#praying for her hairline

[d0rky-0utfits]

I should like be sleeping

[pucksandpower]

Baby Steps

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you are barely staying afloat, desperately trying to wrap your mind around your impending motherhood while juggling being a press officer for Scuderia Ferrari … Charles shows you that you don’t have to do it alone

Warnings: pregnancy, family abandonment, and harassment

You grip the edges of the trash can tightly as your stomach lurches again. The half-digested remains of your breakfast spill into the plastic liner with a sickening splatter. Straightening up slowly, you take a few deep breaths and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The smell rising from the can makes your stomach roll threateningly once more.

Turning away quickly, you lean against the side of the Ferrari motorhome, eyes closed. The sun beats down relentlessly, and you can feel sweat beading at your hairline.

This “morning” sickness is no joke — it seems to strike at all hours of the day. You thought you had gotten away with a quick breakfast break an hour ago when Carlos was in a team briefing, but apparently not.

Footsteps on the gravel make you open your eyes. You pray it’s not a member of the press, or, god forbid, Carlos. The last thing you need is a photo of the Ferrari press officer tossing her cookies behind the paddock. But no, it’s Charles Leclerc striding towards you, his brow furrowed.

You straighten up and attempt nonchalance. “Good morning, Charles.”

He slows, glancing between you and the extremely obvious trash can of vomit. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you say breezily. “Just a bit of food poisoning, I think. Had a questionable chicken salad for dinner yesterday.”

You notice Charles is wearing a soft grey t-shirt and track pants, his hair damp from the shower. He must have just finished with physiotherapy. He looks so effortlessly handsome, it’s frankly unfair. You suddenly feel acutely aware of the sheen of sweat on your face and your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Charles’ face remains creased in concern. “Food poisoning? Have you been to the medical center?”

You wave a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just 24 hours of hell before I’m back to normal.” You attempt a smile, but have to grab the trash can again as the smell from it hits you like a wave.

Charles springs forward and grabs your arm as you retch miserably. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, supporting you until the heaving subsides.

You stay hunched over, breathing hard. The world is spinning a little. You hear Charles say firmly, “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you sat down.”

He keeps a hand under your arm and leads you into the blessedly cool motorhome. The rich scent of coffee fills the interior, reminding you that you haven’t managed to keep any food down today. You sink gratefully onto a padded bench at one of the tables.

Charles sits opposite you, his green eyes studying you intently. “When did the sickness start?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. The jig is up. “About four weeks ago,” you mutter.

Understanding dawns on Charles’ face. “Oh. Oh!” His eyes flick down to your still-flat stomach. “So you’re ...”

“Pregnant. Yes.” You drop your head into your hands.

“Well, hey, congratulations,” says Charles gently. “That’s really exciting.”

You huff out something between a sob and a laugh. “Exciting? More like a nightmare!” You run your fingers back through your hair and look desperately at Charles. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Carlos. I can’t risk anyone finding out about this. If I lose this job ...”

Charles’ brows draw together again. “Why would you lose your job? You’re Carlos’ press officer. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for you.”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, no way. I can’t take time off. The season just started! Carlos needs me, I organize everything for him. The travel, the events, the media, everything!” You bite your lip anxiously. “Maybe … maybe after the baby comes, I can figure something out. But I have to keep this quiet until then. Please.”

Charles reaches over and lays a hand on your arm. His touch is gentle but firm. “Y/N. Working yourself into the ground won’t be good for you or the baby. Have you thought about taking a sabbatical? Just a few months to rest, focus on yourself.”

Panic flares in your chest. “No! No, I can’t.” Your breathing quickens. “You don’t understand — I have no one else. No partner. No family. This job is everything. If I lose it ...” You trail off, trying to blink back the sting of tears.

Charles is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Okay. I understand this is your decision. And I promise I won’t tell Carlos or anyone else.” He hesitates. “But Y/N, please take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You nod jerkily and avoid his earnest gaze. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet. The motorhome tilts sickeningly for a second.

Charles rises too, watching you with concern. “Will you be alright?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You start to head deeper into the motorhome, desperate to lie down before the nausea returns.

“Y/N,” Charles calls after you softly. You pause, glancing back. “Congratulations again. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He gives you a small, warm smile.

You swallow hard. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper. Then you turn and continue on unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall.

You make it to the small office that passes for your private quarters on race weekends. Collapsing onto the ergonomic desk chair, you stare up at the ceiling and place a hand over your still-flat belly.

A baby.

Your baby.

Fear and wonder tangle inside you.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you know a hand is gently shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake to find Carlos standing over you, his eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Y/N? Are you ill?”

You stand up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins. Carlos grabs your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you say hoarsely. “Just needed a quick nap.”

Carlos frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Charles said you were throwing up outside. That you have food poisoning?”

You make a mental note to kill Charles later. “Uh, yeah. Bad chicken salad, I think. But I’ll be okay.” You attempt a reassuring smile.

Carlos sits down on the edge of your desk, watching you closely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell? You know you don’t have to worry about me, I can look after myself for one day.” His dark brown eyes are filled with worry.

Guilt twists your gut. Carlos has always been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, a rarity in the high stakes world of Formula 1. You hate lying to him.

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to let you down. But you’re right, I should have said something. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t be sorry. Just focus on feeling better, yes? Take tomorrow off too. I order you to rest,” he adds with a small grin.

You smile weakly back. “Okay, boss.”

Carlos stands and gestures to the tiny table bolted to the wall. “I brought you some tea and crackers. Hopefully you can keep it down.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you checking on me.”

He smiles. “Of course. Feel better, Y/N.” With a last lingering look of concern, he turns and leaves you in peace.

You look at the steaming tea and crackers and feel tears prick your eyes again. Carlos is a good man. Too good, probably, for the pragmatic demands of Formula 1. You know you should tell him about the pregnancy. But the thought of losing your place here, on this team, fills you with dread.

This high stakes world of racing is all you’ve known for the past three years. You can’t imagine life outside the bubble of the paddock, away from the adrenaline and pressure. Away from the team. Away from Carlos. Away from Charles.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight and tear open the crackers. You need to think about this rationally. Maybe Charles is right and you do need to slow down eventually. But for now, for the next few months at least, you have to keep going like nothing has changed.

You place a hand on your stomach as you nibble a cracker. “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” you whisper. “We’ll figure this out.”

***

The smell of coffee turns your stomach these days, but you still make your way blearily to the breakfast buffet each morning. Carlos is an early riser, and you need to be available whenever he is ready to start the day. You scan the offerings, deciding toast is the safest option, and reach for a couple of dry slices.

“Oh, Y/N!”

You turn to see Charles holding out a pre-packaged parfait cup. “I grabbed an extra yogurt by mistake. Do you want it?”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is suspicion — this is the third time this week Charles has “accidentally” had an extra snack to offer you. But the yogurt does look appealing ...

“Sure, thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him. Charles shoots you a smile before grabbing a plate and continuing down the buffet.

You sit down next to Carlos with your toast and yogurt. He glances up from his phone. “Morning. Feeling better today?”

You nod, mouth full. In truth, the nausea has continued, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it from Carlos and powered through.

Charles joins you both a few minutes later, greeted by Carlos with a fist bump. You peel open your yogurt while half-listening to the two men discuss the upcoming practices.

The sweet, fruity parfait is cool and soothing on your sensitive stomach. You find yourself polishing it off in record time. As you scrape the last bit of yogurt from the bottom, you realize Charles is watching you.

“Good?” He asks.

You lick the plastic spoon clean before answering. “Yeah, really hit the spot, thanks.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with a smile. “No problem. I’ll try to grab two tomorrow.”

You feel your smile grow fixed. This is getting ridiculous. Charles Leclerc does not care this much about your yogurt preferences. He’s up to something.

Over the next week, Charles’ thoughtfulness continues. A cold bottle of water when you’re looking hot and tired. A sandwich from a local bakery when you missed lunch. Your favorite chocolate bar when you mention a craving in passing. Always with an innocent smile, as if he’s not playing Superman to your pretend Lois Lane.

It all comes to a head on race day. You’re in the scorching sun on the grid, already feeling the fatigue of the hectic weekend. Carlos is doing his pre-race routine, so your attention has lapsed. Suddenly a blessedly cold bottle of water appears in front of your face. You look up to see Charles grinning down at you.

“Stay hydrated,” he says with a wink.

That does it. “Okay, enough!” You snap, smacking the water bottle away. It falls to the ground with a thud, water glugging out.

Charles’ eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his arm, you pull Charles several steps away from eavesdropping mechanics. “Why are you doing this?” You hiss. “I don’t need you to baby me!”

“What?” Charles looks completely bewildered. “I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, stop,” you interrupt sharply. The hurt on Charles’ face makes you falter, but you press on. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Pity?” Charles frowns. “It’s not pity, Y/N. I care about you.” He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you. Now you need someone to take care of you too.”

His kind words hit you like a gut punch. Oh God, the stupid hormones! You feel hot tears spring to your eyes.

Charles’ alarmed expression softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you ...” He pulls you into a hug. One hand smoothes your hair while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. You cling to him, embarrassed by your raw emotional response but unable to stop the tears.

After a minute the wave passes. You pull back, wiping your eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Nothing is wrong with you. But I understand this is a difficult time.” His expression turns serious. “If you ever need anything, please ask me. I’m here for you.”

Looking up into Charles’ earnest green eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude. Whatever awkwardness lingers between you has evaporated. Charles is a true friend.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Glancing around, you notice some odd looks from passing crew members. “We should probably get back to work before people think there’s a full-blown soap opera going on over here.”

Charles grins. “Agreed. But this conversation isn’t over. Dinner tonight in my room?” He raises an eyebrow.

You laugh, blinking away the last dampness from your eyes. “It’s a date.”

***

You smooth your hands down your dress as you approach Charles’ hotel suite, suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve been in drivers’ rooms countless times for work, but this feels different. More intimate.

You take a steadying breath and knock. Charles opens the door, looking unfairly handsome in a crisp button down shirt.

“Y/N! Come in.” He steps back to allow you inside.

The suite is spacious and modern, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall looking out over the glittering city. Charles leads you through the living area to a set of glass doors. “I thought we could eat out on the balcony,” he explains, opening the doors with a flourish. “The fresh air will be good for you and baby.”

You step outside and have to stifle a gasp. A small table is elegantly set for two, a vase of flowers in the center. String lights twinkle overhead. “Charles, this is beautiful!”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” Pulling out a chair, he gestures for you to sit.

As he takes the seat opposite you, you notice several covered dishes on the table. Charles sees you looking and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mother earlier.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I asked her what foods she craved when she was pregnant with me and my brother. So I ordered a bunch of that from room service, in hopes there might be something you’d like.”

A lump forms in your throat. You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Charles, that is so incredibly thoughtful.”

Pink tinges his tanned cheeks. “Of course. I want to take care of you.”

You chat comfortably over food and Charles’ excellent choice of wine for you — sparkling grape juice. He relaxes as you praise the chicken and melon he ordered.

When you sit back contentedly, Charles fixes you with a thoughtful look. “So, do you know how far along you are?”

You hesitate. “About three months now.”

He nods. “And have you been to a doctor yet?”

Your fingers find a groove in the wooden table to trace. “Not yet.” At his surprised look, you add defensively, “I’ve just been so busy with work. But I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Still, you should make an appointment soon. Just to be safe.” Charles’ tone is gentle.

You nod without meeting his eye. An uncomfortable beat passes.

“Do you ...” Charles pauses delicately. “Forgive me, but … do you know who the father is?”

Your cheeks flame. You stand abruptly, walking over to the balcony railing. After a moment Charles joins you, leaning on the rail at your side.

“I’m sorry, that was too personal,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I just ...” You glance up at him. “He’s no longer in my life.” You look away, a lump in your throat.

Charles doesn’t ask anything more, just moves closer in a gesture of silent support. You stand together breathing in the night air. The twinkling city sprawls before you. For a moment, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.

Eventually you stifle a yawn behind your hand. Charles glances over. “You must be exhausted. I should let you get to bed.”

You smile gratefully. He walks you to the door of the suite. Pausing, you stand on tiptoes and kiss Charles lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again for dinner. For everything.”

His eyes shine as he gazes down at you. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Y/N. And ...” He brushes a feather-light touch over your belly. “Sweet dreams to you too, little one.”

You feel your heart melt just a little. With a last smile, you head down the hall to the elevators. As the doors slide closed, you catch one last glimpse of Charles watching after you.

Back in your smaller, blander room, you change for bed in a happy haze. Sliding between cool sheets, you let out a contented sigh. Tonight was lovely. Charles’ thoughtfulness reminds you there are still good people in the world. For the first time in weeks, you feel a spark of hope.

You drift off to sleep with a hand resting gently on your belly. Everything seems less frightening now that you aren’t alone. Whatever happens next, you and your baby will get through it together.

***

The buzz of the media pen is giving you a headache today. Or maybe that’s just the pregnancy. You blink heavily, trying to focus on Carlos speaking into the microphone in front of you. You hit record on your phone as he answers the first question. It’s your job to capture every word to ensure he’s not misrepresented later.

The reporter’s voice fades in and out. You sway slightly, shaking your head. Just need some fresh air. You take a step away from the crowd, vision blurring at the edges. Dark spots dance across your eyes. The concrete floor rushes up to meet you-

“Y/N!”

Strong hands grab your shoulders, slowing your collapse. Your head spins as you try to make sense of it.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Charles’ worried face swims into view above you. You part your lips but no words come out.

There’s loud commotion around you now. You feel yourself being shifted, lifted. Snatches of Charles’ voice pierce through the fog.

“She’s pregnant ... get help ... ambulance ...”

You try to cling to consciousness but it’s like grasping at smoke. The world goes dark.

When you resurface, it’s to antiseptic white walls and a steady beeping. Hospital. An IV pulls at your arm as you shift.

“Y/N?” Charles appears at your side, relief breaking across his face. “Thank God. You’re awake.”

Before you can respond, he’s disappeared again, calling for a doctor. You try to push yourself more upright but your limbs feel like lead.

A brisk older woman in a white coat enters, glancing at the monitor beside your bed. “Good to see you awake, Miss Y/L/N. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What happened?” Your voice comes out hoarse.

“You fainted from low blood pressure. A common issue in pregnancy, but yours seems to be more severe.” The doctor flips through your chart with a frown.

Charles stands anxiously at the foot of the bed. “But she’ll be alright now?”

The doctor hesitates. “I’m recommending complete pelvic rest and limited activity for the remainder of the pregnancy. Strictly no standing or walking for prolonged periods.” She pins you with a sharp look. “And if your blood pressure drops again, we’ll have no choice but to put you on full bed rest.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. “What? No, I can’t! I have to keep working, I-”

“Y/N.” Charles’ voice stops your panicked rambling. His face is lined with concern as he takes your hand. “Your health is what matters most.”

The doctor nods briskly. “Precisely. No job is worth risking your or your baby’s safety.” With a final warning look, she departs.

The moment she leaves, you burst into tears. Harsh, gasping sobs wrack your frame. This is a disaster. Without being able to stand or walk for long stretches, you’re useless to the team. You’ll be fired for sure. And then what will you do? You have no one, no other skills-

Warm, strong arms wrap around you as you weep. Charles cradles you against his chest, making low soothing sounds.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, burying your face in the soft cotton. The steady thump of his heartbeat slowly calms your hysteria.

When the tears finally subside, Charles eases you gently back against the pillows. His thumbs brush away the moisture from your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” he says quietly. “But I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. We are in this together now.”

His green eyes radiate such sincerity, you feel some of the panic and despair lift. You cling tightly to his hand, anchoring yourself to him like he’s a rock in a stormy sea.

***

You pick listlessly at the greyish meat and mushy vegetables on your hospital dinner tray. At least Charles had the foresight to sneak in some contraband snacks earlier — you polish off the last crumbs of the cookies he brought, wishing futilely for something more appetizing.

A knock at the door precedes Charles peeking in. “Hungry for something better than hospital food?” He holds up a paper takeout bag and shakes it enticingly.

You brighten immediately. “Charles, you’re my hero.”

He laughs and enters, pulling a table over your lap to serve as a makeshift dining surface. Soon plastic containers of pasta, salad, and fresh bread are opened, the savory scents making your mouth water.

Charles watches fondly as you tuck in. “I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to eating. But who doesn’t like Italian food?”

You make a noise of emphatic agreement through your full mouth. Charles chuckles.

When you finally surface for air, he clears his throat. “So I was thinking ...” Charles busies himself folding and refolding your napkin. “My apartment in Monaco is pretty big for just me. And it has a guest room that’s just sitting empty.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

“Well ...” Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe when you’re discharged, you could come stay with me for a while. So I can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”

You frown slightly. “Oh. That’s really kind, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of here.”

“Will you?” Charles levels you with a knowing look. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the best at asking for help when you need it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t really argue with that.

“Let me do this for you. For my own peace of mind too,” Charles implores gently. He takes your hand, blue eyes full of sincerity. “Please?”

Looking into his earnest face, you feel your weak resistance faltering. Still ... “I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumble half-heartedly.

Charles squeezes your hand. “You could never be. I care about you, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I want to take care of you and the baby.”

The warmth in his voice melts away the last of your reluctance. And honestly, the prospect of having Charles doting on you is far preferable to being alone in your small, dreary apartment.

You meet his hopeful gaze. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then … I accept your kind offer.”

Charles’ answering smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? Oh, that’s fantastic!” He sweeps you into an enthusiastic but gentle hug. You cling to him, feeling the nervous knot that’s been your constant companion for weeks finally start to loosen. Everything will work out.

