#the scars and memories of the years of brewing and pressing

[mumblelard]

the french press of theseus or i woke up this morning feeling, briefly, like an old version of myself

i heard something last night that confirmed everything i thought i already knew and it still changed everything. it released a part of me that i didn't know was still bound in that way. it made everything better but also so much worse

[sxcretricciardo]

The Monster They Never Saw Coming

The paddock was unusually quiet as you sat in the corner of the Red Bull garage, helmet resting on your lap. You could hear the distant hum of engines and the chatter of engineers, but none of it really penetrated the storm brewing in your mind. It was race weekend, and you were steeling yourself for battle, but not just against the other drivers—against the weight of the past, something you carried with you to every race.

Max’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft and careful. “You alright?”

You looked up at him, his eyes filled with concern. Max Verstappen, the man the world called a monster—the driver with ice in his veins and fire in his heart. He understood. Maybe more than anyone else ever could.

“I’m fine,” you lied, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He frowned but didn’t press. He knew when to leave it, just like you did when he clammed up, the memories of his own childhood surfacing at the worst times. The two of you shared more than just a competitive spirit—you shared scars, the kind that weren’t visible but ached nonetheless.

---

You hadn’t always been the tough, unshakeable driver they knew today. Once, you’d been a little girl with dreams far too big for the small karting world you came from. Like Max, your childhood had been brutal, molded by a father who had seen potential in you and then used it as an excuse to break you down, piece by piece.

You could still remember the worst of it—the day that defined everything. It was a small karting championship, one of the many you raced in. You had been pushing yourself, heart pounding, hands aching on the steering wheel, but something was off. Maybe it was the nerves, or maybe it was the pressure of your father’s expectations. Either way, you finished second, and it wasn’t good enough. Not for him.

After the race, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His silence was louder than any insult he could’ve hurled. You followed him to the car, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for the inevitable lecture, but instead, he got in and drove off. Without you.

You had stood there for what felt like an eternity, disbelief and shame washing over you. The karting track was in the middle of nowhere, and your home? Almost 20 miles away. But you knew what this was—another one of his punishments. Another way to make you feel like you weren’t good enough.

So, you walked.

The sun had dipped low in the sky as you trudged along the side of the road, the weight of your helmet in your hands, tears you refused to let fall burning behind your eyes. You were 14. Just a kid. But there was no room for softness in your father’s world. He had one goal: to make you the best, even if it meant breaking you in the process.

By the time you made it home, feet blistered and body exhausted, the rage had taken root. Not just at him, but at yourself. You’d vowed then and there that you would never lose again. Not for him, but for you. You would be the best—untouchable, unbeatable.

They called Max the monster that Jos Verstappen created. But they hadn’t seen the monster your father had made you into.

---

As the years passed, you climbed the ranks of motorsport, from karting to single-seaters and eventually into Formula 1. You didn’t just survive; you thrived. Every race, every lap was another chance to prove that you were more than what he’d tried to make you believe. You weren’t just good—you were unstoppable. And yet, no matter how many races you won, how many records you shattered, the shadow of your past lingered.

It was during those lonely years in F2 when you first met Max. He was a rising star in F1, already turning heads with his aggressive driving style and his unrelenting determination. You’d crossed paths at a karting event, a rare break in your racing schedules. You hadn’t expected much from the interaction, but there was something about him—something familiar in the way he carried himself.

It wasn’t long before you learned why.

Max’s father had been just as brutal, just as relentless. Jos had pushed him to the edge, forced him to harden himself into the fearless competitor he was now. But while the world saw only the sharp edges, you saw the cracks, the places where the pressure had left scars.

It was strange, how quickly you two had connected. Two broken souls who understood each other in ways no one else could. You weren’t the type to let people in easily—neither was he—but somehow, it just worked. You could sit in silence, the weight of your unspoken pasts hanging between you, or you could talk for hours, venting about the fathers who had shaped you into the fighters you were.

“I’m never going to treat my kids the way he treated me,” Max had once said, the two of you lying in bed after a long day. His voice had been quiet, but there was a steel beneath the words. “I won’t do it.”

You had looked over at him, understanding completely. “Me neither. I don’t care how good he thought it made me. It’s not worth it.”

Max had turned to you then, his hand reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. “We’re not them. We’ll never be them.”

---

Now, sitting in the garage, you could feel the familiar churn of emotions bubbling to the surface. Race days always did this to you—stirred up memories you’d rather forget. But that was the price you paid for being here. You couldn’t escape the past, no matter how fast you drove.

Max crouched in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “Hey,” he said softly, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’ve got this. You always do.”

You let out a breath, nodding. “I know.”

But he wasn’t convinced. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, you hesitated, but then the words tumbled out. “I was just thinking about… him. My dad.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He knew the stories, knew the way your father had treated you. It made him angry, the same way it made you angry when he talked about Jos.

“He’s not here,” Max said firmly. “He doesn’t get to control you anymore.”

You nodded, knowing he was right but still feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you. Max stood, holding out his hand to you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

The two of you wandered through the paddock, the tension easing with each step. You didn’t need to say much—just being with him was enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. You had each other, and no matter what happened on the track, you knew that you were more than the monsters your fathers had tried to create.

As you approached the starting grid, Max squeezed your hand. “We’ll show them,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “We’ll show them that we’re better than they ever were.”

You nodded, the fire in your chest reigniting. “Yeah,” you agreed. “We will.”

And with that, you strapped on your helmet, climbed into your car, and prepared to unleash the beast they’d never seen coming.

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (3/3)

- Summary: Years later, Vaemond Velaryon petitions for his rightful claim to Driftmark. And a broken family must mend wounds that were inflicted long ago.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. If you want to read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: this was requested by @witch-of-letters. I hope you enjoy this conclusion to the story. 🙂

- Previous chapter: 2

- Bonus part: Lost Chapters

You sit beside Alicent in your private chambers, the golden light of the late afternoon filtering through the high windows of the Red Keep. The day had been long, burdened by the weight of ruling in your father’s stead, and yet the discussion you’re having with your wife weighs heavier still. Rhaenyra’s impending visit to King’s Landing brings back memories—some bittersweet, some festering like old wounds—and it’s all been cast into sharper focus by Corlys Velaryon’s grievous injury. Now, with Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to claim Driftmark, the political storm brewing could tear apart the fragile peace you've fought to maintain.

Alicent’s eyes are fixed on you, concern mixed with resolve in those familiar dark depths. She’s changed over the years, just as you have; she’s no longer the uncertain girl manipulated by her father, but a woman of keen insight and strength—your equal and partner in every sense.

“It’s clear why Vaemond is pressing his claim,” she says quietly, her voice laced with tension. “He isn’t wrong to seek what he believes is his by rights. Driftmark belongs to the Velaryons, and the boys… well, it’s plain they’re not Laenor’s blood.”

Your eyes snap to hers, a flicker of warning there. “You shouldn’t speak of such things aloud, Alicent. Not with the walls of the Red Keep so eager to whisper.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” she replies firmly, her gaze unyielding. “Everyone knows it, even if they pretend not to. Viserys decreed them legitimate, but we all see the truth. The danger is in the pretense, in clinging to a lie for the sake of peace. But what peace is this, really? Vaemond’s words hold merit. Driftmark’s true heirs are being passed over for a fabricated legacy.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, the air thick with unspoken tensions that have lingered since the day of Laena’s funeral. Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to that dreadful night when everything unraveled—when Aemond claimed Vhagar and lost his eye for it. The memory of his pained screams still haunts you, a knife twisting in your heart each time you recall it. He bore it bravely, far braver than you expected from a boy his age, but the scars left behind were not just physical.

You let out a weary sigh, leaning back against the cushioned seat as your gaze falls to the intricate patterns on the stone floor. “I demanded justice for Aemond,” you murmur, bitterness seeping into your tone. “Luke should’ve been punished, but Father protected Rhaenyra as he always does. Her children are his blind spot, even now. She never truly acknowledged her son’s fault, not really, and from that moment on… everything between us was strained. We’re twins, yet she became a stranger after that day.”

Alicent’s fingers brush against yours, a silent comfort in her touch. “I’ve never forgotten what happened. I never will. It’s easy for Rhaenyra to speak of unity and family, but the truth is her actions always served her ambitions. She’s isolated herself on Dragonstone with Daemon, as if that distance absolves her from the mess she’s left behind.”

Your frown deepens. You love your sister, you do—but those love-blind affections have long been clouded by bitter reality. The bond you once shared feels frayed, worn thin by years of conflict and choices that placed her interests above everything else. Her sons—Jace, Luke, and little Joffrey—hold a place in your heart, but even that affection is tainted by the lies everyone is forced to maintain. You cannot forget how easily your own pleas for justice were disregarded, how Viserys himself demanded silence when you spoke of the truth.

“Viserys is clinging to a fantasy,” you say after a moment, your voice hard. “He wants to die believing that everything he’s built will remain intact, that the realm will carry on in harmony with Rhaenyra and her children. But there’s rot beneath the surface, and the realm won’t turn a blind eye forever.”

Alicent watches you carefully, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “It’s not only you who sees it. The lords whisper, the court shifts uneasily. And now Vaemond has brought that truth into the open, no longer content to pretend. The coming days will test the loyalty of those who have only remained silent out of fear.”

A silence falls once more, only broken by the distant cries of gulls and the muffled sounds of the capital below. The sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting sundown shadows across the room, but you can’t bring yourself to end this conversation, not when it feels as though so much is at stake.

“I don’t know what Viserys will do when Rhaenyra arrives,” you admit quietly. “He’s always favored her, always turned a blind eye when it comes to her and her children. If he sides with her again, if he dismisses Vaemond… it will spark something we may not be able to contain.”

