smiling away, unable to disagree. “I can’t believe I got her… it’s fuckin’ nuts how happy she makes me.”

—

She has the house to herself until her mom gets home, which means she spends a decent amount of time in the shower without anyone telling her that she can’t. She packs a little overnight bag to bring to Eddie’s tonight, she gets all dolled up too and just in time for her mom to get home.

She’s looking in the mirror, making herself all pretty when her mom comes and stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame with a smile. “You didn’t come home last night…”

“I did not,” she turns slowly, afraid to get told off for some reason… her mom wasn’t very confrontational at all.

“Can you just tell me next time? I woke up in a bit of a panic when you weren’t in here but I figured you’d be with Eddie,” she says it without saying it. “I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I’m probably going over to his trailer again tonight, but tomorrow I want him to stay here… if that’s okay? I just figured that with Christmas coming that you’d want me here on Christmas Eve,” she explains her thinking all in one go. “Is that okay?”

She nods, “I don’t see why not. Does he have anyone to spend Christmas with?”

She shakes her head, “I’m pretty sure he’s Jewish on his uncle's side, but he said he’d like to spend Christmas with us and, his uncle works night shifts but he’d be able to come to dinner too if we have the space? He’d never turn down a good meal.”

“Yeah, I bought a big turkey last week thinking we’d have a bunch of leftovers, so it’s definitely big enough for 4,” her mom explains with a smile, happy to have guests again. “Give them the invite for me, tell them dinner is at 5:30 on Tuesday.”

“I will,” she can’t contain her excitement so she just beams a powerful smile at her. “He’s kinda my boyfriend now too…”

“Yeah?” She smiles right back, proud of her. “Well, I can’t wait to get to know him.”

“He’s really awkward at first, but he’s funny and he’s nice and just the cutest man on the planet, it’s literally not fair how cute he is,” she gets a little carried away on that.

“Yeah well, just try to behave yourself when he’s here… and be safe?” She had the talk with her in grade 6, she’s known about safe sex for years, doesn’t mean mom can’t bring it back up. “You’ve got condoms, right?”

She nods, slightly embarrassed but she knew her mom meant well. “I bought some for his stocking… that’s what I got him for Christmas, a bunch of things I thought he’d like or would make him laugh.”

“That’s cute,” she smiles, remembering how she did that for Y/N’s father. She backs up from the doorway and taps the frame lightly, “well, I’m going to make dinner, should I be expecting anyone?”

She shakes her head, “no, he’s coming to get me for work, though.”

“Sounds good.”

And then she’s gone.

It leaves her feeling a little more anxious than before. She has spent a lot of time thinking about the day she’d finally get to have sex with another person, and after last night it’s never felt realer. It’s mildly terrifying to think about. He was going to see her naked, he was going to stretch her open and slip inside of her and she was going to feel how hot and heavy he is as he fucks her and…

She has to take a deep breath and calm herself down, turned on and anxious at the same time now.

She’s so into him, she has been for so long. She's thought about him while getting off, she’s had dreams about a life with him, he’s been a constant in her fantasies and now it was going to become her reality.

—

Work is excruciatingly slow now that they’re dating.

He’s so handsy, he has to touch her every time he passes by, he kisses her cheek randomly, he comes up behind her to help her and rests his chin on her shoulder to watch what she’s doing and hold her in a weird hug around the middle. She wants to get her work done, the sooner they finish the quicker they can get out of there but he’s just happy being in her presence. He’s so happy with her.

He’s on the other side of the aisle, humming along to the songs on the speakers, shoving boxes of cereal into the shelves without a real care in the world, too caught up in the songs. “Don’t take my heart, don’t break my heart, don’t, don’t throw it away,” his voice drops to mimic the song, making her smile over at him.

He reaches back to the palette of boxes in the centre of the aisle, pretending to drum and then he points at her, “And this is my four-leaf clover! I’m on the line, one open mind, this is my…” he makes his way to her, taking her hand to dance like an old 50s couple and cradling the back of her head as he brings her closer. “Four leaf clover,” he finishes the words before he kisses her head and she settles there.

They sway along to the beat, his jaw pressed to her temple, holding her close to his heart, she feels so incredibly loved by him it was insane. She gives his hand and his side a little squeeze before pulling away with a smile, “that was nice, but stop being so cute, I have things to do.”

“Yeah, me,” he teases, letting her go.

She smacks his arm and pulls away completely, turning back to the shelf to fiddle with the boxes there, nervous to say this but she can’t stop the words from coming out, “maybe if you’re good you can have me for Christmas, you know, on top of your present…”

He leans on the shelf and crowds her space, keeping his voice down and just between them, “you know there’s no rush, right? I know I was kind of a horn-dog last night, but seriously don’t rush. I’ve waited 22 years, I can wait 22 more if I need to.”

“Well personally, I’m tired of waiting,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, admitting that to him felt embarrassing. “I would’ve done it last night if we took 5 minutes to pull apart and get undressed, honestly.”

He’s mighty surprised by that, speechlessly so.

“I’m not kidding,” she manages to laugh at how frozen he is. She pokes his cheeks a few times to bring him back and almost jumps out of her skin when he goes to bite her finger off.

He wraps her up and kisses her all over her neck and under her ear, making her laugh harder as she tries to push away from him. When she finally does pull away enough to look at him, he’s so smiley he’s blushing, “you’re everything, Y/N Y/L/N. Absolutely everything to me.”

She could melt staring into his eyes like this, she’s filled with so much love for him she could burst into a billion pieces of heart-shaped confetti… “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that to me. Too long.”

“Just wait till I feel like I’m allowed to start telling you that I love you,” he teases, letting her know he feels it, but there’s also no rush there.

Little does he know she loves him back already.

—

Back at his trailer, she’s a lot less anxious this time as she takes off her boots and hangs up their coats. Within seconds she’s, once again, all over him. Hands-on each other's cheeks, holding themselves in a heated kiss as the two of them bump into everything on the way to his bedroom.

Knocking things to the floor with a mumbled, “I’ll get that later,” from Eddie against her lips. She laughs against him, kissing his teeth as he smiles back, completely in love with her.

They tumble into his bed in a sea of laughter, he lands on her and knocks some of the wind out of her, making her laugh come out funny and then they laugh harder. He rolls off her, the two of them on their backs with their legs still dangling off the edge of the bed, cackling towards the ceiling. The room is pitch black except for the light beaming in from the hallway, causing an orange rectangle to light up his dresser and illuminates his guitar where she hangs on the wall.

His room is so dark that the old glow-in-the-dark stars still kinda work, as their laughter dies down, she can’t help but smile up at them. She reaches out to hold his hand between them and turns to him, “I haven’t laughed that hard in forever.”

“Me either,” he finally stops giggling with a sigh, unable to stop smiling either to the point that both their faces hurt.

She gets up and sits on her knees, he sits up against the headboard, he reaches over to his side table and flicks on the lamp, making the whole room glow again.

“What did you want to do tonight?” She asks, “like… make out? Watch a movie? Read?”

“All 3 sound amazing,” he reaches out for her, guiding her right back into his lap like she belongs there forever now. It’s her seat. “You pick, I’m just—

“Just happy to be with you,” she rolls her eyes playfully.

“I am!” He tickles her sides, making her grab his wrists while squealing, trying to pull him away but he’s too strong for her.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” she gives in, wanting to be able to breathe again.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her in close, her chest heaves as she tries to settle in her own skin again. She wasn’t really that ticklish, it was the way his fingers dug into her sides that got her all squeamish. He kisses her neck again, just under her ear, “this is all I’ve wanted for years…”

“Me too,” she settles against him, arms resting on his shoulders once more, she runs her fingers through his hair. “I have wanted this with you since I was a freshman, so like since I was 14… I saw you in the cafeteria with your curly hair and your charming smile and I’ve been hooked ever since.”

“Why didn’t you come talk to me?” he begs for the past to change.

She shrugs and pulls away, sitting up in his lap she drags her hands down his chest and plays with his shirt slightly, “didn’t think we had much to talk about, I just liked to look at you.”

“Look at us now,” he places his hand under her chin to bring her eyes back to his. “We can’t stop talking to each other.”

“Or touching each other,” she smirks. “I think this was how it was supposed to work out though, we have a lot more in common now.”

“The grocery store, being virgins…” he teases, counting on his fingers but not finding many things.

“Dead dads,” she bites her lip, knowing that was a dark joke but it felt a little too dark. But he laughs. Thank god he laughs.

“Okay so 3 things,” he teases.

“And I know you love to sing and you like metal and rock music and you play dungeons and dragons and have a band, but I don’t know about Wayne until last week and I don’t know your middle name or anything personal really,” she worries. “What if we get to know each other and it doesn’t work out?”

“What if we find new things to love together and have the best relationship that’s ever happened on earth?” He proposes the opposite of her worry, “what if we could be the happiest people on earth together?”

“I’d like to try that,” she muses, brushing his hair off his face, she leans in for a sweet kiss on the lips.

“I’ve gotta tell you some things first before you decide if you want me,” he whispers against her lips. “I’m sure you’ve got questions about everything that happened here.”

“It didn’t happen here, this is a new trailer, right?” She worries. It’s not like she believes in ghosts or anything but the idea of Chrissy Cunningham's spirit lingering made all the hair on her body stands up.

“Yeah it’s new, but, I mean, the truth about if I did it or not,” he explains with a sigh. “I didn’t, I think you know that or else you wouldn’t talk to me…”

“I never thought you did it,” she assures him, petting his hair gently, soothing him as he talks. He stares back at her with sad doe eyes, “really, I mean it. I knew you’d never be able to hurt anyone.”

“I want to tell you everything, but I don’t know it all from the beginning,” he admits. “Steve offered to help me explain it to you, they’re going to have a little Christmas thing Monday night that we’re invited to, and Nancy can probably explain it all the best.”

“Like, Harrington and Wheeler?” She’s surprised he still talks to them of all people in Hawkins. “Since when do you know them?”

“Since they tracked me down and told me they knew what really killed Chrissy, and it was the same thing that killed Barbra Holland and took Will Byers in ’83,” he explains slightly. “The lab in town made a monster and a superhero and their battle ripped the town in half.”

“So it was all connected,” she thought so, the murders were way too close to the earthquake. And as much as she didn’t want to believe the bible thumpers, it made sense that it was a series of sacrifices that caused the earth to fall inward towards hell.

Still, it wasn’t eddies fault.

He nods, “and worst of all, there’s this alternate version of Hawkins called the upside down thats like all grey and creepy and full of monsters… and I was down there for a few days. With Steve and Nancy, and Robin… and poor Dustin. I uh, I’ve gotta show you something, so you’re going to have to get off of me for a sec.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” she’s anxious to know what happened, she backs right off of him and sits on his bed with her legs crossed, watching him get up and stand.

He turns to face the bed, reaching for the hem of his shirt with a sigh, “I knew they needed more time to kill Vecna, I knew something was wrong and the whole system down there is like a hive-mind— if I hurt something attached to him, then it would give the other team some advantage… so I took off running, I got the attention of these bat things and I was going to fight them. Like an idiot.”

She covers her mouth with both her hands, scared to hear what happened to him and terrified that this is actually real. Monsters are real. And in Hawkins.

He pulls up his shirt slowly at first and then all at once, he pulls it off and tosses it to the floor without even looking at her. He can’t. She gasps, reaching out to touch it but she doesn’t, her fingers just hover, “oh my god, Eddie…”

“They kinda got me instead,” he gestures down. “It was bad… I almost died.”

She finally touches the deep pink skin on the side of his belly button. The scar tissue is velvety smooth but she can feel all the bumps and dimples of missing flesh that would never regenerate right. He’s missing his nipple, a huge chunk of his breast around to his back and there are about 4 other decent-sized patches of missing skin across his broad chest. He’s sucking in a sharp breath as she explores, letting her touch even though she’s so cold compared to him, it’s excruciating.

“Your fingers are like fuckin ice,” he finally takes both her hands in his and brings them up to his mouth to blow hot air into her palms.

“Sorry,” she manages to give him a small smile. “How bad did it hurt?”

“When it happened or after?”

“God,” she grimaces at the idea of either, taking both her hands back and placing them on his bare shoulders. “Do I even want to know?”

“I was full of adrenaline when it was happening so I don’t fully remember it all, I passed out pretty quick… and the morphine at the hospital was superb,” he’s able to joke, kissing his fingers like a chef would. “I still get these sharp shooting pains, like phantom bites, so if I ever twitch or jolt under you at night thats why.”

“Okay,” she pulls him closer to the edge of the bed and softly kisses the scar on his neck, it’s big enough to require two kisses to get it all.

Trailing her hands down his arms, she leans down and covers the next scar in kisses, then the one on the middle of his chest. Right over his heart which he hopes she can’t feel beating faster than ever before. She cups his sides, gently rubbing her thumb over the scar under his breast, she kisses where the nipple should be and the other surface area of the scar.

“I hope you know I think you’re handsome and very brave,” she mumbles against his skin, on her way to kiss the mark above his belly button.

He cradles her head in his hands, tilting her head up to look at him, “I love you.”

She straightens right up, almost at eye level with him, full of awe, “really?”

His eyes are full of tears, he’s never felt so loved in his life before. He nods softly, “thank you… you don’t know how much it means to me that you’re okay with all this.”

“I love you, too,” she cups his face in her hands. “So, so much.”

“Yeah?” He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her flush against himself. She nods, “yeah,” she responds with a cheeky smile. “Alright then,” he picks her up and tackles her right into the bed, kissing all over her face as soon as her head hits the pillow.

She’s a giggling mess, like always, she brushes his hair off his face as he hovers over her. She pulls him down for a kiss, breathing him in deeply, she wraps her legs around him and traps him there. He kisses her again and again, and again, breaking away to kiss her neck and shoulder, over her shirt.

“You can take it off,” she assures, reaching for the hem she leans forward, he pulls back and helps her pull the shirt off completely, leaving her under him in her bra.

“Wow,” he’s taken aback by the view before him, he lightly trails his hand from her shoulder down her arm, over her tummy and then up to cup her bra. His thumb glides over the cup, feeling her nipple harden behind the padding. He licks his lips, “you’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“So are you,” she whispers up at him. With a hand at the back of his neck, she pulls him back in for another kiss.

He can’t help but smile against her lips, he steals a few more kisses and pulls away, he hovers over her and cups her face in his hands, “do you want to go a little further tonight?”

She nods, “yeah… anything on your mind?”

“Can I try and eat you out?” He asks, “I want to feel you cum on my tongue this time…”

“Please?” She melts under him, eyes almost rolling into the back of her head at the mere thought of him doing that… “oh, I want you so bad, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, slithering down between her legs and playing with the hem of her pants. “Lift, princess.”

She does just as she’s told, and he takes her pants off first. He traces his fingers down the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs apart to display the wet patch on her cute little panties. He leans in for what she expects to be a kiss over the fabric, but instead, he presses his nose against the damp patch and breathes her in with a groan before dragging his tongue over it. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are, do you?”

“Show me?” She begs, lifting her hips again, giving him permission to peel her panties off. He slips them down her legs and off completely, he grips them in his hands and brings them to his face again, taking one last sniff before he tosses them to the floor.

She spread her legs automatically, over-eager for him to please her and not at all scared of him seeing her naked… she had a feeling no matter what she thought of herself, he was going to love and admire her pussy beyond any expectation she could have.

His shoulders drop and all the air leaves his lungs when he finally sees her, beautiful and wet and on display just for him. “Sweet Jesus…”

Without skipping a beat he flattens his tongue against her spread pussy and laps up all the evidence of just how horny he makes her. It's better than anything she has ever imagined, he sucks at her clit in just the most perfect way before flicking it back and forth with his tongue.

He runs his pointer finger over her hole, circling it gently before slipping the digit inside, pumping in and out of her as he keeps repeating the same movements on her clit. The backs of her knees start to sweat and that all too familiar heat starts to bubble in her gut and spread throughout her body, making her feel like she’s floating.

“Add a second and curl it up, fuck,” she had to take a breather as he listened, pumping into her without a single issue as he found her g spot.

“Oh, right there, Eddie, baby,” she runs her fingers through his hair and grips it tightly, her back arches with a moan, he feels so good everywhere.

His breath is hot against her clit as he takes a moment to smile up at her, proud of himself, “tell me when you’re close, pretty girl, I wanna watch it happen.”

“Okay, fuck,” she moans, pushing his face back into her cunt.

Her free hand comes up to grip her own breast, playing with the nipple between her two fingers for just a little bit more pleasure. Her legs start to tremble, “right there, oh my god, oh my god?”

His big brown eyes flick up to her, he flicks at her clit with his tongue and fucks into her with his fingers, again and again, watching her orgasm build and wash over her in a wave. She trembles, back arching, he has to hold her hips down with both hands but thats fine, he replaces his fingers with his tongue. The wet heat of his tongue inside her and his nose nudging against her clit still as she rides out her orgasm, push her into overstimulation.

“Fuck, fuck, Eddie,” she scrambles to push him away, but he holds her there, tongue fucking her deeply to ensure he gets all her cum.

He licks her clean and pulls away with a smile, face glistening, lips swollen, “good?”

“Fuck yeah,” she reaches forward as she sits up, pulling him in to straddle her hips so she can reach his bet buckle.

“What are you doing?” He asks, curious but his eyes look more cautious.

“It’s your turn?” She hesitates, making sure she’s not going to far. “Can I jerk you off?”

He laughs, shocked that she’d want to so badly, “yeah, yeah, absolutely.”

She tugs his jeans down as far as she can get them, and they stop mid-thigh, exposing his hard cock in his boxers. She runs her hand over the bulge, making him hiss, no one’s touched him before either. She felt unbelievably lucky to be the first person to ever peel back Eddie Munson's boxers and take his thick cock in their hands.

“Wow,” she says, breathless as she strokes her hand from base to tip, using her thumb to trail along the vein under his cock. She strokes him gently with one hand, still balancing on her other forearm, it’s slightly uncomfortable.

He can tell she rather be using both hands, “sit up,” he instructs. He helps her up against the pillows better and gets off her so he can slip out of his jeans.

He re-straddles her hips, and she trails her hands over his thighs, scratching her nails over his bare hips while his cock twitches there in front of her. She grips his cock at the base and slips down the pillows a bit, now at the perfect level to take him in her mouth.

She runs her tongue along the underside of his cock, she can feel the vein working overtime, he’s so fucking hard for her. She takes the head in her mouth, teasing the tip with her tongue, and she strokes the rest of him. His hands are in her hair, his eyes are closed, and his thighs tremble as he tries to keep himself upwards but she feels too good.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns her, letting her pull away if she wanted to.

She pops off his cock with a smile, jerking him off a bit faster with ease from the added saliva. He moans, he sounds so fucking beautiful, his hips sputter and his cock twitches again and again as he releases all over her neck and chest.

“Oh, fuck,” he shutters, his cum is so hot on her skin, leaking down her chest and between her boobs, he watches the whole thing, stunned and fucked out at the same time.

She giggles amazed that he could get so lost in her touch and cum like that, it was hot and amazing and filled her with pride. She did that.

He crawls off of her, reaching for tissues on his nightstand to clean her up before he ruined her bra. “Sorry, I’m just gonna,” he says as he parts her boobs and wipes the cum off. “God, sorry there’s so much.”

“It’s fine,” she continues to laugh, “You’re so hot when you cum.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, “I would like to live between your thighs, babe.”

“Thats fine by me,” she sighs as she rests back against the pillows. “I can’t believe I waited so long to experience that.”

He tosses out the tissue once she’s clean and climbs into bed beside her, she cuddles into his chest and kisses the side of his neck. “I still love you…”

“I love you more,” he says it to one-up her, but also because he loves her more now than the last time he said it. He had a feeling it would keep doubling as the moments with her went on. His love for her was going to be never-ending.

—

They wake up in the afternoon, they have lunch together in town and when she gets back to his trailer, she talks to Wayne about Christmas because Eddie had somehow forgotten by the time he got back from her place on Saturday…

“Now, you’re sure your mom is okay with the two of us intruding?” He asks again, “this isn’t just you two wanting us to bond right, she knows you’re asking me over?”

“Yes Wayne,” she places her hand on his arm with a smile. “She’s very excited to have a full house for Christmas again.”

“Is there anything I need to bring? Should I get her a gift as a thank you?” Wayne asks, just as giving and considerate as his nephew.

“No, just come with room for a big supper, she’s making a huge turkey,” Y/N teases. “But you know, she’d never turn down a bottle of wine…”

“Noted,” Wayne nods in agreement, “it’s the least I can do as a thank you, I haven’t had a homemade Christmas dinner in years.”

Something in the conversation also reminds Eddie that he has to wrap his friend's gifts for their party the next night.

“Do you know how to wrap things nicely?” He ponders aloud, making Wayne smile at him, he knew that was his way of asking for help.

“Yeah, what do you need help with?” She asks, following him back to his room ready to help.

He makes her close her eyes while he digs all the presents out of his closet and makes sure none of the ones he got for her are in the pile. He places them all on the bed along with some wrapping paper and tape, and finally says she can open her eyes again.

There are so many things in front of her, he’s been collecting gifts for a while clearly. And clearest of all, he loved his friends more than she could ever imagine.

“Wow, okay, what first?”

“Well,” he starts to arrange things into piles, “these are for Dustin, that’s for Gareth, Jeff and Kev. These are for Steve and this one is for Robin and…” he goes on with more names that she remembered from school and some she had never heard of like Erika and Eleven.

“And this one is for Wayne,” Eddie whispers so he doesn’t hear from the other room. He got Wayne yet another mug with a bag of specialty coffee and some nice biscotti to have with it.