That night as Charles is leaving, you call his name softly. He pauses, one hand on the door.

You twist your fingers in the blanket, suddenly shy. “I just wanted to say … thank you. For everything. I’ll find a way to repay you someday, I promise.”

Charles’ expression softens. He comes back and squeezes your hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on yourself and that little one.” He strokes a finger over your belly. “That’s all the repayment I need.”

With a last smile, he slips out, leaving you to fall asleep with a heart full of gratitude and growing affection for your kind rescuer.

***

You smooth your hands nervously over your dress as you approach Fred Vasseur’s office. This is it. Time to tell your boss that you’ll be leaving him in the lurch smack dab in the middle of the season.

Charles gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay. Just explain the situation.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Charles opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Fred rises from behind his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, Charles. What can I do for you?” His gaze darts between you curiously.

Your mouth goes dry. Charles gently guides you to sit in one of the chairs facing Fred, taking the other himself.

“Y/N has something she needs to discuss with you,” Charles begins calmly. “I’m here for moral support.”

Fred’s eyebrows raise but he nods for you to go on. Your hands twist together in your lap.

“Well, I ...” You have to pause and swallow hard. “I recently learned that I’m pregnant. And I’ve developed some, uh, complications that mean I can’t travel or be on my feet much.”

Fred’s eyebrows climb higher. “I … see. Congratulations?” He still looks perplexed.

Charles jumps in. “What she’s trying to say is, she needs to take a leave of absence. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ah.” Understanding settles on Fred’s face. He turns back to you. “I’m very sorry to hear you’re unwell. Of course health must come first.”

You feel yourself relax slightly. “So I can take a sabbatical? My job will still be here when I’m able to return?”

“Absolutely.” Fred nods. “You’ve been invaluable to our team. Your role will be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

You could cry with relief. “Oh, thank you! That means the world.”

Fred smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it. Focus on your health and that baby. We’ll manage in the meantime.”

Charles reaches over to clasp your hand supportively. “Is there anything else she needs to know before starting her leave?”

Fred considers this. “Y/N will have full pay during sabbatical, of course. And keep me posted on any support you require — medical, household, anything at all.”

You clutch Charles’ hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He smiles. “Very generous. We appreciate that greatly.”

After finalizing a few details, you both stand. Fred comes around the desk to shake your hand. “Best of luck with everything. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.”

You whisper a heartfelt thank you before allowing Charles to guide you out. Safely in the hallway, you turn and fling your arms around him.

“Charles, thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His strong arms come around you, cradling you close. “Of course, Y/N. I meant what I said — I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You cling to each other for a long moment, his steadfast support washing away your lingering fears. As long as Charles is with you, you know everything will work out just fine.

***

You fidget in the generic mint-colored exam room, paper crinkling beneath you as you perch on the edge of the table. Charles sits in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm. You wish you shared his zen attitude.

A brisk knock precedes the door swinging open. A smiling older woman enters, glancing down at her chart.

“Y/N? I’m Dr. Boucher, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens as she looks between you and Charles. “And you must be the dad! Wonderful.”

Your mouth drops open to correct her, but Charles beats you to it. “That’s right, thank you,” he says easily, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

You snap your mouth shut, eyes widening. But the doctor has already moved on, washing her hands at the sink.

“Now then, let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?” She pats the exam table.

You lie back, hiking up your shirt to expose your belly. The cool gel makes you shiver as the doctor smears it over your skin. She places the ultrasound wand low on your abdomen and moves it slowly.

The screen blooms to life, blurred black and white shifting until a shape emerges — a tiny profile, curled arms and legs distinct. You gasp softly. There’s your baby.

Dr. Boucher smiles. “There we are. Looks to be about 16 weeks along. Growing beautifully.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. Your throat feels tight. After so many weeks of secrecy and fear, this precious little life finally seems real.

“And there’s the heartbeat.” The doctor turns up the volume, and a rapid thumping fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears spill over your cheeks before you can stop them. A glance over shows Charles watching the monitor intently, green eyes shiny with emotion. He reaches for your hand, gripping tightly.

When the appointment ends, you both exit the office in a daze. As you walk down the street to Charles’ car, he turns to you.

“That was … incredible,” he says softly. “Seeing your baby for the first time ...” He trails off, at a loss for words.

You lift his hand and press a kiss to the back, hoping he understands the depth of your gratitude. Charles smiles tenderly in return.

Safely home in Charles’ plush apartment, you curl up together on the sofa with mugs of tea to continue gazing at the ultrasound photos. Charles slips an arm around your shoulders, his thumb idly stroking your arm as you chatter excitedly about preparing a nursery.

This moment, here with Charles, your child’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears … it’s the closest thing to pure joy you’ve ever known. The future finally feels bright with hope. You lean into Charles’ warmth and send up a silent prayer of thanks for this man and the new life he’s given back to you.

***

You curl deeper into the plush couch in Charles’ apartment, cradling your mug of tea. Rain patters against the windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering harbor. The cozy scene makes you feel safe enough to finally open up.

“Charles?”

He glances over from where he’s poking at the fire. “Hmm?”

You twist your fingers together nervously. “There’s more I should tell you. About how I got pregnant.”

Charles rises and comes to sit beside you, face open and attentive. Taking a deep breath, you begin.

“It happened last winter, during the off-season. I went back home to Italy for a while, to the little town outside Milan where my family lives.”

You stare into your tea, remembering. “There was a man vacationing there, from Rome. Dario. We met in a cafe and just … clicked. He was handsome, charming, a perfect gentleman.” Your lips twist wryly. “Or so I thought.”

Charles remains quiet, letting you gather the words.

“We spent every day together for two weeks. Took long walks, went on romantic dinners. When it was time for him to leave, we ...” You trail off, face warming.

“You made love,” Charles supplies gently. You nod, still not meeting his eyes.

“I thought it meant as much to him as to me. But after he went back to Rome, his texts and calls slowly stopped. And then I found out why.”

Your voice drops to a pained whisper. “He was married. His ‘business trip’ was just a chance to fool around. When his wife saw my texts on his phone … it exploded. And then my family found out about the affair.”

Finally you lift your head. Charles’ face is lined with compassion. “They disowned me. Called me a fool and a harlot. It didn’t matter that I was lied to — as far as they’re concerned, I brought shame upon our family.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Charles immediately pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “You did nothing wrong. This Dario took advantage of you, and your family should have supported you.”

Charles holds you until the storm of tears passes. When you finally pull back, he cups your face in both hands, brushing away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “I know that wasn’t easy. You’re so incredibly strong.”

Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. Then his palms slide down to cradle your rounded belly.

“I’ve got you now,” Charles murmurs. “Both of you. You’ll never be alone again.”

Nestled in his lap, you close your eyes and just breathe. The remnants of hurt and betrayal wash away, replaced by the safety of Charles’ embrace. Whatever comes next, you have found your sanctuary here, with him.

***

You wander through the apartment looking for Charles, one hand braced on your lower back. Your belly has popped noticeably in the last couple weeks, throwing your balance off.

Not finding Charles in any of the usual spots, you head down the hall towards the spare bedroom. When you push open the door, your jaw drops.

The room has been completely transformed. Bright sunshine spills through the windows onto whitewashed walls. A plush rug covers the hardwood floor. In one corner sits a fully assembled crib, stuffed animals piled inside.

Charles stands back to admire his work, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair adorably mussed. He turns when you gasp softly.

“Y/N! I wanted to surprise you.” His grin falters. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Charles, I love it!” You blink back happy tears, wandering further inside. Charles’ face lights up.

“I wasn’t sure what color to paint, so I left the walls white for now,” he explains, coming over to slip an arm around you.

You lean into him, gazing around. “It’s perfect. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

Pink tinges Charles’ cheeks. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m the lucky one.”

You decide on a pale green for the walls. Charles immediately fetches paint supplies, but hovers anxiously as you start rolling color onto the first wall.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” He eyes your protruding stomach. “The fumes can’t be good ...”

You wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine! Here-” You dip a roller in paint and offer it out. “Make yourself useful instead of worrying.”

Charles accepts the roller reluctantly. Soon you’re both working side by side. Charles takes on the higher parts of the walls that you can’t comfortably reach anymore.

Humming under your breath, you step back to critique your work so far. As you do, your foot catches on the paint tray and you stumble. Charles reaches out to steady you, but not before a fat drop of paint lands on his cheek.

“Oops!” You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh at the green splotch on his tanned skin.

Charles narrows his eyes in mock indignation. “You think that’s funny, do you?” Before you can react, he flicks his loaded paintbrush at you, spattering your shirt.

You gasp in delighted outrage. “Oh, it is on!” Grabbing your roller, you swipe it down his arm.

Charles lets out a laugh of surprise. Soon paint is flying from both directions. You run around each other, giggling and slipping on the drops coating the floor.

Finally Charles catches you gently by the waist. You’re both absolutely covered in pale green, sides aching from laughter. Your faces are inches apart, smiles fading into something more tender.

Slowly, Charles leans in and presses his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You melt against him, hands coming up to cradle his jaw.

When you finally part, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he confesses, a little breathless.

You smile, heart soaring. “What took you so long?”

His answering grin outshines the sun. There, surrounded by dreams of the future, you share another lingering kiss.

***

You settle back against the mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable position for your unwieldy body. At nearly 8 months along now, your belly feels impossibly huge. Luckily Charles’ plush bed offers plenty of space to sprawl.

Speaking of Charles, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle. “Ready for your massage?”

You eye the bottle of oil eagerly. The stretch marks crisscrossing your stomach have been itchy and tight. “Yes please.”

Charles props up pillows behind you so you’re half-reclining. Then he drizzles some of the oil into his palms, warming it up before smoothing his hands over your bump.

You sigh in bliss at his gentle but firm touch. The fragrant oil soothes and softens your irritated skin. Under Charles’ ministrations, the discomfort slowly ebbs away.

His strong hands glide over every inch, easing out the aches and pains. As Charles works, he murmurs to your belly. “There you go, little one. We’re going to make your home nice and cozy.”

Your heart clenches at the tender scene. Even after all these months of living together, it still sometimes hits you how domestic this is. Sharing a home, sharing a bed … it’s everything you secretly longed for but never expected to have. A real family.

You trail your fingers through Charles’ soft waves. His eyes lift to meet yours, soft with affection. The look on his face steals your breath — pure adoration, like you’re the most precious thing in his world.

“I love you.” The words slip out unbidden. Charles’ hands still. For a heartbeat, you’re afraid you’ve said too much.

But then he surges up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “I love you too,” Charles whispers fiercely when you finally break apart, both panting. “So much.”

He seals his words with another drugging kiss. Your hands clutch him close, heart near bursting with joy.

Suddenly Charles breaks the kiss with a gasp. His wide eyes dart down. “Did you feel that?”

You start to shake your head no, distracted by the sensation of his calloused hands massaging your belly, but then you feel it — a distinct thump against your insides. Your baby shifting and kicking.

Charles’ face lights up. “There it is again!” He laughs in wonder. “The little one is saying hello.”

Happy tears blur your vision. Charles presses a delighted kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers tenderly.

Through your tears, you smile at the man you love. The one who gave you and your child a home when you had nothing. However you got here, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

A dull ache starts low in your back as you crawl into bed. You shift and stretch, trying to get comfortable, but can’t seem to. Charles notices your restlessness.

“Alright?” He murmurs sleepily, rolling over to rub your back.

You nod. “Yeah, just some back pain today.” Probably from lugging around this massive belly.

Charles makes soothing noises and continues massaging you until he drifts off. You finally manage to doze too.

Sometime in the night, you jerk awake. The sheets under you are soaked. For one confused moment you think you wet the bed. But then it hits you.

Your water broke.

“Charles!” You shake his shoulder urgently.

He comes awake with a snort. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It’s time! The baby-” You break off with a hiss as the first real contraction clenches your belly.

That wakes Charles up fully. “The baby? It’s coming?” He practically falls out of bed, all long limbs flailing.

You have to stifle an inappropriate giggle at his panic. “Yes, so we should-” Your instructions die as Charles sprints from the room. Alright then.

You shake your head in amusement and heave yourself to your feet, one hand braced on your lower back. Waddling slowly after Charles, you find him hyperactively rushing around the living room, tossing items randomly into your hospital bag.

“Okay, let’s go!” He grabs the overflowing bag and dashes out the front door. You stare after him in disbelief then lower yourself carefully onto the couch to wait.

Not thirty seconds later, Charles comes barreling back inside. “Oh God, I forgot you!”

You have to laugh at the panic on his face. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Looking marginally calmer, he helps you up, frantically gathering your bag in one hand while keeping the other wrapped around you.

You lean your weight on him during the next contraction, breathing through it. “It’s okay. But we should really go now.”

Charles practically carries you down to the garage and bundles you into his Ferrari in record time. He drives well over the speed limit, one hand clutching yours the whole way.

At the hospital, Charles refuses to leave your side even for a second. He holds the gas and air for you to breathe during contractions, whispering how strong and amazing you are.

When the time comes to push, the pain is unimaginable. You nearly give up, sobbing that you can’t do this. But Charles is there, guiding you through it, telling you that you absolutely can. And with one final scream, your son enters the world.

The shrill cry is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Charles cuts the cord with trembling hands. Then the nurse lays your wailing, squirmy son on your chest.

You press kisses to his downy head, tears of joy streaming down your face. Charles gazes at you both with pure reverence.

“His name is Matteo Charles,” you whisper. Charles lets out a choked sob at the middle name.

Too soon, the nurses take Matteo for cleaning and checks. One asks Charles if he’d like to hold him. Charles looks to you questioningly, and you nod through your exhaustion.

Charles settles into a chair, shirtless, and Matteo is laid on his bare chest. Charles strokes a gentle finger over Matteo’s cheek, seemingly enraptured.

“Thank you,” he rasps to you. “For our beautiful boy. Thank you, mon amour.”

This is everything you never knew you needed — a family, a home, and an overflowing love you once thought would forever be lost to you. But you’ve found it now, here in this room, together.

***

The sharp cries jolt you from sleep. With a groan, you roll out of the warm circle of Charles’ arms. Your body still aches and protests as you make your way to the nursery in the dark.

Picking up little Matteo, you carry him to the rocker and situate him at your breast. He latches on eagerly, cries fading to soft snuffles.

Charles appears in the doorway, hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay?” He asks through a yawn.

“We’re good now.” You smile tiredly down at your nursing son. His downy hair and scrunched features are all you — you find yourself thankful that there is barely any indication that his biological father even participated in making him.

Charles comes to perch on the ottoman, watching Matteo. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” he murmurs. “Our son.”

Pride swells in your chest. Charles has fully embraced his role as Matteo’s father, as naturally as breathing.

When Matteo finishes eating, Charles takes him to gently pat his back while you right your nightgown. He kisses your son’s head when Matteo lets out a tiny burp.

Back in bed, you curl into Charles with Matteo nestled safely between you. Charles has a race this weekend, his first since the birth. The thought of him leaving fills you with anxiety.

In the morning, Charles confirms your fears. “I’ll just tell Fred I’m not coming this weekend,” he says casually over breakfast. “The team will manage without me. One of the reserve drivers can take over for a few days.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No, Charles, you have to race.”

“But I don’t want to leave you two!” Charles gestures helplessly to where Matteo snoozes in a bouncer.

You catch Charles’ hand. “This is your dream. Matteo and I will be right here cheering you on when you get back.”

Charles wavers. You soften your voice. “It’s only for a little while. We’ll be okay.”

Finally he nods reluctantly. You know how hard this is for him — but Charles was born to race. You won’t let him give that up.

The morning Charles is set to fly out, he clings to you and Matteo like a second skin. You practically have to peel him off at airport security.

“I’ll be back so soon,” he whispers fiercely. One last kiss, and then he’s gone.

The apartment feels empty and too quiet. But you fill the time singing and playing with Matteo, keeping yourself busy until the race.

You and Matteo cuddle close on the couch to watch Charles zoom around the track. Your heart swells with love and pride seeing your man do what he was meant to.

When Charles wins, he shouts his ecstatic thanks to you and Matteo over the team radio. The podium champagne gets sprayed directly into the camera for you.

Finally Charles is home, sweeping you and Matteo into his arms. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs in wonder. You whisper it right back, nestled safe in the arms of your little family.

***

The energy in the Albert Park paddock is electric as teams prepare for the first race of the 2025 season. You feel a thrill just being back, Matteo cooing happily in your arms. At nearly six months old now, he’s ready for his first race.

Charles bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “Are you ready to see Papa race, Matteo?” He tickles Matteo’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles.

You head first to the Ferrari garage, where the mechanics crowd around eagerly to fawn over Matteo. Lewis gives you a careful hug, peering curiously at the baby.

“Lewis, meet Matteo,” Charles says proudly. At Lewis’ questioning look, he adds “My son.” The way he says it brooks no argument.

Lewis’ eyes widen slightly but he just smiles. “Hi Matteo!” He offers a finger for Matteo to grip.

Fred comes over next, cooing over how much Matteo has grown. You enjoy the familial atmosphere, everyone fussing over your boy. Matteo basks in the attention.

Charles takes him down to the front of the garage to watch the crews work on the cars. He points out parts of the sleek machines, explaining them seriously to Matteo as if he understands. Matteo just gazes adoringly up at his Papa.

When Charles finally straps into the car for practice, you have ear muffs ready for Matteo’s sensitive ears. Charles blows kisses to you both before pulling on his helmet. Matteo squeals and waves his little fist as the car roars out.