Alicent shifts closer, her hand finding yours once more. “Then we must be ready for what comes. You are Prince Regent, Y/N. You have the authority to act, to protect the realm as you see fit. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You look at her, seeing the determination in her eyes, the quiet devotion that’s never wavered. She’s your wife, the mother of your children, and the one person who has stood beside you through all of it. The bitterness that lingers between you and Rhaenyra doesn’t extend here; with Alicent, there’s no pretense, no lies hidden behind strained smiles.

As night finally creeps over the capital, the light outside fading into a deep indigo, the two of you remain locked in conversation. You speak of the future, of what may come when Rhaenyra and Daemon set foot in the Red Keep, of the lines that may be drawn in the sand.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth as the night deepens, emitting warm flickers of light across your private chambers. The weight of the day’s troubles has lessened, replaced by the comfort of Alicent’s presence. The two of you remain close, sharing lingering touches and quiet words. As you move behind her, your hands begin to wander, gliding across the soft fabric of her gown. You hold her close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath beneath your fingertips. Your lips brush against her ear as you murmur, “I think I must confess my sins before the gods, though I fear they are far too many.”

Alicent turns her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at your words. There’s a moment where she appears to take your confession seriously, but then her expression shifts, lips twitching as she fails to suppress a laugh. “That was horrible,” she chuckles, shaking her head, her laughter lightening the mood.

You grin, enjoying the way her laughter sounds, how it brightens the shadows of the evening. “Perhaps, but I’m not sure the gods would easily forgive me if they knew the true extent of my sins,” you jest, voice low and teasing as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her laughter softens into something more intimate as she turns fully toward you, her gaze lingering on your lips before she closes the distance. The kiss is slow at first, a familiar dance of lips and breath, but it quickly deepens as passion flares between you. Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer, and the world outside the chambers fades away. It’s just the two of you—no titles, no crowns, only the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

In the growing heat of the moment, clothing becomes a hindrance, something to be discarded in favor of the closeness you both crave. Your hands make quick work of her gown, letting it slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She helps you shed your attire just as quickly until bare skin meets bare skin. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before Alicent pushes you back onto the bed with a determined glint in her eye.

You watch as she climbs atop you, her every movement measured and deliberate. The sight of her like this—confident and in control—ignites something in you, a hunger that’s always been there but now roars to life. “You look like a queen,” you whisper, voice husky, your hands finding her hips as she guides you into her. “My heart, my love.”

Alicent gasps softly, closing her eyes as she sinks onto you, the slow, steady rhythm she sets sending shivers through you both. The pleasure builds gradually, each movement deliberate and teasing. You can see the mischief in her eyes as she reaches for a nearby candle, tipping it just enough to let drops of warm wax fall onto your chest. The heat is a sharp contrast against your skin, but it only spurs your desire further.

“To raise the dragon with fire,” she whispers, her voice low and filled with a playful edge as the wax continues to drip.

You chuckle darkly, gripping her hips more firmly as you thrust upward. “The dragon is already raised, my love.” Your words send a thrill through her, and the pace quickens as she moves above you, her moans mingling with your own.

The candles forgotten, they clatter to the floor as her movements become more intense, both of you teetering on the edge of release. But just as you feel yourself ready to fall over that precipice, Alicent suddenly stops, lifting herself away from you. The absence leaves you throbbing with frustration, your desire only heightened by the way she watches you, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“What are you doing?” you groan, the teasing ache almost too much to bear.

She leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that only stokes the fire in your blood. “Patience, my love,” she whispers against your lips, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. But patience has never been your strong suit, not when it comes to her.

With a growl of determination, you flip her beneath you, your body pressing hers into the soft sheets. You position her on her stomach, her back arched as you take hold of her hips and guide yourself back into her. She moans your name, the sound sending a rush of satisfaction through you as you begin to move with renewed urgency, your rhythm rough and intense, driven by the need to claim her fully.

Alicent’s fingers clutch at the sheets as each thrust draws another cry of pleasure from her lips. You lean down, your mouth brushing against her ear as you whisper praises between ragged breaths, telling her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how she belongs to you as much as you belong to her. The words seem to drive her wild, her voice trembling as she reaches for that peak again.

The pace grows frantic as you both reach the edge together, your bodies locked in perfect harmony. With one final thrust, you feel the tension snap, sending you both spiraling into a shared high that leaves you breathless, your minds lost in the euphoria of your union.

When the last waves of pleasure fade, you collapse beside her, gathering her into your arms as you both catch your breath. The night is quiet now, only the distant hum of the city outside breaking the stillness. You press a kiss to her temple, your heart still pounding in your chest.

For now, in this moment, everything else can wait.

The corridors of the Red Keep echo softly with your footfalls as you walk side by side with your eldest son, Aegon. The council meeting had been more taxing than usual, and you could see the strain in the boy’s eyes, though he hides it behind a practiced indifference. You glance at him, noting how he chews the inside of his cheek—a habit he’s never quite grown out of.

“Father, I—” Aegon starts, his voice tense, betraying the anxiety that simmers beneath his confident exterior. “I didn’t mean to sound insolent when I questioned Lord Lyman, I just—”

You stop, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You did well, Aegon,” you say, cutting through his worry. “There was no fault in what you said. You spoke with strength and clarity, and you asked the right questions. We must be clear in our decisions, especially when others are too hesitant to say what needs to be said.”

Aegon blinks, the tension easing from his brow. He nods slowly, his expression softening. “Thank you, Father.” His voice is quieter now, laced with gratitude, and as the two of you continue walking, his steps seem lighter. The bond between you is often tested by his impulsiveness and uncertainty, but moments like this remind you that beneath the bravado, Aegon seeks your approval, your guidance.

You approach the sunroom, where a midday meal awaits. The bright sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the space in warmth. Already seated are Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, each engaged in their own conversations. Helaena’s face lights up the moment she sees you, her smile wide and genuine.

“Father! I finished my collection,” she announces excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat. Her gaze sparkles with the kind of innocent joy you’ve always cherished in her.

You smile back, a rare softness in your eyes. “That’s wonderful, Helaena. I promise I’ll come by later and see it. I’m sure it’s even more impressive than the last one.”

She beams at your words, her contentment visible, before returning her focus to the small assortment of insect jars she’s arranged on the table.

Aemond and Daeron, standing nearby, approach you as well. Aemond, ever the observant one, nods in greeting. “Father, it seems preparations for tonight’s feast are nearly complete. Mother mentioned that Rhaenyra’s arrival will likely set tongues wagging.” His tone is measured, hiding a touch of wariness behind his composed demeanor.

“Let them wag,” Daeron adds with a grin, his youthful energy apparent. “We’ll hold our own, as we always do.”

You can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest at how they’ve grown—each of them distinct in temperament, but unified by the bonds of family. “We will,” you agree, placing a reassuring hand on Daeron’s shoulder.

Before the conversation can continue, the door to the sunroom opens, and Alicent steps inside. Her eyes sweep across the room before settling on you. A subtle crease forms between her brows as she notices the slight grimace on your face—a telltale sign of discomfort you’ve never been able to fully mask from her. She moves toward you, concern evident in her expression.

“Y/N, is your leg bothering you again?” she asks, her voice laced with worry. 

Before you can answer, Helaena, ever attuned to things others overlook, speaks up from her seat. “It’s the weather. The clouds are moving in. His leg hurts when the air changes like that.”

Alicent’s alarm deepens. “Should I summon Grand Maester Orwyle to examine it? Perhaps there’s something he can do.”

You shake your head, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s nothing to worry over, Alicent. Just an old pain from that fall off Dallax years ago. It comes and goes with the weather, as Helaena said. I’ll be fine.”

Though she nods, you can see that she’s not fully reassured, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent expression of her lingering concern.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door, and one of the guards steps inside, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have arrived with their children. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond are with them as well.”

A heavy sigh escapes you, the weight of the situation pressing down like an iron mantle. “Of course they have,” you mutter under your breath, straightening your posture. Turning back to Alicent, you catch her worried gaze, knowing she senses the unease that tightens in your chest. This reunion has all the makings of a volatile confrontation, and the old wounds that have never fully healed threaten to bleed anew.

“I must go and welcome them,” you say, your voice measured but weary. The obligations of duty pull you forward, even when your heart longs to stay here with your family in this fleeting moment of peace.

Alicent steps closer, her fingers brushing against your sleeve in a silent gesture of support. “We’ll be by your side.”

You nod, grateful for her presence, and glance back at your children, who watch you with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. Even now, they look to you for strength, for guidance, and you cannot fail them. Not today. Not ever.

With one last glance at the warm sunlit room—a sanctuary from the political storm outside—you prepare yourself for the inevitable tension that awaits in the great hall. The time for peace and warmth has passed; now, you must step back into the fray.

The throne room is heavy with the weight of history, the distant clang of armor and murmured whispers echoing through the vast chamber. You stand at the base of the Iron Throne, the twisted swords looming behind you like the sharp shadows of past decisions. This place has always felt suffocating—the power it represents, the burden it imposes—but today, it seems even more so. The air is filled with anticipation, with all the words left unspoken over the years, words that now hover like ghosts between you and your sister.

The grand doors creak open, and in walks Rhaenyra, flanked by Daemon and her children. The entourage is impressive in its own right. But your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s first, a mixture of affection and lingering resentment flickering in her gaze. Daemon’s expression is inscrutable as ever, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if he’s already prepared for whatever battle this day might bring.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra greets, her voice formal but laced with a warmth she struggles to fully suppress. The distance between you isn’t just measured by the steps she takes toward you but by the years of strained silences and fractured trust. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” you reply, giving her a nod. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

She glances back at her children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—who linger closer to their stepfather. It’s a small, subtle act, but one that doesn’t escape your notice. The lines have already been drawn, loyalties established, even within family. Your eyes shift momentarily to Lucerys, who shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. The memory of that night, when Aemond lost his eye, still lingers in the corners of your mind like a festering wound.

Daemon steps forward, offering you a mocking half-bow. “Prince Regent,” he drawls, the title rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement. “I trust King’s Landing hasn’t dulled your edge in all this politicking?”