“So we’ll do his first, get it out of the way,” she says as she unrolls the wrapping paper and tries to figure out the nicest way to wrap the 3 items.

“Can I ask why you got each thing?” She asks, carefully slipping the package of coffee grounds into the mug.

“I got Dustin this shirt,” he unfolds it and shows it to her, the shirt reads: “choose your weapon wisely” with a row of differently shaped dice over the letters. “And some dice,” he shakes the box in the pile and then places it on top of the shirt. “He’s the current dungeon master in their school club and when he graduates Erika will be taking over so I got her the newest edition of the dungeon masters book.”

“Oh, thats so cute,” she swoons.

“Then I got the guys in the band some new branded shirts and picks, I had them made by a company over in Shelbyville, they’re so cool,” he takes a pick out and shows it to her. The black was matte, the CC in the middle was glossy, and it popped so well. “They’re going to love them.”

He explains that he got Nancy a journal because she’s going to school for journalism so she must need one. It’s a nice deep red and he’s written her a sweet little note on the first page. Robins gift is a set of rings from Claires that he said screamed her name when he first saw them. Steve gets some fuzzy dice for his car's rearview mirror because no matter how hard they try to get him to play d&d, he’s not interested but he still needs some lucky dice.

He got Lucas a keychain with his basketball number on it. Max got some cool stickers for her skateboard. Mike got a lighter because unfortunately, his tendency to copy Eddie has gone all the way to smoking. He got Will a colouring book and his sister El, a fantasy graphic novel.

It’s a lot of things, but he holds a lot of love for these people in his heart.

She can’t wait to see what he got for her if this is the level of care he put into his friend's gifts.

—

She brings him home after a shift that feels more like 16 hours instead of just 4. By the time she’s tumbling into bed, it’s almost 1 in the morning and she’s ready to crash and sleep for the next 2 days straight. This weekend has been too exciting for her body clock to handle.

Eddie looks around her room curiously, she’s quick to step out of her clothes and climb right into bed in just her bra and underwear. She lays there against the pillows with her eyes closed, under her covers, “I’m exhausted.”

“Awe,” he comes and sits down on the edge of her side of the bed. “So I guess no fun stuff tonight, princess?”

“I mean,” she opens her eyes and leans forward. “I wouldn’t say no to an orgasm before bed… I’m starting to get used to them.”

“I was kidding,” he’s genuinely shocked that she’s down for it. “Your mom is home? Really?”

“I was also kidding,” she laughs at how eager he got, “I think one night of not having our hands all over each other will make tomorrow better…”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Well technically right now it’s Christmas eve, it’s past midnight, so tomorrow is Christmas,” she reminds him. “I wanted to go all the way… I was thinking maybe after the party at your friends house? Before we come back here?”

“You want to meet my friends knowing we’re going to have sex after?” He teases.

She nods, “yeah, cause when else can we do it? My mom has traditions: after dinner, we have to watch the Charlie Brown Christmas movie and have hot chocolate and dessert, and then she’s going to go to bed, and I don’t think I can do that with her down the hall and us leaving just makes it obvious…”

“If you’re this anxious about it we don’t have to do it yet.”

“I’m ready for it, I just know that when my parents had sex here before the house kinda shakes, it’s old, she’s going to know every time we do it and I don’t want her to,” she explains. “It’s so awkward knowing when your parents are fucking, I can’t imagine how she’d feel knowing I’m having sex.”

“God,” he can’t even imagine the horror. “Wayne only ever had one girl over, years ago, and I only know cause she was loud.”

“So Waynes good in bed too,” she teases, watching him get visibly jealous. “I’m kidding, I only have eyes for you, big guy,” she assures him, reaching out to pull him in for a hug.

“Good,” he holds her there, running his hand over her back gently, “scoot over, I’m getting in.”

“Okay,” she does just that, tossing the covers back so he can get out of his clothes and slip right in and share the warmth.

They get all cozy, cuddled together with him as the big spoon, “I’m getting way too used to going to sleep with you.” He wraps his arm around her middle, resting his hand on her tummy, she places her hand over it and interlocks their fingers.

“I know,” she feels the same way. “It’s not like we have to stop at any time soon… I have no problem going back and forth every night so I can still see my mom often.”

“I don’t mind that either,” he agrees. “Even if I stay here some weekdays cause you have school and you just stay with me after work?”

“Yeah, I like that too,” she agrees. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be working with you, though. I was just supposed to get holiday hours, they said they’d probably cut me come mid-January.”

“Oh,” he sounds really sad. “Well I can talk to Jerry and Linda, you’re a lot better than anyone else I’ve worked with, if you want some hours a week I’ll advocate for you.”

“Thank you,” she gives his hand a good squeeze and then let's go, she rolls over to face him, missing his sweet face. “I love you, you know that?”

He nods, “I do, funnily enough… and I’m so fucking lucky that you do.”

“I feel pretty lucky too,” she assures him. “I used to lay here after a terrible day and dream of scenarios where you’d come and talk to me at school… and now you’re actually here beside me. I don’t have to dream anymore.”

“You know,” he starts before he can really think it over. He knew she was emotional, but he says it anyway. “There was a part when I was dying, I thought it was okay cause it’s not like anyone loved me anyway,” he admits with matching teary eyes. “I’m so glad I didn’t listen to that voice.”

She cups his face and pulls him into a kiss, she smothers his face in kisses, “I love you, so, so much,” she says between each one. She pulls away with a teary smile, “I’m going to have to kiss Nancy Wheeler as a thank you for keeping you alive for me, what else can I do that says thanks for not letting my soulmate die in a creepy hell dimension?”

He laughs, “I mean, her girlfriend might get upset but you can try…”

“She has a girlfriend? That’s so cool, I had no idea what she was up to now that we’ve graduated,” she explains, not one for keeping up with everyone in her graduating class.

Eddie spends a few minutes explaining the very interesting dynamic of his friend group to her. How Robin and Steve are basically attached at the hip, which is ironic seeing as Steve dated Nancy first and now Robin in… and together, robin and Steve are like parents to the younger group consisting of Nancy’s little brother Mike, the missing kid Will Byers and his step sister Elle. Billy Hargrove's little sister Max and her boyfriend Lucas as well as his little sister Erika. And finally, Dustin. The main glue of the friend group, he was everyone's favourite, he had everyone's back, he was the little brother Eddie always wanted, it’s sweet how everyone loves him.

She’s excited to meet him later.

—

Her mom makes them breakfast, they all sit together and it’s surprisingly easy for him to talk to her. They’re a lot alike, he can tell they’ve spent a lot of time together over the years. He can also tell she really misses her husband, Eddie can’t help but feel like he played a part in taking him away, so he offers his services to her.

“Y/N was saying that you’ve been having a hard time getting to all the repairs and I was wondering if I could help? Me and my friends could get the siding done in the spring and—

“Eddie, it’s okay,” she cuts him off. “Really, it’ll get done when it gets done.”

“I want to help,” he assures her. “It's the least I can do, I have a feeling I’m going to be over a lot.”

“A lot,” Y/N echoes, nodding along. “If he wants to help then let him, mom, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Okay, but I’m going to find a way to make it up to you,” she assures them both.

“I’ll do it for a sandwich and a hug?” He suggests, sticking his hand out to make a deal.

She takes it gladly, “I’ll throw in a pack of beer when you’re done, Y/N’s dad always did that for his buddies that helped us out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees happily.

He heads back to the trailer around noon to change and grab his presents for the party that night, and to talk to Wayne. He hasn’t had a chance to really catch up with him in the last few days. And they had a lot to talk about.

He brings him up to speed on his new relationship and the Christmas details, asking if Wayne wants his present now or at Y/N’s house the next day, he picks the latter.

“I want to open it on Christmas, it’ll be weird not doing it here but oh well,” he shrugs. “I always knew one day you’d get a partner and we’d end up doing a big Christmas or Hanukkah somewhere with your little family, it just feels like it happened a lot sooner than I expected.”

“I’m 22?”

“I know, but you’re still my little buddy,” Wayne reminds him. “You’ll always be the little boy I raised and love, no matter how big you get.”

He wraps Wayne up in a big hug, “I love you so much, old man, you know that?”

Wayne gives him a big smooch on the cheek and holds him tight, “I know. I love you too, squirt.”

He pats his back a few times before letting go of the hug, the two men pull away awkwardly, never really being touchy with each other. The last time they really hugged that much was when he was in the hospital, Wayne didn’t let go of his hand for about a week. He didn’t leave his side, he spoon-fed him, and he was a wreck until Eddie got better. He thought they had a strong bond before all hell broke loose, it was unbreakable now.

Eddie heads back into his room after that, and he spends some time making it look and smell nice. He sets out her present on the bed, wanting to give it to her right after midnight and right before the main present. He was both excited and nervous, he loves her so much he wants to make it good and fun for her while also making it memorable and special for them both.

Wayne heads to work, and Eddie has dinner with Y/N and her mom which is absolutely delicious and only makes him more excited for dinner tomorrow.

—

Y/N gets all dressed up even though he told her it wasn’t a big party, she made a chip dip and got Nancy a bottle of wine as a thank-you for hosting, she was really trying to win them over.

He holds her hand on the drive over, making sure she’s not too nervous. “Trust me, they’re all super weird and they’re going to do everything in their power to impress you, you won’t have to try hard. They love having new members join.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive… and I’ve been talking about you to Steve and Dustin for the last month, and so of course Robin also knew I liked you cause Steve can’t keep anything to himself. They will literally malfunction if one knows more than the other, it’s like their brains share a hard drive,” Eddie shakes his head with a loving smile.

He loved his friends. More than he could ever explain.

“I know for a fact they’re excited to meet you and they will love you,” he assures her with a squeeze of her hand.

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath and believes him.

“You ready? Cause we’re here,” he says as he parks outside a very large house all decorated with wreaths and lights for the holiday season. There’s a bunch of cars parked in the driveway, so they have to park on the street.

He gets out first, rushing to her side to help her out and then grabbing all their things from the back of the van. She carries the dip, and he carries in all the presents, all the way to the front door where Steve Harrington opens the door before they can even knock.

“Come in, come in,” he ushers them inside and out from the cold.

He can tell it’s really weird for her to be reacquainted with Steve, Robin and Nancy, they never really interacted much in high school but they all knew of each other. It takes about 15 minutes of knowing them and hearing weird inside jokes that she doesn’t understand for Dustin to start the retelling.

He and Nancy argue about the order of events, having led two very different sides of the same battle against the upside down.

Eventually, however, she gets it.

She eats about a whole bowl of chips as she listens, completely engrossed in the lore of Hawkins that no one except their friend group knew of. It was terrifyingly amazing, she loved the fact it brought them all together, but she hated how traumatized it left them all.

“Can I just say thank you,” she reached out for Nancy’s hand, just beside her on the couch. “Eddie’s always meant a lot to me, and I don’t think I would have him if it wasn’t for you.” She turns to the rest of the room too, all smiling because they knew Eddie found the love of his life. “I’m really grateful to all of you for making sure he got off the hook for Chrissy’s murder and everything.”

“It was nothing,” Robin, waves it off, not wanting to get too emotional. “We’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

—

He slips away to talk to Nancy in the kitchen, she’s quietly cleaning up the mess so her mom isn’t mad in the morning. Wrapping cling-film over a few dips, she’s not paying attention when he walks into the room.

“Hey, Nance?” He whispers.

“Oh, hey,” she slightly jumps but settles easily. “What’s up, did you need something?”

“Yeah… uh, I kinda have a super personal question to ask, and you can totally tell me to fuck off if it’s too personal—

“I gave you CPR, there’s nothing too personal between us anymore,” she cuts him off, always teasing him about having to kiss his nasty blood-filled mouth to bring him back to life. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off and then takes a deep breath. “Um, I know you’ve been with guys before and I was just wondering if there was something you wish was different about your first time? You know, to make it better or easier?”

“Well,” she crosses her arms with a surprised yet pleased smile. She leans against the counter and thinks about it for a second, “I mean, Steve was really gentile but it still hurt a lot, I guess I wish I had explored with myself a bit beforehand cause I think if I knew what I liked it would’ve been more fun.”

“We’ve done other stuff together,” he shares, only slightly embarrassed. “I just know on my end I want it to be special for me, it’s my first time too and if I feel this nervous about it being perfect then she must too, and the last thing I want is to hurt her or make it not memorable or fun.”

“You’re you,” Nancy laughs. “Seriously, you’re so charismatic and loud and dramatic and—

“I get it, I’m a lot,” he stops her before she accidentally bullies him.

“But a good ‘a lot’. I just mean, she loves you for a reason, whatever happens, she’s going to have a lot of fun with you,” Nancy explains more articulately. “I know it.”

“Thanks,” he can’t help but smile. “You need any help in here?”

She shakes her head, “no, you go be with your girl, I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

And so he listens, he heads downstairs to see Steve and Dustin still talking Y/N’s ear off. He comes and stands behind her, chin on her shoulder and wraps his arms around her. She tilts her head to the side to rest against his, hands on his big arms as she holds him close.

—

They leave the party shortly after that, she tells them all about her mom's big Christmas breakfast plans and how they need to be up by 8am and Eddie’s friends let them go. She had a genuinely wonderful time with them, they’re friendly and sweet and absolutely hilarious. They love her Eddie, he loves them, and she can see herself fitting in quite well with them.

The clock on his dashboard reads 9:56. She told her mom not to wait up because she’d be home after midnight. They had 2 hours until then. Part of her wants their night to be long and drawn out and hot but she knows they have to get up and get dressed again just to go back to her childhood bedroom.

The stocking she got for Eddie is large enough that all the things she got for him fit inside without much fuss but some of the comic books stick out of the top. She put it inside a grocery bag and then in the back of his van earlier that night, she hopes he hasn’t looked inside or seen anything through the plastic. She really can’t wait to give it to him.

Actually, she can’t wait to give everything to him.

They pull up to said trailer all while she’s been in her own head, in a haze of sorts. He’s about to open her door when she takes a deep breath and says her over-prepared speech, “you go unlock the door, I don’t want you to see the present yet.”

“Okay,” he backs up with a sweet smile, “meet me in my room?”

She nods, “I’ll see you there in a minute.”

She waits for him to be up at the door, focusing on his key in the lock and unable to watch her open the back door of the van and take out his present. She insures that it’s all together and holds it close to her chest on the walk up to the door.

Once inside, she slips out of her shoes and trades the stocking back and forth in her hands as she takes her coat off too. “Can I come in?” She asks at his door, not looking in case he wasn’t ready.

“Yep,” he sounds like he’s smiling.

Once she steps into his room she can see his ever-glowing smirk as he stands on the opposite side of his room. He’s also holding a stocking, only his is decorated to the nines with glitter glue and little accents.

“Oh my god!?”

“No fuckin way?” He says at the exact same time.

They didn’t plan this in the slightest. Neither one knew the other even had a present until just the other day and she’s been collecting things to gift him for a while now.

They quickly make their way to each other, meeting at the foot of his bed and both taking a seat. Criss cross apple sauce facing each other, “I just thought ‘what would Eddie like?’ And it was a bunch of little things so,” She hands him the stocking.

“That’s what I was thinking for you, too,” Eddie can’t help but smile.

She takes the stocking from him, admiring how he decorated it to say her name in purple glitter glue. He drew out some trees, what looked like a can of Campbell's soup and a bunch of hearts… it’s so cute she could cry.

“Do you want to go one at a time?” He asks?

She looks back up at him with a tearful smile, “Yeah, you first.”

“Okay,” he’s more than happy to start pulling things out of his stocking.

One by one, he takes each thing out. First, he takes out the fantasy magazines and comic books and gives his thanks as he flips through the pages. “What made you pick batman and wolverine for me?”

She shrugs, “I spent a lot of time at the comic book store trying to pick what was the best and I thought the art looked cool, I thought you’d like it the best.”

“Thank you, I love them,” he places them down on the bed and takes out the next few items.

Kitkats, skittles, twix, and all sorts of candy. There’s a pack of cigarettes cause she knows he still smokes, he just doesn’t smoke as much around her. She got him a package of hair ties cause he always has one on his wrist that looks a little stretched out and worn down. A pack of chapstick because his lips always looked so soft he must love chapstick. There’s a handful of lighters that have funny saying on them like “flick your bic” which she thought he’d laugh at. And finally, at the bottom of the stocking, there’s a box of condoms.

“Oh, okay,” he can’t help but smirk as he reads over the box. “You pick these out more for me or you?”

“Both of us,” she shyly admits. “It’s not weird right?”

He shakes his head, “no, honestly it’s amazing cause I only got us a pack of 2 the other day…”

“Well, now we have 12,” she bites back a smile.

“Thank you, baby,” he smiles too, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Your turn.”

“Okay,” she is more nervous to open her own gift than she was watching him react to his.

The first thing she pulls out is an agenda with 1989 embossed on the dark blue cover. “Oh my god?” She can’t believe it as she flips through the beautiful pages with elegant presets ready to help her plan the next year out.

“I figured with school and work and next year you have to do a placement that you’d need an agenda,” Eddie explains. “And I took the liberty of adding my name and number in the address book and my birthday is in there too…”

“It’s next month,” she already knew when his birthday was. “6-year crush, remember, I know a lot more than you think.”

“Sorry, forgot you were an Ed-xpert,” he teases, hands up in surrender.

She does give him a laugh, cause that was stupid and funny and he’s just too cute not to laugh. She shakes her head fondly, “that was a good one…”

“Thanks,” he’s smug now.

“Your friends would get in trouble every year for sticking candles in whatever the lunch order was on your birthday and they didn’t care, they always lit the candles anyway,” she remembers fondly. “It was cute, you always had little celebrations for everyone in hellfire.”

“We’re a family,” he shrugs. “It’s what families do.”

“It’s cute, and I love this, thank you,” she thanked him, and places the agenda down on the bed, starting her own pile of things.

He got her some gel pens to write in her agenda, as well as a bunch of stickers to decorate it. There’s candy and fuzzy socks with cute patterns on them, he also got her some chapstick and some nail polish in purple and red. Yet her favourite item in the whole stocking is a cute pair of gloves.

“Cause your fingies get cold in the van, I need to get a new heater,” he explains. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

“I love you,” she holds the gloves to her chest, feeling so overwhelmed with emotion. A simple pair of gloves in her favourite colour, they match her coat and her purse, that’s why he got them, and they’re perfect. “Eddie baby, this is the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”

He gets up and stands at the foot of the bed, extending a hand to pull her up onto her knees at the end of the bed. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest as he looks down into her eyes, “I love you, merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, tilting her head to the side with a lick of her lips, “it's finally main present time, isn’t it?”

He nods seductively slow, “that it is…”

“The bed is a mess,” she whispers, reminding him with a cheeky smile. “We can’t have sex on a bunch of candy and magazines.”

“I mean we could, it wouldn’t be comfortable,” he teases, dragging his hands down her back to cup her ass. “And the chocolate would melt… but we could.”

“No,” she shakes her head with a smile. “Come on,” she pulls back and returns her attention to their presents. She starts to shove everything into her own while Eddie simply takes the box of condoms out of his pile and opens it up.

He holds up the long strip of condoms with a smile, “think we could go through all of these tonight?”

She laughs, “no, we have to save enough energy to go back to my mom's house, remember? If we’re not there Christmas morning she’s going to kill me.”

“Right,” he rips the first condom off and tosses it onto the bed and puts the rest of them on his nightside table.

He puts the rest of his presents on his dresser and while he’s over there, he takes off his shirt and tosses it towards his dirty laundry pile. She watches contently, he’s too pretty for his own good. “Sorry, did you want to do that part?”

“Undress you? No, it’s fine,” she shakes her head and meets him by his dresser, she places her own stocking there for safekeeping and wraps herself back around him. Hands-on his bare shoulders this time, she drags them down his chest and stops at his belt. “But I can continue…”

“Please,” he begs, breathless as he stares down at her, overwhelmed with how much he wants her.

She runs one hand back up his chest, over his tummy, his pecks and she stops at his neck. Cupping the nape of his neck she leans in and presses a kiss to his pulse point. With her other hand she unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans, she snakes her hand inside his pants and palms over his boxers, stroking the outline of his cock and feeling him harden in her hands.

His grip on her hips tightens, he balls the fabric of her dress into his fists and tugs it up to cup her ass through her nylons as she keeps kissing his neck and stroking his cock.

He picks her up in one go, she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck for support. He walks her over to the bed and tosses her down onto the mattress once more. Reaching for his own belt, he pulls it through the loops and tosses it towards the floor, “how’d you wanna do this?”

“Could you, maybe… um,” she goes sky, watching him push his jeans to the floor and step out of them.

“Yeah, princess?”

“Could you eat me out again?” She whispers up at him.

He smirks, placing his hands on her knees and tracing his fingers down the inside of her thighs until he reaches her hips. He grips her tight and pulls her to the edge of the bed and drops to his knees, “I’d love to.”

He starts to pull down her nylons and he can tell she’s nervous again, “I shaved the other day so I’m going to be a bit stubbly…”

“I don’t mind, baby,” he assures her.

She grips her dress at the hem and pulls it up and over her head, thanking god it was stretchy and didn’t have a zipper to trap her inside of it. One leg at a time he takes her nylons off, smoothing his hands over her legs and then he brings his cheek to her knee. He drags his face along her skin, kissing the hem of her panties and then right where her clit should be.

“Did you wear these panties on purpose?”

“They’re my only black pair,” she explains, black was a sexy colour, so of course, she wore them for this.

“The bow is cute, you’re like another present I get to unwrap,” he teases, running his finger over the little bow at the front of her panties.