In the hotel that night, you set Matteo on the bed while Charles showers. Stripped down to his diaper, your son kicks his chubby legs excitedly.

Charles emerges in comfy clothes, his hair still damp, and laughs at Matteo’s antics. “Alright, my little race car driver, time for bed.”

He tickles Matteo’s tummy as he puts on a fresh diaper and snaps up his pajamas. Then Charles cradles Matteo close, humming softly as he sways back and forth to soothe him. Your heart clenches at the tender scene.

Once Matteo is deeply asleep, Charles lays him gently in the travel crib. He turns to you with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine life without him now.”

You slip your arms around Charles from behind. “He loves his Papa so much already. Your biggest fan.”

Charles covers your hands with his, gazing at Matteo. “I’m going to win tomorrow for him.”

And he does. On the podium, Charles looks down to where you cradle Matteo in one arm, and gently showers you with champagne. Matteo’s delighted laughter is the sweetest sound.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

***

The energetic buzz of the Italian Grand Prix washes over you as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles, your son cradled safely in his arms. At nearly a year old now, Matteo is fascinated by the vivid colors and cacophony of sounds surrounding him.

Charles playfully bounces Matteo as you weave through the crowded walkways, pointing out the sights and sounds. “Look Matteo, there’s the cars! Vroom vroom!” Charles mimics the roar of an engine. Matteo’s delighted giggle melts your heart. You can’t help but grin, chest swelling with love and pride for your little family.

You’ve just about reached the looming Ferrari motorhome when an absolutely venomous female voice shrieks out, “You!”

Every muscle in your body instantly tenses. You freeze mid-step, heart lurching into your throat. Whipping your head around, you see an immaculately dressed woman barreling directly towards you, her face mottled an ugly shade of rage-induced crimson.

“You disgusting harlot!” The woman spits with unrestrained fury. “You filthy whore!”

Stunned, you instinctively take a faltering step backwards, nearly stumbling. Charles’ strong arm immediately wraps protectively around you and Matteo, steadying you. His body angles partly in front of yours and Matteo’s smaller form, shielding you both on pure instinct.

The deranged woman continues her tirade, advancing until she’s nearly screaming in your face. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, you reprehensible little homewrecker!”

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, a ghost from your past suddenly materializes behind the enraged woman. A man you hoped to never lay eyes on again.

His eyes blow wide at the sight of you, Charles, and the infant cradled against Charles’ chest.

The woman — his wife, you realize with dawning horror — grabs viciously onto his arm, her razor-sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped gouges. “Just look at her!” She shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Parading that little bastard child around like it’s something to be proud of!” She violently thrusts her finger towards Matteo, still safely ensconced in Charles’ embrace.

Your son, sensing the onslaught of hostile energy, immediately begins wailing in distress. You instinctively reach out to take him from Charles, desperate to comfort your frightened boy. But Charles subtly shifts his stance, moving further out of her reach, as he focuses intently on gently bouncing and shushing Matteo in an attempt to calm him.

Matteo’s biological father simply stares, slack-jawed, at the sobbing infant. The gears visibly turn in his head. “Is that ...” he chokes out, “Is he … mine?”

“No.” Charles’ immediate response is biting and unequivocal. He clutches Matteo tighter to his chest. “Matteo is my son.” Though his voice remains steady, you can see a muscle in his jaw ticking from the effort of holding back more heated words.

But Dario clearly does not accept this response. His eyes narrow calculatingly as he continues scrutinizing the wailing baby. Behind him, his unhinged wife keeps up her tirade of slurs and accusations, whipping the gathering crowd into greater frenzy.

You feel lightheaded, paralyzed. This is a living nightmare. Distantly you are aware of camera phones pointed your way, capturing every wretched moment. Charles seems to realize the same, his handsome face darkening with rage.

With frightening efficiency, Charles strides directly over to the nearest paddock security officers and has a brief, terse exchange. Moments later, two bulky guards firmly take hold of the still-screaming woman and shellshocked man, forcefully escorting them away. The crowd reluctantly disperses, murmuring.

Charles immediately returns to envelope you and Matteo in a fiercely protective embrace. “It’s alright now, you’re both safe,” he soothes, though his rapid heartbeat belies his calm words. Matteo’s panicked sobs have faded to tiny hiccups against Charles’ neck.

The rest of the chaotic day passes in a blur. Much later, in the privacy of your hotel room, Charles reveals that he pulled every string and called in every favor necessary to have Dario and his deranged wife permanently blacklisted from all Formula 1 events.

His voice shakes with quiet rage as he describes how close security came to needing to restrain him physically.

Finally he takes your face so very gently in his hands. “I promise you, I will do anything and everything to protect our family. You and Matteo are my entire world. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m breathing.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, you collapse against his solid chest. Charles’ strong arms anchor you in place as you cling to him. He continues murmuring fervent assurances, pressing kisses to your hair.

Despite the ugliness of the day, you know with utter certainty Charles will shield you and Matteo from the darkness of your past. Your family is still perfection in your eyes.

***

“Papa, I wanna be a race car driver like you when I grow up!”

Your five-year-old son looks up at Charles with big, adoring eyes as he makes this pronouncement over breakfast one morning.

Charles freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He slowly sets it down, gazing at Matteo with surprise and pride. “You do?”

Matteo bobs his curly head eagerly. “Yeah! I wanna drive fast cars and win like you! Can you teach me?”

Charles melts, ruffling Matteo’s hair. “Of course, buddy. We’ll have to convince your maman first though.” He shoots you a meaningful look.

You shift uncertainly. Of course you want to encourage Matteo’s interests, but motorsport is dangerous ...

Charles seems to sense your hesitation. “Why don’t you think about it, mon amour? No need to decide yet.” He winks at Matteo, who grins in excitement.

Over the next few days, your two boys put on a full court press to sway you. Charles points out safety advances in karting and helps Matteo make adorable PowerPoint slides with photos of your son in race helmets. They both unleash heartbreaking puppy dog eyes.

Finally you cave. “Alright!” You laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. “You can start teaching him the basics.”

Matteo and Charles high-five so hard it makes a cracking sound. “Yesss!” Charles pumps his fists while Matteo dances in glee. Seeing their matching enthusiasm melts away the last of your reluctance. Your little daredevil was born for this.

The next weekend, Charles takes Matteo to a racetrack an hour outside the city. It’s just a small circuit, but Matteo gazes around with wide eyes, gripping Charles’ hand tightly.

Charles shows him the karts and safety gear, patiently explaining how everything works. Then it’s time. Charles helps strap Matteo into a kart made for kids, snugging his helmet gently under the chin.

“Ready, mon petit champion?”

Matteo gives him a thumbs up, practically vibrating with excitement. Charles grins and drops the visor down. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

He gives Matteo a little push to get the kart rolling onto the track. Your son quickly gets the hang of working the gas and brakes. Charles jogs alongside, gesturing and calling out instructions.

Gradually he lets Matteo take full control. Your little boy zips around the course, hair blowing out the back of his helmet. His delighted laughter echoes around the circuit.

Watching from the sidelines, Charles records it all on his phone, face alight with joy and pride. “That’s it Matteo, you’re doing amazing!” He cheers.

This is only the beginning. But seeing the utter bliss on both their faces, you know Matteo has chosen the right path. The Leclerc legacy will live on.

***

“I’m here in the pit lane with Charles Leclerc on the momentous day his son, Matteo Leclerc, makes his highly anticipated debut with Scuderia Ferrari. Charles, you must be incredibly proud right now.”

The Sky Sports reporter holds her mic out to Charles as he stands, beaming, in front of the scarlet Ferrari garage. Charles nods, looking slightly choked up.

“Incredibly proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replies earnestly. “This has been Matteo’s dream since he was just a little boy. To see him achieve it, to be standing here watching him drive for the team I devoted my life to … it’s indescribable.”

Charles pauses, glancing over fondly at where you stand with Matteo, straightening your son’s helmet and race suit.

“His mother and I, we’ve worried and experienced every up and down along the way with him. But Matteo has worked so hard for this, never gave up even when it seemed impossible. He more than deserves today.”

The reporter smiles. “And his last name isn’t the only way he takes after you. Matteo is widely considered your protégé after you mentored him through the junior ranks.”

“I taught him everything I could,” Charles acknowledges. “But his talent and dedication are all his own. Matteo is his own man now. I can’t wait to see how high he continues to climb.”

“Any advice you’ve given him before his first race with Ferrari?”

Charles chuckles. “Just to enjoy every second. This only comes around once.” He looks off into the distance, eyes crinkling nostalgically.

“Still seems like yesterday I was in his shoes for my own Ferrari debut. I’ll never forget that feeling.”

The reporter wraps up the interview and Charles makes his way over to where you and 21-year-old Matteo are embracing. Charles’ eyes shine with unshed tears as he clasps arms with his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles says hoarsely. “Your mother and I both. Now go show the world what you can do.”

Matteo’s answering smile is blinding. “I’ll make you proud, Papa.”

He hugs you tight, then pulls on his helmet and strides confidently to his waiting Ferrari. The mechanics cheer as the car roars to life and Matteo peels out onto the track, on the cusp of achieving his lifelong dream.

You cling to Charles’ side, waving tearfully. “Our little boy,” you whisper in awe.

Charles wraps an arm around you, never taking his eyes off the bright red car. “He’s all grown up. But he’ll always be our son.”

No matter how high Matteo climbs, Charles knows he will always remain his sweet little boy — the bright-eyed child you and Charles raised with love.

His greatest source of pride and joy as the future beckons brightly, another generation of Leclercs carrying the hopes of Ferrari forward.

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[rueclfer]

casual // touya todoroki part 2

when the boy you're in love with wants to keep it casual.

a/n: i was fighting for my life while writing this 😭 pray for her (and me while i write... part 3? HEHE)

part one part three

You made your way up the fire escape, the cold air and icy railing nipping at the bare skin of your neck and face for the short travel up a level.

From outside of his window, you took a second to admire the scene. Tenko was sitting criss crossed on the couch while cradling a beer in his lap, and directly across from him is Spinner on the ottoman with their switches out- in which you could only assume was playing super smash bros. Toga was at the kitchen bar taste testing Kurogiri's mixed drinks, and everyone else plus a few more unfamiliar faces were drunkenly draped over the couch, laughing at one another.

You continue peering around the room for Touya. No one else had noticed your presence outside the window quite yet.

"Looking for someone?" A deep voice snaps you from your search.

You look up to see Touya sitting on a step another level up.

"God, Touya." You shutter from the cold breeze. "What are you doing out here? It's freezing."

"Needed some air." He shrugs, crinkling a bottle of water in his hands. "Not going inside?"

You climb your way up to him, taking a seat right beside him. In the moonlight, his silver hair glowed blue, and at a closer look, the tip of his nose and cheeks were dusted with pink.

"Was just about to before you ambushed me." You smile at his tipsy state. "How much have you drank?" You pressed a hand to his cheek, making him melt into it from the warmth.

"Enough, and not enough at the same time." He chuckles, grabbing your remaining hand and pressing it against his other cheek.

"Fuck, you're warm." A sigh of relief escapes his lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

Fuck

You had just told Toga that you were done running in circles around him, but in this moment with the buzzing lamp post drilling into your head and his swollen lips mere inches from yours, it was almost an offer you couldn't turn down. Do you close the gap between you two and continue this charade or will you end it now?

In a perfect world, you wouldn't have to make this decision now- you wouldn't ever have to, but you loved him. Desperately.

You looked at him, deeply. His bloodshot and glossy eyes, an effect of the alcohol, were peering right into yours while waiting for your answer.

You could savor this forever- a rare moment where he's the one waiting for you.

After a beat of silence, he sensed your hesitation and leaned back, searching your face for an answer for your off behavior, because Touya knew that the answer would've always been a yes- undeniably so.

"What's wrong?"

I love you.

"Nothing." You force a reassuring smile. "Why?"

"I don't know. You looked like you were about to cry for a second there." He moves his hand to your face now, rubbing his ice cold thumbs against your cheek. "Maybe I'm just drunk." He smiles.

He pulls your head in to press a kiss on your hairline. "Also, I saw Fuyumi today. She said hey."

"I'll text her later." You couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth knowing that you came up in conversation with his sister.

"Were you not gonna come tonight?"

"Hmmm I don't think so" You casually say "I was kinda busy, but the fomo was kicking."

"Works out in my favor." He chuckles. "You wanna go inside? Toga said she was expecting you."

He starts standing up, gripping onto the railing to stabilize himself. With his other hand, he extends it out for you.

"Yeah I owe her a shot. That is, if she's not already fucked up." You grab onto his hand and hoist yourself up.

"In that case, I'll cash in the shot in her place." He wraps his arm around your waist, helping you down the frosty steps.

Once you made it through the window, your body instantly warmed up with the thick air of the apartment. Across from the kitchen, Toga spots you and squeals to herself, motioning for you to come to her.

"Kurogiri's been showing me how to make drinks!" She grins, panning her arm to the array of mixed drinks and shots sitting on the counter.

"Christ, Toga who's going to drink all that?" Touya mutters behind you as he moves into the kitchen.

"Y/N and I, duh!" She rolls her eyes before passing you a glass with a shots worth of pale pink liquid.

You swallowed your hesitation and glanced over to Touya, who was leaning up against the refrigerator watching you with a slight smile.

Seeing his pretty face was not a good reminder for yourself as to why you were here in the first place. Nonetheless, you and Toga clink your glasses together and down the first shot.

You cough into your sleeve, letting the burn warm your skin and help settle into your nerves. You shoot her a warning glance when she slides another drink into your hands.

"Oh so you're trying to kill me tonight, huh?" You down the new drink, pinching your nose as the lukewarm liquid burns its way down your throat. You slide the empty glass to her just for her to replace it with more alcohol.

"If there's one way to cure a sad girl, it's alcohol." Toga clinks your glasses together before finishing off her's.

"I only promised you one shot!" You pushed the glass away. "I'm a lightweight, let me take a breather unless you want me on my ass in half an hour."

"Okay fine" She pouts. "Just finish this one and we'll stop."

You grimaced, but she shot you a knowing look. You needed this. You needed a night to not think and worry about repercussions later.

"Fuck you." You sigh, clinking your glass with her. "And I love you."

After the last shot, your head clouded and your skin went hot. You pulled out a bar stool to sit and propped your head in your hands, watching Toga and Kurogiri talk about the mixtures and types of alcohol they were experimenting with.

Maybe the last shot was overkill, but 3 shots in 5 minutes meant that you'll be sober in a couple hours? You hoped so, at least.

"If she starts throwing up, I'm gonna kick everyone out." Touya jokes.

"You think I'm done?" Toga starts. "Touya, you have to finish the rest of these drinks with me."

Touya kept his distance on the other side of the the kitchen, chatting and drinking with Kurogiri and Toga all while glancing your way every now and then.

You were confident that everyone in this apartment knew about your entanglement with Touya, but with any outings and functions, PDA and other romantic gestures were kept to a minimum. You kept your distance, but this last shot started to feel like you needed a moment alone with Touya.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

At some point when the alcohol had fully settled in your stomach, you decided to get up and wander around the apartment while everyone else was occupied.

You slowly go through the main hallway, looking at the framed band posters hung up that you had seen about a hundred times.

At the end of the hall, there was your favorite piece of decoration he had- a framed photo of him and his high school garage band at one of their practices. His hair was dyed midnight black and his jeans were all sorts of torn up and embellished with spikes and chains. Every time you came over, you had to look at it at least once. You always told him that you wished you met him at this age, and that he could've broken your heart, but he insists that he would've never been able to pull you in the first place.

You continue your walk, staying close to the wall to keep your balance before you finally made it to his bedroom. You step in and takes deep breath, savoring the crisp pine and green apple that lingered from his cologne.

If you had been sober, you probably wouldn't be bold enough to sneak off to his bedroom in the middle of the get together, but you were sure that he would rather you lay in his bed than the bathroom floor.

You flop down and close your eyes for a moment of solitude. You made a mental note to curse Toga out for getting you this tipsy when it was only supposed to be one drink.

"How did I know I could find you here?"

You instantly recognized the voice and the chuckle that paired with it.

"Shut up." You muttered, keeping your eyes closed. "If you didn't let me drink so much, I wouldn't have to crash here."

"So sorry, pretty girl. My fault." You feel the bed shift as he crawls onto the bed to sit beside you. "I brought something for you."

You open your eyes and sit up to see him holding out a red solo cup. You shoot him a glare.

"It's water, before you say anything."

You release a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

You downed the water in one go, letting the cold liquid bring you back to life. You lean over to set the empty cup on his bedside table before letting yourself lay back down. Touya follows suit, propping himself up on his elbow.

"You feeling okay?" He brings his hand up to your cheek, lightly brushing away stray hairs.

You nodded your head, letting yourself soak in his light touches. Looking up at him from this angle made your stomach twist. You reached up and held his hand on your cheek, letting your thumb brush over his knuckles.

"Can I have a kiss?" You turned towards him, propping yourself up to face him.

He smiles and leans in, pressing a soft and gentle kisses on your lips and cheeks.

"Should I kick everyone out?" He whispers between kisses. "Just you and me tonight. I'll take care of you."

"Aren't you drunk too?" You prop yourself up, leaning over him and making him fall back on the bed.

"Yeah but not multiple-shots-in-the-span-of-2-seconds drunk like you."

You drag your finger down his nose bridge, tracing it down to his lips where he gives your finger a kiss. You replace your finger with you own lips, letting your hand fall to cup the side of his neck.

"Say the word and all of those fuckers will be out of here." He silently mutters against your lips.