“King’s Landing has taught me that sharper edges are often hidden behind polished words,” you counter, meeting his smirk with one of your own. “But some things remain constant, no matter how much time has passed.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daemon’s eyes—approval, perhaps—but he gives nothing more than a faint nod. The moment stretches as if both of you are waiting for the other to strike first, but the tension is cut by the sound of more footsteps entering the throne room.

Alicent appears, resplendent in her green gown, with Aegon and Aemond trailing just behind her. They take their places beside you, Alicent’s presence a quiet assurance amidst the charged atmosphere. Her eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s—a mixture of cordiality and something more guarded passing between them.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts back to you, her expression tight. “All this—Vaemond’s petition, this charade in court—is unnecessary. Corlys has already named Luke as his heir. This is nothing more than a farce driven by Vaemond’s ambition and desperation.”

You hold her gaze steadily, the words she speaks true, but there’s a bitterness beneath the surface that neither of you can quite hide. “Rhaenyra, you know as well as I do that perception is as powerful as truth in the eyes of the court. Vaemond’s claims are not without support among those who see blood over words. He’s leveraged the uncertainty surrounding Corlys’s health to rally those who resent the decree Viserys made years ago.”

“Resentment or ambition, it hardly matters,” Rhaenyra counters, her voice hardening. “Luke is Corlys’s chosen heir. This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to undermine our family, to sow discord in favor of personal gain.”

Before you can respond, Aemond’s cool voice cuts through the tension. “And yet, the matter has been brought before the court. The Driftwood Throne is more than just a seat; it represents the stability of our alliances and the power of the Velaryon fleet. Vaemond knows this well.”

Aegon shifts beside his brother, clearly eager to speak, but there’s an undercurrent of caution in his posture. “Let them debate the bloodlines and the claims. It’s all they seem to care about. But it’s our family’s unity that hangs in the balance.”

Alicent’s hand subtly rests on Aegon’s arm, a silent encouragement to temper his words. You can feel her worry radiating beside you, though she remains composed. “We cannot afford to be careless,” she adds, her voice steady. “The lords and ladies of the court are watching closely, each with their own interests at heart. We must tread carefully, especially with those like Vaemond, who are prepared to exploit any perceived weakness.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens only slightly, the strain of years apart visible in the lines around her eyes. “I don’t want this to tear us further apart, brother. The realm needs stability, not more division. But it feels as though every step I take, every decision I make, is met with suspicion.”

You take a breath, weighing your words carefully. “Rhaenyra, I never wished for distance between us, nor did I want our paths to diverge as they have. But the choices we make carry consequences—sometimes ones we never intend. I want to believe that we can still find a way forward, even with everything that stands between us.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, watching you with a calculating gaze. He’s never been one to shy away from conflict, but even he seems to recognize that this moment is a delicate one.

Before anything further can be said, Alicent’s attention shifts as she catches sight of movement near the entrance. “It seems our guests have arrived.”

The doors swing open again, and in walk Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond Velaryon, their presence commanding attention. Vaemond’s expression is one of grim determination, while Rhaenys’s gaze remains neutral, though there’s an underlying tension in the way she holds herself.

You sigh inwardly, the weight of what’s to come pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I must welcome them,” you say quietly, though the words feel more like a duty than a choice. 

With a final glance at Alicent and your children, you steel yourself, ready to face whatever storm this day may bring.

The throne room is filled with an air of tension so thick it nearly suffocates, a place where every word and glance carries the weight of the realm’s future. You sit in front of the Iron Throne, flanked by your family—Alicent at your side, with Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron standing proudly beside you. Otto stands as a silent sentinel to your left, his expression carefully neutral but his calculating mind undoubtedly working behind those cold eyes.

This is your trial to preside over, not his.

Vaemond Velaryon stands before the court, his expression carved from stone, his voice carrying the authority of a man with righteous conviction. “I speak plainly because this matter is not one of politics, but of truth! The Driftwood Throne is a legacy that cannot be tainted by a lie. Lucerys Velaryon is no true Velaryon. He carries no blood of our house—he is not the son of Laenor Velaryon!”

Murmurs ripple through the gathered lords and ladies, some leaning in, eager to witness the drama unfold. Vaemond’s words are like daggers thrown across the room, aimed directly at Rhaenyra and her children. You can see the steel in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line as she holds her composure. Daemon stands beside her, eyes narrowing at the offense, but he remains still, his calculating mind no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike.

You raise a hand to silence the room, your voice calm but firm. “Lord Vaemond, you’ve made your case. But it is not solely yours to decide. Princess Rhaenys, as the wife of Lord Corlys and the one who has stood by his side through every battle and storm, you have the most voice in this matter. Speak now, for the realm listens.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding respect. Dressed in the deep blacks and reds of her house, she carries the pride of House Velaryon on her shoulders, yet her expression remains inscrutable. You watch her closely, knowing that her words will determine more than just the fate of Driftmark—they will shape alliances and define loyalties.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she begins, her voice clear and unwavering. “It is true that my lord husband is gravely injured and unable to speak for himself. But before he took ill, he made his wishes clear. He named Lucerys as his heir. My husband’s word is law on Driftmark, and I intend to honor it.”

Vaemond shifts uncomfortably, but remains silent for now.

Rhaenys continues, her gaze moving to Rhaenyra before settling on you. “Furthermore, Princess Rhaenyra has proposed a union—one that would not only preserve the legacy of House Velaryon but strengthen it. She has offered her son, Lucerys, to wed my granddaughter, Rhaena. A match I wholeheartedly support.”

The court stirs at this revelation. You feel the weight of Rhaenys’s decision pressing against your chest. Her words do more than just confirm Lucerys’s claim—they solidify Rhaenyra’s position in this fight. The offer to wed Rhaena to Lucerys would ensure that Driftmark remains in Velaryon hands, through Laena’s trueborn daughter. It’s a maneuver as brilliant as it is decisive. Rhaenys has thrown her support behind Rhaenyra in a way that cannot be easily countered.

You pause, considering the ramifications. Your eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s, searching for some sign of what she’s truly feeling beneath her stoic mask. She knows the significance of Rhaenys’s declaration; it’s more than just the inheritance of Driftmark—it’s a public alignment of houses, a strengthening of her line.

Just as you’re about to speak, Vaemond’s voice rises again, sharper now, with barely concealed fury. “This is an insult! A mockery of our house! You may support these... false heirs, but I will not allow Driftmark to be handed over to bastards!”

The word hangs in the air, searing through the room like a brand. A cold silence falls, eyes darting between you and Vaemond. Even Otto’s composed mask slips slightly, his eyes narrowing at the brazenness of Vaemond’s outburst. You feel a ripple of anger stir within you, a flame that you must keep controlled, for it would be too easy to let it consume you here.

Daemon steps forward, his smile a dangerous thing as he drawls, “Say it again, Vaemond. Go on.” His hand rests casually on the hilt of his blade, the invitation clear.

You rise from your seat, your gaze locking onto Vaemond with the weight of a dragon’s stare. The silence that follows is heavy, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. The audacity of his words echoes through the chamber—bastards. A line has been crossed, and everyone knows it.

“Enough,” you command, your voice low but resonant, silencing the whispers that had begun to stir among the lords and ladies. “You forget yourself, Lord Vaemond.”

Vaemond’s face twists with fury, but he stands defiant, unwilling to yield. “Your Grace, I only speak the truth that everyone here knows but dares not voice! Driftmark is the seat of House Velaryon, a house built on blood and salt. That blood should flow true, and Lucerys Velaryon carries none of it! The realm cannot be governed by lies and pretenses.”

You take a step forward, your presence a shadow over the defiant lord. “You speak of truth, but your truth is tainted by ambition and grievance. Driftmark’s future is a matter for Lord Corlys’s bloodline, and it has been decided by the one who holds that legacy. Princess Rhaenys has spoken clearly on her husband’s wishes and on the betrothal that will secure Driftmark’s future.”

Rhaenys’s head lifts, her expression one of quiet strength. It is a rare thing for the ‘Queen Who Never Was’ to publicly choose a side so explicitly, and in doing so, she has thrown the full weight of House Velaryon behind Rhaenyra and her children.

But Vaemond is not done. His eyes blaze with a dangerous mix of pride and desperation. “And you would have us swallow this pretense, this farce? I will not see my house’s name sullied for the sake of politics!”

Rhaenyra’s expression is a careful mask, but you know her well enough to see the tension coiled beneath the surface. Her sons stand rigid, their youth apparent in how they strain to keep composed, particularly Lucerys, whose gaze keeps darting toward you as if searching for some semblance of reassurance. You can feel Alicent’s eyes on you as well, a silent plea for this matter to end without bloodshed.

You straighten, feeling the weight of the crown’s authority settle around your shoulders. “This is not about what you will or will not see, Lord Vaemond. The decision is not yours to make.” You look to the gathered lords and ladies, letting your words carry across the room. “House Velaryon’s seat belongs to Lucerys Velaryon, named by Lord Corlys and affirmed by his lady wife. This court upholds that decision.”

There’s a murmur of agreement among some of the gathered lords, though others shift uncomfortably, clearly aligning themselves more with Vaemond’s view, whether they dare voice it or not. Vaemond’s defiance hardens into something bitter, his eyes flicking briefly toward Daemon, who remains a silent sentinel, the edge of his smile dangerous.

“Lucerys Velaryon is not a true Velaryon,” Vaemond growls, his voice rising with barely-contained rage. “He is—”

“Say it,” Daemon’s voice slices through the air like a dagger, his smile cold, daring Vaemond to cross that final line for the last time.

For a moment, it looks as if Vaemond might take the bait, the word trembling on his lips, but the air is thick with unspoken threats. You can see the flicker of fear in his eyes, a recognition that his next words could cost him more than just this claim. He hesitates, but the anger does not fade.

“The truth is plain,” Vaemond finally says, quieter now but no less venomous. “You can wrap it in silks and gold, but it remains a lie.”