“I guess it is,” she can’t help but smile.

He loops his fingers under the band and she lifts her hips knowingly, helping him slip them off of her and onto the floor.

She props herself up on her forearms, watching with her bottom lip sucked between her teeth. He wraps his arms around her thighs, holding them open as he inches closer to her wet pussy. He kisses the little freckle she has on her underwear line, his breath is hot against her skin as he runs his tongue over her pussy lip ever so slowly.

Using his right hand he runs his index finger from her clit to her glistening entrance, he gathers up all her slick and rubs it into her clit with his forefingers. “I want you to cum at least once for me before I fuck you, then you’ll be nice and relaxed and it won’t hurt as much.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” she’s sure of herself, sharing a bit too much because she was so comfortable with him. “I usually use three fingers when I’m alone, I think I can take it.”

He groans, “god, you’re so fucking hot.”

With only one arm holding her legs down he’s not as strong, she clamps her legs closed at the sensation of his tongue lapping over her aching clit, “be a good girl and keep these open for me, kay?”

She nods, breath hitching at the sound of good girl…

“You liked that,” he smirks. “I can tell by the way your cunt fluttered, ooo, there you did it again.”

She’s aching for more, feeling her heartbeat in her clit 10 times stronger than ever before, she needed him desperately, “please, Eddie?”

“Since you asked so nicely, baby,” he muses, voice vibrating against her core as he leans in impossibly close and licks over her hole.

Her hand goes right to his hair as she tries desperately to keep her legs open for him. He holds her pussy open with two fingers, and he drags his tongue over her cunt in long, broad strokes serpentining as he gathers her wetness. She tastes so good he moans against her, she grips his hair tighter, bringing him toward her clit as a silent instruction to suck.

She drops down against the mattress then, “oh, fuck,” she moans, letting go of her grip on his hair to hold her own legs in place for him. He flicks her clit back and forth with his tongue between soft licks and suctioning onto her clit.

He pulls back enough start pulling off his rings and he places them all on his night table. He makes perfect eye contact with her as he takes his middle and ring finger in his mouth, coating them with saliva before he circles them over her hole, “ready?”

“Yeah,” she’s breathless just watching.

He smirks, she fluttered around the tips of his two fingers, sucking them into the first knuckle. He pushes in slowly to the second knuckle, watching her suck in a deep breath at the feeling. He leans back in to suck on her clit as he bottoms out, as deep as he can be inside of her like this, he curls his fingers the way she said she liked it before and begins to thrust. Pulling out ever so slightly and pumping back into her again and again.

She feels him everywhere, back arching as she pushes her pussy into his face more. She reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra and pull it off so she could grip her tits, playing with her own hardened nipples and he watches from between her legs. He laughs slightly, hot breath against her and the feeling of his lips curling into a smile brings her attention back down to him.

“Feels so good, baby,” she praises, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair again, helping keep it out of his eyes.

She can’t help closing her legs on him again as the pressure builds, and instead of scolding her for it he simply holds her knees together and pushes her legs up against her chest. He stands, still fucking her with his two fingers, and a trail of spit hangs from his lips down to her soaked pussy.

“Hold 'em up,” he instructs her to wrap her hands around the backs of her knees to keep them up. “I want you to cum for me,” he says, rubbing the forefingers of his leg hand over her clit rapidly.

Her legs start to shake, and a strange pressure builds in her stomach that she isn’t used to, like an orgasm but so, so much more. She sounds so wet, soaking up his fingers as he fucks into her faster. He rests a knee on the bed for better balance, she can feel his hard cock against her ass cheek and that does it for her.

She cums with a shout of his name and a chain of obscenities, and he does the same. “Sweet fuck, princess, look at you, holy fuck,” he can’t believe what he’s seeing. She squirted all over his hand, the edge of his mattress and his boxers.

She drops her legs, looking between them to see the mess she made. “Oh my god?”

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” he praises her, leaning in and cupping her face with his clean(ish) hand as he kisses her. She can taste herself on him, she hums as she sucks his tongue into her mouth and experiences it all.

He pulls back and gets off the bed, leaving her there on the mattress, breathless and empty and craving more. He takes off his boxers and uses them to wipe down his hand and the inside of her thighs. “Did you know you could do that?”

She nods, “not that much though.”

“I can’t fucking wait to discover everything you can do, baby,” he smirks, reaching for the condom on the pillows and opening it with his teeth. “Get comfortable, princess.”

He examines it carefully, making sure he puts it on the right way before he rolls it on. She watches as she scoots up towards the pillows, resting her head against them and laying there with her legs spread again. He crawls onto the bed again, kneeling between her legs with his cock standing there at attention. He rests his hands on her knees and drags his fingertips down towards her aching cunt once more, “you still want this?”

“More than you know,” she’s practically drooling for him, she can’t wait to feel his cock deep inside of her.

He can’t help but smile, shaking his head slightly with disbelief. He drops down on top of her, boxing her in against the mattress, she wraps her legs around him and cups his face in her hands, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeats, staring deep into her soul. “Ready?”

She nods, feeling him reach between them to grip his cock at the base and guide it into her.

She sucks in a sharp breath and makes a sound she’s never heard herself make before as he slips in inch by inch, he’s a lot thicker than she anticipated but she takes him easily. “Oh my god?” They say at the same time, resting their foreheads together with deep breaths.

“Can I move?” He whispers.

She nods, “yeah, yeah please?” She doesn’t mean to beg but she needs more.

He kisses the side of her head and then her cheek, she tilts her head to the side to capture his mouth with hers, kissing him deeply as he starts to thrust. She runs one hand through his hair and the other down his back, gripping his skin, she moans against his mouth.

He kisses the side of her mouth and then her jaw, he slips a hand behind her back to arch her forward as he kisses down her neck and towards her chest. His thrusts are slow and deep as he takes her right nipple into his mouth and sucks.

She tugs on his hair, “fuck, Eddie.”

He pops off her tit with a smile, “feel good, baby?”

“I need more,” she admits, “can you go faster?”

“Yeah?” He sits up on his knees, holding her hips with both hands for support as he fucks into her deeply, over and over.

“Holy fuck,” her back arches and she reaches out to grip the sheets around her.

She meets his thrusts, pushing her hips down every time he fucks into her, getting deeper each time. She can feel him knocking at her cervix, the angel is so perfect he grazes her g spot with each thrust, she could cum just like this.

Lucky for her, he’s best friends with her clit now and couldn’t spend more than a few minutes away from her. He licks his forefingers on his right hand and brings them down to meet the sensitive bud, rubbing them counterclockwise just as fast as he was fucking into her.

“So fuckin hot,” he praises, he feels like he’s in the middle of another good wet dream about her it’s so fucking perfect. She’s everything he’s ever wanted and then some, all here, unravelling just for him. “Gonna cum for me again, princess?”

She nods, “yeah, fuck, oh my god?” She can’t believe how good it feels, her whole body tingles, and she can barely keep her eyes open she’s so cock drunk for him.

She reaches out for his chest, wanting to touch him, missing how close he just was before this. She pulls him back down and wraps her legs around him and rolls them over so she’s on top. She straddles his hips, and he’s still inside of her, she hovers enough for him to fuck up into her just as fast, only they’re a lot closer now.

She buries her face in his neck, kissing and sucking just below his ear, “oh, Eddie, oh my god, I love you,” she mumbles, over and over as he fucks up into her.

He’s so close, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to get her off again before he loses it all inside the condom. He reaches between their bodies to thumb over her clit, immediately making her legs quake.

“Gonna cum, please? Please?” She begs, wrapping her arms under him and holding him close. “Cum with me?”

That does it for him, he fucks up into her one last time as she drops all her weight on him, riding out her high and fucking him through his own. He wraps his arms around her, kissing her shoulder between moans and whispers of her name. “Oh, I love you, I love you so much, sweet girl.”

She’s breathing heavily against his neck but he can feel her smile, “I love you more.”

He runs his fingers over her back gently, and both of them just lay there with their eyes closed, staying in the moment as long as they could. He’s still inside of her too, she doesn’t move, he’s afraid if he does then he’ll get hard again because she’s so tight and she keeps flittering around him as she calms down. It’s heaven.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers against the side of her head before pressing a kiss to her temple. “How long do you want to lay her before we go home?”

“Home?” She repeats as she sits up carefully, “you consider my place home already?”

“You’re there, so yeah,” he admits. “I just want to fall asleep with you in my arms and I can’t do that yet, so…”

“Yeah, let’s go home,” she agrees, leaning in for one more kiss.

He holds her face in his hands, keeping her there as he breathes her in, loving every ounce of her so deeply he couldn’t even begin to express it with words. He hoped this kiss did it for him.

She pulls back with a smile, “thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he teases.

She gets off him carefully, and he hisses as he slips out, sensitive and soft. She uses the bathroom first, leaving the door open so he could come in with the used condom tied in a not and wrap it in toilet paper before hiding it at the bottom of the garbage in there. Embarrassed as all hell for Wayne to come across any evidence that they were having sex in his trailer.

She slips back into her dress, he slips into some track pants and a shirt, they get all wrapped up with their coats and she puts on her new gloves. She holds her stocking in her lap on the drive home and she still holds his hand over the centre console the whole ride too. They can’t stop smiling at each other, they don’t talk, he just has the radio on low, letting the music fill their silence.

She doesn’t know what else to say other than that she loves him. She’s overflowing with love, it’s insane.

Back in her bedroom, there are two presents left on her bed.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, picking up the one with her name knowing exactly what they are. “How did she have time to do this?”

“What?”

“These are matching Christmas pyjamas for tomorrow morning,” she explains as she hands him the other present.

He can’t believe it as he peels back the green wrapping paper to see that they were indeed the same pyjamas as the ones Y/N is holding in her hands. White shirts with red bottoms, covered in candy canes, they’re cute as hell.

“You’re officially part of the family,” she swoons, overjoyed with everything.

He tosses his PJs back onto the bed and pulls her into a hug, he cradles her head with his big hand and kisses her temple, “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” she wraps her arms around his middle and holds him just as tight.

They get undressed again, their pyjamas for the morning are placed on her dresser as the two of them climb into her bed together. She snuggled right up to his chest, just as naked as they were 10 minutes ago, they release a matching sigh as they settle in the dark room.

He runs his hand over her back, and she traces shapes into his chest with her finger. They’re silent, content, and happy. Everything they’ve always wanted to be, simply together.

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @eddiemunson-rp @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife

Employee of the month taglist

@munsonficdump @angelsarecallin @wonderful-outcast @aysheashea @ick90 @bloodandtime @birdsinmywalls

Eddie

@fightingdragonswithwho @kyomito @reidselle @venomsvl @nomajdetective @girl-with-an-orange-cat @blairscott @princesseddie

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 4

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asphalt-cocktail · 2 months

Text

Lead us to Temptation- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Precious Lord Take my Hand

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

A/N: As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are immensely appreciated. There will be no tag list because I am far too lazy to do that, but feel free to turn on notifications for me or bookmark it on AO3 where it will also be posted per usual.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nicknames, religious themes, suggestive language, profanity, pining, mentions of criminal activity, period typical misogyny, physical fighting, mentions of alcohol and gambling

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

There were a handful of things you could always count on happening in Eden Ridge: the saloon having a free lunch every Thursday with the purchase of a drink, church every Sunday, the coal miners leaving the mines at 7PM sharp, and that springtime would bring a sloppy muddy mess. When your family set out westward you stopped about halfway to Oregon and found your home in the town of Eden Ridge, named after the Eden Ridge Mountains which served as the beating heart for the small but quickly growing town.

The hills were full of coal and iron which your father proudly exploited along with the good hard working people of Eden. He controlled the mineral exports and the main work force in town. The hills acted as a hungry maw, devouring the hopes, dreams, and even bodies of the coal miners that dug down to the depths of hell just to keep your father’s pockets fat. It was the only town where the sunset was painted with a harrowing combination of orange and gray and where the air was so heavy with coal dust you could taste it.

Once your older brother was of age he quickly found a wife and married off, having two kids in the blink of an eye. It was common knowledge that your brother was the heir to the Eden Coal & Iron company, but only after he did his time laboring in the bowels of the Earth

The coal mines weren’t the place for a lady, so you didn't know much beyond the fact that your father was the owner and employed 90% of the town. You liked it that way, it kept you cleaner than your brother. You saw how filthy he was when he came back from a long day under the mountain, skin so blackened by coal and filth his eyes and teeth seemed to glow even though the hills stole the light away from them. But your father wasn't going to let your brother become some pencil pushing fancy boy if he could help it. If your daddy had to do his time in the mines, so did anyone who wanted to take over his business. It garnered respect from the laborers and it helped your brother get a glimpse of the bigger picture when it came to a business like this.

Your brother’s future was clear as crystal, but yours was always a frequent topic of discussion. Who were you going to marry being the number one. Since you were the ripe age of 25 your mother spent most of her time about town talking with the other wives and figuring out who the most eligible bachelor was. She told you not to worry, because she had a list made that you could take your pick from. You’d long since thrown away your dreams of traveling and leaving Eden Ridge, those were the dreams of a little girl, and mama always said dreaming was unholy. God gave you what you needed, nothing more, nothing less. So, you best be grateful for it. The older you grew, the more you questioned that statement. There was no way that your father needed to control the coal and iron exports in town.

Your boots slapped against the wet, gray, mud as you walked through the town. You were grateful that your mother hemmed your skirt a couple of inches shorter than normal to try and help keep your dress clean and prevent it from dragging in the wet earth.

Outside of the saloon a large group of people gathered right where you needed to walk through. You frowned, the closer you got the more you could tell how rowdy the crowd was and the closer you got the easier it became to see the two men fighting in the street.

“You lying little snake.” One said swinging and punching the dark haired man in the jaw.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Of course he was the one getting his face rocked in the middle of the muddy street. You often wondered if he was the devil incarnate, a handsome sweet talking man brought up from the depths of hell to tempt you into sinning. It took all your strength not to give in and see what else his mouth could do if you just simply let him. For the last two months he’d taken every approach in the book to get you to go out to dinner with him and each time you shut him down.

Hard.

He was relentless though, stubborn, insisted that he’d treat you good if you just let him and by God you knew he would. He’d been in town for a short but annoying two months and seemed to have quite the reputation with the ladies. If you had to hear one more woman giggle and go “Hi Bucky.” while wiggling her fingers you were going to be the next one kicking Bucky’s ass in the street God help you.

Bucky staggered, shaking his head, trying to unscramble his brains, his cheek was red and already beginning to swell from the blow “I’m a lot of things but I ain’t no damn snake.” He hissed back at the bald man, Tomas.

“One of your little buddies was telling you what my cards were, I just know it.” Tomas yelled, tackling Bucky to the ground. The worst part was that one of them probably was helping Bucky cheat at cards. Anyone with a pair of brain cells knew he famously cheated at all card games, but Tomas famously lacked brain cells.

They struggled for a moment on the ground before Bucky got leverage, flipping the two over and sitting on top of the other man’s chest, “I told you I’m not a cheat.” He said, punching Tomas in the face, emphasizing each of his words as he spoke.

Someone pushed through the crowd, Steve, one of his buddies, and grabbed him, “That’s enough Buck.” He spoke harshly, pulling his muddy friend off the unconscious Tomas, “Can we please go into town and not get arrested for once?” The blond grabbed Bucky by the back of his soiled light red button down similar to how a mother cat would carry a kitten by its scruff and shoved him down to walk towards their horses.

You looked in the muck and saw a worn out, sun beaten hat discarded. You picked it up and looked over at the roughneck then back to the hat

“Excuse me!” You call after the pair, “Mr. Barnes!”

Bucky turned, immediately recognizing your voice and grinned. It was truly blasphemous how handsome he looked despite the bruised cheek, cuts and dried blood, and black eye starting to form. The beat up look seemed to suit someone like him. “You know, we have got to stop meeting like this sugar.”

“I think you need to stop fist fighting before the sun has barely set.” You couldn't help but return the smile, it was contagious like the plague.

Gingerly, he took the hat from you and brushed some of the mud from his hat before putting it on and wiping his hands clean on his soiled jeans, “I was fighting for my honor!” He completely ignored Steve, following you instead as you began to walk off.

You scoffed, “Honor, sure…” you mumbled, “was someone telling you what the cards were?”

Bucky grinned proudly, “Of course, Sam always helps me when we play cards.”

“There is a special circle in hell for liars and cheaters, Mr. Barnes.”

“Sweetheart I’ve done much worse than lie and cheat, I think I’ll be forgiven for this one.” He statement sounded dismissive and you didn't doubt that wasn't true for a second. There was something mysterious about Bucky Barnes and the crew he ran with. You never could quite figure out what he did for work or what his source of income was, but you figured it was A: impolite to ask and B: not something you wanted to have any part of. “When are you going to let me take you to dinner?” Bucky almost whined, grabbing your hand and stopping you.

You turned, yanking your hand out of his grasp “When I’m dead.”

Bucky groaned in annoyance, “I’d treat you so good sweetheart, better than any of these other guys around town.” He reached out for your hand again. This was a talk the two of you had at least twice a week for the last two months, three times if you were extra unlucky.

“I can’t.” Bucky Barnes was the type of man fathers warned their daughters about, and boy did your father have a rather strong warning when it came to Mr. Barnes. “My Daddy warned me to stay away from men like you. A roughneck like you brings nothing but trouble to a good girl’s life.”

“Sweetheart, your daddy has no idea the type of man I am, trust me.” He stepped in front of you, stopping you from walking, “Just humor me and let me take you to dinner, no funny business, promise.” He put his hands on your hips, “How’s about tomorrow, I take you to dinner in the next town over. That way you don’t need to worry about any prying eyes from these nosey folks.”

Bucky was serving your words to you on a supper plate and gave you a fork to eat them. You told yourself, just this once, and maybe that would get him off your back. Maybe he would go bother some other poor girl. But the thought of that kind of pissed you off, you didn't need to look deep down to know that you enjoyed the little game the two of you played. “No funny business?” All you needed was one little taste, nothing more.

“No funny business.” Bucky echoed you, nodding his head.

It didn't sound so bad going and grabbing dinner in the next town over. Thunder Creek was a lovely area, great food, great music, no one from Eden Ridge to run and tell your family you were out with the local drifter, “How about you ask me once your face doesn’t look such a mess.”

Bucky beamed at you, “Deal.”

The next time you saw Bucky, almost a full week had passed. His face had healed nicely; the big purple bruise under his eye was now a yellowish color, and the cut along his nose and cheek had scabbed over and shrank. “Have you thought about my offer, dear?” He asked, leaning on the hitching post as you readied your horse. He looked like a stray dog seated in front of a plate of steak, hungry and ready to devour like Saturn himself.

It distracted you, caught you off guard even, “What? About dinner?” You licked your lips nervously and couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze again “Yes, I’m free tomorrow evening. I’ll meet you at the train station at 3 and we can ride over”

He looked victorious, like he’d won a marathon, like he’d just been told God had saved him a spot in heaven, “3 o’clock at the train station.” He repeated back to let you know he heard and he would be there.

You weren’t shocked to see Bucky already waiting on a bench at the train depot at 3pm sharp just like you’d asked. What shocked you was the fact that you’d managed to travel the two hours to the next town over and have a nice sit down meal with him, all without him making a single pass at you. He made small talk, asking you about your horse and how long you had him for, asking you your favorite books, your life before moving out here, your fathers mining company. He picked your brain and devoured every piece of information you gave him, listening actively and intently.

You learned a lot about him as well. Bucky was 10 years older than you and hailed from New York, which explained his odd hybrid accent. He fought in the civil war as a boy some 20 years ago for the union which was where he met Steve, John, and Sam then they managed to pick up Peter along the way. He called him and his troupe ‘traveling workers’, they went from town to town doing odd jobs and when those ran out or they overstayed their welcome they left, moving on to the next town.

What he didn’t tell you was that he was a wanted man in 3 states, his traveling work consisted of robbing banks and trains, rustling cattle, and stealing horses, with a small dash of bounty hunting, and a big dash of murder. Sure there was some good honest work sprinkled in there to help keep his conscience clean but it was mostly crime.

He’d originally come to town to rob the local bank, since Eden Ridge was on the up and up, which meant lots of people came here with lots of money to start a new life and those rich assholes needed somewhere to store it all. His plan was to steal most of the money and use it to finance his next run to the next town and help pay off some of the minor bounties tied to his boys’ heads, but you were a bit of a distraction from his original plan

It almost made him not want to go through with it.

Almost.

Bucky liked you, he liked your soft curves, how you somehow managed to never have a speck of mud on your dress, he liked how sassy you got with him, like when you told him you hoped his horse would drop dead after he flicked mud in your face, and he liked the pretty white lace prayer veil you wore to church every Sunday. He wanted to marry you, come home to you wearing a little apron cooking dinner with a child on your hip. With HIS child on your hip. God the thought of making you his wife drove him near feral.

There was an added bonus to how pissed off it would make your no good crook of a father that made Bucky want to do it even more.

But, since a man was only as good as his word, he stayed true to his no funny business promise and only took you to dinner. You hated that he was a perfect gentleman and actually made you feel nice and cared for. You had no doubt that this was how he was able to get the other girls in town wrapped around his finger.

“You gonna let me walk you to church on Sunday too?” Bucky asked, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. He knew all the right things to say to you much to your chagrin.

You chewed your lip nervously, your father would not like it if he saw Bucky walking you to church and you knew that to be truer than the word of God itself. But, He had been such a perfect gentleman at your little dinner date, “Fine. But you can’t sit with us for the mass, my parents don’t like you.” You didn’t care if what you said hurt his feelings, it was true and you wanted to be kind enough to spare him the judgemental gaze of your father while Father Liska spoke the word of God, “And you have to sit through the mass and walk me home after.”