In your mind, you were screaming at yourself. You wanted the night with him, but you couldn't bear doing this to yourself anymore. Every night spent with him and watching him leave through your window made your self worth crumble bit by bit.

"Enticing offer." You smile, sitting upright now. "But I think I might have to throw up."

His eyes widen in fear. "And you're telling me this now?"

He sits up and hops off the bed, pulls you off with him by the arms. "Idiot. Sweet, beautiful idiot." He presses a kiss to your temple before ushering you to his bathroom.

He helps you kneel down in front of the toilet before running out to grab more water.

You sit there for a moment before dry heaving into the toilet a few times. Nothing. With every cough, you cringed at yourself. Here you were, at a party you didn't even want to go to, gagging in the bathroom of someone who doesn't love you back.

You knew you truly didn't have to throw up, maybe just gag it out a bit, but you mainly needed to step away from Touya to clear your mind. Tomorrow, when you would have to tell Toga about how you folded is going to be a whole separate issue for you after tonight.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a glistening black rectangular object lay next to his trash can. You reach over to grab it, revealing itself to be a tube of berry red lipstick. You felt sick to your stomach, but for a different reason now.

In your drunken state and the alcohol running through your veins, you felt yourself choking up with tears. You knew you weren't the only one, but now that it was right in your face, there was no more pretending that you were. God, how stupid you felt.

"Get it together, Y/N. It was never going to work out." You thought to yourself.

You began to stand up, stumbling while doing so. Right as you steady yourself on the the door frame, Touya comes back in with a glass of water in his hands.

"Done already?" He asked, peering over your shoulder to see the damage.

You say nothing and move around him to get pass He sets the glass down and grabs your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

"Where are you going?" His eyes widened once he see the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"What's wrong?" He says a bit quieter.

You choked out a laugh before showing him the object in your palm. "One of your girlfriends left this."

He gives you a puzzled look. "Okay? And you're upset over this? Why?"

"Are you serious, Touya? You're asking me why I'm upset over finding another girl's lipstick in your bathroom." You purse your lips,

He runs a hand through his hair, and releases a long sigh of air. "Y/N. This thing between us...it's casual. You know that. You can't get mad at me for that when we both agreed to it."

"Casual?" You spit back. "Is it casual that you're always coming to my window at 12am to fuck and talk about our futures? Is it casual when your siblings invite me over for dinner? Is it casual when you leave your front door open for me?" You exclaim. "It just doesn't make sense to me."

You storm out of his room to find that his apartment empty of your friends. He wasn't lying earlier, after all.

"Come on, Y/N." He follows you out "We were friends before anything else. In the beginning, Toga told me that you had a little crush on me, and I thought it was cute, but I didn't think it would turn out like this."

You make your way to the window, almost ready to jump out from embarrassment. A crush.. a little crush.

You rub your face in your hands. "You see, that's the problem, Touya. I think I'm in love with you, and you think I'm cute. Is it still casual?"

You step out onto the fire escape, and look back at him. This whole time you were avoiding his gaze, but there he was, his eyes wide and mouth gaped open watching you disappear from his fire escape for the last time.

tags: @bumblebeebutter @whitneys-favorite-slut @randomrosie01 @yuwuuta @raquel-star @the2ndl @vixendeery

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You never told Tangerine he has a daughter in the hopes of never seeing him again.

Genre: Angst (happy ending)

Warnings: swearing, single mom!reader, allusions to sex, pregnancy, kinda wanted to give Tan a real name for this story's sake but I couldn't decide on one (🙃) so let's all pretend Tangerine is an appropriate first name end not make it weird? kay? love you guys :)

~ honestly inspired by all of @little-miss-dilf-lover's dad!Tan content ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

Family is important to Tangerine. You've known this ever since you'd met him—which is why when you lay in the hospital bed, beads of sweat dampening your hairline and your mother asked you if you'd changed your mind and wanted someone to call him, prompting you to shake your head, it broke your heart almost more than it had the night he'd left. 

How could you keep her from him?

How could he leave you like he did? 

So, you raised your daughter on your own with the hopes that you'd never run into Tangerine or his brother. By Cerise's fourth birthday, there were still no signs of them and as much as you ignored how her brown curls reminded you of him and how she had his mannerisms, you couldn't deny their similarity anymore. 

"Darling, you can't have candy now, it's almost supper," you reprimand when Cerise reaches for a candy bar as you pay for your groceries and the older lady at the counter chuckles.

Cerise looks at you with an annoyed pout as she crosses her arms. You ruffle her hair, "I'm sorry, Cece," you say and kiss her forehead behind her bangs.

You're too busy with the cashier to see Cerise slip down from the cart and wander off. When you finish paying and turn to hand her a box of raspberries, your heart sinks. "Cece?" you call, turning to the old woman who doesn't know how to help you.

Your heart thumps loudly, your skin clammy and cold as you abandon your groceries and call out again, "Cerise!"

The store isn't that huge so in theory, Cerise shouldn't be far and you just pray she didn't wander off into the open road. You feel hopeless until you turn into the fruit aisle.

Your breath leaves you when you see Cerise. "Oh thank God!" you exclaim and run to her, kneeling on your knees and pulling her into your arms. You hold her to you and caress her pigtails. "You can't scare Mummy like that, okay?" you whisper into her small shoulder. 

"The man said he would buy me candy," Cerise declares, holding onto your neck. 

"What?!" you exclaim, finally looking up at the man who'd been talking to your daughter. You're prepared to find some creepy old man but instead, a familiar face is staring down at you.

He's dressed in dressy clothes, his hair slicked neatly, and he has a thick mustache—he didn't have a mustache the last time you saw him, but that had been four years ago.  

This has to be a joke. "Y/n?" Tangerine says your name so smoothly and the sound causes a shiver down your spine. You stand, taking Cerise into your arms as she holds onto you.

"Tangerine," you whisper, staring into his striking blue eyes and you realize with a heavy heart that Cerise's are truly a carbon copy of his.

Tangerine looks at the child in your arms and clears his throat, "I- she ran over here and started talking to me. She wanted candy and I said I could buy 'er a chocolate bar if she'd help me find 'er parents—are ya—?" 

"Yeah, she's mine," you say, voice strained. "I- thank you for the offer but I told her no to candy."

Tangerine looks embarrassed and he rubs his nape as he says, "Y-yeah, sorry." He looks at Cerise more closely as she turns her head to him and smiles. "How old is she?" he asks and your heart pounds. 

Tangerine is smart, and you wonder if he sees through you already. You wonder if he'll know she's his daughter. 

You feel your cheeks warm. "She just turned four." You can't lie to him. You've never been able to lie directly to his face. He's always known you too well for that. Tangerine's face falls for a moment and you can almost see the panic. He blinks and then his expression turns blank as if a switch had been turned on. 

You always hated it when he did that.

"Ah, right, well, it'was pleasant seeing ya, darlin'," he says, adjusting his cuffs, and just like that he turns away without a second glance and he disappears from your life—again.

Your heart feels like someone had just stomped on it a thousand times and you want to cry. You hold Cerise tighter as she plays with your hair. 

He didn't even ask for her name. 

* * *

"You didn't even ask for her name?" Lemon asks with disbelief, watching from the small couch in their hotel room as his brother completely loses his mind.

Tangerine doesn't look at Lemon and his voice is strained, "Why would I do that?" 

"'Cause she's probably your kid, dimwit," Lemon sounds unamused. 

"Bull," Tangerine throws the knife he'd been using to cut an apple into the small sink and turns around, angrily popping a slice into his mouth, "Absolute bull, Lem, she's not mine. I mean—Y/n was definitely with other guys after me—like I was with other girls—" his sentence dies. 

"Yeah, 'cause you're a slut, and the only reason ya shagged those other birds that soon was because you missed 'er and wouldn't admit it. Ya know she isn't like that. She's better than ya," Lemon says honestly.

"And she was madly in love with ya. Isn't that why we left? Because she loved ya and you loved her? 'Cause ya didn't want her mixed up in our life? Do'you really think she'd fuck some other bastard that soon? No. Tangerine, that kid is yours."

Tangerine pinches the bridge of his nose, "No. She would have told me."

"Would she?" Lemon raises an eyebrow, "You left 'er."

Tangerine is annoyed at Lemon because he's right. He isn't stupid, the little girl with you had looked too much like him not to be his daughter, and that realization alone makes him want to throw up. 

He cannot be a father—not when he couldn't even be a good lover. You and your baby girl deserved so much better than him. 

"Listen, it's your life, but will ya ever forgive yourself if ya don't at least find out for sure?" Lemon adds, looking at his brother with sympathy. He shrugs. "If anything, bruv, help 'er with money. Ya'know we have loads extra and t'is the least you could do for 'er."

Tangerine knows Lemon's right—at least on the money. He wants you and your baby to live comfortably. 

"Yeah," is all he answers. 

* * *

You feel tired gross and dirty as Cerise runs around your small suburban house outside of the city, refusing to put on her socks. You haven't showered in three terribly long days and your hair is a mess.

"Cece, no, come here," you say, desperately trying to keep your phone pressed to your ear to continue your conversation.

"No mum, I know that and I've been looking around but I can't afford any private pre-schools," you say, catching Cerise mid-run and scooping her into your arms, "I turned out just fine without a fancy pre-school, didn't I?"

Your mother continues to chat your ear off you hear the doorbell and you position Cerise on your hip, ignoring her cries as you try and find her little feet. "Mum, someone's at the door, I'll call you later, okay," you say, walking and opening the door.

You're thankful that your mother hung up because otherwise, she would have heard your gasp as you see who your visitor is.

"Tangerine," you say, holding Cerise closer as you put your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. 

"Hi, darlin'," Tangerine says. He's holding a basket filled with cookies, candies, and flowers. Your favorites. "Can I come in?" he asks.

You're star-struck as you nod and move aside so he can come inside. You shut the door behind him and set Cerise down, who immediately runs back to the living room where her toys are scattered around. Tangerine can't hide his smile as he watches her. "How did you find me?" you ask quietly, which causes him to turn around and hand you the basket. 

You take it as he says, "I have my ways," he cracks an all-too-familiar smile that makes your heart flutter. 

"Cryptic," you tease, your sentence dying, you look down and then try to tame your hair, "Sorry—I look like such a mess," you whisper.

Tangerine smiles kindly, "Nonsense, you look beautiful."

You strain a smile and focus on the real question, "Tangerine, why are you here?"

He walks closer and it takes everything in you not to stay put and let his warmth envelope you.

God, you missed him.

Instead, you back away and stare into his eyes. "Y/n, is she mine?" he whispers, his voice cracking. 

You frown. "No," you say, and then your voice softens, "I mean yes, she has your DNA but she's not yours. You don't even know her name. You don't know her. She's mine. I'm her mother and you're just some guy I fucked," your voice sounds breathless and you inhale as you shut your mouth. You feel dizzy as you see Tangerine's hurt look.

"I deserved that," he says calmly after a moment and runs a hand in his hair, "But, was I really just someone you fucked?" he asks, unfamiliar insecurities creeping into his voice. 

You lean against your wall, exhausted, "I- no- you weren't but you left," you say.

"I had to leave—ya don't understand—"

"Yeah, because you never let me understand," you whisper and look up at him with a look that leaves him completely heartbroken.

He sniffs and looks away and down the hall where he sees Cerise run up to you and envelop her tiny hands around your knees. She looks up at him, her eyes round and her brown curly hair framing her forehead, and she smiles. 

Tangerine knees feel weak as she grins at him and he knows that he would kill to make so no one ever wipes that smile from his daughter's face. He would rather die. He looks up at you and you're running a hand in Cerise's hair— "Maybe you should leave—"

"What's her name?" he interrupts and looks at you for permission to let him kneel and speak to her. 

You nod, unable to deny him that. 

"Hi, angel, what's your name?" he says and crouches in front of her, smiling as he looks at her. She's adorable. She looks like you. Tangerine's heart melts. 

"Cece," she says, holding you tighter and looking up at you. 

"Cerise," you say as Tangerine stands again, "It means Cherry in French, but everyone just calls her Cece because she can't pronounce her full name correctly yet."

Tangerine smiles, "It's a very pretty name," he looks you over and then clears his throat, "Would you mind if I–stay a little?" 

You look at him sternly and frown, "I was gonna take her to the playground. She has so much energy this afternoon," you whisper and Cerise takes this as a cue to sprint back into the living room and make more chaos. 

"One cuppa?" Tangerine almost pleads again, his tone hopeful. He looks genuinely sincere. "I want to know all about her—and you," he pauses and then hesitates, "I did miss you, darlin'."

Your heart clenches and you run a hand in your hair again, murmuring a curse under your breath. You missed him too.

"One cup," you say and hold out your arm to take his suit jacket, "on the condition we drink it at Cerise's play-table. I promised her I'd play with her."

Tangerine nods and sheds his suit jacket and his shoes. He looks around your house at all the pictures you have of your friends, family, and of course Cerise. His heart aches and he realizes that he's missing from all these pictures. 

"Black tea?" you call from the kitchen and Tangerine smiles. You remember that it's his favorite. 

"Yes, luv, thank you."

So, Tangerine finds himself sitting on one of Cerise's small chairs as she sits in front of him, pouring him some invisible tea in the tiny cup on the small table in front of him. His knees bang on the table and Cerise looks at him, her tiny nose scrunched in disapproval.

Tangerine's heart flutters. She looks so much like you. "Sorry, angel," he whispers and steadies the table with his hand. 

Cerise hums and continues to pour air into the cups. 

You walk back in, holding a mug of tea for Tangerine and one for you and Cerise to share. You can't help the smile that forms on your lips when you see Tangerine sitting with your daughter.

You sit on the ground next to them and hand him his cup. He shakes his head, causing you to put the mug down near his arm, and he picks up the small cup and pretends to sip the non-existent contents for Cerise. 

The little girl's smile widens when he says, "Mmm, yum," and puts the cup down. Your heart melts when you hear Cerise's happy laugh and she says, 

"There's no tea in there, silly," she tilts her head, "it's all pretend."

Tangerine looks embarrassed and you feel bad so you put your hand on his arm, silently thanking him for the kind gesture. "She's a smart kid—she just has a big imagination," you explain softly, smiling at Tangerine kindly. 

You hate how familiar this feels but oh god do you love it too.

"She's smart, just like you," Tangerine breathes out, drinking his real tea this time and he puts his hand on the one you have on his forearm. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely, his voice small and as you stare into his eyes, time stands frozen. 

You strain a small smile and answer honestly. "We'll have plenty of time for sorries," you whisper and are revived by the instant nod Tangerine does.

Yes, we will, he says with his eyes, and although he wouldn't say it aloud, he's determined not to leave you again.

"For now, let's have a tea party," you tickle Cerise's tummy with your other hand.

Cerise giggles and Tangerine knows he's done for.

[dammn-dean]

Hii could you do a ghost x reader who is just gave birth having their day old child and soap John gaz came over to ghost house to see the baby once the reader left the room to go breastfeed their baby in their room price telling ghost how far he had come in life

Here you go! Thank you for the request, and I hope it’s okay. I made it a bit more (just a week) rather than a day old before they came over. That’s just because if someone came to my house the day I got home after giving birth, I would kill them 😅

Too Good

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Words: 2400+

Warnings: Nothing really!

Also, this is the same universe as Unexpected! You don't have to read them first, but if you want to here is Part 1 and Part 2.

Beautiful art/rendering from @ave661

"Love, they are here!” Simon’s voice bellowed through the flat to reach your ears.

You let out a small, “Okay,” just loud enough for him to hear it. Your eyes staring back at you in the mirror, checking your appearance. 

Today was the day you were finally going to meet Simon’s team. You had overheard a conversation he had on the phone a week back, when you finally were home from the hospital. Simon was good at being sneaky (it was in the job description) but you still overheard him. 

“Aye, I need a bit more time,” he murmured into the phone. 

After a brief pause, “What do you mean ‘Just because’ isn’t an excuse?” He huffed. 

You were paused in the hallway, sleeping baby in your arms just praying she would stay asleep so you could listen in to the conversation a moment longer. 

“Gaz saw me take off from base? Bloody hell.” You could almost hear him gripping between his eyes in irritation. 

“Yes, I promise everything is alright yeah? Just had a bit of something to do.” He explained vaguely as ever. 

There was a long pause on his end, like the person on the other side of the phone was lecturing him. He will give an occasional small ‘Yes’, ‘I know’ or ‘Yes sir’,  which had you wondering who he was talking to. 

“Fuck me, Cap. You make it impossible to not tell you everything. Listen, I’ll call you later today and tell you everything okay?” Simon barely paused long enough for a response before he hung up. 

With a long sigh, he stood from his spot on the couch. He had noticed you were gone an awfully long time and began down the hallway to check on you. 

Too focused on slowly rocking your sleeping daughter in your arms and trying to be quiet to listen to his call you hadn’t even realized Simon was heading your way until it was too late. 

You almost jumped out of our skin when he appeared like an apparition into your vision. 

“Jesus Si!” You quietly yelled, more of a whisper to make sure you didn’t wake the baby. 

You watched as his lips curled into a smirk. “And just what are you doing sweetheart?” He leaned his shoulder into the wall as casual as ever. 

“Oh uh- well I was you know, well I was-“ your brain couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough.

“Didn’t take you for an eavesdropper sweet girl,” he said with a grin. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” you replied defensively. 

“Right,” he laughed. “Hear anything good?”

“Not… really,” you murmured, clearly caught. 

“That was my Captain,” he explained. “Checking in on things after the way I left base.” 