Your patience wears thin. “Your passion is noted, Lord Vaemond, but you would do well to remember where you stand and who you address.” You glance at Rhaenyra, who remains poised despite the insults cast her way, then back at Vaemond. “This court has rendered its judgment. The matter is settled.”

The finality in your tone leaves no room for further argument. Vaemond clenches his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides, but he knows he’s lost. His pride is wounded, and though he has supporters among the court, none will openly defy the crown’s decision. He gives you a look filled with loathing, and for a heartbeat, you think he might lash out.

Before anything can escalate, Alicent steps forward, her presence bringing a calming effect, if only briefly. “This matter is closed,” she says with cool authority, echoing your decree. “The realm must look forward, not cling to the past.”

You nod, turning your attention back to the court. “The feast tonight will be held in honor of family and unity. I expect all to attend.” You emphasize the word family, knowing it holds different meanings for those gathered. Your gaze lingers on Rhaenyra and her children, then back to Vaemond, whose seething gaze is impossible to ignore.

Vaemond’s face is twisted with barely-restrained fury, but he bows stiffly. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The lords and ladies begin to disperse, the unrest easing as conversations shift to safer topics. But the undercurrents of unease remain. Alliances have been made clearer, but new fissures have formed as well.

As the court disperses, you catch Rhaenyra’s gaze. There’s a gratitude there, mingled with sadness, a recognition of the unspoken rift that still lies between you. “Thank you, brother,” she says softly when she approaches, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and weariness.

You nod, offering a small, strained smile. “For now, let us put aside the politics and remember that we are family.”

Rhaenyra inclines her head, and though the words are spoken with good intent, there’s a heaviness that neither of you can ignore. The politics of blood, inheritance, and loyalty remain like shadows between you.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon leave the throne room with their children, you feel Alicent’s hand lightly rest on your arm. “You did well,” she says softly, her gaze searching yours for any trace of what you’re truly feeling.

You give a faint nod, but the weariness of the day weighs heavily on your mind. “Perhaps. But this is only the beginning. There are storms yet to come.”

Alicent’s eyes flicker with concern, but she remains composed. “Then we will face them together, as we always have.”

With that, you steel yourself for the next gathering—the feast, where smiles will hide sharpened knives and toasts will be laced with hidden meanings.

The Great Hall is aglow with the warmth of countless candles, their light reflecting off the polished silver goblets and rich tapestries lining the walls. The air is thick with the aromas of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the subtle sweetness of honeyed fruits. At the head of the table, King Viserys sits, smiling broadly, the years of weariness lifted, if only for tonight. His eyes, though dulled by age and illness, sparkle with the joy of seeing his family gathered together—just as he has always dreamed.

You sit to his right, with Alicent beside you, her presence a quiet, steadying force. Your children—Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron—are arranged around you, each reflecting the shared Targaryen and Hightower legacies. Across the table, Rhaenyra sits with Daemon, their children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, and Rhaena—filling the seats beside them. For once, the invisible line that has divided you all seems to blur, softened by the promise of reconciliation that hangs in the air.

Viserys raises his goblet, his voice trembling but rich with emotion. “To family,” he declares, looking first at you, then at Rhaenyra, his gaze lingering with unspoken hope. “We have all weathered many storms, but tonight, let us put aside our differences and remember the ties that bind us. Blood is what unites us, and that is stronger than any quarrel.”

You lift your goblet, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze from across the table. There’s a flicker of warmth in her eyes, a reflection of the shared memories from when you were younger—before ambition and politics built walls between you. “To family,” you echo, letting your voice carry across the hall.

“To family,” Rhaenyra agrees, her voice softer, but sincere. The tension that usually clings to her words is absent, replaced by a genuine desire to find common ground. Daemon follows suit with a small nod, raising his goblet, though his eyes never lose their sharpness.

The others join in the toast, and for the first time in a long while, there’s a shared sense of unity at the table. The feast begins, and conversation flows more easily than you had expected. Laughter echoes, and even some of the past hurts seem to fade as old stories are shared, tales from when you and Rhaenyra were children, and the world was simpler.

Aegon, emboldened by the good cheer, leans toward Jacaerys with a grin. “So, cousin, when do we finally see if your swordplay has improved? Or are you still hiding behind the idea of ‘diplomacy’?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words, but it’s free of malice.

Jacaerys chuckles, accepting the challenge with grace. “Any time you wish, Aegon. Perhaps tomorrow, in the yard? I could use the exercise.”

Aegon laughs, and for once, it’s genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Nearby, Helaena leans close to Rhaena, showing her a small, delicate beetle she’s been keeping. “This one’s new. I found it in the gardens this morning. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Rhaena’s face lights up with interest. “It is! You’ll have to show me where you find them. Perhaps we can look together tomorrow?”

Aemond, ever observant, listens as Daemon regales Daeron with stories of old Valyria, his tone as dramatic as ever. “You mustn’t rely only on strength, young prince,” Daemon advises with a sly smile. “There’s more power in a sharp mind than a sharp blade, though it’s best to wield both.”

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes lighter, laughter filling the hall. You notice Rhaenyra watching you, and when your eyes meet, she offers a tentative smile. There’s a pause, a moment where neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of unspoken words—regret, apology, and perhaps most importantly, a desire to heal what’s been broken.

“Brother,” she finally says, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’ve missed this—us, being together. I know there have been… difficulties, but I hope we can start anew.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the sincerity in her words. The distance between you hasn’t been easy, and the weight of your past grievances still lingers, but you find yourself nodding. “I’ve missed it too, Rhaenyra. We’ve both made mistakes, but we’re stronger together. Let’s try to move forward—for our family, for our father.”

Viserys beams at this exchange, his hand trembling as he lifts it to wipe away a tear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For all of us to be united, to leave behind the bitterness of the past.”

Alicent watches this with a soft smile, her hand slipping into yours beneath the table. “This is what he’s longed for,” she whispers. “You’ve given him peace, if only for tonight.”

As the meal continues, the tension that once plagued these gatherings begins to dissipate. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchange kind words, complimenting each other’s children. Daemon, though still carrying his usual edge, seems content to keep his barbs light, focusing more on keeping the mood lifted than on stirring the pot. Even Aemond, usually so guarded, appears more at ease, his exchanges with Jacaerys and Lucerys devoid of the usual undercurrents of rivalry.

At one point, Rhaenyra lifts her goblet again, a more private toast this time. “To new beginnings,” she says, looking at you with hope.

You smile, raising your own goblet in kind. “To new beginnings.”

The night stretches on, and for once, it feels as though the past might truly be put behind you. The bonds of family, strained though they’ve been, begin to mend. The ghosts of old wounds fade into the background as laughter, warmth, and shared memories take center stage.

Viserys, exhausted but happy, leans back in his chair, his hand resting on yours as he closes his eyes, a contented smile on his lips. “This… this is how it should always be,” he murmurs.

And for that night, at least, it is. Family, love, and unity win out, and the weight of the crown feels a little lighter.

From the Chronicles of King Y/N Targaryen I, The Reign of the Unified Flame

From “Fire and Blood: A History of House Targaryen” by Archmaester Melys:

Upon the passing of King Viserys I in the year 129 AC, the realm held its breath, fearing that the simmering tensions within House Targaryen would ignite into the civil war prophesied by many. But where the histories might have diverged into bloodshed and ruin, they instead tell a tale of unity and wise rule under King Y/N Targaryen, the Heir of Dragonstone, who ascended the Iron Throne as Y/N I, known to later generations as “Y/N the Peacemaker” and “The King of Balance.”

Though many lords whispered of conflict, it was King Y/N’s first decree that set the tone for his reign. Gathering his family—Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, and their respective children—he held council not in the Red Keep, but atop Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen. There, in the shadow of their ancestors and the elder dragons, they swore an oath of unity before gods and men. It is said that Prince Daemon himself, ever the rogue, was the first to lay down his blade, pledging his loyalty to his nephew. With that, the seeds of war were quelled, and the Dance of Dragons was averted.

High Speton Eustace credits King Y/N’s wisdom and firm hand for this peace, stating, “His Majesty’s reign was marked by clarity of vision and an understanding that compromise is often the sharpest weapon.” Mushroom, in his typically bawdy accounts, attributes the peace to the deep affection between the King and Queen Alicent, jesting that, “It was her gentle whispers at night and not the threats of swords that kept the realm from tearing itself apart.”

Under King Y/N’s rule, Westeros saw another golden era of peace and prosperity. His approach to governance combined the fiery decisiveness of his Targaryen blood with a measured balance that many compared to his mother, Queen Aemma Arryn. The king’s court was diverse and inclusive; Princess Rhaenyra was granted full authority over the small council alongside her brother, with the Velaryons remaining staunch allies after the successful betrothal of Lucerys Velaryon to Rhaena Targaryen. Driftmark’s legacy was secured without further bloodshed, ensuring that the sea lanes of Westeros remained open and secure.

King Y/N’s family played a crucial role in his reign. His children with Queen Alicent grew into respected figures in their own right. Aegon, though restless in his youth, became a trusted commander, leading the royal navy in expeditions to Essos that solidified trade routes. Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, was known as “The Iron Shield,” a prince famed for his discipline and loyalty, who often served as Hand of the King when his father took to Dragonstone for respite. Helaena’s prophecies, often dismissed in earlier years, became valued by the court, guiding many decisions with a wisdom that bordered on the mystical. Daeron, the youngest, was known as the people’s prince, a bridge between nobility and common folk, fostering goodwill in the Reach and beyond.

The reign of King Y/N I was not without its trials. The Ironborn rose in rebellion more than once, but swift action by Aemond and Daemon in a rare alliance quickly subdued the threat. The Riverlands also saw unrest when Lord Grover Tully’s ambitions threatened to spill into open conflict, but the King’s deft diplomacy resolved the dispute before it could escalate.