“Ok, deal.” Bucky grinned, a win was a win after all.

Bucky was more nervous about stepping foot into a church than he was to walk you there. Women he could handle, religion… well not so much. He half expected to burst into flames the moment he stepped foot into the holy threshold. He swapped out the filth covered denim for his best set of trousers and wore his nicest button up, just for you.

You didn’t have to worry about the prying eyes of your family when he came to your home to pick you up for your short little walk. Bucky greeted you at the door, you had to admit he cleaned up nicely, “You look nice, sugar.” Bucky reached up and and touched the scalloped edge of your mantilla, rubbing the delicate lace between his rough fingers.

You swatted his hand away, “Don’t touch that.” You hissed and adjusted the head covering.

Bucky reached out his hand for you to hold, begrudgingly, you took it, “Are we going to get dinner again sweets?” He tried to act coy by not looking at you, but you knew. He didn’t spend two months practically begging at your feet for dinner only to maybe want a second one.

You gave him an inch and he was going to take a mile. Maybe even two miles if he was feeling extra bold.

Bucky held the large wooden doors of the church open for you. He was flooded with the overwhelming scent of frankincense as he entered the church. It has been years since he’d set place in a place of worship. Maybe communing with god would be good for him. You looked uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of people kneeling, your presence disrupting their pre service prayers.

You dipped your fingers into the holy water and crossed yourself, holding your head high. Oh, they were going to have a lot to talk about at their weekly bible studies. You, showing up with a man to church? Well that was going to be the talk of the congregation, hell, it was going to be the talk of the town!

Bucky gave your hand a comforting squeeze before he dropped it, suddenly feeling the watchful eye of the Lord upon him. He gave you a polite nod and you almost wished you didn't tell him to sit elsewhere because now you had to walk down the aisle to the front of the room while everyone stared.

Your mother looked at you and you chose to ignore her until she leaned over and tugged at the sleeve of your dress, “What is all that about?” She said and nodded back towards Bucky.

He looked uncomfortable, like a bull in a china shop, sitting stiffly next to the Barton family. If he managed to sit through Sunday mass it would definitely get him bonus points and another dinner, “Nothing Mother.” You knew you were going to have to answer her poking and prodding after the service.

Father Liska finished the sermon and it took all your strength to not book it out of the church. You waited, ambushed by your mother who wanted to play twenty questions about Bucky. The number one being: do you think you’ll marry him? She loved to emphasize that you were a bit too bold and men didn’t like it when you told them to drop dead or that you’d rather walk across hot coals than meet with them. She would probably die early of a broken heart if you became a spinster.

“Please mother, we’ve only gotten dinner once and today I let him walk me to church. It’s nothing serious.” You hissed and hushed her once you saw Bucky walking over.

“Everything is serious when it comes to courting, dear.” Your mother reminded you. Marrying you off was serious business and she in some ways was your manager. “Mr. Barnes.” Your mother greeted him, almost breathlessly and offered her hand to him, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, thank you so much for accompanying our daughter to mass today.”

Bucky bent, kissing your mothers knuckles, you rolled your eyes at the display of chivalry, “It was truly my pleasure ma’am.” Of course mothers loved Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t they? He was the type of man mothers loved and the type of man fathers warned their daughters about.

“I can’t believe you made him sit all the way in the back,” your mother chastised you, blushing after Bucky kissed her hand, “ Mr. Barnes dear, near Sunday please sit with us, we’ve got the best spot in the congregation.”

“Well Daddy doesn’t like him.” You said frowning, “What if Bucky doesn’t want to come to mass next Sunday?”

“Oh nonsense, he’ll be here next Sunday,” Your mother answered for him, “He loved the sermon today, didn’t you, dear?”

Bucky flashed another pleasant grin at your mother, “Of course, I loved hearing, uh, Father.... Father...”

“Liska” You filled in the gap for him knowing he never set foot into the Church of St. Michael the Archangel for the entirety of his two months here.

“Right, Father Liska, I thought it was incredibly moving.” You said a silent prayer for God to smite him down.

“Why don’t you come by the house for lunch.” Your mother urged him.

You shot Bucky a glare, “Oh I don’t think I should.” He said after glancing at you, if looks could kill Bucky would be 6 ft under.

“Bucky can stop by when he picks me up for dinner later in the week. Let’s not bore the poor man any longer.” You hooked your arm in his and pulled him towards the door, “Goodbye mother.” You said sharply.

Bucky patted your hand with his own, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

You huffed, “I am most certainly not jealous.” You took your arm back and crossed them over your chest. You were jealous. Jealous and annoyed mainly with your mother.

“Don’t worry sugar there’s plenty of me to go around.” He grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #marvel cinimatic universe #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #LUT #marvel x reader #sebastian stan characters

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supercorpkid · 3 months

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Powergirl Should Die

Supergirl. Powergirl. B!D. Kara Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Alex Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Lena Luthor, Winn Schott.

Word Count: 2550.

Porwergirl should die. Someone should kill her.

The suit is skin tight, it clings so forcefully onto you as if it's trying to become part of you. But this other skin, just simply doesn’t fit right over your bones.

There is a huge House of El crest over your chest, in its golden glory. It weighs down on your skin, heavy and sacred. It should help you feel at ease. It doesn’t. It feels like it’s burning your skin like a branding iron.

Kryptonian?

Yes.

Super powers?

Yes.

You’re a superhero. Next, please!

Kara stands tall next to you, hand on your shoulder. “Would you look at that,” your sister smiles brightly at you. “Mother and father would be so proud of you, mini me.”

Kara has called you that your whole life, but you never felt so little as you do right now. You've also never felt so much like Kara. Crumpled up inside this supersuit to fit someone else’s dream. You don’t think your parents would be very proud of you now.

“Kara, this feels odd.” You try to lift the suit from your skin, that is so snuggled up it barely leaves you room to breathe. “I-I look like you.”

“I know!” She proudly squeaks. “I asked Winn to only change the colors. How do you feel about the white, red and blue?”

“Like a walking American flag.” You wince at the thought. You like the white, it’s a little more sober than the blue in Kara's suit, it also reminds you of the vest you used to wear back in Krypton. The red cape feels like they've ripped a piece of Kara’s and placed it on your back. The high blue boots are uncomfortable and the matching gloves are just plain stupid.

“You certainly don’t look like one.” Alex chimes in from behind you, and you turn around, sick of the sight of you in the mirror. “Honestly sis, I like this suit. I think it might be even better than Kara’s.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, mine has history.”

“Yours is a copy of Superman’s.”

“That’s what I mean, history.”

You watch your sister’s bickering with faint attention because they both would never say how ridiculous you look with this dull, hideous, comical outfit.

But it didn’t matter how foolish you looked, or how stupid you felt. There was no way out of this. Kara said you looked perfect and Alex agreed. J’onn, who’s been the closest thing to a father to you on this planet, gave you a stiff smile when asked what he thought. He could read your mind, remember? That’s what he thought about it. And Winn was just over the moon with his creation. No way out. From that day on, you’re Powergirl.

It hasn’t been long since you started being Powergirl. You’re still not the most prominent face of the Supers, thank God for that. You do the easy jobs while Kara takes on the real bad guys. You follow her lead. Obey to what Alex tells you to do over the comm that is permanently stuck in your ear. As if you couldn’t hear her from miles and miles away.

But with every passing day, it becomes even more obvious to you that you were really not cut out for this superhero life. Not good at it. Not happy with it. Not fit for it.

The very opposite of Kara, actually. Because Kara fits everywhere and with everyone. She fits perfectly in her suit, with her alias. Perfectly at her job at CatCo, as a news reporter. And ever since she landed on Earth she created her perfect family, story, life on this planet.

You, on the other hand, wish everyday you were still at Krypton. You are well aware that if you stayed behind, that if your parents hadn't made Kara snuggle your smaller form against her own body on that pod, you would have exploded. You wouldn't be alive today. And you wish people knew you don't want to be dead, you just wish your planet hadn't exploded in the first place.

Sure Kara feels the same. Yet she makes a name for herself and gives back to this planet that took you both in so willingly, that gave you both powers because of its sun. Kara is just different.

"Mother would want us to use our powers for good." She would whisper to you in the dark, whenever the Danvers would tell you to not use your powers. Whenever they asked you to fit in completely. "Father spent so much time trying to stop our planet from deteriorating, don't you think that if he had powers he would use them to make that happen?"

She would ask you questions that didn't feel like questions. That required no answers at all. Kara would tell you what she knew about them, use them as arguments to explain to you (convince even) why you had to become a superhero too.

And you would lay there in the dark, after your sister was asleep, looking at the long dead stars, and wondering whether she was right. Whether that was your parents' plans all along or just a sad coincidence.

"Powergirl." You hear Kara's voice early in the morning while you're still trying to brew yourself a cup of coffee. "I need you for a second."

"It's too early in the morning and I have to get ready for work." You press on your comm to answer. "Can't you deal with it alone?"

"Hm, no. I need you to come here now."

You let out a huge sigh, trying to ease your own mind. Coffee will wait, you guess. You're out of your pj's, into your suit, and out of the house in a blur. You stop next to Kara while she stares at a billboard.

"What?" You can't help the harshness of your tone as you see no emergency around her.

Kara says nothing. Only points at the billboard and you finally take note of it. Written in large red colors, the sentence: Powergirl should die.

Huh.

"It seems that you have an enemy." Kara says when time enough has passed for you to read the sentence over a few times. "Don't worry, we'll catch them."

Cute. It's your first thought. It's almost like someone wrote you a love letter, au contraire.

Kara makes an effort to tear it all down, destroy the billboard before anyone sees it. You don't help her, stuck inside your own mind, replaying the words in your head.

"No need to worry." She assures you, hand on your shoulder to get you out of your trance. "No one will do you any harm, mini me. I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"Thanks, Kar." You look at your watch on your wrist. "Work calls." And so you fly home.

You try to lodge that sentence in the back of your mind. You don't wanna seem stressed out, even though you are. But showing how actually worried you are about it, and with the fact that someone is coming for you, it's inconceivable.

Kara would worry. Alex would stress. Ooof, you can see it all playing out. Sleepovers and excuses for you to miss work and hang at the DEO headquarters so they can keep an eye on you, until you're feeling suffocated.

No, no. You can't go through that. It's been a while since you and your sisters shared a bedroom. You don't think you three can do that again now that you're grown ups.

It happens again. You don't see it, but you hear the agents commenting about it, a couple days later. They get muted the second you fly in the DEO, which is not only annoying but foolish. You do have super hearing after all.

"So, where was it this time?" You ask Alex, while she tries to avoid looking at you.

"Where's what?" She tries, and you furrow your brows.

"Winn, put it on the monitor." You ask coming closer. Winn looks at Alex as if asking for permission, but you don't give her time to deny him. "Come on, I heard the agents. I'm still Kryptonian even if I'm not a Super."

Winn huffs. "On the tallest building of National City." The photo goes up on the large TV in front of you, and you swallow deep.

Powergirl should die.

"Y/N," Alex talks in a low tone so the agents around can't hear her. "it's not personal."

"Looks personal." You cross your arms, turning your back at the TV. "Someone wanting me dead sounds like it's as personal as it can get."

"Supergirl is looking into it, I promise we'll catch whoever did this."

"Alex, please." You pass her on your way to the training room. "You know damn well my favorite thing about you is that you don't lie."

"You've lost too many punching bags." You hear a voice behind your back, and you breathe deep before turning around.

"Just training a little." You look at the number of destroyed bags by your feet and decide that it's true, there's too many, even though that's what they're here for.

"Alex told me about the message." Kara approaches you slowly, trying to test the territory. She can see your distress, but doesn't know the extent of it. And she won't, because you're definitely going to fake it.

"Yeah, tall building. They got the writing off quickly, though. So no major problems."

"Honey," Kara's voice is even sweeter now, if that's possible. "I'll catch them. I'll be patrolling tonight. No one's coming for you."

"I'm not worried." You smile at your lie, or half of lie for what it's worth. Knowing that Kara will be patrolling the city helps. You know your sister would never let anything bad happen to you. And it's very unlikely that anyone on this planet could easily defeat two Kryptonians.

Kara also smiles, and brings you into her arms for a hug. And you breathe out, calmer. Kara's arms have kept you safe from many perils. Spaceship lost in space, new planet, new school, new job. Surely she can keep you safe again.

You don't feel safe, though, when you wake up to a familiar voice far away. You rub the sleep from your eyes, well awake, paying close attention to a conversation you weren't invited to be a part of.

"Alex, I went around the city, there's no new wri-"

"Kara? What was that?"

There it was, in big red letters the sentence that has been haunting you for days. Powergirl should die. And under it new words' been added, someone should kill her.

"I found new writing." Kara's voice comes a second later. "It's worse this time."

"Take a picture so we can compare the handwriting and get back here."

"I have to clean this up." But before Kara even has the chance to, you're flying next to her in front of the L Corp building. "Y/N! What are you doing here?"

You move closer to the building to investigate. The ink is still wet, it wasn't done too long ago. You look around trying to find cameras. It's Lena's building, you're sure there are cameras everywhere. You spot one with a direct view.

"Mini me-" Kara tries.

"Go to work Supergirl, I'll deal with this. Someone wanting me dead is my problem." It's always been your problem, you are aware. But Kara promised you, you had nothing to worry about. Promised she would patrol the city. Promised she would protect you. And yet, here it is, in big block red letters.

"But-"

"I got it, Kara. Can you just believe in me?"

"Y/N, you know I do. I just wanna help."

"I don't need help." You clench your jaw, tired of being treated like a little girl. Like a mini Kara instead of your own person. "I'm Kryptonian too."

Cheap shot? Maybe. Definitely. You throw it, anyway.

You clean the writing then fly home to suit up. You can't face Lena without it. Another secret that only makes you hate your secret identity as hard. Lying to your friends, sneaking out, it's all stressing and there's literally no reward high enough worth of all this.

"Lena."

"Oh shit." Lena's hand goes to her chest after her obvious scare. You can hear her heart almost beating out of her chest. "It's too early for bad news, Powergirl."

"Trust me, I agree with that." You breathe out, trying to give her a smile. It comes out flat. "I was wondering if I could look into one of your surveillance cameras. There was some writing on this building this morning, I would very much like to know who's responsible."

"Writing? I - I didn't see anything when I came in."

"Good. I cleaned it as fast as possible." You point at her computer and she breathes deep as if she is agreeing with you.

It doesn't take long for the images to be up, and you two to be carefully reversing the filming until Lena sees you and Kara flying in front of it, and read the words herself. She looks up to you and quirks up an eyebrow, in question.

"Currently unsure if someone is threatening me or if this is just general knowledge being passed on."

"People don't want you dead, you're a superhero!" Lena argues. "Maybe Lex, but he's currently serving his time."

"Clearly not everyone agrees with you." You point back at the words on her computer.

"It's awful." She admits, even though she doesn't fully trust you or Kara yet. "Wait, wait. There."

You can't see a thing. One minute is there, the other isn't. You slow down the images, trying to see any detail. Lena soon takes over and slows down as much as she can. That's when you see it, just a tiny flash of red. You hold your breath. Thankfully, Lena hasn't noticed it.

"How's this possible? There's no one."

"Seems that I'll have to patrol the city myself tonight." You're almost leaving Lena's office when you turn around one more time. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Luthor."

"I was barely of any help at all." Lena points at the computer as proof and you give her a smile.

"Au contraire, darling. You showed me everything I needed to see." You wink at her, then fly out.

You march inside the DEO, positive on your plan. No one is talking you out of it, that's for sure.

Winn tries to argue that it is illogical for you to just give yourself to your enemy. He gets ignored. Alex argues that as a DEO agent she can't let you do this, and as your older sister she would be insane to leave you alone in this situation. You don't budge. Kara pulls out the big guns, her promise to mother and father, her duty as your protector, how you're the only connection she still has with Krypton, her love for you and so on. Her cries fall on deaf ears.

So at night, you fly around National City watching and studying everyone in it, even though you know you should only be looking for one person. One person with superspeed, a red cape and a big motive.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #reader insert #baby danvers #alex danvers #alex x reader #powergirl #supergirl imagine

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creedslove · 8 months

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I just got my masters degree and my bf did not want to celebrate because it’s not that big of a deal and instead he went out by himself.

Would you do an imagine with any of the Pedro boys or him himself celebrating it? I just need a Little pick me up ❤️

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: OH MY GOD HONEY!!! CONGRATULATIONS 👏🎉💐🎉 This is amazing! Such great news honestly, I couldn't even make it through graduation so if you managed to get your masters degree this is a huge deal!!! I hope you are enjoying yourself at the moment and forgive me if I step outta line here honey but your bf is a piece of shit honestly, you know what's not a big deal? His mf ass!!! Once again I'm sorry bestie but you deserve way better than this guy honestly, and well, I thought about it and I decided to go with Joel because he would exactly how to treat you right ❤️

• Joel loves how smart and hard working you are, he is a guy who isn't book smart even if you praise him for his emotional and rational intelligence, he knows that in your relationship you got the brains

• he supports you through everything you decide to do, concerning your academic or professional life, he supports you no matter what and he loves bragging about you and how successful you are

• he would proudly tell anyone you were getting your masters degree because

"you gotta be smart for that, you know, darlin'"

• and once you finally get your masters degree, Joel feels his heart bursting with pride and love and he just gets too excited about you, he wants to know if you will have some kind of ceremony because he will be there

• he hopes he doesn't have to wear a suit but he would if he had to, as long as you are happy he is happy

• Joel would get himself a new shirt and some new jeans, he would put on his good boots™ and his leather jacket 🫦 looking his best for you

• afterwards he would take you out to celebrate just the two of you to some place where you can have some drinks and good food, he's a steakhouse man and no one can try to prove me otherwise but I'm certain he would go for a japanese or italian restaurant if it makes you happy

• he would gift you something too, I'm sure he would go for jewelry, not something awfully expensive, our sweet Joel ain't rich but you can bet he would choose either a beautiful bracelet or a gorgeous pair of earrings and perhaps a necklace

• or even that kind of ring we all would dream of getting from him 😉

• on the weekend he would make sure to throw a barbecue in celebration of you, calling your family, your friends, Sarah and Tommy so everyone could cheer and congratulate you for your achievement

• he is just so happy you managed to accomplish your stuff, he can't even describe into words, he just loves it and he could never hide how proud he is ❤️

____

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller headcanon #joel miller headcanons

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istumpysk · 10 months

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Alayne I (Sansa I)

My little lovebug! ❤️

She's finally here! 🥺

To celebrate, I might just copy and paste the whole gosh darn thing. You've been warned.

Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for the mind-blowing, heart-stopping, epic conclusion of Operation Stumpy Re-Read Project!

Before we dive in, we need to revisit a theory that I proposed in Jon X, ADWD.

The last time we saw Jon's and Sansa's points of view in the same book was A Storm of Swords. You might recall the deliberate placement of their back-to-back chapters was anything but subtle.

The text was often copied verbatim, the situations were perfectly mirrored, and the topics of love, marriage, and family were prevalent in both.

You can view a quick summary of it all here.

That brings us to this chapter. Some of you might not be aware, but George was originally planning to put Alayne I in A Dance with Dragons.

That Sansa chapter I talked about finishing, for instance. It's still finished, but my editor and I decided it belongs in THE WINDS OF WINTER, not A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, so it's been moved into the next book. Sansa will not appear in DANCE. - Not a Blog

Based on the intentional placement of previous Jon and Sansa chapters, I have hypothesized that it should be possible to determine the original planned position of this Alayne chapter.

Below, I will do my best to argue Alayne I, TWOW was originally indented to appear directly before Jon X, ADWD.

Alright, it's time!

She was reading her little lord a tale of the Winged Knight when Mya Stone came knocking on the door of his bedchamber, clad in boots and riding leathers and smelling strongly of the stable. Mya had straw in her hair and a scowl on her face. That scowl comes of having Mychel Redfort near, Alayne knew.

I'm so slow, I'm only now picking up on the vague hints of Jon and Sansa's connection from the highborn-lowborn divide between Mya and Mychel Redfort.

She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. - Catelyn VI, AGOT

She even had a king for a dad!

+.+.+

Why did she have to mention Harry? Alayne thought. We will never get Sweetrobin out of bed now. The boy slapped a pillow. "Send them away. I never asked them here." Mya looked nonplussed. No one in the Vale was better at handling a mule, but lordlings were another matter. "They were invited," she said uncertainly, "for the tourney. I don't…" Alayne closed her book. "Thank you, Mya. Let me talk with Lord Robert, if you would."

Oh look, 13-year-old Sansa is acting 24 again, and can I just mention she's absolutely fantastic at managing her son cousin.

+.+.+

"I hate that Harry," Sweetrobin said when she was gone. "He calls me cousin, but he's just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie. He thinks I don't know, but I do." "Your lordship should not believe such nonsense," Alayne said. "I'm sure Ser Harrold loves you well." And if the gods are good, he will love me too. Her tummy gave a little flutter.

Back to 13.

Just like Arya and Mercy, you can still find traces of Sansa in Alayne.

+.+.+

"I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories."

In the future, it might be a good idea to ensure that Jon and Sweetrobin are kept apart at all times.

+.+.+

No man can wed me so long as my dwarf husband still lives somewhere in this world.