You simply nodded, not quite sure what to say. 

“I thought I had left unseen, but apparently Gaz saw me leave ‘in a panic’ as he put it,” he rolled his eyes. “So he wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Makes sense.” You bit the inside of your lip to stop from adding on to the sentence. 

But Simon always reads you like a book. He squinted at you before questioning “What is it?” 

Your eyebrows almost shot to your hairline at that. You cleared your throat and slowly walked around him to head towards the living room. The baby’s bassinet was in there and it would make it easier to have this conversation if she wasn’t in your arms. You gently placed her down with a kiss on her head, Simon followed right behind you and mirrored you with a tender kiss in the exact spot you had kissed her precious little head. 

You sighed softly before sitting on the couch. Simon sat beside you, shifting himself to face you a little more before you started talking. 

“I suppose I wondered… why didn’t you just tell him the truth?” You questioned softly. 

“Just what do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well I mean… why didn’t you just tell him you left because I called you and that we have a baby.” You asked with a small tilt of your head. 

“Oh.” Simon responded with a hand on the back of his neck. He took a moment or two before his eyes met you again. “Love, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way and I hope you will let me explain.” He pleaded.

Even though that made you terrified, you just focused on your breathing and nodded. 

“Well I haven’t told the team about you yet,” he explained softly. 

Your face betrayed you and it fell immediately, eyes unable to meet him. Not even a second passed before his hands were on your tugging your chin back up to look at him. 

“It isn’t like that my love,” Simon went on. “You are just… everything to me. I come here to you and I don’t think about work. You deserve the world and somehow I thought keeping you and them separated would be best.” 

Hazel eyes held yours for a long time, nothing but true and raw emotion in them to convey he was telling the truth. 

“I understand,” you replied quietly. 

“Also, we haven’t really talked about if you wanted me to tell the team so I didn’t want to overstep…” Simon professed. 

As silly as it sounds out loud, he never wanted to force you to be a part of that part of his life, a part of the Ghost’s life. He has endured things you never deserved to even hear of, his sweet girl didn’t need to be exposed to it all if he had any say in the matter.

“I don’t mind if you tell people about me,” you said, almost embarrassed. You could feel the tips of your ears warming at the confession. 

“Yeah pretty?” He smiled as he gently touched your cheek with his fingers? “You want me to tell my team about you?” 

“Well I don’t-you don’t have to.” You mumbled out quickly. 

“You think I wouldn’t want to tell them about you?” Simon asked honestly. His fingers gently pushed your hair behind your ear. 

“I- I don’t know. Does everyone else talk about their partners?” You questioned honestly. 

“Price is the only one with a partner, Gaz and Johnny brag about their flings occasionally.” Simon broke into a big grin. “They won’t know what to do when I tell them about you.” 

“Oh,” you bit the inside of your lip again. “So you want to tell them about me?” 

“Of course love… I’ve almost let it slip out a few times as is,” Simon leaned in to brush a kiss along your cheek. “And I can’t wait to tell them about Emma too. If you are okay with that?” He pulled back to read your face. 

“I’m okay with it if you are, Si,” you reassured him. 

“I’m okay with it… but I will warn you once I tell them they won’t want to wait long before seeing you and the little miss,” he smiled as he leaned his head to meet yours. 

You paused for a moment, taking him in. Feeling safe and happier than you can remember feeling in a long time. “I’m okay with that.” 

So there you stood, in your mirror. Checking your appearance for the 5th or 6th time for the night. Even though you were a new mom, dealing with a changed body you wanted to make a good impression. 

Emma had been in her bassinet sleeping, awaiting the arrival of Simon’s friends (or work mates as he put it). Your body was still healing, so you had thrown on a soft but matching lounge set and felt nice to not be wearing a spit-up stained shirt and sweats for once. 

Simon opened the front door to see Price, Gaz and Johnny. All looking varied shades of giddy. Johnny was all but bouncing on his toes. Gaz held a kind smile that was a little bit too big to be classified as a ‘normal’ grin. Price stood behind the other two, stoic and holding a pretty bouquet of flowers. 

“Flowers are for the Missus,” Price began with a smile. 

“And this is for the little miss,” Gaz exclaimed. Pulling a gift bag that was hidden behind his back. 

Simon couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from him. 

“Well come in then, yeah?” He asked with an arm out inviting his team into your flat. 

One by one the men made their way inside, all smacking Simon’s shoulder with pride before coming face to face with you in the living room. Simon took a few steps in your direction, before placing a gentle hand on your lower back to guide you deeper into the room.

“Price, Johnny, Gaz,” Simon began pointing as he said their name. “This is Y/N, sweetheart… this is my team.” Simon wouldn’t admit that he was nervous, but you could hear the waver in his voice that wasn’t usually there. 

“Heya there Mrs Ghost,” Johnny spoke up first, hand out shaking yours gently. “You dinnae tell us she was such a bonnie lass aye, LT.” His Scottish accent was thick, but the compliment followed by the wink he gave you had your ears burning. 

“Don’t you start with her MacTavish,” Simon warned jokingly, but pulled you into him a little more.

“I’m Gaz,” Gaz spoke up with a charming smile and a small handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied as your eyes fell to the small gift bag in his hand. He held the gift out, and Simon grabbed it. “We got the little Miss a gift, hope that’s alright.” Gaz gave you a huge grin showing almost all of his teeth. Even if you weren’t okay with the gift, how could anyone say no to him? 

The last man, with the mutton chops was the only one left and you knew who he was because Simon spoke about him the most to you, Captain Price.  

The Captain held out a beautiful bouquet of flowers to you, which you took immediately and smelled. “Nice to meet you,” he began. “Hard to believe someone has held Ghost’s heart and he is just now telling us about you.” He held a polite smile, but his voice had an edge to it.

Simon’s hand that was free raised to the back of his neck nervously. You let your eyes drift to his for a moment, silently checking in. Simon gave your waist a small and reassuring squeeze, signally that he’s good.

“Thank you all for the gifts… and it’s so nice to meet all of you. It’s great to be able to put faces to the names from Si’s stories.” 

“Si, eh?” Johnny’s lips turn up in a grin at the nickname.

“Johnny,” Price spoke up at that, warning him to behave. 

“Well who wants to meet Emma?” You spoke up, ready to move past the formalities. 

Simon nodded, and led you over to where she was still sleeping soundly in the bassinet. Once your eyes fall on her sleeping form you can’t help but smile. As gently as Simon could he picked her up with a kiss on her head, and laid her in your arms so that everyone could see her. The men gently circle in around you, none of them wanting to be the last to lay their eyes on her. 

“Wow,” Gaz whispered out. 

“Beautiful bairn LT,” Johnny complimented. His hand reaching out for Simon’s shoulder again to congratulate.

“This is Emma,” you introduce her to the team. 

She was tiny, sleeping while swaddled in her blanket. Price felt pride swell up in his chest, same as he would as if this was his biological grandchild. Simon stood at your side, watching you show off your daughter. Hand never leaving your lower back, as his other gently brushes her little cheek with the back of two fingers. 

Simon looked to Price and their eyes met, “Congratulations you two, what a wonderful baby girl.”

Emma decided now was the time to start whimpering, in warning before she started to cry out. You immediately started shushing her gently and bouncing her softly, to soothe her. 

“I think it’s time for someone to eat,” you explain to the group. “We will be back.”

Simon whispers into your ear, just a small word of encouragement before you head to the nursery to feed your daughter. 

They all watch you leave, no one speaking up until the door closes behind you. 

“Well if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Gaz gushed immediately. 

“Aye, LT you are pulling way outcha league,” Johnny bellows out a laugh at that. 

“Shut it, Johnny.” Simon rolls his eyes before heading to the kitchen. “Want a drink?” They all give different versions of a yes, then Price speaks up that he will join Simon in the kitchen. Gaz and Johnny then take a seat on the couch, starting up conversation immediately.

Simon heads straight to the cabinet snagging 4 tumblers out, before reaching to the bourbon on the counter. 

“Thanks for inviting us Simon,” Price started. “Your girls are lovely.” 

Simon couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips. Despite how uncomfortable he was with all of this, from inviting his team into your flat, being a new father, hell he hasn’t even asked you if he can move in with you full time yet, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time. 

“Thanks Price.” He slid his glass across the island to Price, and he accepted the glass with a tilt of his head.

“You have come a long way, Simon.” Price expressed honestly. “In more ways than I can ever express.” He leaned his elbows on the island, looking into the glass of amber liquid. “Seeing you happy like this isn’t something I ever expected.” Price pulled his eyes from the glass to meet Simon’s. 

“Hell, I for sure never expected it,” Simon joked. 

“I mean it,” Price held a serious tone. “You deserve this.”

Simon nodded, not sure he did deserve this, but no sense in saying it outloud. 

“Aye, LT you mind if we put the match on?” Gaz asked from the entry of the kitchen, hand gesturing back to the TV in the living room.

“Sure,” he answered with a shake of his head. 

Without another word, Simon grabbed a second tumbler for one of the guys as Price grabbed the remaining one. 

“Who would believe we are going to watch the football match in Ghost’s flat?” Johnny jokes from the couch, grabbing the glass Simon handed him.

With a roll of his eyes, “Don’t get used to it.” Although, a smile was on his lips and his tone wasn’t as serious as usual. Maybe having them over isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Since this could be read as part 3 of Unexpected I went ahead and tagged you all again! Hope that is okay 😊

Tags: @daemondoll @mileyraes @axoleos @arminarlertssword @wawuwe @cxltblood @mrflyingbanana03 @itsmytimetoodream @arminarlertssword @mrssabinecallas @babygirl-riley @gplol @yuly

Thank you for reading! If you have an idea or request for a fic, feel free to send 🖤

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

[laserbeamsky]

I woke up this morning really inspired for the first time in years and this is the result <3

It’s over much too soon. It lasted about half an hour, sweaty foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, and he didn’t think that was too bad, all things considered. You were still laying on top of him, chest pressed to his, your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand.

He was always breaking things. He remembered the day that Wayne hung all the mugs up on the wall, out of reach, the day Eddie had dropped one and slashed a deep gash into the palm of his hand trying to pick up the pieces. He’d been terrified, blindly fumbling at the shards of ceramic with tears blurring his vision. He’d had to get stitches, and now the old silvery scar was pressed against your cheek. He’d never really believed in anything, but for the first time in his life, he found himself praying, the tips of his fingers pushing into your damp hairline. Please don’t let me break her.

He could feel your heart thudding against his own, slowing back down to normality, becoming steady again. Your hooded eyes met his, and you smiled softly, kiss swollen lips pulling up at the corners, your cheek pressing further into his palm.

“Hey” you almost whispered, as if speaking at a normal volume might break some kind of trance. Your breath smelled sweet, of movie theatre popcorn and blue raspberry slush puppies. He’d leaned in to kiss you while your mouth was still ice cold, and didn’t stop until there was no trace of blue left on your lips.

“Hey” he replied, his heart swelling, the smile on his face so wide he thought it might split open. The corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of it. You leaned in to kiss him again, teeth grazing against his chapped bottom lip, and when you pulled away, you lay your head on the pillow. Your face was an inch away, and he could feel each breath you took fanning softly over his face. But that inch… that damn inch. It was enough for the tiniest sliver of doubt to weasel its way in and settle between his ribs.

Everybody Eddie brought home left with a piece of him. It was his nature to give, to lay it all out on the table, and he was usually pretty good at letting things go. He didn’t expect phone calls, or declarations of undying affection, and when people walked out of the door with a tiny piece of him clutched in their palm, he didn’t ever expect them to return it. But you. You were about to take the biggest piece yet.

“You can go. If you need to. If you’re uh… busy.” His smile wasn’t as wide, plastered onto his face like a mask.

“Do you want me to go?” Usually he’d say sure, no worries, you should probably leave anyway. But the look on your face, the unguarded sincerity with which you looked into his eyes, made his heart skip a beat. It was like someone was in his stomach swinging a bat around, and they’d just hit a home run to lodge right in his throat. He swallowed around the hard lump.

“No.” He thought he sounded like a child. He hoped his eyes weren’t welling up.

“Then i’ll stay.” You pushed a stray curl behind his ear with delicate fingertips, the gesture so fond and so unfamiliar that if eddie wasn’t on the verge of tears before, he definitely was now. As you pressed your lips to his one more time, the lump in his throat turned to honey, seeping into his blood, warming his skin, setting the hairs on his arms standing on end. As you pulled away, forehead pressed to his once again, he cupped your face once more, thumb tracing along your bottom lip.

Careful. Don’t break her. He swallowed, eyes scrunching closed, his lips catching the corner of your mouth one more time.

I love you. Don’t ever leave me. “You hungry?” he said instead.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hi I enjoyed your writing! 😃 I have a scenario in my head that I want to request:

Wife!reader has given birth a few months ago; she and Aemond haven’t been intimate during at all during that time and she misses him. She feels maybe he isn’t attracted to her anymore and loses a bit of confidence… truthfully the reason why Aemond hasn’t initiated anything is because he felt it would make her feel pressured and he figures she must be tired from the baby. All this time Aemond has been craving her, but his has been fighting his desires for his wife’s sake. Can you make it turn fluffy/NSFW please?

Thank you for sending this in. I got massively carried away writing it lol I will admit there is not much fluff to be had here, but plenty of NSFW.

Warnings: Mild angst, masturbation, smut, lactation kink. NSFW. 18+ Word count: ~1300

She stands in front of the mirror in only her small clothes. Her fingers trace the curves of her body as she looks at herself. Her waist is thicker, her breasts are fuller, there are lines and scars where there used to be smooth skin; all signs of having carried and birthed a babe; her beautiful son.

In her mind, her body is not unrecognisable from how it looked nine turns of the moon ago, yet Aemond has not touched her since she gave birth. At first, she was grateful for the space; her husband’s sexual appetite was ravenous and there was not a night that had passed where he hadn’t ravished her thoroughly since they were wed. A long and painful labour had left her tired and sore. She had dismissed the suggestion of a wet nurse, wanting to ensure she bonded with her precious little bundle. As such, many sleepless nights had left her physically and mentally exhausted.

However, it had now been three full moons since her and Aemond had last been intimate and she was desperately missing his touch. Her body was fully recovered from her pregnancy, so she could not understand why he was abstaining from her.

He still slept beside her each night, still held her close, but had not moved beyond a chaste kiss to the lips. She was beginning to wonder if he no longer desired her. Had her figure really changed so much that she had become unattractive to the man she loved?

Aemond slips into bed that night and presses his lips softly to her hairline. He then rolls away, his back to her, and she allows silent tears to slip down her cheeks. What if he has taken a lover? Her heart cannot bear the thought.

The notion lingers in her mind, still plaguing her thoughts the next morning. When Aemond does not join her to break their fast, she decides she will confront him.

Rising from the table, she strides back towards their shared bedchamber, in search of her husband. 

As she enters the room, she catches sight of him sitting on the end of their bed. He is hunched over, his breathing is ragged. She is unsure of what he is doing, until she ventures closer and gasps at what she sees.

Aemond’s right fist moves furiously over his hardened cock. The small clothes she wore the previous day are bunched up in his left hand.

Her gasp alerts him to her presence and his head snaps up towards her, his right eye wide with shock. He hastily moves to stuff himself back into his breeches, standing and backing away, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“My love…I-I did not mean for you to see this…”

Confusion is at the forefront of her mind as she focuses on the undergarments that Aemond is still holding.

“If you have no wish to lay with me, husband, pray tell, why are you using my small clothes to pleasure yourself with?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, he appears almost offended. “No wish to lay with you? You are my wife, the thought scarcely leaves my mind.”

“And yet you have not touched me since I birthed our son.” She states, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from her tone.

Realisation washes over Aemond. He drops her small clothes to the floor, taking both of her hands in his.

“Forgive me.” He says softly. “It was not my intent to make you feel as though I do not desire you. That has not changed. But I am aware that there are consequences to our more…lustful actions, and your labour was not easy. I could not bear to lose you because I cannot control my urges.”

“Aemond, we are going to have more children eventually.” She reasons. “Perhaps not right away, but there is no reason why we can’t enjoy each other in the meantime. There is always moon tea, if you are that worried.” “I do not expect you to have to do that just to sate my urges.”

He gives her hands a reassuring squeeze.

“They are not just your urges!” She replies exasperatedly. “I want you. I ache for my husband. Please-”

Her words are cut off as Aemond presses forward, capturing her lips hungrily with his own.

She shudders as he gropes harshly at her body, forcing her backwards. Heated desire pools in her core. She would be embarrassed at how wantonly responsive she is to his touch, if she were not so desperate to have him inside of her.

Aemond breaks away from her lips, placing wet open mouthed kisses to her neck. He backs her up against the chest of drawers, before lifting her onto it, and her hands reach eagerly for the laces of his breeches. The movement sends the contents placed on top of the chest rattling to the floor.

Her mind feels foggy with want as he tugs harshly at the neckline of her dress, bringing it down to expose her breasts. She cannot escape the brazen moan that tumbles from her lips as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily.

Her hand pumps frantically at his cock as he continues to suckle at her and it is not until he pulls away that she realises exactly what he had been doing, too lost in her own pleasure to notice.

A thin line of breastmilk trickles idly down his chin. A shiver travels down her spine. She fears she may pass out from the anticipation if he does not take her soon. 

 His darkened eye stares her down. He pushes her hand from his cock.

“I will not last if you keep that up.” He says huskily.

He bunches her skirts above her hips, before hastily yanking down her undergarments, leaving them to dangle from a single ankle. 