Even so, the unity within House Targaryen remained the cornerstone of Y/N’s reign. It is said that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, once rivals after their marriages, grew back into a friendship they shared in their youth, sharing their roles as matriarchs to an ever-growing brood of dragonlords. Mushroom—never one to miss an opportunity for scandal—claims that their peace was ensured by shared interests in a secretive cabal of noblewomen, but wiser heads discount this as the jester’s usual mischief.

King Y/N’s dragons also played a vital role in securing his legacy. His bond with Dallax, the Night Fury, became legendary. Dallax, with his black scales and green eyes, was a fearsome sight in battle, but it was his presence at royal negotiations that often quelled rebellious lords before blood could be spilled. The dragon’s reputation as both guardian and enforcer of the realm added to the mystique of King Y/N’s rule. 

In 143 AC, King Y/N I presided over the Grand Council at Harrenhal, where matters of succession and law were codified, ensuring stability for generations to come. It was there that his wisdom was most evident; by balancing the interests of all regions and houses, he secured peace in the realm without resorting to brute force. When the Maester's Conclave reviewed the royal lineage in later years, it was agreed by many that King Y/N’s efforts had preserved not just the peace but the very legacy of House Targaryen.

Mushroom’s final words on the reign of King Y/N are perhaps the most fitting. “In an age where dragons danced upon the edge of war, it took not just a dragonrider, but a man who saw the value in holding back the flame, to keep the realm whole. Where others would have chosen fire and blood, he chose balance, and in doing so, left behind a reign that many would envy.”

King Y/N Targaryen I passed away in the year 150 AC, leaving behind a legacy of unity, prosperity, and a realm spared the horrors of civil war. His children carried forth his wisdom, and under their guidance, Westeros thrived in an era known as the “Second Golden Age.” And thus, the realm’s history turned, not on a dance of dragons, but on a single king’s steadfast resolve to keep his family—and his realm—united.

[biblio-smia]

hello! congrats!

list 2, prompt 6, Steve Harrington 🫶🥰

maybe Steve’s a little self conscious about his scars from the demobats and reader tries to make him feel better ❤️‍🩹

list two, prompt six: kissing their scars

"could you turn around?"

steve's voice, uncharacteristically soft, pulls for your attention. "hmm?"

to be honest, you hadn't been paying much attention to him. it had taken a lot of convincing for you to worm your way here, into steve's room - much more than it ever had before. but steve's sheets were as comfortable as you remembered, silk or satin or one of those fancy fabrics you didn't know much about other than how nice they felt under your skin.

it would've embarrassed you, how comforting steve's presence in the room was, if you hadn't been so exhausted. between the paranoia and nightmares, you couldn't recall the last good night's sleep you had and you were sure steve's sleeping patterns weren't much different.

steve asks again, less confident the second time around.

the question startles you this time, out of your spot on the bed and onto your feet. worry brews, spreading onto your face and into your eyes. the way your eyebrows pinch together give you away opposed to steve's blank stare, his eyes refusing to look at you.

hawkins has always been too quiet. it's the same type of quiet that almost mocks you at night when you're huddled up with your back pressed into a corner of your room, wishing there was the noise of people or traffic to keep everything else at bay. the silence let your thoughts run wild, has let images you never wanted to see again reappear.

you sniffle to fill the silence. you must fill in the blanks.

you tug the hem of steve's shirt gently, eyes gauging his reaction. none, still. slowly, you pull up, exposing marks that had scarred.

they were still fresh but they were permanent. perhaps they'd fade with time but they'd still hold memories.

steve's arms lift as you pull the rest of his shirt off, the most you could ask of him currently. your hands moved to rest on the scars on his sides, each touch gentle as if the wounds were still open.

steve watches in quiet wonder, too afraid to speak in such a vulnerable state. he avoids mirrors, pulls something before the fog on the bathroom mirror can disappear. he can still feel teeth sinking into his skin, can still see the red sky he was sure he'd die under.

steve just about jumps when he feels your lips under his ribs. your kisses have historically soothed him but now they send him into a panic. how could you love those disgusting, ugly things? how could you still love him for being so weak, so powerless?

but you don't stop. your hands find steve's, pulling them along with yours, resting them just beside the marks. your lips trace each one carefully, as if they were something sacred, as if they weren't evidence of steve's shortcomings.

so you kiss steve. you kiss his knuckles and to his neck where some marks of his fight lingered, to his jaw and to his face. because, to you, steve harrington could never be weak. he could've turned his back and ran years ago, could've saved himself from so much pain - but he didn't. he was still here, standing.

steve's lips find yours this time, hands caressing your face carefully.

"thank you," he whispers, voice soft and just a little bit broken.

it's okay. it will take time, but it will heal.

part of v's 1000 follower celebration | main masterlist

[elliespassagerprincess]

PLS WRITE PART 2 OF THEREFORE YOU AND ME🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏I love ur stories sm ur writing style is literally amazing

Therefore you and me - part 2/3 (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! don't get mad BUT i made it a series lmao, so ending might not be what you would expect and also thank so sm!

This series was inspired by the song "Therefore You and Me [故にユーエンミー]" this part 2 out 3, the final part will be out soon!

Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are always open, feel free to leave one!

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse and toxic relationships

Summary: In which, Ellie realized that she needed to work on herself.

wc: 600+

part 1

“Please leave” you heard her plead from behind you as you wipe the blood from your nose. You winched slightly as your face cloth touched your nose.

“I think its broken” you added as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

 “don’t change the topic baby” Ellie said, a little louder this time. You saw her walk closer to you and you felt your body tense up immediately, waiting for her next move. Ellie watched as you tensed up not moving a muscle, you started down at the sink blood covering your hands and shirt.

“You’re fucking scared of me”

 “no I’m not”

 “you are”

“no I’m not Ellie”

 Ellie let out a sigh of frustration, her hands coming up to her face, to rub her eyes. “I fucking-“she started “I fucking punched you because you were washing the dishes too loud”

“we all get mad Ellie, you just needed to get your frustration out”

“but not on you” Ellie yelled, grabbing the back of your head to make you look up to her. You let out a whimper, looking up at her with doe eyes waiting for her to hit you. Ellie’s eyes widened at what she had just done, immediately letting go of your head, she brought her hands to her face staring down at herself.

“love isn’t supposed to hurt” Ellie whispered

“love is about forgiveness” you added, giving her a small smile.

Ellie stayed quite after that. She wasn’t going to leave you, she loved you too much. She was angry. Angry at you forgiving her, for believing that she can change, and that you stayed with her. After everything she’s done to you. Your fucking family doesn’t even talk to you anymore but you stayed with Ellie.

You sacrificed everything for her, but yet all she can do was hit you. And make you feel like less of a person.

Ellie let out a sigh as quietly sat up from your bed. She looked over to you, your body covered in bruises and scars. You nose was swelling, and it was starting to turn purple, yep it was definitely broken.

Ellie realized that she had to do something. She would never leave you so she had to fix herself. She had to figure out how to stop the violence that was brewing inside her. Ellie knew therapy was bullshit, so she wouldn’t go.

How was talking about your emotions and trauma helpful?

Ellie had a better solution. She knew what she was going to do to keep you safe, and away from her anger.

 Ellie pressed a kiss to your forehead before she got up, and she walked towards the door of your bedroom. Ellie turned around one more time, looking at your sleeping form.

“I’m not going to hurt you anymore” she spoke, to you, as if you were awake and listening.

Ellie walked out the door, hoping her plan would work.

There was only one man who could help her. The man who made her the way she is, the man that traumatized her beyond repair.

Her father.

He was the only one who could help her.

As Ellie stood outside her childhood home, her heartbeat quickened. Ellie hasn’t had contact with her father for over 6 years now. As she walked up the driveway, she got flashbacks from all the times her father pulled her over his lap and beat her so hard she couldn’t sit for days on the porch she was standing on right at this moment. How he would make her scrub the driveway with her toothbrush.

Ellie’s eyes filled with tears as all the memories came back to her. She stood at the door for a while wondering if this was a good idea. She was doing this for you to keep you safe from her. So yes, this was a good idea.

Her shaky hand came up as she knocked on the dark oak door. She stood outside for a while before the door opened and she was met with the man she thought she would never have to face again.

A disgusting grin spread across his face:

“Welcome home”

part 3

Authors note: ohhhhhhhh what's gonna happen? Will I finally give reader and Ellie a happy ending???? I guess we'll have to wait for part 3;) Remember you are loved and my requests are always open!

Yours truly,

Zia <3

My pookies <3 (the tag list) : @ellieslegalwife

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found- Chapter 21

Fandom: Extraction

Warnings: angst, some profanity, dialogue centric

*Includes Extraction 1 and 2 canon mentions

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @munstysmind @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @asirensrage @thebejeweledwatercat @residentdormouse @kmc1989 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ninjasawakenedmystar @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @theesirenteller

My tag list is OPEN. Please let me know if you want to be added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/128385061

****

She lingers on the threshold between the master bedroom and living area, quietly watching him as he works, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he inspects the contents of the open supply case in front of him. Mere minutes past six in the morning and he’s already been up for more than an hour; she had felt the shifting and dipping of the mattress underneath her as he slipped from the warm confines of their bed, followed by the brief, soft kiss that had been pressed to her forehead.

Sleep is a rare commodity as both brain and body make the seemingly smooth and effortless transition to ‘work Tyler’; the one that’s used to the stress and the long, sleepless nights and is intensely focused and disciplined. Knowing his habits, he likely put in a rigorous and near-punishing workout: extremely heavy lifting, a sweat-drenched run on the treadmill, and a mind-boosting and energy-centering yoga routine to finish it off.

“I hope you realize…” She leans against the doorframe, taking in the still damp hair, well-worn and faded jeans, scuffed combat boots, and simple cotton long-sleeved black tee. “...I’m going to steal that shirt.”

He briefly glances over his shoulder, his smile a striking and almost unnerving contrast to the darkness in his eyes. And he can’t help but admire her, his future wife with her hair thrown into a messy bun and her tiny body clad in nothing but one of the plaid button-downs he’d brought to New York City. It’s enormous on her, the fabric falling well below her knees, the sleeves rolled up several times in order to see her hands.