I don't know about that.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. I did nothing. Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband? The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did it." - Sansa V, ASOS

When Her Grace suggested that she would be pleased to help arrange marriages for his sons to the daughters of great southern lords, Lord Stark refused brusquely. "We keep the old gods in the North," he told the queen. "When my boys take a wife, they will wed before a heart tree, not in some southron sept." - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

Alayne stroked his fingers. "There, my Sweetrobin, be still now." When the shaking passed, she said, "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble.

Trust me, this is less than nothing, we're only warming up. I can do way better than this.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," said Jon. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne smoothed his hair. Lady Lysa had never let the servants touch it, and after she had died Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so it had been allowed to grow until it tumbled over his round shoulders and halfway down his flabby white chest. He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him.

Mounting evidence that Sansa is plotting to kill Robert Arryn.

Why would he fear a blade?

+.+.+

"The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? Ser Harrold has a common woman. Benjicot says she's carrying his bastard." Benjicot should learn to keep his fool's mouth shut.

Lmao.

+.+.+

"Is that what you would have from me? A bastard?" She pulled her fingers from his grasp. "Would you dishonor me that way?" The boy looked stricken. "No. I never meant —" Alayne stood. "If it please my lord, I must go and find my father. Someone needs to greet Lady Waynwood." Before her little lord could find the words to protest, she gave him a quick curtsy and fled the bedchamber [...].

Masterfully done!

This is why I can't have children, I would have locked him in a closet.

+.+.+

When she had left Petyr Baelish that morning he had been breaking his fast with old Oswell who had arrived last night from Gulltown on a lathered horse.

Did you know that the number of references to Oldtown gradually increases from book to book until it surges in A Storm of Swords, right before the city is formally introduced at the beginning of A Feast for Crows?

Gulltown is on a similar trajectory. The city is referenced nine times in this chapter alone. Nine.

+.+.+

Though snow had blanketed the heights of the Giant's Lance above, below the mountain the autumn lingered and winter wheat was ripening in the fields.

For timeline purposes: Sansa is lagging behind where Brienne and Jon currently are in the story.

Snow in the riverlands. If it was snowing here, it could well be snowing on Lannisport as well, and on King's Landing. Winter is marching south, and half our granaries are empty. Any crops still in the fields were doomed. [...] "I know," Jaime said, "there has been a white raven from the Citadel. Winter has come." - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died.

Stop.

+.+.+

She hoped they might still be talking, but Petyr's solar proved empty. Someone had left a window open and a stack of papers had blown onto the floor. [...] She closed the window, gathered up the fallen papers, and stacked them on the table. One was a list of the competitors. Four-and-sixty knights had been invited to vie for places amongst Lord Robert Arryn's new Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and four and-sixty knights had come to tilt for the right to wear falcon’s wings upon their warhelms and guard their lord.

It is widely speculated she saw something she shouldn't have, but hasn't fully grasped the significance yet.

Did you know there's 64 squares on a chessboard?

+.+.+

The competitors came from all over the Vale, from the mountain valleys and the coast, from Gulltown and the Bloody Gate, even the Three Sisters. Though a few were promised, only three were wed; the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert's side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen), so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

We love a petty king.

so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

Perfect for Blackfish! Where is that former Knight of the Gate? I know he's coming, the ellipsis of truth tells no lies.

And if Ser Brynden should survive this siege, he might be inclined to claim Riverrun in his own name . . . or in the name of young Robert Arryn. - Jaime V, AFFC

Where else is he supposed to go?

Edit:

Oh! @decadelongsummer reminded me that Jaime I, ADWD would have come before this. (<- <- <-)

"Might the Blackfish seek refuge at Raventree?"

"He might seek it, but to find it he'd need to get past my siege lines, and last I heard he hadn't grown wings. [...]" - Jaime I, ADWD

+.+.+

"They're young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir." He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are."

I will turn your liver into paste, and feed it to cats.

+.+.+

"What a clever daughter you are." It was clever.

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?" - Sansa IV, ACOK

"There's a clever girl." He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds. - Sansa VI, ASOS

"[...] It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter." - Sansa I, AFFC

Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave.

Sounds like something a queen might be responsible for planning.

Unreliable narrator Sansa Stark (or George R. R. Martin). Ser Artys Arryn was not the legendary Winged Knight from the Age of Heroes. Two different people.

I don't know if this is important or not, but while reading the history of Ser Artys, a few things stuck out.

Leading the attack was a champion in silvered steel, with a moon-and-falcon on his shield and wings upon his warhelm. Ser Artys Arryn had clad one of his knights retainer in his spare suit of armor, leaving him in camp whilst he himself took his best horsemen up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood, so they might reappear behind the First Men and descend on them from above. - The World of Ice and Fire

While fighting King Robar II Royce, Ser Artys used a decoy of himself, while he snuck up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood.

What's interesting about that is that Roose Bolton uses a decoy in ADWD, which fools Ramsay.

When the rider in the dark armor removed his helm, however, the face beneath was not one that Reek knew. Ramsay's smile curdled at the sight, and anger flashed across his face. "What is this, some mockery?" - Reek II, ADWD

But what really stands out is the goat tracks. I know a character who has deep appreciation for goat tracks being used during war.

"Goat tracks?" The king's eyes narrowed. "I speak of moving swiftly, and you waste my time with goat tracks?"

"When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway." - Jon IV, ADWD

I don't know. It involved knights from the Vale, so it made me pause.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor was showing Lady Waxley his prize tapestries, with their scenes of hunt and chase. The same panels had once hung in the Red Keep of King's Landing, when Robert sat the Iron Throne. Joffrey had them taken down and they had languished in some cellar until Petyr Baelish arranged for them to be brought to the Vale as a gift for Nestor Royce. Not only were the hangings beautiful, but the High Steward delighted in telling anyone who'd listen that they had once belonged to a king.

It's the conclusion of the most anticlimactic side plot in the entire series.

"Not as yet. In truth, he seems quite unconcerned. His last letter mentions the rebels only briefly before beseeching me to ship him some old tapestries of Robert's." - Cersei IV, AFFC

Petyr laughed. "Perhaps I shall. Or better still, to our sweet Cersei. Though I should not speak harshly of her, she is sending me some splendid tapestries. Isn't that kind of her?" - Alayne I, AFFC

This is nothing. It's only meant to showcase how Littlefinger purchases the loyalty of others.

+.+.+

At the north end of the yard, three quintains had been set up, and some of the competitors were riding at them. Alayne knew them by their shields; the bells of Belmore, green vipers for the Lynderlys, the red sledge of Breakstone, House Tollett’s black and grey pily. Ser Mychel Redfort set one quintain spinning with a perfectly placed blow. He was one of those favored to win wings.

Showing off, as per usual. She's only doing this to make Arya look bad.

+.+.+

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see." Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled."

"You are even lovelier than I was told, princess," he declared. "The queen has told me much and more of your beauty."

"How odd, when she has never seen me." - Jon XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne could not help but shutter. Myranda's husband had died when he was making love with her. "Those Sistermen who came in yesterday were gallant," she said, to change the subject. "If you don't like Ser Ossifer or Ser Uther, marry one of them instead. I thought the youngest one was very handsome." "The one in the sealskin cloak?" Randa said, incredulous. "One of his brothers, then." Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." “Well,” Alayne said, “at least they're clean.”

"Some of them have webs between their toes. [...]"

Uh huh.

Listen to me. Listen to me.

You know why this is here.

Davos: I:

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Remind me, what did we learn in Davos I?

To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down.

[...]

Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward.

[...]

That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true … but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'" - Davos I, ADWD

Right, exactly. Go ahead and remind us of the Three Sisters in a Sansa chapter, George. Nobody can figure out where this is going.

+.+.+

"Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr. Then I'd be your mother. How little is his finger, I ask you?"

Alayne did not dignify that question with an answer.

Totally normal thing you might ask his daughter.

+.+.+

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Myranda said. "The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? If I were ever to wed a Waynwood, he would have to swear a vow to don his helm whenever he wished to fuck me, and keep the visor closed." She gave Alayne a pinch on the arm.

Um, I have a theory!

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . ." - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

"My Harry will be with them, though. I notice that you left him out. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. He's the boy I want to marry."

"The betrothal was my father's doing," Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before. She is only teasing, she told herself… but behind the japes, she could hear the hurt.

We can't be certain, but she doesn't give off the same vibes as the other Myranda on the show.

+.+.+

Alayne could not see the front of his shield from where she stood, but his attacker bore three ravens in flight, each clutching a red heart in its claws. Three hearts and three ravens. She knew right then how the fight would end. A few moments later and the big man sprawled dazed in the dust with his helm askew. When his squire undid the fastenings to bare his head, there was blood trickling down his scalp. If the swords had not been blunted, there would be brains as well. That last head blow had been so hard Alayne had winced in sympathy when it fell. Myranda Royce considered the victor thoughtfully. "Do you think if I asked nicely Ser Lyn would kill my suitors for me?" "He might, for a plump bag of gold." Ser Lyn Corbray was forever desperately short of coin, all the Vale knew that.

Based on my powerful foresight, I predict that Lyn Corbray will exhibit violent tendencies in the future, possibly while utilizing his Valyrian steel sword.

Don't ask me who the victim will be.

+.+.+

There is truth in that, Alayne thought, but some demon of mischief was in her that morning, so she gave Ser Lyn a thrust of her own. Smiling sweetly, she said, "My lord father tells me your brother's new wife is with child." Corbray gave her a dark look. "Lyonel sends his regrets. He remains at Heart's Home with his peddler's daughter, watching her belly swell as if he were the first man who ever got a wench pregnant." Oh, that's an open wound, thought Alayne. Lyonel Corbray's first wife had given him nothing but a frail, sickly babe who died in infancy, and during all those years Ser Lyn had remained his brother's heir. When the poor woman finally died, however, Petyr Baelish had stepped in and brokered a new marriage for Lord Corbray. The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. "We are all praying that the Mother grants Lady Corbray an easy labor and a healthy child," said Myranda. Alayne could not help herself. She smiled and said, "My father is always pleased to be of service to one of Lord Robert's leal bannermen. I'm sure he would be most delighted to help broker a marriage for you as well, Ser Lyn." "How kind of him." Corbray's lips drew back in something that might have been meant as a smile, though it gave Alayne a chill. "But what need have I for heirs when I am landless and like to remain so, thanks to our Lord Protector? No. Tell your lord father I need none of his brood mares." The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment she almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was actually her father's catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he? Perhaps, instead of being Petyr's man pretending to be Petyr's foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe.

Uh oh, Nostradamus senses something. There she goes leaking the plot again!

The king's own fool, the pie-faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after all. - Sansa II, AGOT

Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. - Sansa III, AGOT

Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle kept his sleepy eyes on the papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring. Something about the way the small man looked at her made Sansa feel as though she had no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin. - Sansa IV, AGOT

For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa's arms. - Sansa V, AGOT

Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy - Sansa I, ACOK

"I don't want to." Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. "Please, please, I don't want to." - Sansa V, ACOK

Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. - Sansa VIII, ACOK

Yet the more she thought about it all, the more she wondered. Joff might restrain himself for a few turns, perhaps as long as a year, but soon or late he will show his claws, and when he does . . . The realm might have a second Kingslayer, and there would be war inside the city, as the men of the lion and the men of the rose made the gutters run red. - Sansa I, ASOS

Believe in Sansa. The bottom line is that Lyn Corbray is a problem, and he's not as loyal to Littlefinger as Littlefinger thinks. Where this goes, I couldn't tell you.

(I desperately wanted to highlight every instance of Daenerys incorrectly reading someone, but I chose to be an adult.)

+.+.+

Alayne turned abruptly from the yard… and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. "My lady. My pardons if I took you unawares." "The fault was mine. I did not see you standing there." "We mice are quiet creatures." Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. She saw long leagues in the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, old battles in the scar beneath his ear, and a hardness behind the eyes that no boy would ever have. This was a man grown. Even Randa overtopped him, though. "Will you be seeking wings?" the Royce girl said. "A mouse with wings would be a silly sight." "Perhaps you will try the melee instead?" Alayne suggested. The melee was an afterthought, a sop for all the brothers, uncles, fathers, and friends who had accompanied the competitors to the Gates of the Moon to see them win their silver wings, but there would be prizes for the champions, and a chance to win ransoms. "A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"

Speaking of problems.

You know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this girl you've never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider's coin with her. - Brienne I, AFFC

The following is speculative, but also highly rational in my opinion.

It would be incredibly illogical for the author to introduce Ser Shadrich in Brienne's first chapter, reveal his objective to the reader, have him show up in the Vale near the same book's conclusion, clearly signal to the reader that he's correctly identified Sansa, and then proceed to not utilize him in any meaningful way. This is not what a red herring looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne's been gifted the knowledge of his appearance, and his objective. Brienne may not know what Alayne looks like, but she does know what Ser Shadrich looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne gauges both of their fighting skills while anticipating a potential encounter. (Come on.)

The Mad Mouse, she thought, at her first sight of him. Somehow he's followed me. Her hand went to her sword hilt, and she found herself wondering if Ser Shadrich would think her easy prey just because she was a woman. [...] If it was Ser Shadrich dogging her heels, she might well have a fight on her hands. She did not intend to partner with the man or let him follow her to Sansa. He had the sort of easy arrogance that comes with skill at arms, she thought, but he was small. I'll have the reach on him, and I should be stronger too. - Brienne II, AFFC

We watched Brienne intercept a Stark daughter three different times on the show.

None of these scenes can happen in the books, but we already know the show creators drew inspiration from canon events, and assigned different characters to the roles.

They gave the role of Biter to the Hound and made Brienne fight him, do you not think it's also possible one of these scenes is inspired by Brienne intercepting Shadrich and Sansa in the books?

"But Brienne's currently captured by Lady Stoneheart near Pennytree, and has a broken arm and face!"

Sansa's 👏 and 👏 Brienne's 👏 storylines 👏 aren't 👏 synchronized.

He told us what Brienne would do! He told us!

The Eyrie would be simpler, and Lady Lysa would surely welcome her sister's daughter . . .

Ahead, the alley bent. Somehow Brienne had taken a wrong turn. She found herself in a dead end, a small muddy yard where three pigs were rooting round a low stone well.

[...]

"I was looking for the Seven Swords."

"Back the way you come. Left at the sept."

"I thank you." Brienne turned to retrace her steps, and walked headfirst into someone hurrying round the bend. - Brienne II, AFFC

Brienne 👏 will 👏 escape! She'll 👏 turn 👏 back!

+.+.+

They made a race of it, dashing headlong across the yard and past the stables, skirts flapping, whilst knights and serving men alike looked on, and pigs and chickens scattered before them. It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

Always nice seeing her act her age.

+.+.+

Harry the Heir, Alayne thought. My husband-to-be, if he will have me. A sudden terror filled her. She wondered if her face was red. Don't stare at him, she reminded herself, don't stare, don't gape, don't gawk. Look away. Her hair must be a frightful mess after all that running. It took all her will to stop herself from trying to tuck the loose strands back into place. Never mind your stupid hair. Your hair doesn't matter. It's him that matters. Him, and the Waynwoods. Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought. Harry, though… My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed.Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that’s what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

Wow, how much do you love that?

Sansa directly compares the horse-faced Waynwoods, who have Stark lineage and were once potential heirs to Robb, to the more attractive Harry Hardyng (aka Joffrey).

I'm sorry, you have to see this:

Un-fucking-real. So close. They're always so close.

Yeah guys, why isn't she thinking about Arya? It's obvious we're supposed to be thinking about Arya during this passage. The author's intentions here are clear, the subtext is Arya. Sansa comparing these Stark-ish, likable Waynwood men to the comely yet rude Harry the Heir is totally about Arya. Arya's written all over this. We're so clever to see it.

Side note,

Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that's what he was.

"Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister. [...]." - Jon XI, ASOS

Love when my babies both learn about beauty's hidden dangers!

+.+.+

"I look forward to a spirited discussion." Ser Roland swung down from his horse, turned to Alayne, and smiled. "I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." "You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!" Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?"

Man, these horsey Waynwoods are crushing hard on Sansa. hehehehe.

Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

"You are in the Falcon Tower, Ser Harrold," Alayne put in. Far away from Sweetrobin. That was intentional, she knew. Petyr Baelish did not leave such things to chance. "If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself." This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. "Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger's bastard?"

+.+.+

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled. Near the keep, she ran headlong into Ser Lothor Brune and almost knocked him off his feet. "Harry the Heir? Harry the Arse, I say. He's just some upjumped squire." Alayne was so grateful that she hugged him. "Thank you. Have you seen my father, ser?"

Oopsie daisy, Nostradamus has returned.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. - Sansa II, AGOT

"Look at that upjumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear.

[...]

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. - Sansa I, ACOK

At the last possible instant, Ser Humfrey's [Hardyng] stallion reared away from the oncoming point, eyes rolling in terror, but too late, Aerion's lance took the animal just above the armor that protected his breastbone, and exploded out of the back of his neck in a gout of bright blood. Screaming, the horse crashed sideways, knocking the wooden barrier to pieces as he fell. Ser Humfrey [Hardyng] tried to leap free, but a foot caught in a stirrup and they heard his shriek as his leg was crushed between the splintered fence and falling horse. - The Hedge Knight

A knight from the Vale.

Correctly predicting it will happen to an upjumped oaf.

A Hardyng.

There are two certainties in this life: death and Harrold Hardyng falling off his horse. (Plenty of people don't pay their taxes.)

+.+.+

The vaults were large and dark and filthy. Alayne lit a taper and clutched her skirt as she made the descent. Near the bottom, she heard Lord Grafton's booming voice, and followed. "The merchants are clamoring to buy, and the lords are clamoring to sell," the Gulltowner was saying when she found them. Though not a tall man, Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond mop. "How am I to stop that, my lord?" "Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." "These prices, though," protested fat Lord Belmore," these prices are more than fair." "You say more than fair, my lord. I say less than we would wish. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher." "Perhaps," said Belmore, doubtfully. "Bronze Yohn will not wait," Grafton complained. "He need not ship through Gulltown, he has his own ports. Whilst we are hoarding our harvest, Royce and the other Lords Declarant will turn theirs into silver, you may be sure of that."

I smell converging storylines!

Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. - Jon IV, ADWD

Someone cut Littlefinger's head off, so everyone can eat.

Anyway, there's more Gulltown. Gulltown, Gulltown, Gulltown!

She might do better to take ship for Gulltown or White Harbor. I could do both, though. - Brienne II, AFFC

If the Stinking Goose yields nothing, I will take passage on a ship, she decided. Gulltown was only a short voyage away. From there she could make her way to the Eyrie easily enough. - Brienne III, AFFC

"Gulltown next," her captain told her, "thence around the Fingers to Sisterton and White Harbor, if the storms allow. She's a clean ship, 'Strider, not so many rats as most, and we'll have fresh eggs and new-churned butter aboard. Is m'lady seeking passage north?"

"No." Not yet. She was tempted, but . . . - Brienne V, AFFC

NOT YET. NOT YET! GULLTOWN -> SISTERTON -> WHITE HARBOR. HE TOLD US. HE FORESHADOWS EVERYTHING. IT'S RIGHT THERE.

+.+.+

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." Lord Belmore laughed. "I never thought Royce would let him come. Is he blind, or merely stupid?" "He is honorable. Sometimes it amounts to the same thing. If he denied the lad the chance to prove himself, it could create a rift between them, so why not let him tilt? The boy is nowise skilled enough to win a place amongst the Winged Knights."

Gosh, since his introduction, it seems like we've been constantly reminded that this upjumped squire is rather inept when it comes to sports.

"Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a mêlée at Runestone," Myranda Royce went on, oblivious, "a small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and so he did." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

"Come," Petyr said, "walk with me." He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the vaults, past an empty dungeon.

I will cut your eyelids off.

+.+.+

"Yes," she said, "but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone." "So far as he knows, that's who you are. This betrothal was never his idea, and Bronze Yohn has no doubt warned him against my wiles. You are my daughter. He does not trust you, and he believes that you're beneath him." "Well, I'm not. He may think he's some great knight, but Ser Lothor says he's just some upjumped squire."

Sansa's acquiring a new perspective through experiential learning: understanding the bastard experience. Aww. <3

+.+.+

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

Getting to the good stuff.

I'll tell you one thing, I have more faith in Sansa successfully accomplishing this than 6-year-old Alys Karstark.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

Aye, but now you're almost six-and-ten, and we must pray you will know how to charm your new husband. - Jon X, ADWD

I've said it a million times in other Sansa chapters, so I won't elaborate, but if you truly believe Littlefinger's plan is to wed Catelyn 2.0 to imitation Brandon Stark, you might be out of your mind.

Petyr put his arm around her.

I will pluck every hair from your head, and genitals.

+.+.+

"I don't know how," she said miserably. "Oh, I think you do," said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes.

Excluding the instance where she copied Harry's words, that is the only time she calls him Littlefinger in this chapter.

She hasn't forgotten.

+.+.+

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor." "Who would ask to wear a bastard's favor?"

"Harry, if he has the wits the gods gave a goose… but do not give it to him. Choose some other gallant, and favor him instead. You do not want to seem too eager."

I'd be hesitant to allow fire to shine in Sansa's hair.

This feels like a developing story. I'd love to know who is getting this favor if it's not Harry the Arse.

He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." - Sansa II, ASOS

"Saving yourself for Lord Robert?" Lady Myranda teased. "Or is there some ardent squire dreaming of your favors?" - Alayne II, AFFC

Edmure escorted her up the water stair and across the lower bailey, where Petyr Baelish and Brandon Stark had once crossed swords for her favor. - Catelyn XI, AGOT

+.+.+

"Lady Waynwood will insist that Harry dance with you, I can promise you that much. That will be your chance. Smile at the boy. Touch him when you speak. Tease him, to pique his pride. If he seems to be responding, tell him that you are feeling faint, and ask him to take you outside for a breath of fresh air. No knight could refuse such a request from a fair maiden."