Pushing forcefully inside of her already soaking centre, Aemond’s jaw goes slack as he groans in unison with her. His eye screws shut as he sheathes himself fully inside of her. 

The overwhelming sensation of fullness is something she has missed greatly, but she has no time to revel in it as Aemond immediately begins to thrust, his pace is fast and hard. With every snap of his hips, the chest of drawers slams heavily into the wall behind them.

His mouth returns to her breasts, this time giving some much needed attention to the other. He drinks frantically as he pounds into her. 

The sounds she makes are lewd, she is certain half the Red Keep must be able to hear them and yet it does not matter to her. Her only focus is Aemond. Her fingers tangle into his long, silky white hair, tugging gently.

The grunt he emits causes her to tighten around him and in an instant he is gasping, pushing deeper inside of her, his hips stuttering as his cock pulsates and fills her full of him.

He goes limp against her and she strokes his hair as they both take a moment to compose themselves. Aemond’s breath comes in hot puffs against her neck as she feels him softening inside of her.

She could swear she is drunk on the experience of what has just transpired. Her reverie is broken somewhat when she hisses in discomfort as Aemond pulls out of her.

“That…was a lot quicker than I had anticipated.” Aemond confesses, his face flushed.

She huffs a slight laugh. “I enjoyed myself. It is fine.”

“It is not fine.” He corrects her. “I have not touched you in ages and when I finally did you did not peak.” “So what do you propose we do about that?” She asks, excitement fluttering in her belly.

“I propose…” He begins, a predatory glint to his eye. “You rid yourself of your clothing, lay on the bed and allow me to keep trying until you do.”

[themotherofhorses]

masterlist | part one

Aemond Targaryen, who needs to be held back by Ser Criston Cole, as well as two additional kingsguards, when he confronts his mother. The prince yells and screams and demands answers, all but brandishing his own blade. But Alicent Hightower just stares at him with the same face she wore when he was ten and still dragonless and stubborn and constantly around the beasts. Her lips twist in a frown as she lets out a heavy sigh.

“My dear son, you should have known that this was going to happen. Did you really believe that I allowed you to marry the wretched girl for love? The same girl whom you suffered such terrible abuse at the hands of?” She shakes her head, “In the animal world, pray tell me which beasts are the ones most feared by men. Mothers. The princess would have been wise to remember that the very moment she rooted herself within our family.”

Noticing her son’s face, she soon adds, “But the debt has been paid now, and it is my promise to you that she will be left alone.”

He cannot do anything, he realizes, when his eye meets Ser Cole’s. He cannot avenge his wife or their lost child, no matter how desperately he wishes to. His mother remains the Queen Dowager, and to inflict such harm on her very being is a death sentence, and the prince cannot risk such foolishness and idiocy when his wife still needs him during her recovery.

With a venomous glare thrown her way, he leaves the room, but not without his mother making one final remark.

“And Aemond, my love, I am sorry about the babe. Would you believe me if I said that it was not my intention for her to lose it? We tried to save it, truly.”

He chooses not to answer.

Aemond Targaryen, who finds himself a pathetic witness as his dear wife grows into a shell of the young woman she once was. No longer does her lips curl into that bright smile that could rival the sun above, nor does she fling herself into his arms and kisses his face and neck and knuckles while declaring how much she loves and adores him.

Instead, she flinches whenever he nears and casts her lone eye downward, refusing to meet his gaze as if a lowborn girl. She refers to him as his royal titles only, and never the ones he gained when he became her husband and lover. When he kneels before her to change the bandages each morning and evening, and daubing the wound with the ointment the maesters provided him with, she mumbles out apologies, and the quietest begs for his mercy and forgiveness.

He never thought it was possible, but this pains him more than when she slashed his eye out all those years ago.

When it is all done, he pulls her to his chest and rocks her back and forth as if she was a new babe in the world. “My darling wife,” he mutters into her silver hairline, “My sweet girl. Oh, my beautiful girl. I will never forgive myself for leaving you behind that day. Forgive your damned husband, my love. Forgive me, I beg of you.”

He is met with only silence.

Aemond Targaryen, who has not spoken to his mother in weeks. It is a refusal on his part, despite Alicent making her own attempts, having lost her favored child. The hours he does not spend by his wife’s side, he is with his older sister in the royal playroom, watching his niece and nephews play with their toys on the floor. It makes him think about his own child and what could’ve been. A pretty babe, perhaps, with silver hair and violet eyes, no doubt of the golden blood of Old Valyria. He wonders if there ever will be another chance.    

“She told her that there was never any love for her.”

He turns his head to his sister, who has paused her embroidery to look at him with sad eyes.

“Mother, she had told our niece that you never did love her. That her losing the eye was meant from the beginning, and that you knew about it, and kept up your part so it could eventually happen.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, it was never like that. Yes, I will admit, I wanted revenge, and yes, I did hate her for what she did to me when we were both children, but all that was before I learned how good she was. How sweet and gentle and loving. My sweet girl, my princess, she gave me all the love in the world. She-” he feels his chest tighten greatly, leaving him heaving out short gasps and wheezes, “I love her. I love her more than she could possibly know. I never…I never wanted this. I love her. I love her so much,” and he tries his best to blink away the tears.

Helaena scoots herself closer and wraps gentle arms around both his shoulders, drawing him close. And when he cries into her neck, she whispers in his ear, “An eye for an eye, a son for a son. When the war is won, all will be good and done.”

Aemond Targaryen, who enters his chamber to find the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen seated on the bed, cradling his young wife to her chest. Through the muffled weeps, he could hear her talking to her youngest granddaughter, trying to coax out a response from the girl. When she fails to do so, the woman flattens her forehead against hers and tells her, “You do not dare leave me, my child, do you hear me? I have lost both my children; I will not lose you either.”

“Let us take her to Dragonstone, then,” he says, making his presence known. “I agree that she should be with her family. Perhaps being there will help her spirit.”

Rhaenys shakes her head with a broken chuckle. “Ah, Aemond One Eye. You must be a proud man, having gotten your revenge, it seems, as my grandchild is now without her eye.” She is gentle when laying the princess back down on the bed before standing up to face him. “Tell me, does this make you feel good? Better about yourself? More of a man, now that your wife matches you?”

His mouth twists in rage, but he is quick to bite down his tongue. “She was pregnant,” he chooses to say instead, watching as her eyes widen at his words. “The maesters believed the babe to have been a boy, and I was so excited to finally be a father. Your granddaughter, my wife, she was the prettiest sight, such that made me fall in love with her more every single day that passed.”  

“You loved her so much, you claim, yet you still maimed her.”

“No. It was not I who did this. You must believe me, Princess Rhaenys.”

“Then pray tell who it was?”

“My mother.” He sees the look on her face, and the way her mouth flattens into a tight line. “She had sent me to the North, to the Starks for business, so that I would be unable to stop her. When I returned, it had been done, and our child long gone. I wish for nothing but vengeance now.”

Maybe she believes him; maybe she does not. But he knows that Rhaenys will take her away from him, back to her home at Dragonstone, and will very likely deny him the right to follow them, despite him being her husband. He just cannot accept the thought of being separated from her, the love of his life, no matter how selfish that might sound. He glances at his wife where she rests, with her good eye watching the two of them. Such little life left in her, he sees, and he knows that keeping her here would be considered cruelty on his part.

“Her mother misses her very much, and when she learns of the abuse her only daughter has faced while here at the Keep, there will be a war to be fought. You realize that, right, Prince Aemond? Will you be ready for it?”

He knows that, but it is not the war’s responsibility- nor anyone else’s- to avenge his wife and child but his own. It is why he decides to help the Princess Rhaenys sneak out of the Keep with his wife when nighttime arrives, asking her to hand his sweet girl over to his older sister, her mother, so that the maesters there will tend to her.

With a final kiss pressed against her lips, he bids her a goodbye, and promises a fond reunion when everything has been settled.

Before they leave, his wife brushes her hand against his. It is the ever most gentle touch possible, but enough to garner his attention towards her.

“I love you, husband,” she smiles. “And thank you. Come home to me, please, for I’ll be waiting for you.”

Aemond Targaryen, who later sits near his siblings when their grandsire and mother receive a raven from Dragonstone, carrying the Princess Rhaenyra’s response to her daughter’s mutilation:

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. My daughter and her babe shall be avenged.”

notes: show of hands for part three?

[lethalchiralium]

Johnny was back in the morning, carrying a pack of furs and a bundle of meat, a smile on his face as soon as he saw his smiling little baby. You kissed her hair as he set down his bounty, he instantly scooped up his daughter who cooed at the sight of her dad.

“How was Missoula?” You asked as you pulled your shawl tighter around your torso.

“Damn borin’, missed ye ‘n the big one, an’ of course, my babe.” He kissed Claire’s forehead, she squealed in response. “Price sold a lot.”

You gently pat his back, ushering him inside. “S’good. Simon’ll be home before sundown.” You grabbed his furs and meat, carrying it inside and kicking the door closed with your boot. Johnny instantly found himself on the couch, gently rubbing the baby’s back.

“Johnny.” You moved back into the kitchen, taking a drink out of your cup.

“Yes, luv?”

“Are you sure you don’t hear the noises at night?”

He paused, giving you a unfazed look. “Here? No, I told ye ya just need more sleep.”

You set down your cup full of water, staring at your husband. “You try being the only food your baby wants. Shit’s hard.” You scratched your jaw a little, watching Claire smack her dad’s face. “I’m just worried. What if something’s really out there? What if we’re not actually safe here?”

“I’ll check th’ traps wance ah get some Claire time, a’richt?” He kissed Claire’s face again, the girl screeched with excitement. Worry was still nestled deep in your belly, your hand absentmindedly rubbed your collarbone to give yourself some ease. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe it is just the wind, or a squirrel or something.

But you knew it in your gut. Your gut was almost never wrong. You prayed it was wrong.

“Johnny, I think-“

The front door slammed into the wall, scaring all three of you but you were the first to snap into action, seeing a bloody faced Simon clutching his head. Claire began to screech from being startled, you darted towards your husband as he stumbled into the house with Price holding him up by the back of his shirt.

“Simon! Simon, baby, what happened?” Your hand peeled Simon’s hand from his head, walking backwards as Price pushed him into the house. Blood poured from his head and you felt your heart rate speed up in record time.

“Fuckin’ horse.” He mumbled, you looked at the gash on his hairline and the blurry look in his eyes. You haven’t seen him this dazed since he got hit over the head with a rifle years and years ago. You examined the cut as you led him to the couch, taking his bloody hand and helping him sit down. He decompressed into it immediately, chest and legs finally settling like he had worked for a thousand years straight.

You looked at Price, who had a few bloody scuffs on his arm. “What happened?”

“Horse bucked him off without warnin’ into a fence post.” He said, you nodded before ducking the few feet into your kitchen - your bandages and wet cloths were in hand in moments. You looked at your friend, watching his worried look turn to steeled as he met your gaze. “Grab my whiskey, would you?”

“Not m’bourbon.” Simon murmured from his place, you glanced into your bedroom to see the concerned face of Johnny, holding a crying Claire. You gave him a little nod before returning to Simon’s side, instantly gently wiping away the crusted and dripping blood. “S’cold, baby.”

“I know.” You whispered. “Just wanna clean you up before I bandage you.”

“M’fine. Don’t know why he even brought me here, just needed a minute to get up.”

Price handed you the whiskey bottle and a clean rag. “You were down for a good while.”

Your head whipped up to look at him. “And why didn’t you come get me?”

“He’s fine now.” He shrugged, gesturing towards your husband. “He’s talking and awake.”

“Fuckin’ men.” You grumbled, dropping the cold rag onto Simon’s lap before opening the bottle of whiskey. You took a swig, of course, and then poured some onto a new rag. You began to disinfect the wound, to which Simon squirmed, panting as he whined in pain. “Stay still-“

“Baby, it hurts-“

“I know it does, gotta get it cleaned and bandaged. M’almost done.” Your fingers were nimble as you began to bandage his wound, wrapping the long cloth around his thick head tightly. You never missed the way Simon looked at you, so comfortable in your presence. You tied it off after ripping it off near the end, tossing the excess onto the couch before handing him the whiskey.

He graciously took it, took a generous swig before handing it back to you. “How’d I look, doc?” He smirked, pink lips chapped but his smile still full of adoration.

“You’re fine.” Your hand settled on his thigh, gently rubbing it. “You’re not gonna be happy with what I have to say, though.”

“I’m still gonna work the horses, maybe just in a few days.”

“No more sex until that hit is healed.”

He groaned, disappointment tangled in his throat. “But-“

“I’m leavin’.” Price declared, sensing you were about to air some intimate details, you didn’t even acknowledge his departure.

“There’s three of us. You two bump heads, me and you bump heads. I like my daughter having both of her fathers.”

“Head hits are nothing.”

Your eyes flickered down to his eyes, watching them dart away from your stare. “‘Til they’re something.”

His glare had moved towards the bedroom door, Claire still crying in the room. He grunted a little, annoyed as he looked back to you. “Bring her here.”

“You’re funny.”

“Not joking.”

“Simon, you’re still bloody.” You pointed towards his hand, his shirt, the side of his cheek.

He gave you a piercing stare, voice low. “She knows I’m here. If she hasn’t stopped her cryin’ yet, she’s not going to. Give her to me.”

You stared back at your husband, hand rubbing on his thigh before you plucked the bottle of whiskey from his grasp. You turned towards the bedroom, calling for Johnny. He instantly appeared, holding a clearly upset and wiggling baby. Her little head shaking back and forth, tears and snot running down her chunky face as she looked at you.

Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed, moving Claire up his chest a little. “Everything a’right?”

“He wants her.” You nodded towards Simon.

Johnny chuckled dryly. “Like that? Nae.” Both of you looked down to Claire, whose hands were out in the direction of Simon, grabbing the air towards him as she cried. “…Fine. If ye pass out and drop ‘er-“

Simon groaned, one hand held out to grab Claire. “I’m not going to drop her.” Johnny gave him a stern look, his other hand held out. “I’m on the fuckin’ couch. She’s not gonna get away from me that easy.” Johnny handed her to him, Simon instantly smiled as her little hands gripped onto his sleeves. “Are you, darling?” She sniffled, still whining and crying, yet Simon holding her seemed to calm her to an extent. He brought her head to his lips, kissing her soft skin. “You love your Papa, don’t you?”

[seeingivy]

how to fight 

roommate eren x f!reader 

battleships sink beneath the waste (of you and eren)

**read the mini series masterlist here 

content warning: baby (LOL), porco + pieck softness, porco x y/n family feud, someone calls hitch a snitch, fight between u and eren :( 

an: sorry for da holdup. I was trying to map out how I want the rest of the things to go before I write the rest of the chapters but I think i’ve got most of it down. fun things in store :D and for the anons who are requesting scenes and dialogue for this story in the ask box....all in good time you guys. im taking very detailed notes keep it coming. 

previous part linked here

- 

You lean over, pressing your fingers against the side of Ethan’s cheek, his breath ghosting against your hand. You swear he gets bigger every time you see him, his tiny hands huge compared to when you saw him last. Therapy is expensive, your best friend's newborn baby is free. 

Porco’s big eyes, Pieck’s soft nose - the perfect mix of the two people you love the most. Something about him - his life being confined to Porco, Pieck, and occasionally you and Gabi- was soothing. He doesn’t have to worry about these things - about your friends ditching you, having a crush on your roommate, who is dating a girl you can’t help but hate. 

You hear Ethan’s breathing hitch in his sleep, the thought leaving your mind, as he turns over on his side to face you. His fingers are clutched around yours, his hold soft. You silently wonder what else he’ll inherit from them. Pieck’s smile, Porco’s ashy blonde hair, the distinct Galliard dimples. 

“Why are you staring at my kid like that?” 

You turn to find Porco glaring at you, his permanent ever annoyed look pressed on his face. He’s going to get wrinkles by the time he’s thirty. 

“Praying he doesn’t get your receding hairline, Galliard.” you whisper, your hand moving back to Ethan’s little tuft of hair. 

“I get you’re having some whole crisis thing but do you have to take it out on me? You’re freeloading in my house right now.”

At the sound of Porco’s voice, significantly louder than your quiet whispers, Ethan eyes immediately flutter open, his tiny little cries filling up the space of the room. 

“Good job, Pock. Now he’s crying.” 

“Shut up.” 

Porco rolls his eyes at you, reaching to take Ethan from the crib. He’s lifted him up, whispering soft coos into his ears as Pieck rushes in the room, her fingers swiping the tears off of Ethan’s cheeks. Sparkling black hair, soft smile - the same as when you met her. 

After a few minutes, Ethan calms down, his tiny little eyes fluttering back to sleep. You take him from Porco, who begrudgingly hands him over, and set him back down in his crib. You linger for a few seconds, your face pressed against his crib as you watch his listen to his breaths, his tiny chest moving up and down with each one. You only move when you’re forced to - by Pieck linking her arm with yours, leading you downstairs. 

“Who woke him up?” 

“Twerp.” 

“Pock.” 

You both turn to glare at each other, as Pieck hands you the plates to set at the table. You and Porco move around each other, shoving each other each time you pass by.  

“He’s trying to kick me out. After I so graciously dropped everything to come spend time with you guys. Babysat your kid for free.” 

“He’s your godson. You should have come sooner. And stop using my kid to run away from your problems, Y/N.” 

Three days ago, Eren told you that he thought the two of you were a mistake. That he was dating the girl who in all senses of the word was everything you weren’t and he had been. Off and on, for a while. Screw you for wanting to get away from that, be surrounded by two people who actually wanted you around.