“Why do I get the sneaky suspicion that most of my side of the closet will migrate to yours?”

“Because it’s not your first rodeo. How many hoodies and t-shirts did you lose to me that year in The Kimberley?”

“Way too many to count, that’s for sure.”

“I was thinking…” She wanders into the living area, briefly stopping to pour herself tea from a freshly brewed carafe before joining him. “... about how we should do it sooner. Rather than later.”

A smirk plays on the corners of his mouth. “Are we talking about butt stuff or…?”

Esme scowls. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You mean right now or in general?”

“We did THAT twelve hours ago. I know you have short-term memory issues, but Jesus…”

“So we’re NOT talking about that. We’re talking about…”

“Marriage.” She focuses on those enormous, strong hands in order to quell her nervousness; their calloused skin, their various scars, and their misshapen knuckles. She knows the various kinds of torture they can inflict, both in the name of violence and vengeance and in creating the most intense and overwhelming sexual pleasure she’s ever experienced in her life. “Me and you. Us. Tying the knot.”

“I thought you wanted to wait. A couple years at least. Put it off until we all got adjusted to living together again and being a family and all that.”

“I guess I just got thinking about it and how it wouldn’t really matter, would it? If we got adjusted and used to things AFTER we got married? I mean, if we’re living together and we’re a team when it comes to raising Millie, it’s as good as already being married. so…”

“And just when were you thinking about all this? We only decided to tie the knot yesterday.”

“Well, I had a bit of time on my hands…”

“Does this have anything to do with the talk we had last night? You being a little paranoid that me taking the time to work on my shit somehow means I don’t want to also work on us?”

“Maybe…”

“I already told you; one has nothing to do with the other. I can do BOTH. It’s not ‘either or’.”

“It just might be a lot, you know? Trying to handle both. Dealing with what happened five years ago and between then and now and trying to play house with me and raise Millie and…”

“And getting married and being a newlywed would somehow be easier? Not put so much on my plate?”

“Maybe not easier, but….” She chews on the inside of her cheek as he stares at her pointedly, then heaves a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, so maybe I’m just a little bit neurotic and…”

“Just a ‘little bit’?’

“A LOT neurotic. At times. And I guess I’m just worried that if we don’t really lock things down BEFORE dealing with everything else, it’ll somehow make it easier for you to walk away and leave us and…”

“I’m not going to walk away. There’s nothing that you could possibly do or say that would make that happen. I’m all in. I told you that. You trust me, yeah?”

“It’s not about not trusting you. I have ALWAYS trusted you. It’s more about things being too heavy and complicated for you to handle and needing a way out.”

“I’m not that guy anymore.”

“It’s going to be hard, Tyler. Unpacking all our baggage and coming to terms with what happened. With what I did. It’s not going to be simple; accepting it all and moving on from it. And I wouldn’t blame you if it was too much and you left and…”

“Where the hell am I going to? It’s my house.”

“You know what I mean. It’s a lot easier to throw in the towel when there’s nothing really holding you down. And I know it’s just a ring and a piece of paper, but it’s like a guarantee. An insurance policy, even. It makes it harder to give up when it’s much more serious and permanent.”

“I think you’re reading into this too much. What we talked about last night.”

“I just worry that you won’t want to work as hard without that tie to me. At getting past things. At forgiving me.”

“I HAVE forgiven you.”

“Have you? Have you really?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I would have left the same day I got here, as soon as I found out you were the one who hired me. You think I would have stuck around if I hated you?”

“Well, at first, you could have stuck around out of some sense of obligation. Millie being yours and all…”

“I’m not sure ‘obligation’ is the right word, but yeah, her existence does play a huge part in why I hung around. Obviously. But it’s not the only thing that kept me here.”

“You stayed because…”

“Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I spent five years hoping you’d just come wandering back into my life. That you’d show up out of nowhere, just like when we first met. I stayed here in New York for you. Simple as that. I stayed for YOU.”

Both lower lip and chin tremble as tears brim in her eyes. “It is way too early in the morning for this. Tyler Rake. Making me cry like this.”

“I’m not trying to make you cry. I’m trying to make you realize that I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need an ‘insurance policy’ or a ‘guarantee’ or whatever you want to call it to keep me around. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I have a hard time understanding it, I guess. The fact you ARE here. That you choose to be here. That it’s not just because you were hired to do a job.”

“It stopped being a job the second I saw you. Do you really think I see it that way? That this is just another gig? This is far beyond being just a payday. The minute I saw you and then met Millie…”

“I just feel like you’ve been too…I don’t know...accomodating, maybe? Too forgiving?”

“What do you want me to be like?”

Esme shrugs. “I guess I was expecting something different. Something a little more…volatile.”

“I’d never be that way with you. Ever. Doesn’t matter how bad things get. It would never happen.”

“I expected more, I guess. More anger. More bitterness. Maybe even making me get down on my hands and knees and grovel at your feet.”

“Well, if you want to get down on your knees, I’ve got something else you can do other than grovel.”

“Regardless of what you think, a blowjob does not solve every problem.”

“Maybe not EVERY problem, but a hell of a lot of them. I bet we’d come close to achieving world peace if more people got on their knees and…”

“I appreciate the attempts at piggish humour to get me to loosen up a bit, but I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. A totally random one, mind you. But still…”

“I don’t what it is you want from me,” he admits, and turns back to the supply case. Checking the selection of magazines and filling those running low on ammunition. “What more you need me to say. Or do. I’ve been pretty open about it; all the shit I’m still holding onto and the fact I still love you and never got over you. I haven’t held anything back.”

“Like I said, I was expecting more. Something different. You’ve just been so…calm.”

“I’ve had my moments. Especially during our talk the first night here. Things got a little heated from what I remember.”’

“That was still calm. For you, anyway.”

“What is it you want to hear? What exactly do you want from me? Do you want me to completely freak out? Totally lose my shit on you? Bust up my hotel room? Put holes in the walls? Is that the kind of reaction you want?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m glad you never got like that. But I’m also a little weirded out, I suppose. That you didn’t go off the rails more than you did. I thought seeing Millie and realizing she was yours…”

“Seeing Millie and realizing she IS mine is what stopped me from going totally off the rails. Made me realize you had other reasons; for staying under the radar. I’m not exactly well-liked. Not in this circle, anyway. I’ve pissed off a lot of people. Burnt a lot of bridges. There’s quite a long list of people who wouldn’t mind getting revenge. I just figured maybe that’s why you kept her a secret. That maybe you were worried if word got out that I had a kid, they’d make her a target.”

“I never once thought about any of that. You weren’t the issue, Tyler. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was never about you. I mean, it WAS. But not like that.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. If you’d thought that. It’s pretty reasonable; not wanting trouble to show up on your doorstep. You wanted to protect your daughter.”

“OUR daughter,” she gently corrects. “She’s OUR daughter. And I never felt like I had to protect her from you. Or because of you. It was all me. I didn’t want you to turn us away. That’s what I was afraid of. That you wouldn’t want her because of me.”

“I would have wanted her. And I would have wanted you, too. I’ve only wanted you for the last five years.”

“I didn’t know that. No one ever talked about it. Your personal life. Nik never mentioned how you were doing outside of your firefighting and your reno business and doing the odd job here and there for her. And to be honest, I was scared to ask. I didn’t want to hear that you found someone else. That you’d moved on. And I know that sounds selfish as fuck, but…”

“Want to hear selfish as fuck?” Filling the last clip, he snaps it into its holding spot and then turns to face her. Arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the edge of the table. “I used to hope that you were dead. Not because I was angry at you and felt you deserved it. Because I would have rathered you permanently gone than with someone else.”

She blinks, taken back by his honesty.

“I could handle you being dead, but not with another guy. Now who’s the selfish one? What kind of person even thinks like that? How messed up does someone have to be to come up with something so fucking twisted?”

“You’re a human being. You were hurt. And when we’re hurt, we don’t exactly think properly. We don’t…”

“It wasn’t because I was hurt. Or angry. It was because I didn’t want you with anyone else. Because all I could think was how if I couldn’t have you, I didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“I felt the same way. Every time I thought of you with someone. It fucking killed me inside. To even go down that road. I didn’t want you with anyone else. Which is pretty messed up considering I’m the one who left you.”

“We both have our issues. We always have. It’s never been one hundred percent healthy. I mean, look how we met. WHERE we met.”

.“Doesn’t mean it’s wrong, though. Us. I’ve never felt it was wrong. Have you?”

“I’ve never regretted a single thing. I’d take that bullet to the neck a million times over if it meant I got to be with you.”

“Don’t say that, Tyler. Don’t even think it. Because I don’t deserve it. That kind of devotion. I don’t…”

“I think the problem is that you WANT me to be angry. Or angrier than I am. You WANT me to totally lose my shit on you. You want me to yell and scream and tear things apart and make you feel like complete and utter shit.”

“It’s not that I want it. It’s just that…”

“You think you deserve it.”

She nods.

“You don’t. You don’t deserve that. Especially knowing the truth. About WHY you left. Yeah, there were a thousand different ways you could have handled it. You could have stayed; we could have found a way to get you out of that mess. We could have gone so far underground that they never would have found us. While Nik dealt with things. But like you said, when you’re scared, you don’t exactly think right.”

“I hurt you. Taking off like I did. Not even giving you a proper explanation. And then keeping Millie from me…”

“You’re not a bad person, Esme. You’re a good person who made a bad decision. A couple of them, actually.”

“And I deserve more. From you.”

“You’re angry because I’m NOT? Because I’m not living up to your standards of how angry I should be? Why do I need to treat you like that? Make you feel like crap? Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t even bother. Because you’re already doing a damn good job. When it comes to shit-talking yourself.”

“But I deserve that. I deserve to feel that way. To have YOU make me feel that way.”