The above won't happen, but in her next chapter, I'll be super on edge whenever she's exposed and there aren't many people around.

+.+.+

Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

I will make you deepthroat a cactus.

+.+.+

The feast proved to be everything her father promised. Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor's hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestor's cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant's Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.

A splendid subtlety, lol.

Nice, Littlefinger gifted her a giant penis. I wonder if the ones from Dorne taste any better. (I'm sorry.)

Look, it's a feast!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The stewards began to bring out the first dish, an onion broth flavored with bits of goat and carrot. Not precisely royal fare, but nourishing; it tasted good enough and warmed the belly. Owen the Oaf took up his fiddle, and several of the free folk joined in with pipes and drums. The same pipes and drums they played to sound Mance Rayder's attack upon the Wall. Jon thought they sounded sweeter now. With the broth came loaves of coarse brown bread, warm from the oven. Salt and butter sat upon the tables. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing, and musicians were brought in.

[...] "As am I," Coldwater said. Rising, he offered Alayne his hand. "Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?" "You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor. He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda's stout dull brother and Lord Nestor's heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

Oh my goodness, they're dancing! Ser Jon Waynwood sounds like a hoot.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The queen's men outnumbered the queen's ladies three to one, so even the humblest serving girls were pressed into the dance. After a few songs some black brothers remembered skills learned at the courts and castles of their youth, before their sins had sent them to the Wall, and took the floor as well. That old rogue Ulmer of the Kingswood proved as adept at dancing as he was at archery, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of the Kingswood Brotherhood, when he rode with Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben and helped Wenda the White Fawn burn her mark in the buttocks of her highborn captives. Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady.

[...]

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

"My lady should dance with her husband." - Jon X, ADWD

Dance with me, Jon Snow! You'll dance with me anon.

Don't be offended Alys, you're not the right partner.

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?" - Sansa III, ASOS

And neither was he.

I won't get too deep into each dance partner, because this post is long enough, but I'm sure you can see there's more than a few allusions to Jon (Coldwater, Tollett, Ser Byron, Royce, etc.).

Read more here:

Allusions to Jon in The Dance Partners of TWOW, Alayne I (@cappymightwrite)

+.+.+

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?" She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so." Color rose to his cheeks. "I was unforgivably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me." "Must?" She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. "How can you forgive someone who is unforgivably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?" Ser Harrold looked confused. "Please. One dance."

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist."

Boo, hiss. Wrong dance partner!

She'll talk circles around you if you let her.

+.+.+

He nodded, offered his arm, led her out onto the floor. As they waited for the music to resume, Alayne glanced at the dais, where Lord Robert sat staring at them. Please, she prayed, don’t let him start to twitch and shake. Not here. Not now. Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so.

Oh good, the doctor who keeps tempting fate is back.

Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble."

"Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Instead she said, "I have heard that you are about to be a father." It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie. "For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old."

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought, but what she said was, "That one had a different mother, though."

What a totally unique name we've given this kid!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD

Did I say he's Brandon Stark? I meant Brandon Stark with a little hint of Robert Baratheon.

+.+.+

"Yes. Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms. It is different with Saffron." "Saffron?" Alayne tried not to laugh. "Truly?" Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?"

That roast is worthy of applause.

Fun words are everywhere!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" asked Owen the Oaf. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey." Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?" Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father." "Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed. "I never meant..." "I hope you joust better than you talk."

I am extremely confident he does not.

Are tall girls with honey in their hair his type? Too bad.

+.+.+

For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. "No one told me you were clever."

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Melisandre closed her eyes, remembering. "West."

"She is not coming up the kingsroad, then. Clever girl. [...]" - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. "Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I'll be all the spice you'll want." He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?" "You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Before I get to the last bit, can I tell you something?

I read a sizeable amount of fandom commentary on this chapter, and not one single person contemplated who she's saving her favor for. It didn't come up once.

People are either deliberately avoiding asking themselves that question, or they believe the ending of this chapter is insignificant, and the topic won't resurface again. I'm not sure which one annoys me more.

+.+.+

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Now turn the page.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

It's the Alys Karstark x Sigorn wedding chapter! Yay.

Interestingly, in the first few pages of that chapter, the author intentionally creates an initial impression that it's Jon Snow who is marrying Alys Karstark. Curious, isn't it?

Let's discuss what we know about the bride, who the author led us to believe Jon Snow was marrying.

According to the fandom, Alys Karstark is Jon Snow's girl in grey. Small problem with that, she never wears grey, and never travels near a body of water to get to Castle Black.

"I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever."

"Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?" - Melisandre I, ADWD

However, she was fleeing from a forced marriage. Her great-uncle has assumed the role of Lord of Karhold, and made her a match, despite lacking any rightful claim to the land or castle.

Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?" "He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. [...] Uncle Arnolf is only castellan. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Lysa was murdered before the document could be presented for her signature, so I signed as Lord Protector. I knew that would have been her wish." - Sansa I, AFFC

The marriage is to her uncle, Cregan Karstark. Sorry, I should clarify this uncle isn't actually her uncle, it's just what they call him.

He's my great-uncle, actually, my father's uncle. Cregan is his son. I suppose that makes him a cousin, but we always called him uncle. Now they mean to make me call him husband. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Wed?" Sansa was stunned. "You and my aunt?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

"I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?" - Sansa I, AFFC

Perhaps you're wondering how we arrived at this point. Long ago, Alys' father desired her to marry the future Lord of Winterfell. Unfortunately, at that time, she was too young to captivate him with her charm.

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist." - Alayne I, TWOW

Instead, she was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood, and they were patiently awaiting her coming of age.

Before the war I was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. We were only waiting till I flowered to be wed - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

If they do that … why, then we shall know that there is no taint in your blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the king in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men. - Sansa IV, AGOT

Sadly, Daryn Hornwood died in the war. Rickard Karstark was forced to find her another lord to marry.

My father wrote that he would find some southron lord to wed me, but he never did. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. - Sansa III, AGOT

Of course all that went to shit when Rickard Karstark got his head cut off.

Your brother Robb cut off his head for killing Lannisters. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" - Arya V, AGOT

Now, it's worth mentioning that Alys' older brother Harrion is the rightful heir to Karhold. However, if he were to die, Alys would inherit Karhold, which ambitious men like her uncles are aware of.

Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But he does not know you," Dontos insisted, "and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It's your claim they mean to wed."

[...]

She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

"The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name," his uncle Kevan put in. "Had that not occurred to you?" - Tyrion IV, ASOS

"Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

"Yes," Sansa admitted.

He walked along outside the walls. "I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Thankfully, most people in this story are familiar with the rules of succession.

If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." - Jon IV, ADWD

Hence, the arranged marriage. Enter Cregan Karstark, a dangerous man who covets her birthright. He has a dark history, having buried multiple wives, and he would no longer need Alys if she ever had his child.

Once Cregan gets a child by me they won't need me anymore. He's buried two wives already. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the wet marble. - Sansa VII, ASOS

Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. - Catelyn V, ASOS

Fear not, for this story finds a happy ending. Before her not-uncle can get his hands on her, our hero Jon Snow intervenes and arranges a marriage between Alys and a wildling, ensuring her safety and happiness.

"So," said Alys, as Jon poured, "I am now a woman wed. A wildling husband with his own little wildling army." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. - Jon X, ADWD

The guy is such a white knight, he even daydreams of gifting her Cregan's head! (Thank you @that-plo-koon for that one.)

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

[...] wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

"Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." - Sansa VII

[...]

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Isn't that a great story? Other than a few amusing nuggets, that mostly covers everything.

My brother Harry is the rightful lord - Jon IX, ADWD [Brother Harry]

↓

"Harry the Heir?" - Alayne II, AFFC [Father Harry]

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD [Sister Alys]

↓

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought - Alayne I, TWOW [Daughter Alys]

So that's Alys Karstark, the girl George had us believing Jon Snow was marrying, in a chapter likely intended to follow this one.

While we're on the topic of that Jon Snow fakeout wedding, can I tell you what my favourite passage was?

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. - Jon X, ADWD

Ha ha ha! Me too, bud. I am also reminded of your little sister.

Boy, what a ride that was.

Final thoughts:

Fam,

WE DID IT!

I can't believe I finished.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #twow #alayne i #sansa i

134 notes · View notes

lavishl0ve · 7 months

Text

🩸Johhny Slaughter x Fem Reader🩸 (Part 2)

Part 2 continuation of my Part 1 Reader, I plan to make many more of these (which can also be read as a stand alone) but I heavily suggest reading the parts before these since I do reference some connections within previous parts! Again, these are my first fics and i’m not like an english major or whateva so i apologize if it isn’t perfect. Thank you and enjoy 🤩 (First part is on my page :)

Part 2: Scars

My dreams only remind me of the terror I wished to avoid. Ana screams echo throughout my head. I should have helped her, sacrificed myself. Maybe she could have been the one to escape. I curl into myself sitting on the rough mattress waiting, and waiting. Waiting for what? I’m not sure. May death have mercy and greet me with a cold kiss in my sleep. But death is late. I’ve lost count on how many days it's been, weeks? Each day that Johnny man swaps out my bandage, sometimes we exchange a few words but our encounters are usually in silence. With each encounter I grow with worry. Once the infection leaves my ankle is that when he’ll murder me? Oh god. Will I take Julie’s place on that meat hook..? I can’t think about it. I feel sick. Scratching interrupts my thoughts. That notifying sound of someone entering the basement, is it bad I was hoping it was Johnny? He was the only family member presenting some type of remorse or maybe it was just his job to make sure their food isn’t contaminated. Their. Food. I shake the thought. Sissy treds over and suddenly I'm disappointed. Better her than that cook though, last time he brought me food he spat in it. Safe to say I didn’t eat it. Not that the food is good anyways. She slides the plate under the small gap the bars have.

“Here Sugar.”

I look up at her giving her a small nod. Maybe I would have smiled if it wasn’t the same stew as always. But it’s better than starving…right? She stands for a moment watching me and sits down. I stare reluctantly at her.

“Go on, you’ll like it today. I made it.” She giggled.

Scooting forward I grasp the plate. It’s hot today. I take a small portion of the meat and take a bite. I chew once then twice. It’s incredibly tough, I let it linger in the back of my mouth acting like I swallowed it. She laughs again.

“How’s that red headed friend of yours taste?”

She mocks me poiking her razor blade through the bar so that it's mere inches from my face. I spit the chewed meat at her,

“You fucking monster!” I yell and I throw my plate at her.

shards of porcelain shatter on the floor from the impact, a few shards cutting her stew stained face.

She grabs my shirt through the bar hitting my head against the iron bars

“You fuckin’ bitch.” She screams, shaking me against the bars.

She takes her razor blade and slices right underneath my left eye.

“Eye for a fuckin’ eye.” she scowls, “Next time it’ll be more than that.”

She throws me on the ground, some of the chipped porcelain pieces cutting my legs. She leaves. I occupy my time picking the shards out of my legs.

—————————————————————-

I wake up to the thud of his boots approaching. Death had not visited me tonight. Unless Johnny is death. I see him walk towards the cell looking at the shards on the ground. He groans. Maybe he knows what happened. Entering, I face toward the opposite wall hiding the cut Sissy had given me. Maybe I'll just let this one get infected and die. He sits on the mattress right next to me removing the same compact tin and gauze again. I refuse to face him. He takes my ankle and unwraps the gauze himself.

“It’s better.” He remarks.

He goes through the daily process , applying the topical cream, then wrapping it up. He sighs.

“You’se alright sweetheart?” He questions.

“Don’t let er’ scare you.” He glances over left toward my face.

He saw the dried blood that had ran along my cheek. He grabs my chin with two fingers and turns my head to see the cut better.

“Fuckin’ Sissy.” He hissed through his teeth.

Johnny rose and stomped out the basement without another word. You didn’t hear the scratch of the door close though. Maybe this is my time to escape! But how the hell will I get out? I reach outside the bars fumbling with the lock. Impossible without a key… or a bobby pin. Digging into your messy hair hoping to find a remaining pin you used the day you guys got caught. It took some time but it was there. I unfold the bobby pin and inserting it into the lock trying to hear those “clicks” Connie talks about. I was never as good as Connie, although she tried to teach me, I had always got frustrated. I twist around the pin, unable to hear the noise. I click my tongue in frustration. I try to remove the pin, trying to restart. It snaps. Fuck. You throw the pin on the ground and sit back against the cold wall.

Johnny yells, “The hell you do to er’ Sissy?”

“She jus’ needed a lil’ lesson Johnny.” She replies, “Was actin’ like a bitch.”

Some words were muffled, at the end of their argument Johnny's words were loud enough to echo throughout the whole house.

“Don’t cha’ go on touchin’ my fuckin’ things Sissy!” he yells, “Or ya’ gonna get it worse than er’.”

You hear a door slam.

——————————————————————

The next morning you awaken to Johnny banging on the cell.

“Wake up.”

I rub my eyes, vision coming into view. Johnny unlocks the cell and grabs your wrist.

“Cmon’.”

“What- where are we going?” you ask.

You’ve never been out of the cell. Is this the end of your demise? Johnny clecthes some sort of emerald green fabric in his left hand. He leads you throughout the house towards the back walking through the kitchen, the sink stained red at the glance you get. We step outside, it’s still dark out, my bare feet touch the grass and I breathe in the fresh air. Finally, a nice change. He leads you toward the same shed which you first encountered him in. Pulling the switch on to turn on the lights you make out the space. Some kinda workshop of his I assume. He walks you through the side door which opens toward the back. He shoves a hose into your hand.

“Clean yourself off.”

Stunned you just stare at him, you can’t see much since the darkness covers his face. You wait.

“You gonna turn around…?” I ask uncomfortably.

“I gotta make sure you don’t run away sweetheart.”

You feel your cheeks blush, but you can’t resist a shower. (A somewhat shower). You walk a few steps from him. Facing away, you take off your shirt, then your underwear. Since you can’t see him he surely can’t see you right? At least that’s what you tell yourself. You turn the knob right and the cold water splashes immediately at your feet. You whince at the sudden shock, Johhny laughs under his breath.

“It ain’t gettin’ any hotter, make it quick.”

I suck it up and point the hose over my head dousing my hair, I bite the inside of you cheek. The water runs down my spine. I coat my hair, wash the dried blood off my cheek, thighs and scrap the stew remanents off on hands. Wow how I miss warm showers. I look back towards johnny he leans against the barn, cigarette in mouth, he glances back over like he knew I was watching him. I turned around finishing my “shower”. As I turned the knob off I hear johnny shift off the shed wall.

“ ere’.” He say’s cigarette in mouth.

He throws me the emerald cloth he’s been holding. I unfold it revealing some short dress. Probably Sissy’s. I pull the fabric over my head, then squeeze out the excess water in my hair. I walk back towards Johnny.

“So,” I pause, “Back to the cellar now?” I shrug.

“Naw’.” He throws the cigarette to the ground grinding it with his boot.

I’m taken aback as he walks away, I assume he intends I follow him. I quicken my steps with little hops and skips, the dirt collecting on my wet feet.

“Where we going?” I ask quickening my pace trying to catch up with him.

Johnnys strides are long, almost double mine. I skip every now and then just to catch up. He stays silent to my question. As we approach some junkyard filled a bunch of old rusted cars Johnny strides over to the back of an truck and puts down the cargo-bed hopping on the edge as he pulls out another cigarette. I stand there, what do I do? I take a moment then just decide to do the same, dangling my feet as he stares . He offers me the box,

“Oh no, I don’t-“

He nods and snatches the box away back into his pocket. The sun rises over the horizon painting his face a lovely orange and golden color. I study Johnny more in depth, his dark eyes stare into the sunset. Wow. Am I crazy? Or is he strangely attractive. A piece of his slicked hair falls in front of his face as he leans down towards his red lighter igniting his cigarette. His nose is so perfectly straight, jaw, hand sculpted. No Y/N stop. This is insane. I avert my attention towards the sunset hoping it’d change my thoughts but it can’t. I can feel him staring at me. He drops his head back down holding his cigarette between his legs as his forearms rest on his thighs. His forearms. I glance at them. Scar-covered. I decide to break the silence.

“How’d you get those?”

He scoffs, “Which ones?”

“These.” I trace the scars on his upper bicep.

“Barfight.” he mutters puffing his smoke again.

“Well… you’d win?”

He scoffs, “I always~ win Darlin’.”

The way he dragged out his S sent me into spiral. What is wrong with me?

“What about this?” I ask pointing to his left hand.

“Nubbins. He’d always set up traps when we ‘er kids.” He pauses, “Left a pretty good god damn mark.”

I nod agreeing with him.

“I’d suppose yours will leave more though’.” He winks and nods toward my ankle.

I purse my lips together.

“How about this one?” I ask moving his strand of hair, hinting at the scar going down his eye.

His eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t answer. Serious subject. We sit there for a minute.

“My Maw’…”

We stare at each other for a moment. His puffs the cigarette again, jumping off the cargo-bed. Did I fuck this up?

“We outta go back inside before they know I brought chu’ out.”

I jump down, “Back to the cellar?” I sigh.

A simple Mhmm rumbles between his lips. I look back towards the sunrise soaking up each ounce I could receive. Who knows if this is my last time seeing the sun, let alone the sun rise. But in the end, I guess beautiful things aren’t meant to last.

#johnny slaughter #johnny tcm #tcm game #tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #fic writing #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny sawyer #johnny x reader

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 months

Text

We Bleed the Same - (4/?)

Summary: The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

A gift for my darling @belabellissima💝

Also huge thank you to @popjunkie42 for her super helpful feedback on this chapter 💕

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

The ring, at the very least, served as a useful projectile to launch at Rhysand’s head.

Feyre’s mind was whirring like a spindle, producing one thread of thought that twined around and around and around her chest. Wife.

Rhys caught the ring from the air with infuriating ease. She wished she could have seen it crash into his monstrously beautiful face. “It’s too late to return this, I’m afraid.”

He had lied, but why? When?

“I’m not your wife!” She hissed.

Rhys mockingly clutched his chest. “Oh, how the words of a loved one cut deeper than any blade.”

Nevermind what Nesta would say about her improper attire. Feyre pushed the sheets of the infirmary bed aside, scrambling to her feet. Her boots had been removed at some point in the night, and she might have been able to find them if she spared a moment to glance around the room. But a flood of anger carried her across the stone floor, allowing Feyre to ignore the bite of cold leaching through her threadbare socks. She stopped close enough that she would have been nose-to-nose with Rhysand if he wasn’t so gods-damned tall.

She needed to angle her head to meet his eyes, and he looked so amused that someone a fraction of his height was ready to pick a fight that she couldn’t resist jamming a finger into his chest.

“You had no right,” she said, seething. “Word of something like that in this village…”

A rumor like that would travel quickly. Feyre Archeron, the wild daughter of the fallen Archeron family, married to a mercenary. Dark brown eyes flashed through her mind. And for a completely foolish moment, she wondered what Isaac would think of the news. She shook the sad, useless thought away, reminding herself that Isaac would be married by the summer.

“You said you dream of being a spinster,” Rhys said. “Now you get to enjoy that lifestyle with none of the scorn. When my contract ends, I’ll move on from this town and you can claim to be a widow.”

“Why?” She demanded, shaking her head like that might clear away this strange reality. “What’s the point in all of this? What do you gain?”

He smirked. “Besides a pretty wife?”

Feyre felt her entire body flush with anger. Rhysand was the only person who’d ever called her such a thing, and somehow he managed to wield the compliment to get under her skin more effectively than years of Nesta’s hurled insults. She wanted to scream, or find a firepoker she could use to prod at him in turn.

But that’s what he wanted. She could tell, by the way his maddening smile grew with every ounce of her temper. “You’ve already figured out what I want, Feyre. There’s history between me and that High Lord. And now that you’ve fixed his interest, I need you here. Having you as my wife is just a delightful bonus.”

“I’m not—”

Rhys pressed a finger to her lips to smother the protest before Feyre could form it in full. He said, soft as a lover’s whisper, “Don’t let Lord Nolan hear you say such horrible things, sweet wife. If you want your family to be able to stay here, safely tucked behind fortified walls, then I’m going to need you to pretend to be the open-minded, adaptable woman that I know you can be.”

She pushed his hand away. “If you think my sisters are going to put up with this ruse—”

“Then you better convince them it’s not a ruse,” Rhys said.

“How?” Feyre threw her hands up in exasperation. “We just met yesterday. They know that.”

Like he couldn’t resist, his finger returned to her lips, tracing the outline with a fixation that had her sucking in a breath. “Why don’t you tell them,” he mused, “that all those times you were sneaking out to fuck the farmboy, you were actually seeing me? I guarantee I would have shown you a better time.”

Feyre tilted her chin higher as she stared him down. She refused to feel shame for her trysts with Isaac, even if he was only a farmboy, if their encounters had been brisk and clumsy and inexperienced. That touch of humanity had kept her sane, kept her alive, through these last cruel years.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” she said.

“Do they?”

It was meant to be cutting, but the challenge drew a much bleaker thought forward. What even was there to know?

For years she had operated on one single-minded goal: keep her family alive and together. It was a vow she’d made on her mother’s deathbed eight years ago and without it, she was little more than the winter frost, drifting aimless day after day. The only true ambition she had was painting, a passion she hadn’t touched since that summer Elain had been able to afford three small pots of paint as a gift.