You couldn’t face Eren. You couldn’t handle him making you breakfast in the morning, listening to the music you liked, brushing his hand against yours when he walked past you. So you decided you weren’t going to. Not until you had to. 

So you picked up your keys and drove two hours to Marley, to visit Porco and Pieck. And their five month old son, Ethan. Your godson. 

“Leave her alone, Porco.” 

Pieck squeezes your shoulder as the three of you settle into the table to eat. You can feel the tears rising to your eyes, the thought of returning and leaving the little bubble you were in for the past few days, to find Hitch and Eren in your apartment. 

“I just wanted to see you guys. You always made me feel better. Ethan too.” 

You look up to find Porco looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. Somehow his annoyed face is better than this. 

“Hey. Want me to beat him up, twerp?” 

“You can’t hit a girl, Porco.”

“Clean out your earwax. I meant your roommate, but I can get Snitch if you want too. Pieck’s got real bony knuckles, I’m sure it would hurt.” 

“It’s Hitch, honey.” 

“Same thing. Who names their kid a verb?” 

“Pock, a lot of names are verbs. Like Bob or Sue.” 

“Being a smartass isn’t a good look on you babe.” 

You press the back of your hands against your cheek, wiping your tears off, as you laugh at Pieck and Porco’s bantering. You don’t miss the way Porco tangles his hand into hers, Porco raising Pieck’s hand to press a kiss to it to shut her up. You remember the first time he did it, on that stupid bench you met them on years ago. 

Pieck moved into the house across from you, when you were in the third grade. She was four years your senior, a very cool seventh grader. You distinctly remember her marching over to your yard, big black combat boots, right to where you were playing with Gabi. 

You saw her the next day at school, her ankles tangled over each other as she sat alone on the bench outside your classroom. Alone. You walked over, pushing yourself into the seat next to hers.

“Hi Pieck.” 

“Hey kid. Enjoying recess?” 

You nodded, playing with the ends of your hair as she looked down at you. Some part of her was always intimidating. Like she was ice cold. But the way she smiled was soft, the lines by her eyes spreading when she did. Contradicting, in every sense of the matter. 

“Yeah. Did you make any friends yet?” 

“Just one. His name’s Porco.” 

“Don’t you want more?” 

“Not really. He’s all I need. Him and you, of course.” 

You remember your heart swelling in your chest - the thought of a seventh grader, big and mighty, wanting to be friends with you. The two of you sat in silence, swinging the ends of your legs on the bench. 

You had always appreciated that about Pieck, even at eight years old - that the two of you could sit in the quiet, without having to say anything. Porco idled by a few minutes later, taking the seat directly next to Pieck. 

“Who’s the twerp?” 

“My friend, Porco. This is Y/N.” 

He nods, wordlessly splitting the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had in half and handing one piece of it to Pieck. You never understood it, the gesture. Or when they started dating. You just remember one day, their hands were pressed together on the bench. They never let go after that. 

You’ve tried to make sense of it. At their wedding, right before Pieck walked down the aisle, you turned to Porco and asked him why he gave her half of his sandwich, sat with her on the bench, pressed his hand against hers. You figured he’d say something cheesy you can tell his ugly kids. 

“I just felt like I knew her forever. I saw her on the field, staring at the sky, and just wanted to be near her.” 

You still didn’t understand, but you nodded, turning your head back down the aisle that Pieck was going to walk down in a few seconds. 

“Don’t settle till you find that guy.” 

“Which one, Pock?” 

“The one who knows the second he meets you.” 

“You’re corny. I hope your vows are better than this.” 

And they were. You feel Pieck reach over the table, crushing your knuckles in her hand. You look up at the two of them, at the soft little life they live. Sweet tea in the summer, hands pressed together, no other people involved. Except for you, of course. 

“I’ll leave after dinner, guys. I should go back anyway. But I might come back the second I see him.” 

“I’ll leave the door open, kid.” 

“Thanks Pock.” 

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes, again, this time falling down your cheeks. The two of them get up from their chairs, their arms around yours.  You squeeze their arms, focusing on this sensation as you brace yourself for your return home. 

Therapy’s expensive, but violent threats and your best friends are free. 

- 

You jam your door into the key, making it back to Shiganshina a little close to midnight. You thank your stars for Eren’s soccer practices being early in the morning, which virtually guarantees he’ll already be fast asleep in his room. 

You swing the door open, flicking on the hallway light as you silently move around. You find that the apartment is slightly messier than usual, Eren’s things strewn all across the room. You leave for three days and he thinks he owns the place. 

As you move to put the dirty dishes in the sink, you hear Eren’s door swing open immediately, cursing yourself for choosing the loudest chore to complete. You should have just put his hoodies in the laundry or something. 

“Y/N?” 

His voice is hoarse, like he’s struggling to get the words out. You look up and find him inches away from you, his arms pressed into the chair. His green eyes are marked by a rim of pink, his shoulders slumped over. 

“Hey Eren.” 

He leans over, pressing his forehead against your shoulder and squeezing. His eyes are still half closed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. You can smell his minty soap wafting off of him and lean back against the counter to distance yourself from it. 

“Am I imagining you or are you really here?” 

“Really here, Eren.” 

You feel his hands tense on your shoulders, his fingers lightly pushing into your skin. 

“I haven’t seen you in three days.” 

“I went to see Porco and Pieck for the weekend.” 

“It’s Tuesday. You could have at least let me know before you left.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, still rinsing the dishes in the sink. You try to focus on the sensation, the warm water splashing against your wrists and the cold plates against your hands. You try to ignore his words, each one leaving stinging, burning, agony in your chest. You’d run back to Porco and Pieck’s now if he wasn’t standing right there. Even the smell of him is petrifying. 

You feel him forehead get heavier on your shoulder, pushing farther into you. 

“I was worried about you.” 

Screw him. Screw him, his stupid words, his sweet smell, and his sad little face for making you feel this way. For wanting to reach forward and press yourself against him till he felt better. For him to wrap his arms around you, press featherlike kisses to your cheeks until you felt better too. You shrug him off, the movement making him stand up straight. 

“Sorry Eren.” 

“It’s okay. You wake up Porco and Pieck with your morning concert while you were there?” 

You clench the plate pressed in your hands so hard it shatters, the glass spreading across the length sink. 

“Screw you, Eren.”

“What?” 

“I’m so sick of you making fun of me all the time. If something I do annoys you, you should just tell me instead of making passive aggressive comments.” 

You watch the confusion spread across his face, as he leans over to take your hands out of your sink, where the shards were still lying against the drain. You pull your hands back, pressing them into your sides as you can feel your searing growing in your chest - in anger, irritation, hurt.

“Hey, what happened? You could never annoy me, peaches. I was just teasing you.” 

You shake your head, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. No. You were not going to cry in front of him. 

“Hey, hey. Talk to me. What happened?”

“You happened. I’m not something for you to laugh at Eren. I have feelings too, you know?” 

You push past him, swiping your things off the counter, and slamming your door shut behind you. You feel bad about it, leaving him there when he was just trying to comfort you. But that’s just the thing. The hand that burned you can’t make it better, can it?

- 

next part linked here

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[obxologies]

𝘓𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘏𝘢𝘻𝘦  𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

warnings: making out in public

requested?: no

author's note: first fic of the midnights series! look out for voting for maroon later tonight!

y/n stood in front of Drew with her arms wrapped around his torso, her head resting on his chest as he swayed them back and forth to the music the band was playing on stage.

The band slowed to a stop and the festival grew quiet for a moment with the exception of a few excited fans at the front.

y/n cringed when she began to hear the voices of people around them, the couples names slipping past their lips as they snapped photos and videos. She sighed praying the music would just start again so she wouldn't have to hear their failed whispers anymore.

Drew brought his hand up to gently hold the back of her head. He leaned down placing a kiss to her hairline, silently telling her it was okay.

She closed her eyes as the band started the next song. The voices behind them faded into the music. She hugged onto Drew tighter and he did the same.

Everything around the two of them almost seemed to start to disappear. In that moment, they were the only two in that field that mattered. They each stood wrapped in the arms of the one they loved the most, the music blocked out anything bad that could ruin their lavender haze.

y/n slowly traced little hearts on Drew's back. The action making him smile down at her. He admired the peaceful look on her face that she deserved so much. It warmed his heart finally seeing her not care about the people around them and what they would say.

"You look so beautiful, baby." Drew said in her ear. "So calm and relaxed."

"It's cause I'm with you." y/n said almost so softly that if he hadn't been leaving down he wouldn't have heard her.

Drew gently cupped her cheek guiding her face to his. He placed a kiss on each of her cheeks then her forehead. He paused looking down at her lips. He looked back to her eyes silently asking for permission. y/n nodded before pulling him into her and connecting his lips to hers. Her hands locked around his neck and his slide down to hips.

y/n felt a small feeling of worry in her stomach suddenly remembering the people surrounding them, but she pushed it out of her head the second Drew's hand slipped into her back pocket and his tongued shoved its way into her mouth devouring her in a kiss. y/n's head grew fuzzy and she felt a little dizzy making her hold on tighter to Drew.

They slowly pulled away resting their foreheads together. Their bodies stayed pressed against each other as close as possible. y/n pulled back and turned her head slightly to scan around them, but Drew grabbed her face softly and turned her head back towards him he lightly shook his head before kissing her forehead.

"Stay with me, baby." Drew said. "Just you and me."

[somethingsomethingwords]

Hello hello hello!!! This was born because I needed more Nando being besotted and Lance getting some deserved rest, no other reasons. Thank you for reading. Enjoy 💜.

Fernando was starting to feel some not so vague sense of annoyance at himself.

He and Lance were supposed to go on a date, the first one in a while, because their lives were chaotic and busy as hell.

They were both in Canada, Lance staying home, relaxing after a rough start of the season and some previous commitments, while Fernando was there for some sponsor event that absolutely required his presence, not at all having begged for something to do in Canada, granting him an excuse to be near the other man.

But he must have prayed a little too hard, because not only the event had run later than programmed, but it was followed by a long wait in the car due to the heavy traffic.

While he was sitting in the car, he started making a mental list of all the things he would have to do to make it up to Lance.

The young man had been so happy about finally having some time off together. Despite being visibly tired, he had made some plans, and the promise of more to come once they were back home.

It was strange to think about a manor in a forest as a home for Fernando, but it wasn't home, not really, just like his own house in Monaco wasn't. It was Lance that made every single building that they were in a home.

Love-safety-protection.

But right now, he had to think on how to apologise, because Lance must have been mad as hell.

Usually, when Fernando was late, Lance would write him a text every 10 minutes until he arrived. It was his way of annoying him and still making sure he knew he cared.

Now, it had been radio silence the whole evening. He prayed Lance would let him in, even if just to take a change of clothes.

When he finally arrived, he parked the car and went to the front door.

It was strange, because it was getting dark, but he couldn't see any of the lights on.

He started feeling worried. What if Lance was so mad he left? What if he fell and knocked himself out?

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

First things first, he turned on the lights, and he was going to scream Lance's name, when he finally saw the Canadian.

He was lying on his very comfy sofa, asleep and without his shirt on, because on his chest was napping a peaceful looking blonde baby, thumb in her mouth, wrapped in a blanket, that he recognised as Lance's favourite, and protected by Lance's arm around her. Her cheek rested on his naked skin, seeking his warmth and lulled by his heart beat.

Oh.

Oh.

This tender moment, the softness of niece and uncle bundled together and asleep in the safety of a house Lance promptly opened to Fernando, it was getting to him.

He could almost see Lance with another baby, their hair brown as their eyes, grins mischievous and big smiles, crawling slowly on this same parquet, then running on some sandy beach, speaking fast English then Spanish then French then Italian, their pale skin easily turned red by the sun.

He could see them starting karting, or playing hockey, or maybe wanting nothing to do with sports.

He could see them graduating, moving out, having a family of their own, while he and Lance grew old and grey, happy and satisfied and together.

Together. It seemed impossible, but maybe it wasn't, after all.

The thoughts of a home somewhere quiet, a ring and a child filled his mind, and he softly smiled at a future now lying sleeping on a couch.

At that exact moment, the baby girl started waking up, moving her little arms and softly whining.

He could see Lance starting to wake up as well and decided to intervene. He smiled at the baby, picking her up and gently rocking her. He bent over his lover, and left a kiss in his hairline.

"Keep sleeping cariño, I got her" he whispered, melting at the sight of Lance relaxing once more and mumbling something along the lines of "safe with you".

He rose up and walked to the kitchen. There was already a bag for the baby full of clothes and diapers and baby bottles.

"Are you hungry, mi amor, or you didn't agree with waking up, uh? Your uncle is the same, don't worry" he said, while waiting to understand what she needed: that was pretty clear when she put her whole fist in her mouth.

"Hungry it is. Just give me five minutes, and don't eat your hand" he laughed softly, before sitting her on the high chair Lance had stressed over while buying.

He quickly heated up the milk, making sure it wasn't too hot before feeding it to the girl.  She hungrily took it, and made her way through it, almost finishing it all, before pulling away.

Fernando took her up, and started walking, gently tapping her back until she burped. He then cleaned her up, and returned to the living room.

The moment her eyes were on Lance, the baby tried to reach for him.

Fernando giggled and re-wrapped her in the blanket, depositing her once again on his chest.

Instinctively, Lance put his arm around the baby, and their breaths soon synchronised.

Fernando was left once again the only one awake. He decided to wait for Lance to wake up, sitting on the armchair near his head, just at touching distance. He started passing his hand through the younger man's hair, and was rewarded by a deep sigh of happiness.

Date night could wait, when they had a baby to take care of and some well deserved rest to look forward to.

[xhoneygirlxx]

Still Adore You (With Your Hand Around My Neck)

Epilogue: Destroy Myself

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: this is the beginning of the end. the start of a chaotic relationship you just can't seem to leave.

warnings: Eddie and Reader are in their 20s. Modern Au! kind of mean Eddie. rated R for smut, 18+ only Minors DNI!! unprotected p in v. cream pie. swearing. shitty writing and grammar errors.

*if i miss anything let me know*

a/n: hello my loves! this is part one to my still adore you series! i hope you guys like it as much as i do. thank you all for the love and support you've given me, i love you all so much <3

Also if you are an ageless/faceless blog you will be blocked. please have something on your profile so I know you are not a minor and are not a bot.

series masterlist

I pray my salvation makes it to the pearly gates,

Bring the suffering that I face,

All the things that I face,

Destroy myself just to wait for you.

When God created the Earth, he picked two of his children to live amongst the paradise he built to be our parents - Adam and Eve. The Garden of Eden was beautiful, a place like no other. The only rule that God gave was for them to not eat from the one tree, the tree of knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil.

They had plenty of other trees to eat from, other fruits to feast on, but when the serpent came speaking words of temptation, Eve gave into him and took a bite from the forbidden fruit, Adam would soon follow after her.

Because of the rule was broken and they went against God, they were banished forever and were cursed with the pain of mortality. Their children and their children's children would face pain and sorrow, hurt and sickness, and ultimately death.

Like Eve, you gave into temptation as well, the warnings you received and how you ignored them all for the name of love. From the very first time you met Eddie Munson warning signs flashed, blinding you with the bright lights. Caution tape blocked you from crossing that line but you inevitably ignored it, ducting under it and continuing on your way.

You walked straight into the line of fire for the promise of nirvana, for just a taste of the sweetness of his love. For the longest time you thought Eve was stupid for falling for the devil's tricks but when he came to you with the prettiest brown eyes and lips that you wanted to kiss for hours, you finally understood.

Dying by the hands of the man that you love is probably the worst death. His strong grip squeezing the air out of you so slowly, smiling at you as he did it felt like torture, but what a way to go. You'd still adore Eddie with his hand wrapped around your neck, with his heavy palm crushing your windpipe, and you'd die so full of love.

The night breeze cools the heat of your skin, hitting your sweat soaked hairline and creating chills that ran up the skin of your arm. The night was still young as they say, the party inside still going in full force. Sweat bodies and clouds of smoke filled every room, creating a sort of heat that quickly became too unbearable.

Quickly finding refuge in crackling embers of the firepit. Unknown people and nameless faces fill the chairs around you, mingling with one another. Despite the happy nature and good vibe of the atmosphere around you, you sit with a permanent frown. Pissed isn't even the word you'd want to use for how you feel at the moment.

Furious, enrage, even spitting angry would be a better description for how you felt towards your friends right now. A random house party in a random place was not how you wanted to spend your Friday night, but then Annika and Nikki looked at you with their big pleading eyes and the end was history.

"We'll stick next to you the whole time," they said, "We promise we won't leave."

Only an hour in and their promise was nothing but a lie, leaving you the minute you stepped through the threshold shouting that they'd return shortly. You didn't expect any less honestly, Annika only wanted to come here for the possibility of hooking up and Nikki was more interested in the arrival of her possible new girlfriend Val.

You always found something to do whether it was people watching or drinking until your vision began to blur. Tonight was different however, being the designated driver you were banned from drinking any alcohol and people watching was only fun for the first forty five hours.

Now you sit playing on your phone, scrolling through every app on your phone until your friends finally arrived. You continue to look at the bright screen in your hands reading through old notes that you had yet to delete, too engrossed by the amount of grocery lists to realize that half of the group left the circle.

"You know this is a party, right?" A gruff voice asks.

Lifting your head slightly, you look up from under your eyelashes to the man across from you, scowl written on your lips. The orange glow highlights him in the best of ways, making him even more alluring.