“I don’t hate you. I could NEVER hate you. I love you too fucking much. And besides, no one could ever hate you the way you hate yourself. For what you did.”

“I can’t make peace with it. Especially when it comes to keeping Millie from you. I can’t…”

“I need you to. I need you to stop with it; all that hate and that guilt and that regret you’re carrying around. Because THAT’S what’s going to kill us. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life hating yourself and beating yourself up over it, it’s going to fuck US up. And I don’t want that. That’s the last thing I want.”

“You know….” She swipes at her escaping tears with the back of her hand. “...there’s something slightly disturbing around this changing of the guard stuff.”

Tyler arches a quizzical brow.

“When YOU’RE the one being the most rational and logical? Well, it’s kind of unnerving.”

He grins. “Smart ass.”

“I don’t know HOW to get rid of it. I’ve carried it for so long that it’s become a part of me. Where do I even start? When it comes to letting it go?”

“Well, the first thing is to believe me when I tell you that I love you. That I always have. That I don’t hate you, and I definitely wouldn’t have turned you away. I spent five years wondering where you were. What you were doing. If you were even alive. I never forgot about you. Or got over you. I probably never would have. And I don’t know why that’s so hard for you to accept.”

“I guess I don’t feel I deserve that. Someone loving me that much.”

“Why? Why do you feel like I don’t deserve it?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just…do.”

“It isn’t just about what happened five years ago, is it.” It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s not the only thing going on here. It’s not just you hating yourself because of what you did.”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“You expect me to be like Mark. You expect me to react the same way he would.”

“You’re nothing like him. I would NEVER compare you to him. I would never…”

“But that’s what you’re used to, yeah? The way he treated you. You even grew up with a mom that didn’t give a fuck about you. Two people that you should have been able to trust and should have loved you no matter what turned out to be fucking assholes. So because I say ‘I love you’, I’m expected to turn out the same way.”

“I don’t expect that at all. I just think you being angry at me is and showing it is a normal reaction and…”

“But it’s not normal. Not the way you want me to show it, at least. You want me to freak out and destroy shit and make you feel like garbage. And maybe the Tyler five years ago would have acted that way; maybe he would have tried to burn everything to the fucking ground. But I’m not him anymore. And I’m definitely NOT Mark.”

“I know you’re not him. You’re not even close to being anywhere like him.”

“But you want me to be. And I’m sorry, but that’s fucked up. I mean, I get it; I understand why you are the way you are. But it’s still messed up.”

“You get used to it, I suppose. The way you’re treated. You believe everything someone tells you. About how terrible and repulsive you are and how you deserve the things they do to you. I’m not who I was; before he ever walked into my life. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am. That Esme? She’s long gone. He killed her.”

“No. He didn’t. Because the Esme I know? She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Everything that you’ve been through, everything that you’ve done? You staying on that bridge and putting your ass on the line for some guy you barely knew? And then all that you did in the hospital? For MONTHS? That’s real bravery. You’re a far braver and stronger person than I am.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Everything YOU’VE been through?”

“Who got me through the worst of it? Who was the one that stuck around and shoved their fingers in my neck to stop me from bleeding to death? And who fought like hell to get me the best care in the hospital? Who stuck during all that shit afterwards? All that therapy and me being a grumpy fucking asshole?”

“In all fairness….” She manages a shaky smile. “...you’re a grumpy fucking asshole regardless of what you’re going through.”

“You got used to it the first time. Think you can do it a second?”

“I think I can do it a million more times.”

“I’m never going to be like him, Esme. And maybe, in a way, it IS expected me. Considering what I do for a living and the things I’ve done to people. But that’s not who I am. Away from the job. That Tyler is someone completely different. And I think deep down, you know that.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be with you if you were that other Tyler all the time. It’s what attracted me to you; you were different than anyone else I’d ever met on the job. You had all this kindness in your eyes and in your voice. All this humanity still left inside of you. And that’s what I liked. What I fell in love with.”

“You are the strongest person I have ever known. And that’s saying something considering the life I’ve led. And I’m sorry; for every disgusting, horrible he said and did to you. And that you ever believed you deserved any of that. But I’ll never be like him. No matter how ugly and hard things might get. He didn’t love you. He didn’t even LIKE you. You realize that, yeah?”

She nods.

“I love you. In a way I never thought I could love someone. And maybe one day, you’ll believe me. I don’t care how long it takes, but I really hope it happens.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I KNOW you love me. I just don’t understand how you still can. After what I did.”

“Why do you love me? Look at the shit I’ve done. I’ve hurt people. I’ve KILLED people. Look what what I did to my ex. To my boy. Look at how much I hurt them. How can you love me knowing all that?”

“Because I know you’re a good man. With a huge heart. And I know how much damage it’s done to you; the choices that you’ve made. You have your regrets and your own guilt and…”

He stares at her pointedly.

“Oh…” A smile creeps across her face as the realization sets in. “Just like I have mine.”

“You love me. Even all the messy, fucked up pieces. Despite all the shit I’ve done, you still think I’m a decent person. Capable of doing good things. You don’t see me like some monster that’s beyond forgiveness. That’s got blood all over his hands.”

“Because you’re not that person. You’ve done those things, but they don’t define you.”

“And your mistakes and your issues and whatever you’ve got going on? They don’t define YOU. I don’t see you the way you see yourself. I could NEVER see you like that. And yeah, I’m hurt and I’m angry. I’ve got some bitterness. But the good things I feel? Towards you? They’re way stronger than any of that.”

She finally moves closer; standing between his legs and placing her hands on his hips and her forehead against his chest. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to hold onto all of this…stuff.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he repeatedly runs his hands over her arms and back. “We’ve got some shit to deal with. But we can do that as a team. Help each other. Stronger together than we are apart, remember?”

She smiles up at him. “I remember.”

Smoothing wayward strands of hair away from the side of her face, he places a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Neither of us is alone in this. Not anymore. We just gotta remember that. That we don’t have to go through it by ourselves.”

“It’s going to take some time. To get used to NOT doing it all alone.”

“We got used to it five years ago. We’ll get used to it again. And if you really do want to get married sooner and it’s for the right reasons? I’m good with it.”

Her hands slide up the bottom of his shirt; index fingers hooking in his belt loops, as she leans her body against his. “I want to marry you because I love you. I always have. I never stopped, you know. I never stopped wanting you or missing or wishing that things could have been married. I want to be your wife; I want us to raise Millie and have more babies and grow old and gray and spoil grandkids together. Are those the right reasons?”

“Those definitely are.”

“We lost five years, Tyler. And there’s no way of getting them back. I don’t want to wait. It’s not like I need or really even want anything big or fancy. That’s just who I am. I’m perfectly fine with just heading to the nearest courthouse and doing it in front of Millie and a couple of witnesses.”

“I don’t want you to regret it. Doing things that way.”

“I just want to marry you. I don’t care how that happens. Or where. But you have to want that, too. I don’t want you just going along with it just to make me happy.”

“If there were a way of making it happen, I’d marry you right now. If it was better timing and under better circumstances…”

“Maybe once we get to Australia? And spend a couple of days getting settled? Maybe then?”

“As soon as we get home, we can talk about it. Make plans. Sound good?”

“I like hearing you call it that. Home. Like I’m somehow already part of it.”

“You’ve always been part of it. We bought the place together. Had tons of plans for it. Things just didn’t happen when we thought they would. Doesn’t mean they won’t now.”

“You know, for such a huge man and such a badass, you really are a big sap.”

“That is a mean, horrible thing to say to your future husband.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a sap.”

“There’s something very wrong with it. I’m not supposed to be a sap. Haven’t you heard? I’m a bit of a legend now.”

“Oh, really? Is that a legend in your own mind or…?”

Initially frowning, he causes her to squeal when he aggressively slaps a palm against her ass, enjoying the sound of her giggle when he pinches both cheeks through the fabric of her pyjama pants. And when both hands settle at the small of her back, she once more leans against him, both arms circling his waist.

“It’s going to be okay,” he assures her. “Everything’s going to work itself out. As long as we put the work in. And as long as we stick together.”

“Lord knows we’ve been through worse.”

“That’s the understatement of the century. All I know is that I’m all in. No matter how rough it gets. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Who says I want to? I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me. For a really long time.”

“Yeah?” With a hand on the small of her back, he uses gentle fingertips to push hair away from the sides of her face and out of her eyes. “Well, I can think of worse ways to spend the second half of my life.” Placing a palm on the nape of her neck, he pulls her into him, fingers kneading at the tense muscles as she rests her head against him. “It really IS going to be alright.”

“I’m scared,” she admits. “About tomorrow.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m a little…unnerved…myself.”

“Okay, now that doesn’t fill me with the utmost confidence,” she teases. “When the mercenary is having second thoughts, that’s not a good sign.”

“No second thoughts. I’m not questioning whether or not I should have ever come here. I would have taken the job whether it was you involved or not. Just…”

“It’s just personal. Very personal.”

Tyler nods. “I’m having a hard time.; separating those two sides of me. The merc side and the one that’s just a normal guy, worried about his family.”

“Maybe it was better if I didn’t call you. If I’d just gone with someone else…”

“Don’t say that. Don’t EVER say that. You did the right thing. As much as a kick in the balls it was to see my secret kid walk into the room…”

“I don’t want to fight. If we start talking about it, we’re going to fight and I don’t…”

“All I’m saying is that despite everything dropped on me, you did the right thing. By having Nik reach out. If you hadn’t have and I found out about all this later, THEN I would have completely lost my shit. If you’d hired someone else…”

“You were the only person on the list. Nik tried; to convince me to go with someone else.”

“Of course she did. ‘Cause hiring me meant I’d found out about the bullshit she’s pulling for the last five years.”

“She only did what I asked. And she fought me about it. All the time. Please don’t hate her, okay? I’m the one who brought her into all of this. I’m the one who asked for her help five years ago. I’m the one who put her right in the middle of this. And you know what? She’d do the same for you. If you needed that kind of help. You know she would.”