They could try to flee, try to hire a boat and make a new life for themselves on the continent, but without Rhysand’s protection it would be a gamble to try to get on a ship without being tracked by the High Lord. And a small voice, worn-out piece of her wondered… what would it feel like to surrender? Who could she become if she didn’t have to fight and barter and scrape for every meal? If they could stay here and be safe from the fae, fed and comfortable… it was beyond anything she’d ever dared hope for. A marriage to a handsome—if not infuriating—man seemed a meager price to pay in the end, if she could finally fulfill that vow to her mother.

“So we’re to be married,” she said in a single breath. “And live together on this estate, acting as a married couple, presumably sharing a room together…” He nodded in confirmation. “We’re not sharing a bed,” she said, flatly.

His eyes brightened, the very picture of triumph. “Consider it done,” he said. “I’ll be on guard duty most nights, anyhow.”

A relief, and yet… she felt oddly disappointed to think she’d be alone most nights. Of all the complicated affairs of marriage, there was only one aspect she truly had any experience with. She’d always known she was too wild and too sharp to be someone’s bride, but there had been moments in the barn with Isaac when Feyre had learned she could be soft, too.

With Isaac to be married, she didn’t see why she couldn’t seek that comfort elsewhere. If she had to put up with Rhysand’s company, she thought she could at least indulge the flirty remarks and bedroom eyes, if only as a distraction. Those perfect lips had to be good for something besides kindling her temper. And at least between her legs, she wouldn’t have to hear all his rakish commentary.

I guarantee I would have shown you a better time…

Feyre steeled her nerves to continue, “And if we fuck…” Rhys stiffened. She had to clamp her lips together to smother a laugh at his expression. Clearly despite his teasing, he hadn’t considered that sex would be on the table. But there was no denying he was beautiful, and if she was going to go along with this scheme she could at least glean some measure of enjoyment from it. “No kissing.”

That wasn’t a rule she’d used with Isaac. But with Rhys, and the attention he was already paying to her mouth, she thought it would be too dangerous to let him kiss her. Dangerous to be humoring this harebrained plan at all.

“No kissing,” he repeated, sounding a bit strained. “Understood.”

He was so close that she could watch his chest rise with his next breath. She felt oddly tempted to flatten her palm over his heart, like she’d done last night, just to measure how fast his heart was beating. Did this phase him at all? From his endless look of amusement, it didn’t seem like it.

Rhys drew the ring from its velvet cushion. Despite her better judgment, Feyre held her hand out, watching his face as he delicately took her hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger without hesitation. His eyelashes skimmed his high cheekbones as he surveyed the diamond adorning her hand. For a moment so fleeting she thought she might have been imagining it, a crease formed between his brows in the faintest glimpse of anguish. It vanished before she could even hope to speculate its meaning.

Then he was smiling at her like he’d never been more pleased with himself.

“Since I’m here, wife—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

He continued as if she said nothing at all, “Would you like help getting dressed?”

Feyre resisted the urge to fidget under Rhysand’s slow, unhurried surveillance. A gentleman would have averted their eyes, or pretended they hadn’t noticed her state of undress. His eyes lingered everywhere they shouldn’t, heavy with something she couldn’t quite label as desire. But she didn’t have the sense he was displeased by what he saw, either.

“It isn’t as if the beast took my arms,” she said, turning away from him in dismissal. “It’s just a scratch.”

A scratch that could have easily found her bleeding out in the woods, were it not for the mercenary who huffed under his breath, likely thinking the same. Feyre ignored him, sweeping her eyes over the infirmary in search of something to cover herself. A wicker chair was situated in the corner of her bedside, a familiar cloak strewn over its back.

It would have to do. Her sisters likely hadn’t had the foresight to bring many clothes with them when they’d fled the cottage. She hoped Nesta had at least taken the coin Feyre stowed away, but she would need to return to sweep the cottage and see what was left behind. That was… If they were even permitted to leave. Would they be hunted the moment they stepped outside the walls of the estate?

Feyre could ask Rhys to accompany her, though her stomach curdled at the prospect of asking him any more favors. A man like him kept a meticulous ledger, and as she lifted his cloak from the chair, she knew even its use would be added to her list of debts. But she would argue if they were to act married, then what belonged to him also belonged to her.

Footsteps sounded at her back. She didn’t turn, not yet ready to subject herself to that piercing stare, and whatever smart comment he had prepared. Rhys stopped once he was close enough for his heat to warm her back, not saying a word as he reached around her to take the cloak from her hands. She allowed him, feeling him step away and for a moment believing he was taking it back, denying her from covering herself with it.

Then, slow as if not to startle her, Rhysand held the front straps open and pulled the cloak over her head. Its weight fell across her shoulders, tickling her neck with its soft fur. He pressed a palm into her uninjured shoulder, prompting her to turn so that he could wordlessly adjust the straps to her much slighter frame. Careful, all the while, not to jostle or brush against her injury.

So he had the capacity for decency. It wasn’t as if Feyre would give him a medal for it—and certainly not the thank you he was trying to tempt with his raised brow.

“There,” he said once he had finished with the straps. He gave a small laugh as he assessed her. “It practically swallows you.”

It wasn’t hard. All of her soft edges became sharper in the winter.

She shifted the cape, hating the way Rhys stared like he could see through the fur and cloth, straight to the ridges of her ribs underneath. He didn’t know they’d become more defined in the last three weeks, and she knew he was only making a light hearted comment. Heat itched along her cheeks all the same, and she couldn’t find it in herself to laugh—wasn’t convinced that it was something she was still capable of.

Silence sawed between them as Rhys waited for her to say something and she only blinked, fighting the wild thing inside her that wanted to snap and claw and bite for the insult he didn’t truly mean to inflict. When the fight had nowhere to go, she felt it sink down, draining out along with all of her energy.

Feyre sagged a bit into herself, and the next thing she knew Rhys was herding her back into that wicker chair.

“Seems like that tonic might be wearing off,” he said mildly. “Do you want more?”

“No,” she said, breathing through her teeth.

The pain in her arm hadn’t returned, but she did feel heavier. Was that the tonic wearing off, or had the world always been this heavy, and it was only now settling over her?

Rhys hummed in what sounded vaguely like agreement, helping himself to the task of lacing her boots. It was odd to watch him drop to his knees before her. Odder still, to feel his steady hand curve behind her calf and coax her leg upward so he could slide her worn boot onto her foot. He paid no mind to his miraculously clean trousers, seemingly content to muddy them by propping her heel against his thigh.

Watching those quick, nimble fingers move and pull against her laces lodged something free inside her, something she didn’t dare inspect. “I haven’t lost my arm,” she reminded him, though it lacked the sharpness she’d been aiming for.

He glanced up, pleased that she was speaking again. “Yes. But stretching those stitches is going to burn like Hell.”

Boot now laced, he set her foot down and gestured for the other. Feyre obliged, lifting her foot so he could slide the second shoe on. She supposed if anyone walked in on them, they would have looked rather… intimate.

“See?” Rhys purred, clearly sharing her line of thought. “We’re good at this.”

He looked up, both boots now laced. His hand was still curved around her calf, not quite prepared to let go. And because of the precious warmth spreading under her skin, she was willing to let him linger for just a moment longer.

“Which do you need first,” he asked. “Food or a bath?”

“I supposed this is where you offer to bathe me yourself.”

The devilish glint in his eye said he was already entertaining the idea. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Her mouth felt dry.

“Food,” she said. “I’ll bathe once I know you’re somewhere far, far away.”

Food, it turned out, meant leaving the infirmary to join Lord Nolan and his family for lunch in their impressive dining room.

Unlike the small, splintering table from their cottage, Lord Nolan boasted a broad dining table, hewn from rich, polished black ebony. More impressive than its size were the countless dishes of food laden atop its surface, all wafting decadent steam that drifted towards Feyre, twisting her aching stomach until she worried she might collapse.

Feyre willed her body upright as she swept her eyes over the generous spread. She flinched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a pair of emerald eyes, staring back at her through the face of a snarling beast that was carved into each leg of the table. It looked enough like the beast she’d encountered the night before to curb some of her appetite, and she frowned, examining the rest of the carvings. Ward marking decorated the table’s apron—similar to the ones her father had spent the last of his fortune to have etched into the cottage exterior. She didn’t want to imagine how much the useless engraving had cost Lord Nolan.

Identical markings were carved into the backs of the chairs that Nesta, Elain, and her father were already seated in. They faced an elderly man hunched at the head of the table, dressed enough finery that there would be no mistaking him for anyone other than Lord Nolan. To his right was a handsome, much younger man—brown-haired and blue-eyed and already sneaking mooning glances towards a giggling Elain. The Lord’s son, if she had to wager a guess.

All conversation halted the second Rhys and Feyre stepped through the large, cherrywood doors. Nesta, stiff-backed from before they’d come in, set her silverware down hard enough to make Elain flinch.

“Feyre,” her father said, reaching for his cane like he intended to stand to greet her.

“I’m okay,” she said, with enough edge that her father dropped his hand back into his lap. Nesta snorted—either from the less than favorable first impression Feyre was already making, or simply because she enjoyed anything that displeased their father.

Ignoring them, and Elain’s wide-eyed stare, Feyre turned towards the Lord and offered a clumsy curtsey, which earned another thinly disguised laugh from Nesta. “Thank you for your generosity towards my family, Lord Nolan.”

Feyre hadn’t been given the same upbringing as her sisters. If she’d ever learned the proper etiquette for meeting nobility, she’d been too young to remember it. A curtsey seemed sufficient—though Nesta’s mocking sneer was quickly faltering her confidence in even that small gesture. If it wasn’t for Rhys, placing a steadying palm of Feyre’s back as he bowed, subtly, from the waist, she might have turned and darted straight out the doors.

“Thank you again,” Rhys echoed, with none of her wavering uncertainty. His voice dipped lower than it’d been a second ago. And from his tone, it sounded less like he was thanking them for a favor and more as if they’d fulfilled an obligation he was owed. As if he was the Lord. There was glee in his voice as he added, “My wife and I appreciate your kindness.”

Well now he’d done it. Feyre suppressed a sigh, her attention darting to Nesta, who’s blue eyes turned to slits. Elain’s mouth parted open, and she quickly grabbed for her wine to duck her face into the goblet, artfully evading any fighting she feared might ensue. And their father… he simply nodded to himself, eyes clouding with a sort of melancholy that caused Feyre to grit her teeth. As if this was some outcome he’d suspected, but was disappointed by. Just last night, they had all watched her walk out of the cottage, prepared for that beast to take her life. They should be grateful that she was even here. Alive.

The Lord, hawk-nosed and gray-eyed, nodded and said to Rhys, “I am pleased to see that your wife has recovered.”

His tone was bland enough that there was no mistaking his words as sincere. But he was being charitable to offer them at all. Feyre nodded her thanks, but Rhys… he just stared. Eyes narrowed slightly.

“Please, sit,” the Lord added, gesturing towards two of the unoccupied chairs, across from Nesta and their father.

Rhysand, either a fool or an unconventional strategist, claimed the chair facing Nesta. And smirked. In front of their hosts, Feyre prayed she could trust Nesta to keep her nastier comments to herself, or at least until she’d managed to corner Feyre in private. But it wasn’t helping that Rhys raised his brows at Nesta, as if daring her to say something.

“I’m relieved you’re okay, Feyre,” Elain chimed in after swallowing a large mouthful of wine.

Feyre couldn’t tell if it was said to cut the tension, or because Elain truly meant it. She glanced towards her middle sister, beautiful despite the marks of poverty. Her face was sharp and angular where it had once been full and round and flushed with life. But Elain’s eyes hadn't changed. Not in any of the years they’d been in that cottage. They were still bright and gentle, in a way that was rare to encounter in their village.

Last night, Elain’s eyes had been so wide her pupils nearly swallowed all of the brown, not a trace of the warm, honeyed tones that Feyre could see now. She could still hear how Elain sobbed, too terror-stricken for words, frozen like a doe. And when Elain spoke just then, there’d been a residual scrap to her usual lovely, lilted sing-song—from how loudly she’d been screaming.

One moment she’d been giggling over boys with Nesta and the next, their door was broken down by a terrifying, unexpected faerie beast. Feyre could forgive her sister for not trying to help. For being frightened. It was enough to know that she cared, that there was grief shining in her eyes as Elain’s lips stretched into a strained smile.

A hand wrapped over Feyre’s. She tensed, but Rhysand’s words swam over her. “It was very brave of you to offer your life to protect your family.” She turned, meeting his eyes, searching them and finding none of that amusement. Rhys leaned closer, pitching his next words just for her benefit. “Stupid,” he added, the breath of his whisper brushing along the shell of her ear. She tried not to shiver—not with Nesta watching them so closely. “Utterly reckless. And braver than perhaps anything I’ve ever done.”

She doubted that.

“Yes,” Nesta said, drawing their attention away from each other. “Well done, Feyre. It was so heroic of you to lure away the faerie that you brought to our door.”

Rhysand stilled, his fingers tightening over Feyre’s. The tone Nesta used, dripping in venom and outright contempt… It was nothing new. Though, knowing that she’d been moments away from death, it cut into Feyre nearly as viciously as the beast’s claws.

She sucked on her teeth, ruminating in the sting. What was it that elicited Nesta’s ire? Was it because of the praise, or Rhysand’s subtle prodding, or did her eldest sister truly despise Feyre so much that she didn't care that she was almost killed? Did she resent that Feyre had lived? No… no. Nesta could be cruel, but there had been grief in her eyes, too. They had looked at each other, and understood. Understood in a way that was perhaps too difficult to acknowledge in the aftermath.

Words lapped at Feyre’s tongue, too sharp or bitter or not quite right. What could she say that wouldn’t sound defensive, or self-important, or worst of all… hurt. Elain opened her mouth, prepared to mediate so they didn’t make a scene in front of their hosts.

But it was Rhys who said levelly, “A life debt is a very heavy burden, isn’t it? It can rest uncomfortably on the soul.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked between them, and she raised a cool brow. “Is that why my sister married you, because of a debt?”

“Nesta,” Feyre chided, sneaking a nervous glance towards Lord Nolan.

At most, the elderly Lord appeared bored with the theatrics, but his son was monitoring them—particularly Elain, now stiff and withdrawn from the demure lady who’d been giggling moments ago.

“What happened to Isaac?” Nesta pushed, causing even Rhysand’s casual posture to straighten, just enough that she worried the blade strapped to his back might find itself embedded in the dining table, or worse.

Their father reached towards Nesta, like he might put a hand on her shoulder to chide her for making a scene, but all it took was one cutting glance from his eldest daughter for his hand to immediately fall back into his lap. He lowered his chin.

No one was touching the food in the center of the table—hot, glorious food that would finally cure the ravenous hunger she knew was raging inside each of them.

Nesta kept her glare fixed on Rhys, challenging him to answer. He only laughed, leaning in to brush some of Feyre’s hair from her face, a gesture of casual intimacy that scorched her cheek where his fingers brushed.

He crooned, “Why don’t you tell your family how we met?”

“In the woods,” she lied. It was never something she’d been very talented at—she’d never really had a reason to, when her sister was critical of even the barest truths. Feyre wracked her mind for details that might convince them. “Four months ago, he got caught in one of my snares.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. She could practically read in the look he shot her, That’s what you’re going with?

“You would expect a mercenary to be more aware of their surroundings,” Nesta said, thoroughly unconvinced.

“Maybe I wanted to get caught,” Rhys said, flashing Feyre a grin. Then, paying no mind to the empty plates in front of everyone else, he reached across for the platter of chicken and began piling it onto Feyre’s plate.

“You must be a talented huntress,” the Lord’s son complimented. “Especially if you managed to kill a faerie.”

“She’s remarkable,” Rhys agreed. Feyre marveled at the pride in his voice. How did he manage to lie so convincingly?

When he was done with the chicken, Rhys handed the platter to Elain, who accepted it with a wary glance towards their host’s empty plate. Lord Nolan nodded in subdued approval, and that was all Elain needed to begin serving herself as well.

Rhysand continued picking up plates of various steaming dishes—vegetables, bread, sauces, even a decanter of wine that he poured into the goblet in front of her. She noticed he didn’t load his own plate nearly so generously, but when he nudged a fork into her hands, she didn’t think to question it.

She thought she might prefer to do away with the fork entirely and shovel the food into her mouth by the handful. Manners were a distant, faraway concern, but she was able to exact enough control to shovel an appropriate-sized bite into her mouth. It was an effort to chew slowly, to swallow, to look as if this wasn’t the first proper meal she’d had at least since autumn ended.

And the spices… she shut her eyes. She’d forgotten that eating could be something more than a means of keeping her body functioning. That flavor could dance on her tongue, evoking stories of the faraway lands they’d traveled across to get to this dining room. Her family had fallen quiet, equally absorbed in this rare chance to fill their empty stomachs. Rhys—thank the forgotten gods—kept the situation from being unbearably mortifying by making polite conversation with Lord Nolan and his son to fill the silence.

She learned a bit about them in the moments she could piece together between mouthfuls of decadent food. Graysen—the son—was a year older than Nesta, and he’d been training with the guards at the same age that Nesta and Elain began learning the pianoforte. From the gleam in his eye as asked after Rhys’s own training, she knew he had listless questions about their encounter with the beast last night. Thankfully, he was a gentleman as much as he was a warrior, and he reserved such questions until the last of their plates were empty.

Once the servants carried them away, he leaned forward, “Did you manage to kill it?”

Feyre wasn’t the only one who flinched.

“No,” Rhys said, jaw tight. “Thanks to Feyre, I was able to catch him with an ash bolt, but he’ll be back.”

“Great,” Nesta said, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “So—what? We can’t leave this estate without worrying about being hunted?”

It was never a problem before, Feyre wanted to snap. You never bothered to leave the house most days, anyway.

With a deep breath, Feyre said, “It’s only temporary, Nesta.”

Another lie. If the High Lord’s words were to be trusted, then the terms of the Treaty meant she would always owe a life debt to Prythian. The fae couldn’t lie, and his wording had been fairly clear.

A life debt is a very heavy burden, isn’t it?

Rhys, oblivious to his sharp words that were digging beneath her skin, nodded in agreement. “We’re putting together patrols to search for the beast and protect this estate—if he comes back, we’ll be ready for him.”

“Some of us have lives,” Nesta said. “Tomas was about to propose!”

Good. Feyre privately hoped that Tomas would fix his interest elsewhere. Out loud, she said, “If he loved you, Nesta, he would wait.”

“Not if he goes to our cottage and thinks we’re dead.”

“Write him a letter,” she said, patience thinning.

Graysen cleared his throat, his eyes wandering to Elain, as if seeking her approval as he intervened. “If you must go into town, one of our men could always escort you.”

Elain beamed at him. Graysen smiled back with an endearing, boyish sort of relief. They might have been a good match if the Archerons had managed to maintain their fortune. But without a dowry, or so much as two coins to rub together, Feyre wondered what Lord Nolan would think of a romance between his son and Elain. He didn’t seem to take any notice of his son’s budding interest—in fact, as Feyre studied the Lord she thought his eyes looked a bit glazed, his awareness drifting like a thick morning fog, not quite pinned on any one thing.

She fought the temptation to wave her fingers in front of his face. It was likely his age. People in the village tended to die long before age could claim them, and she supposed she didn’t have much exposure to the elderly—but with his wealth, and his abundant access to food and warmth and medicine, he could outlive the average human expiration.

Maybe that’s how Rhys had managed to get away with the lies. The old Lord was senile and his son—he seemed kind, though a bit too eager to find a faerie on the other side of his sword. Having killed that wolf, she supposed she didn’t have any room to judge, but… Feyre shuddered, now, to think that the creature she’d skinned had been as sentient as the beast she’d encountered last night.

“I’m tired,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Her stomach hadn’t felt this heavy in years, and with the tonic wearing off she thought she could do with a bath, and a nap, and some method of putting this whole ordeal with the wolf and beast far, far behind her. “I think I’d like to retire, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Rhys said, as if he had any right to dismiss a guest.

Lord Nolan only nodded, unnervingly silent. Something tightened in Feyre’s gut.

She didn’t look towards Nesta or her father as she got to her feet. Elain offered another tight smile, but they all said nothing as Feyre slipped toward the door, Rhys trailing at her back like a new extension of her shadow.

It was only once Feyre rounded the corner and froze at the sight of a long stretch of corridor, flanked by rows of doors, that she realized she hadn’t the slightest clue where she was going. She’d been operating on a single directive: flee. Just as well Rhys had followed her, and had now stopped a healthy distance from her back, leaning against the nearest wall as he waited for her to process her next move.

Feyre sighed. “Just show me where it is, you asshole.”

He barked a short laugh before pushing off the wall, striding in front of her with more fluid grace than any man ought to possess. Maybe he’d been a cat in a previous life, and that was why his booted feet made hardly any sound as they strode down the hardwood floors, through halls mounted with weapons and hunting trophies. Though Feyre suspected they were wealthy enough to flaunt silver and gold, it was iron that decorated most of their fortress—iron sconces on the walls, iron latches on window sills, intricate iron handles on every door.

Rhys curled his fingers around one such handle, smiling at her as he stepped through the iron threshold. “Here you are—a room fit for a mercenary and his new, lovely wife.”

She could have laughed. Or wept. The room was likely plain by a lord’s standards, roughly the size of the cottage she’d shared with her family. Two rich velvet settees were settled beside a low wooden table in front of the fireplace, big enough that she wouldn’t feel too guilty making Rhys sleep on one. The large fur rug, likely won from one of the Lord’s many hunts, looked like it would make a pleasant place to nap as well.

And then there was the bed, about as large as the one she and her sisters slept on, but now she had it all to herself. That was a strange thing to come to terms with.