Brown curls fall from the the bun that sits on top of his head, framing his face so beautifully. His lips pull into a smirk, making the deep crevice of his dimples pop out. Big doe eyes sparkle at you, glimmering in the heat of the flames.

His outfit is basic, a band tee with a faded logo, showing off how well loved it was. The holes in his black skinny jeans show off the tiniest hint of black ink that hides beneath the fabric. The fire and moon fight over the rings that sit on his hands, both going back and forth on which one glints in the silver. A loose cigarette sits tucked behind his ear and a sweating bottle of beer rests in his strong hands.

He's captivating, alluring you like the serpent did Eve. You don't engage, promptly scoffing and then rolling your eyes back down to your phone.

"You know my uncle always said if you roll them hard enough, they'll get stuck."

You hear it before you see it, the grin that sits on his face. It adds gasoline to the already burning inferno that rests inside of you adding turbulence, causing roaring flames.

"Good, hope they do." It's bitchy, ice cold like a winter's breeze. Instead of hurling an insult that you, he laughs. A true genuine laugh that you'd compliment if it weren't for the anger pumping through you.

Shutting your phone off, you drop it into your lap and cross your arms over your chest. Sighing loudly, you look at the curly haired man across from you unimpressed, eyebrow arching sharply.

He takes your challenge of a stare down, watching you over the glass of his beer bottle as he puts it to his lips taking a swig. His gaze in unfaltering but yours isn't. It's not your fault though, not when his neck looks so delicious as he swallows every last drop.

Removing the bottle from his mouth, he catches you eyeing the plump of his lips. Even though you've been caught, your stare doesn't waver, only moving the line of your sight back up to his eyes.

"Ya know, it's not really nice to be mean to your friend." His statement causes another eye roll from you, another loud scoff pulling from your throat.

"You're not my friend," Your words swim with annoyance and it only fuels the man in front of you even more.

Gasping loudly, a ringed hand clutches his chest as if he'd been insulted to the fullest. "I'm not you're friend? I thought the warmth of the fire cemented our relationship."

He curls his lips inwards, biting back a laugh that threatens to sneak it's way out. You're not any better, your bottom lip stinging with the pressure of your teeth that sink into it.

Silences covers the two of you, begging for one of you to break first. Although you put up the toughest of fights, you're the first to lose, a small giggle escaping the lock on your lips. The man isn't far behind you, snorting loudly into the quiet night air.

"First of all, I don't even know your name." You counter, mentally berating yourself for letting a laugh squeak out.

"Oh, you need my name?" He asks, eyebrows raising curiously.

Your eyes squint at the absurdness of his question, "Yeah, that's how making friends works, genius."

Batting his eyelashes, he waves a hand at you in flattery. "I love it when you call me sweet names."

His voice is flirty teasing you to the fullest and if you don't do something fast you're going to melt, and not because the heat of the flames.

"That's my cue to leave." Pushing yourself halfway up from the chair, you're immediately stopped by his arm waving you to stop.

"No, no I quit, I promise." It's said between breathless laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he does.

Smirking ever so slightly, you bask in the sound of his voice. Sitting down slowly, you sigh as if you'd rather not be here regardless of the growing smile tugging at your lips.

Once sat back in your seat, you wait with a tapping foot and crossed arms, trying your hardest to look annoyed. He looks at you smugly, like he's enjoying the little performance you put on.

"If I tell you my name, you gotta tell me yours." He demands, you don't respond just pulling your hand out to inspect the acrylics that rest on your hand.

"I'm Eddie." He beams at you, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip.

You purse your lips, looking him up and down as if you're bored. When you give him your name, he nods slowly and repeats it like it's the prettiest thing he's heard.

"Well there you go, now we're friends." The depth of his voice makes the beat of your heart skip, cheeks burning the more you get flustered.

Shaking it off, you give him a look that the kind that reads "really?", and he only answers by returning a look that says "of course". Sucking your teeth, you look down at the blue fabric of your jeans.

"We can't be friends if we don't even hang out." It's shy, your confidence subsiding harshly under the heat of his eyes.

Now he scoffs, shaking his head back and forth causing the loose curls to move with him. "Don't do me like that, Pookie. Just gimme your number and I'll hang out any time your little heart desires."

"You did not just call me fucking Pookie." You laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach.

You don't see him but Eddie just looks at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, adoration swimming in the dark color of his eyes.

When your laughter ceases and you fall back into your normal position, you open your eyes to see him looking at you. For the first time in your life you finally see what it's like to be looked at as if you hung the stars in their place. It feels good, heart racing and air catching in the back of your throat.

Blinking out of your trance, you nod shakily. "Umm, you said something about my ugh number?"

Eddie reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone and tapping in the code to unlock it. Handing it over to you wordlessly, it's already open to the new contact screen where you punch in the ten digit number. You ponder for a moment before typing in a name, flicking back and forth between the options you have, until you ultimately adding it under your given nickname with a black heart.

Handing it back to him, he looks at it smirking and then puts it back into its rightful home of his pocket. Opening his mouth to say something Eddie is interrupted with the sound of the backdoor opening and the rush of the music inside pouring from the doorway.

"Hey, we've been looking for you!" Annika shouts, stumbling towards you on unsteady feet.

Looking at the clearly tipsy girl, you turn back around to see give a sympathetic look to Eddie, quietly apologizing for your drunken friend.

"I guess that's my que to go." You shrug, moving from your spot on the chair.

Eddie only looks at you tenderly, dimples on full display for you. "Go ahead, Pookie. I'll see you later."

Sending you off with a wink, you walk away from the sanctuary you found. Walking over to your friend, you can't help but look back at the pretty boy you met finding him already smiling back at you.

Threading your arm in your friend's, you allow her to put her weight onto you so she doesn't fall. Unfocused eyes scan to where you keep looking, squinting to find the person.

"Who's that?" She keeps squinting, trying hard to see the man's features.

When her eyes seem to make out what she looks like, she perks up with a dopey smile. "Oh my fucking gawd, he's hot."

Saying it a little too loudly, you instantly clap your hand over her mouth and look back to make sure Eddie hasn't heard. You find him shaking his head, shoulders shaking with a clear laugh as he lights the cigarette that hangs between his teeth.

"Hope you got his number, would be a shot missed if you didn't." She chastises once you remove your palm from her lips. You sigh loudly and pull her along and make your way into the house.

Eddie kept his promise, using all his free time over the summer to see you. It started off innocently enough, late night drives down to the lake, midafternoon hangouts in the Dairy Queen parking lot where you’d sit in the bed of his beat up truck, and hanging out in his apartment watching him play video games.

Friends, that’s all it was in the beginning. Two people opening up to one another, bonding over their shitty childhoods and laughing at jokes that no one else ever understood.

As the heat of the roaring sun became more intense, so did the relationship between the two of you. Touches became lingering like the tickle of the tall overgrown grass by the lake. Kisses were light and airy, reminiscent of the lightning bugs that flew around in the dark summer sky. Eddie’s scent lingered with you even after you’d gone home, similar to sunscreen.

Tangled sheets and messy hair, flustered cheeks and dopey smiles. The two of you shined so bright even the stars that hung from the dark blue night were jealous.

But when the sunsets came sooner and sooner, so did the end of your fairytale. Calls became unanswered, hangouts were no more, and hand holding became totally off limits. What was once warm and sickly sweet smiles, was now cold shoulders and icy attitudes.

You felt stupid, falling for someone that wasn’t even yours. Giving Eddie your heart on a platter when he never even asked. When this all started you knew what it was, signing your soul over to the devil using your blood as ink.

The risks were in plain sight, the rules agreed on with the locking of pinkies, and yet you still broke them. Eddie told you over and over again this wasn’t anything other than some fun, a way to pass the boring summer days faster.

And although it hurt, you still plunged the sword deeper and deeper. What is love without some loss?

The mahogany teakwood candles that burns on the top of your dresser does nothing to get rid of the smell that you and Eddie have created. Notes of dark oat and frosted lavender are being drowned out by sweat and sex.

Cotton sheets soak up the perpetration, the outline of his body imprinted to remind you that he was once there, the only lingering memory of him when he inevitably leaves. Cheeks flushed with red, screaming claw marks on alabaster skin, and bruises in the shape of teeth.

"Fuck, squeezin' me s'good, baby." Eddie's all gritted teeth and panting breath as he wiggles around underneath you.

The ache in your knees is no match for the burn you feel in the pit of your stomach, your hole clenching around the thickness of his cock. Switching between bouncing and rocking your hips, you're hurdling closer and closer to the edge.

Sentences aren't even forming in your brain, only random blabbering falls from your lips in loud whines with the way he punches into your cervix.

"S'good, shit you feel so good." It comes out like a sob, ripped right out from the depths of your soul.

Big strong hands grip at the plush of your hips, finger prints threatening to leave a mark for the next day. A wicked grin forms on red kiss bitten lips, basking in the glory of you crumbling on top of him.

"Yeah? Is it good, princess?" Arrogant and cocky, two traits that only he can pull off without it being a turn off.

Your head wildly bobs, drool escaping from your parted lips. "Uh huh," the only real response you can give him in this very moment and it's all he needs to know he's fucked you dumb beyond repair.

Bending his knees, Eddie starts to fuck up into you with unwavering force. The thatch of course hair that sits at the base of his cock catches deliciously on your swollen and neglected clit, resulting in harsh mewl.

With your own eyes screwed shut you don't see that his have rolled into the back of his head, jaw unhinged with the pleasure of you clasping around him tightly. Regardless of his own peak nearing, Eddie continues to keep up with his facade, making sure you finish way before he does.

"I'm so deep huh? S'deep, shit- so deep in this tight f-uhh, fucking cunt." Teeth bite down on the fat of his bottom lip, holding the whimpers from escaping from his mouth.

The speed of his movements, the loud squelch of your juices, and the intensity of him hitting into your g-spot is enough to make your head dizzy. He's everywhere, his touch, his scent, his voice. He's everywhere, all around you and you don't think that anything else in the world could create the same euphoric feeling he does.

"M'gonna-, ah I'm gonna cum." The end is closing in on you, the wave of ecstasy crashing into the shore. Although it feels so good crossing the finish line, you know when it's over he'll be gone all too soon.

"Me too, sweetheart. Motherfuck-, cum for me." The act that he had put on has finally faltered, cracking right at the seams.

That does it, pushes you right off the edge into the blissful waters of your high. Your already weakening knees have now failed you, letting you drop onto the slick soaked skin of Eddie's tattooed chest.

The two of you continue to whimper and moan as your highs ripple through you. Both of you create lightning, a pair of super bolts roar in the middle of your quiet bedroom. In the heat of your bliss, you're completely ignorant to the consequences of such strong power being created. No matter what the outcome is, at least it was beautiful and for the smallest of moments, it was real.

After the glory has finally wore off you remove yourself from him, letting out a strong hiss when the feeling of him is completely out of you. Letting your body fall to the plushness of your mattress, you allow yourself to cycle through the memory of it all.

Naked chests heave, a silence pulling over both of you like a heavy quilt in the winter. It's comfortable like this, the heat radiating off of your skin mixes with Eddie's, the pumping of hearts syncing into the same rhythm pattern.

While your body settles into the softness of your bed, Eddie's is quick to jump up from his spot with a loud grunt. Fresh red marks flash at you, decorating the smooth skin of his back along with the pretty freckles you used to trace with the soft flesh of your finger tips.

As he sits on the side of your bed catching his breath, you wonder if he misses the feeling of your touch the way you miss his skin. You wonder if he misses the intensity of your body next to his, arms and legs tangled together buried underneath the shelter of his comforter. You wonder if his bed misses the shape of your body the way yours misses his.

The springs of your mattress groan when the weight of his body leaves and for a moment you feel the same way. Footsteps are muted by the fibers of your carpeting. You watch from your spot as Eddie grabs a tissue from your vanity, wiping himself free of any evidence of you and then disposing it into the garbage can with a careless toss.

Muscles flex as he begins to redress himself, hiding the masterpiece that you left on his skin. You hope that they sting when he's under the heated water of his shower, a pang that will go away within a few days while the pang of your hurt will last a lifetime.

His messy curls pull from the neck of his shirt, shaking with the motions of his head trying to get rid of the unruly hair that masks his vision. From the singular foot away that the two of you stand, you pray that he won't leave, that this isn't the end.

"Do you wanna stay? W-we could watch a movie or something." Behind the sincerity of your voice is a girl that mourns the loss of her once best friend, begging him to remember what the two of you had in the beginning.

The clang of his belt ricochets through the room, an uncomfortable hallow sound that you wish to forget. Spinning on the socked heel of his foot, he gives you a blank face. One so devoid of emotion, cold and vacant.

"Don't start doin' this, Pookie. You already know what this is." A clear warning given with a strict tone.

The nickname that used to cause butterflies only brings mountains of sadness. It used to have meaning, a funny inside joke between the two of you now dwindled down to the name of a place holder.

"I just thought-" Going unfinished by the sound of Eddie's deep sigh.

"Not tonight, kay?" He says as nicely enough to placate you and even though you know nothing will come from it, you're still full of hope.

Bending down, he begins to slide his feet into his shoes, the same one's you gifted to him only so many months ago. Watching him tie the browning shoelaces of his vans, you wonder if he remembers the way you smiled while handing him the box, or how he felt when you said you got them just because.

It tugs at your already bandaged heart, the sticky adhesive of band aids doing their absolute best to keep the muscle intact. The rattle of the remaining broken pieces rattle in your ears, muffling everything else around you.

The lanky man stands to full height, grabbing his beloved leather jacket from your floor where it was left in the tornado of excitement. Rounding the end of your bed he makes his way to you, standing over your still naked body.

Bending at the waist, Eddie places a wet kiss on your forehead and pulls away with charming smile.

"I'll text you, pook."

You nod at his words, gripping on tightly to the faith that this whole thing will work out the way you hope. Giving you a wink, Eddie quickly exists your room and just like that you crumble.

On the wet sheets of your bed you curl into yourself, naked and vulnerable in more ways than one. Tears leak from your eyes and sobs rip from the depths of your stomach. It hurts watching him walk out because you never know when it'll be the last time.

You try to think back to when everything changed, where it all went wrong. All of the flashbacks and memories flood your brain, a film wheel of all the happy moments. More tears flow, a nonstop river of all the heartache.

You miss him, what your friendship used to be. At this point you don't even care if he loves you the way you love him, you just want him to care for you like he did all those months ago.

You wish you could go back to that warm summer day where you handed over your heart and let him carve his name in it, so that no matter what you did you'd belong to him for the rest of your days.

thank you all for reading!! i hope you guys like part one :)

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[thwispsings]

Can i get some demon trio bonding pls?

Sha Hualing is the worst possible person to ever go drinking with. Mobei-jun will simply sulk in a corner and sip his wine like an ice statue that wished to be a real boy and make you feel somehow inadequate to even be in his company, Sha Hualing on the other hand will start a tavern brawl and only be satisfied once she’s sure she’s spilled blood from at least three people.

“Why are you like this?” Binghe begs her after they’re kicked from the third tavern this week, she’s cackling like a mad witch, not an ounce of concern for her -admittedly, very flimsy- human disguise, he prays no one associates him with the new prestigious guest of Huan Hua Palace and goes babbling to the old palace master, heavens know Binghe does not want that old geezer coming around to act all paternal around him again.

“Because it’s fun, Xiao He! You should do it too, it would loosen you up a bit maybe,” she tells him, pinching one of his cheeks with her sharp rouge stained claws, he whines “Ancestors know it would loosen up that one.” She gestures rudely to Mobei-jun, who just stands there looking serious as usual.

“Is his face stuck like that or does he have another even bitchier expression somewhere deep inside of him?” Binghe asks her in a very serious voice and Sha Hualing chortles like a piglet.

“Oh not, you should see him with his mousy little human, he gets so soft it’s unbearable to watch, like snow melting in the sun, blegh” Sha Hualing tells him, still giggling, draping herself over his shoulders like a warm and jingly scarf. 

“Shang-shishu!?” Binghe exclaims, eyebrows climbing up to his hairline, his expression growing even slacker with surprise at the flush that appears over Mobei-jun’s regal nose “OH YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM!”

Sha Hualing cackles loudly again, right against his ear. Mobei-jun shushes the both of them, looking around with wide eyes as if Shang-shishu would pop out of the ground and catch them in the act of making fun of Mobei-jun for wanting to put his dick in him.

“He wants to give him babies.” Sha Hualing says loudly, pretending to whisper in Binghe’s ear and this time it’s him cackling as loud as he can.

“Hualing.” Mobei-jun hisses, his tone has hardly changed but Binghe gets the impression that he’s close to tears.

“Ancestors, you want to be the peak lady of An Ding Peak.” Binghe says and he and Sha Hualing immediately crumple into giggles again, Mobei-Jun lets out a noise not unlike a tea kettle.

Binghe and Sha Hualing are both doubled over laughing, a strong wind could probably make them topple into a puddle of giggly demon right here in the middle of this town square with the ugly lion statues and crooked lanterns. Mobei-jun looks heavenward as if asking for patience.

“He wants to be Shang Qinghua’s special little demon.” Sha Hualing says, slapping Binghe while tears stream down her face from how hard she’s laughing, Binghe is already hiccuping. Mobei-jun seems to decide that enough is enough, bending down and picking both of them up one under each arm, he opens a portal to Binghe’s palace in the demon realm and steps in.

Their cackles echo loudly while Mobei-jun hunts down Binghe’s room. A few of the demon servants stop to listen and smile to themselves before continuing, for once since Tianlang-jun’s demise there’s lightness in these halls again.