“I have to go soon.” His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

“I can manage,” she said, but he was walking into the attached bathing room anyway. She followed, feeling a bit lost. How was any of this real, how had her life changed so quickly, so drastically?

The iron handle squeaked as it turned, and a moment later the faucet rumbled, pouring steaming water into the large porcelain tub. Steaming. Now she was weeping, and she turned, not wanting Rhys to see. It was stupid—so utterly stupid, and pathetic, to be crying over a warm bath.

Footsteps sounded at her back as Rhys approached. Given how silently he’d walked before, she knew it’d been intentional, so she didn’t jump when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Feyre resisted his first attempt to make her face him. It was obvious she was crying and that was bad enough. But when it was clear she wouldn’t obey, he moved around her anyway.

They stared at each other for a moment, and she waited for him to say something about the tears streaming down her face. He didn’t. He just silently took to unlatching the cloak, until its weight dropped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet along with the weight of eight years of survival, of being solely responsible for keeping her family alive.

A sob ratcheted up her spine. Rhys gently grabbed the elbow of her injured arm, holding it steady as he unwrapped her bandages. Her eyes fell to the raw, angry skin freshly sewn together with dark, jutting sutures. She winced at the sight.

“You should be careful getting them wet,” he said. “Let me help.”

His voice held enough concern that she trusted he would be professional about it, but Feyre shook her head. “You said you need to go.”

“I can stay.”

The moment she was encased in that warm water, she knew there would be no holding back the floodgates. Nevermind that she wasn’t prepared for Rhys to see her naked—not yet, not while she was still bony and sharp and her arm looked like that.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Rhys pressed a hand to her cheek. It was only then that he swiped away her errant tears with his thumb. “The patrol might last a few days,” he said. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

She nearly pointed out that staying out of trouble meant staying as far away from him as she could get. But she wasn’t quite in the mood for jokes, and hearing that he would be gone for potentially days… she hadn’t realized how comforting she found his presence, until that moment.

“Enjoy your bath,” he said. “Try to eat and rest and get stronger.”

A goal. She was good at working with those.

Feyre decided she could give him one, too. “Try not to die.”

Rhys laughed. “Believe me when I say I’m very, very hard to kill.”

#Im going to go nap for 10 days now #We Bleed the Same #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre

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valyrielwrites · 4 months

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As The Heavens Move - Chapter VII

Chapter 7/9 (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Zhongli (Genshin Impact) / AFAB Reader Word Count: 4387 Summary: The Archon war rages across Teyvat, leaving untold chaos and destruction in its wake - as you earn the ire of a Chi that has stolen your home and all you hold dear, you take solace in a contract that the Lord of Geo offers. Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes

Pink and amber hues stretch along the horizon while the wind gently carries you through the skies above the river, an unusual quiet settles across the landscape as if the world already knows of the impending battle to come.

You sit atop Morax in his dragon form, the fingers on one hand woven loosely through his dark amber mane whilst your other hand softly strokes circles against the smooth scales of his neck, the mountains growing ever more distant behind you as the Adepti finally approach your stolen home.

“I will leave you a short distance from the boundary line, and go on ahead,” He tells you as he begins his descent. “The Chi will not notice if you enter on foot whilst I trespass the skies above. Remain here until I signal otherwise.”

“Be careful.” You warn.

“I ask the same of all of you.” He replies.

“As always, My Lord.” Skybracer gallops elegantly through the air beside you with ease, as if the clouds themselves were solid stepping stones and not just swirling mists. He keeps pace, despite carrying Madame Ping on his back. “We shall find Cloud Retainer and bring her safely home.”

Unease settles in the pit of your stomach as Morax lands at the centre of a large ruin a short distance from the road that lined the shore, your legs shaking as you slip down from his back and feel the rubble of a collapsed wall crunch beneath your boots. It hits you then, just what you’re getting yourself into - that the safety you felt at Morax’s side was not guaranteed, that you might be returning to find that there was no longer a home to return to…

People had lived here once too, you thought. Families, friends, neighbours.

Would there ever be a time when that could be possible again?

“We shall cleanse the path as we go,” Madam Ping’s voice pulls you from your trail of thought. “Look for any signs of a struggle, things on the path that are out of the ordinary - Skybracer and I shall protect you, but you must flee if we command it.”

“Yes,” You nodded. “I understand”

Your chest tightens as Morax leaps into the air without a second glance, the fear that this might be the last time that you ever saw him gripping you so tightly that you could barely bring yourself to breathe or think beyond his ever shrinking figure in the distance.

He flies low across the water. A threatening hiss ripples from his throat that seems to shake the very earth beneath as he crosses the boundary of Qingce’s domain.

You take a few steps forward, craning your neck to see the end of his tail follow the bend in the river before he disappeared from your sight completely.

“He will be fine, Mortal.” Skybracer says. “He is the strongest of us.”

You had seen him broken before, yes, but undeterred - and he had swore to you that the Chi would be destroyed. You had given him so much of your heart, your body, your admiration… What good would a God of contracts be if he did not keep his word?

“I know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and accept that no matter what, fate will have its due.

An unnatural thick black fog obscures the air as Morax makes his way along the shoreline alone, almost as if it were clinging to the still waters in order to mask his approach - or to conceal something that dwells in the depths below.

The familiar taste of old ash lingers in the air, the scent of ancient blood and dirt that sullies the lake, it triggers the muscle memory of a thousand battles that he has won but is destined to repeat if he wants to see his dreams realised by the heavens.

Morax lets his power flow freely as he flies through the smoke, releasing a threatening growl and heavy huffs of breath in order to attract his opponent, his righteous fury sending shockwaves through the stone in challenge.

He takes a moment to think of you, to imagine your family and friends that he has never met, the common people of your home… what may befall them if he fails as he did at Guili, what may happen if he does not live to face Osial one last time.

He does this for them now, for Liyue, for you.

The rumble of thunder beckons him deeper into the Chi’s lair, passing the battered bamboo lined path where the two of you fatefully met, towards a break in the fog that reveals a small island in the middle of the lake. A long shadow snakes around it beneath the surface of the water, twitching, distorted by the waves as it begins to thrash and jolt when it finally breaches the surface.

Qingce screams as it sees Morax, its jaw unhinging itself wider as it dives towards him, the hunger as insatiable and all consuming as the unending void behind its blackened eyes. It had spent too long in the corruption, picking on the flesh of the fallen and rotting, to resist the urge to claim the prime of Adepti as its next meal.

But Morax would not flee.

The Chi’s needle-like teeth crack against the barrier that Morax summons, black blood oozing from its festering gums as it screeches and bellows again and again, slamming its head against the golden screen of light as Morax simply hovers above the water and watches.

“You have terrorised these people for far too long.” He hisses. “This ends now!”

Just as he wills it, the silt and earth below bends and breaks, a dozen stone pillars jutting up beneath the beast to scrape its slimy grey scales as it struggles against the land like a caught fish desperate to escape back into the water.

He would trap it here, make things quick - or at least he hopes to.

But Qingce lets out a blast of hydro against the rocks from its foul mouth, cracking them under the pressure of concentrated water and giving itself enough room to wriggle free and slip back into the river - diving underneath the barrier to burst forward and lunge for Morax.

A foul wind whips past as he barely manages to move away in time, his heart racing as he quickly summons another barrier at his right side and sails out of reach to try to trap it again - letting out a frustrated roar when the creature simply dodges and weaves past his defences and attacks.

There's no time for this, He frets. Cloud Retainer could be in serious danger, the people of the village could be caught in the crossfire, but if he couldn’t save his power to spare them in the clash how would he be able to kill the Chi fast enough?

He soon realises that he has no choice but to stay and wear the beast down, or put events into motion quicker than he would’ve liked - for an easy victory is nothing compared to the lives of all that he cares for.

Morax shakes his tail at Qingce as he flees, taunting, tempting him to follow as he swerves to avoid torrents of hydro shot in his direction, slowing his pace just ever so slightly to ensure that he keeps its attention before he whips his body around to catch Qingce’s neck between his own teeth and claws - ripping and biting, desperate to tear through to the flesh as he ascends.

The distant screams and the clash of battle makes your stomach turn, remembering the way that it had looked when you saw Morax fight for the first time, your imagination filling the gaps with each terrifying roar that echoed from the north.

“Look!” Skybracer lifted his antlers toward the heavens, his little nose pointing in the direction of a comet that flashed across the horizon. “That’s our signal.”

Your sense of awe briefly cuts through the fear you felt - the marvel that the man, the God, that you cared so deeply for was able to do something so beyond yourself… you wish that you’d get to see this again, see him again… that you would have the chance to learn the very limits of every wonder that he could do.

“Let's make haste.” Madam Ping says, and that is what you do.

The three of you make your way out of the ruin and head up toward the road, watching closely for any signs of Cloud Retainer’s presence along the path, taking care to watch for any monsters or areas that are corrupted.

The thick fog that covers the landscape is easily dispelled with a ring of the cleansing bell, although the darkness fades not an inch further than the sound travels, you know that home lies on the other side of it - that Morax does too.

“Adeptus Cloud Retainer?” You call out as loud as you dare, although you doubt that Qingce would hear it over the battle that rages on ahead.

“She is nearby. I sense it.” Skybracer confirms.

“Alive?” You ask.

“Yes - although her aura is faint.”

You pause. “Do you know where exactly?”

“The fog is distorting everything!” Madam Ping lifts the bell high again and whips her arm back down as if to ring it as hard and as loud as possible. “I’m struggling to pinpoint Morax and the Chi as well. It's almost as if it's intentional.”

“It wasn’t like this before,” You explain as the fog shrinks again. “There was some smoke from the other side of the river but the rest of the area was clear.”

“She must be using it to disguise herself from the Chi.” Skybracer concludes and then gallops on ahead.

You and Madam Ping jog behind, calling out for Cloud Retainer and scanning your surroundings until you come across the shallows where Morax had fallen that day. Half washed away blood still stains the shore in some areas, but all other traces of the two of you seemed to have been swept away with the current.

“This is where you found him?” Madam Ping asked.

Perhaps not all traces then, perhaps not the ones that the Adepti could still see.

“I thought he might die.” You whisper, shuddering at the memory of his charred and bloody body lying in the silt.

“But he didn’t,” She reminds you. “He won’t.”

“Thanks to you.” Skybracer bows his head and you suddenly feel yourself choke up.

You avert your gaze for the briefest of moments to collect yourself, looking toward the bamboo culms that line the path ahead until a small flash of white catches your eye against the sea of green.

“Wait.”

You alert the Adepti and step forward, carefully following the breeze that coaxes you along until you reach the edge of the cleared fog, crossing the stone bridge to see a single dirty white feather stuck to the side of a rock as the stream gurgles below.

You reach down to pick it up, fingers trembling as you touch the quill and gasp as a disembodied voice fills your mind.

“Help…”

Your head snaps up toward the nearby waterfall, to the hidden cave where you had tended to Morax, and your heart begins to race.

“She’s here!” You yell as loud as you can, leaping from the bridge to land on the rocks and clamber your way up the entrance. “Adeptus Cloud Retainer!”

Within seconds the two Adepti are already at your side, crashing through the veil of water to find the Crane lying in an awkward and unnatural position - her coat of feathers soaked through with dirt and blood.

“Wing… broken.” She wheezed with what little strength she had left.

“Don’t speak.” Madam Ping hushed and knelt down beside her.

“There’s things that we can use as bandages in the back.” You rush toward the crates, pulling out a stretch of fabric and tossing it towards the pair.

You watch as she tends to Cloud Retainer, wrapping her wing and transferring some of her power to speed the healing up, and feel a wave of relief wash over you. Morax would not lose another friend today.

“She’s strong enough to move?” You ask. If she could leave, she ought to.

Although this cave had provided Morax with a safe place to recover, you weren’t quite sure that Cloud Retainer would have the same luxury of time and space whilst the battle raged on downstream, and her condition seems much less dire than his had.

“Soon, once the bones have set.” Madam Ping said as her careful hands hovered above the Crane’s body.

“I shall remain here and accompany her to safety,” Skybracer began, “If you wish to find your people Mortal, now would be the time.”

“But the fog-”

A deep rumble in the distance interrupts you, shaking the foundations of the earth so suddenly that for a moment you believe that the ceiling might cave in as dust cascades from above.

“Go with this one’s gratitude, ____.” Cloud Retainer did not make an attempt to move as she addressed you by name now, but slowly extended her wing to confirm that the healing had worked. There was warmth and recognition in her usually cold blue eyes. “Save your people as you have already saved Rex and I.”

Madam Ping stood now, breathing deeply as if to recentre what was left of her energy, and turned to you one last time.

“The fog can be cleansed, but it is you that must forge the path ahead.”

You feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and confusion washing over your exhausted brain as you blink and try to mask the emotions on your face. You had always thought of your contributions as nothing more than trying to make the best of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but they meant something.

Your choice to leave the village that day, to stumble across Morax - to help him, to trust him, to fall for him … Your small human choices have made all the difference and brought you all to this point.

“Then we go now,” You would not waste your chance. “I shall see you again when my people are free.”

Cloud Retainer nods in approval as you bow deeply and make your way out of the cave.

Morax finds himself reeling as he crashes into the dark waters, Qingce dragging him below the frigid surface as he thrashes and resists under the weight of the Adepti’s locked jaws. All of the light and joy in this world is suddenly gouged from his soul, leaving behind a gnawing void that was empty, wrong and endless.

For a moment he forgets himself and what he was meant for, forgets his light and ambition in the face of the intoxicating nihility on offer - there would be no more loss, no more fighting if he gave himself over to it - but the distant toll of that familiar bell cleanses his mind of all doubts.

He feels his blood heat as he clamps his jaw down harder, ignoring the pained screams of the creature he is desperate to destroy, and uses all his strength to throw his opponent back against the jagged rocks that line the far shore.

Qingce let out a terrific wail as the stone shreds its sailfin and rips through scale to cut into its flesh again, a thick cloud of festering black blood pooling around it in the shallows as it wriggles away to recover.

Morax violently shudders as he rises, his celestial body itching and caked with sludge as the filthy water drips off him with every laboured breath.

He’s tired, and can feel the pollution lingering on his skin, but it isn't over yet.

In the distance he can sense the panic of the people, their frantic footsteps in the earth as they scramble in their homes, he can sense you running through the bamboo forest with fear at your back and purpose in your heart.

The water that promises oblivion could never give him the peace that he longed for.

It was nothing to the man that was everything.

“Morax!”

You stop and scream his name until your voice is raw but he does not turn his gaze to you as he hovers still against the water. You want to tell him that you found Cloud Retainer, that she is alive and safe, that you believe in him, but his focus is still fixed on Qingce.

He can’t afford to be distracted just yet, even if the news might strengthen his resolve.

You take a moment to brace yourself, to catch your breath, to trust that he knows that your hopes are with him until the end, and when the cleansing bell rings you start again - racing towards home.

The clouds burst open at the breaking of thunder as you find yourself back in your village.

You had left Madam Ping behind with Morax to focus her efforts on stopping the fog from spreading, although it now seems as if the skies themselves have joined you in wanting to wash away the last of the filth and ash.

The rain feels fresh against your skin, cooling the sweat that soaks your brow as you double over and let out an exhausted groan when a dull pain shoots through your side. You have never run so hard and fast before, pushing your body to its limits just to make it to this point - with no thought of what comes next.

Nobody notices your arrival in the panic - the usual hustle and bustle of the market increasing tenfold as some of your neighbours frantically try to load carts to chance an escape, whilst others search for their loved ones so that they might spend their final hours together.

Nothing is how you left it.

“Mother?” You call out, voice breaking toward the end as it's lost amongst the crowd. “Mother? Father?”

You frantically scan your surroundings for your family, for anyone that might know where they are, but can barely register who any of these people are through the worsening wind and rain. They look haggard - at their breaking point - as it begins to pour relentlessly and the sound of fighting grows closer and closer.

You force yourself to push forward, attempting to weave through the crowd to your home at the centre of the village but your boots lose their footing in the mud. You slip and fall into someone, stumbling to the ground with a pained yelp as your wrist bends at the wrong angle and takes the full weight of the impact.

“Are you alright? Wait -” A familiar voice speaks as you feel a pair of strong arms slide around your ribs to pull you up. Your uncle brings his muddied hands up to cup your face. “____? You’re alive? My sweet child, we thought you were dead! Your Mother is beside herself!”

“I brought help!” You immediately sobbed, the pain in your wrist and your reunion less important than making sure that everyone makes it out alive. “Where is she? Where is Father?”

“At the shrine on the mountain, making offerings to the ancestors… to you -”

Relief shot through you like lightning as the storm continued to rumble overhead. They were safe.

“Gather everyone! We must leave now - to higher ground before the village floods.” You explain. “Morax has come to free us from Qingce.”

His face pales. The Prime of Adepti’s reputation as a God of war precedes him. “Morax? You brought him here?”

You hear screams as the river bursts its banks, water rushing across the market to wash over your ankles, submerging your feet in filth and sludge.

“I don’t have time to explain - Uncle, please… help me get these people to safety.” You plead that he sees reason, that he lives long enough to see all the good in Morax that you have come to know. “I made a contract with him to save our home.”

The ground shakes as Morax and Qingce crash around the bend in the river, wrestling and clawing at each other again as they come into view. They’re so close now. Dangerously close. There’s no more time to delay.

“Everyone!”

Your voice strains as you push away from your uncle and make your way towards an abandoned cart that has caught in the mud, heart pounding as you pull yourself up with your remaining good wrist and clamber on to gain some height.

“People of Qingce village, Listen to me!”

You scream over the panicked wailing, stomping your feet against the wood to make yourself as loud as possible despite the fear that has infected the crowd as they wade through the rising waters.

“____ has returned!” You feel the cart shake as your uncle joins you with his bellowing male voice. “Stop panicking and listen!”

“Leave your belongings, head to the mountain shrine,” You roar over the sound of the torrential rain. “Any able-bodied man must carry the sick and injured - if you want to live, go now!”

Qingce releases an ear-splitting shriek as a blast of hydro intended for his opponent comes careening toward the town, cleaving through the rockface of a nearby cliff - uncaring as the stone comes tumbling down to crush the people below.

A wave of screaming goes up to the heavens - but the rocks never come down.

A screen of golden light suddenly illuminates the sky above, flashing with every impact as the rockface collides with, and then bounces off, the barrier that Morax managed to summon to protect the village.

Your heart almost gives out in relief - but not for long. You were all lucky that he had been able to react in time, and there was no guarantee that it would happen again.

Your presence here was a distraction from the fight and now Qingce knows it.

“Rex Lapis protects us so that we can make our escape!” You call out again with a newfound resolve. “Everyone must leave now, while we still can!”

You cradle your wrist as you jump back down into the water, wincing in pain as you and your uncle go to gather the people and shepherd them toward the mountain path. This time there’s no hesitation as the villagers rapidly move into action, picking up stragglers as you all march ahead with little more than the clothes on your backs - helping each other, working together to make sure that elders and children alike aren’t left behind.

The further up the mountain you climb, the more intense the fighting below becomes. Eventually, you steal a glance over your shoulder to see Morax has pulled back, dodging Qingce’s blows rather than attacking - as if to try and avoid causing further damage to your home, or to buy you more time to get as far away as possible before he loses his edge in battle.

But you can’t bring yourself to leave him, to not see the outcome, especially after that first time you had seen him fight and fall so broken against the shore.

So you step to the side of the path, allowing your friends and neighbours to pass you as you turn your whole body to face the rain. This is not like last time, you tell yourself, But if it is… I’ll be there to find you again.

You watch him dance through the air to avoid each strike, to lure the beast onto land, but with every passing moment the waters rise to wash more of the earth - more of Morax’s advantages - away. He had expected this though, prepared for it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope that he wouldn’t have to take such a risk.

But your words on Mount Aocang echo in his mind, and he knows what must be done.

If it won’t be pushed from the water, he thinks, I shall have to drag it out kicking and screaming.

So that’s exactly what he does.

He knows that you watch him from the side of the mountain, he knows that you see him as he rears his proud head back and surges forward, claws outstretched to grab his opponent one final time, wrestling with and snapping his jaws shut around its neck as he leaps up into the air.

Qingce’s screeching intensifies as Morax climbs back up towards the skies, soaring higher and higher until he passes through the torrential rain and cooling mists, stopping only when they reach the space above the cloudbank.

He struggles against the Chi for a moment, biting down harder as if to stifle its violent convulsing, but then he feels it… a small spark in the distance that fills his entire being with fire when he closes his tired eyes and allows it to flow - a single dream that you had entrusted to him, now echoed across Liyue in all of the hearts of people below.

“You’ll build a more peaceful and prosperous Liyue as an Archon,” You had told him once, and he was determined for you to see it.

Qingce stills suddenly then, its strength finally failing as Morax uses that borrowed power to pour elemental energy into its broken body, submitting only when its scales begin to calcify and its insides turn to stone - frozen in every aspect.

Morax’s jaw opens at the same time as his eager eyes, releasing the defeated Qingce as he looks toward Celestia and makes his triumphant vow.

“To build our safe harbour, I will be the law of everything in this land,” his commanding voice echoes out in every direction, travelling through the earth and skies as easily as he breathes, “And as the heavens move, everything in this world shall bow before me.”

Half a heartbeat later he descends beneath the clouds, pursuing the petrified creature as it plummets to the earth, the air cracking in his ears as he whips his tail down and strikes the stone with all the strength he has left.

Radiant heat bursts forth from the impact, releasing a gilded light that evaporates the rain and fills the sky with brilliant gold as Qingce’s form shatters into a thousand scattered pieces on the wind.

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