“It’s hard. Accepting it. That she lied all that time. She knew how bad off I was off and she could have ended it. All she had to tell me was that you were okay. And that it wasn’t my fault. That’s all she had to do.”

“If you’re going to hate anyone, it should be me.”

“Don’t start that again.”

“ I’m the one dragged her into it. Who dragged ALL of these people into it. I’m the one that fucked up, Tyler. So please don’t take this out on Nik or Yaz or anyone else. Because they were just trying to help. And if I’d never put them into the middle of all this…”

“You didn’t have much of a choice. You had a hell of a scare put into you. Like I said, I understand that part. And I swear if you apologize to me one more time for ‘dragging me’ into things…”

“It’s just such a mess. Alessio’s family? They are horrible, evil people. They aren’t going to just stop, you know. If we get out of the city, they will do whatever they can to find us. And they will. Eventually.”

“And then I deal with it. They catch up to us, I handle it.”

“You’re one man. You’re not invincible. And I just got you back: Millie just finally got her dad in her life. So if anything happens to you…”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. That’s something you don’t need to worry about.”

“You should know better than to tell ME…of all people…not to worry.”

“Then just trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a rookie. If I say I can handle things and I have them under control, just take my word for it. Can you do that?”

“Depends. Can I still worry at the same time?”

“If you can manage both, I don’t see why not. I know how good you are at multitasking. I lived with you for a year.”

“And that was the best year of your life, buddy. Don’t deny it.”

“What’s there to deny? It’s the truth. It was a little…rough…at first. Getting used to you and your shit, but…”

“Me and my shit?” Esme laughs. “Who was the one who managed to get himself shot in the neck and nearly die and end up in hospital in Dubai? Do we really need to name names?”

“Technically, I was shot SIX times, but…”

“It was a little rough. Getting used to living with someone. Learning about their little quirks and what makes them tick and drives you absolutely insane about them. But I liked it. Being with you like that. We definitely had more good times than bad.”

“We were on a pretty good roll, weren’t we? When it came to things going good?��

“We were. And I’m sorry. That I screwed it up so badly. That was the last thing I wanted.”

“None of that matters now. Not when it comes to where we go from here. Might be a little hard getting used to you all over again…”

“You poor baby. My heart bleeds for you.”

“But…” Both hands find her ass, squeezing firmly as he pulls her tightly against him. “...I think I’ll manage.”

“I’m willing to put in the hard work if you are. We’ll just dig in our heels and take it one day at a time. Just ignore the rest of the world and concentrate on each other and Millie and what’s going on under our roof. Sound like a deal?”

Nodding, he covers her mouth with his in a long, soft kiss. “It’s a deal.”

******

They relax on the couch. Enjoying the last moments of silence before Millie and Abuela wake and Nik and the rest of the team begin arriving; anxious to arrange the final pieces of the puzzle. Tyler sits sideways, leaning back against the arm of the couch with one leg stretched out and the other dangling hanging over the edge. Esme content between his splayed thighs; resting back against him as she sips a tea and he keeps a lovingly yet protective hold on her. A forearm lying across her collarbone, and his free hand lightly placed on her stomach.

“She’ll be up soon,” Esme eyes the bedroom door over the rim of her mug. “And the havoc shall begin.”

“I mean, she’s been amazing with me. But I also haven’t been around her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for nearly five years, so…”

“Oh, just you wait. You haven’t had the full Millie experience yet. She’s been on her best behaviour; she adores you and she’s trying her best to butter you up and just reel you in. I think she’s worried you might be temporary; that you’ll leave as soon as the bad guys are dealt with. That scares her. She’s already really attached to you. She doesn’t want to lose you.”

“I guess I’ll have to prove to her that that’s not going to happen. Same way I’ll have to prove it to her mumma. Tell both of you as many times as I have to; that I’m not going anywhere and you’re both stuck with me.”

“What a horrible, miserable life to lead.” She teases, then tips her head back and smiles up at him.

“I have to admit, she CAN be a handful. I don’t where she finds the energy. I’m used to going days without sleep sometimes, but THAT girl? She can wear me out.”

“You know she gets that from you, right? The whole ‘not being able to sit still for longer than five minutes’ thing? And as far as being a handful, that’s definitely YOUR DNA.”

“You gotta be kidding me. She gets all the bad stuff from her mother.”

Giving a derisive snort, she playfully elbows him in the stomach. “You wish! She is all you! That is all Rake DNA inside of her. My genes didn’t stand a chance! Did I mention she can be extremely grumpy? Especially first thing in the morning? And that she’s insanely stubborn?”

“And you’re not stubborn? You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“Other than yourself, you mean. You are way worse than I am!”

“I don’t even come close. You are by far a million light years ahead of me. In the stubbornness department.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, and then giggles when he lightly pinches her side and presses a kiss to her temple. And for several minutes, they sit in companionable silence; his eyes closed and his nose pressed against the side of her head as her nails repeatedly brushing along his forearm.

“What’cha thinking about?” Esme inquires, momentarily leaving his embrace in order to lean sideways and place her empty mug on the coffee table.

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Christmas.”

She tilts her head back to look up at him, an eyebrow arched quizzically. “What?”

“I was thinking about Christmas. There were a couple of other things in there too, but it was mostly that. How we’re going to have to get a tree and decorations and stuff for outside and presents and…”

“Babe, it’s more than a month away. We haven’t even got to Thanksgiving yet.”

“Yeah, but that’s an easy holiday. Just eat a lot of food and pass out on the couch while watching footie. Now Christmas…”

“When did you get so interested in celebrating Christmas? You thought I was crazy for wanting go all out; when we lived in the little shack in The Kimberley.”

“Look where we lived. Who would want to celebrate Christmas in that place? And you got your holiday in the end; we got you a tree, I put lights up outside, you did up the inside…”

“And you bitched and moaned the entire time. But I do appreciate it; you putting in the effort to make ME happy.”

“I had my reasons. For not caring about Christmas. We talked about them. Extensively.”

“And what about now? Those reasons still exist.” ‘ “Yet, but much more important ones exist, too. I’ve got a family. I’ve got a soon-to-be wife and a little girl. And it’s her first Christmas. With me. With her dad. I just want it to be perfect. For her.”

Smiling, she presses a kiss to the side of his wrist. “You are so cute.”

Tyler scowls and then nips at her earlobe. “Shut up.”

“There is nothing with being called cute. Or sappy. Or adorable. You are all those things. But you’re also insanely hot and sexy and a total bad ass that can kill a man a hundred different ways with his bare hands.”

“It’s more like a hundred and fifty, but…”

“You are so many things rolled up into one. A total walking contradiction. People see how big you are and all the scars and the tattoos and that resting asshole you have going on ninety percent of the time and…”

“My WHAT?”

“Your resting asshole face. You don’t realize you’re doing it, but you have this very distinct ‘I’m going to rip your head off and shove it up your ass’ thing going on. And it happens to be extremely attractive and compelling, yet very terrifying and intimidating all at the same time.”

“You make absolutely zero sense.”

“People are scared of you. As soon as they look at you.”

“Millie wasn’t.”

“Millie isn’t scared of ANYONE.”

“You weren’t afraid of me. Were you?”

“I didn’t find anything to be afraid of. You had a nice smile. It’s soft. Gentle, even.”

“I never smiled at you.”

“You most certainly did. Maybe not that big, ‘crinkle the corner of eyes’ smile that you sometimes bust out, but it WAS a smile. When I was out on the porch with Lucy and I looked inside; you were watching me and when you realized I’d caught you, you gave this sweet, little smile.”

“You were imagining things.”

“I was not! I KNOW what I saw. It was a smile.”

“I do NOT have that kind of smile.”

“You do. And I saw it many times after that. In Dhaka, in the hospital when you were recovering, when we were living together…”

“You are so full of shit.”

“You can deny it all you want, but you do have a very distinct and very…likeable…side to you. It’s just that not everyone takes the time to notice it. What’s lying underneath all those scars and tattoos and all the rough edges. They don’t look past all of those things. Either that or you don’t LET them past them.”

“How did we go from talking about Christmas to talking about some weird smile you supposedly saw?”

“I knew you were different. As soon as I saw you. You weren’t like everyone else I’d ever come across on the job. And you especially weren’t like other mercenaries. You had a softness to you. A sadness, even. And humanity. A lot of humanity.”

“And you saw all of this standing in my kitchen in the outback?”

“I’m very observant.”

“You’re on drugs is what you are.”

“I know what I saw. I know what I experienced. Especially during those five days together. And you can deny it all you want, but you ARE different. Then the rest of them. And you let me see that. For some reason.”

“So, for argument's sake, say this stuff DOES exist. Say I do have this weird little smile, and I am different than anyone else and I let you see all of it. Guess it’s because I trusted you.”

“Which is odd, considering you don’t trust anyone. Or BARELY anyone, at least. And you certainly don’t trust them right off the bat.”

“Something must have told me I could. Maybe my instincts said you were good. And I’ve been living off those for years, and they haven’t led me wrong yet. Guess I listened to them.”

Smiling, she wriggles around on the couch until she’s facing him, perching herself on her knees before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “Your instincts are very wise. And they have very good taste.”

“I swear to God if this is where you call me ‘cute’ for a second time in only half an hour…”

“Actually…” fingernails lightly and loving scrape at the nape of his neck). “...this is where I tell you ‘I love you’ and say ‘thank you for being you’.”

“And now who’s being a sap?”

“Spare me your mouthy bullshit and just kiss me, okay?”

“I’ll get mouthy with you. In all the ways you like best.”

“You’re a pig. Remind me why I put up with you? Why I tolerate your bullshit?”

“Because of the things I can do with my mouth. And my dick.”

“Well, at least you know your strengths and your main selling features,” she teases, yelping when he pinches the sensitive area just below her ribs. And when one of his hands clamps down on her ass and pulls her even tighter against him, her initial laugh quickly transforms into a long, drawn-out sigh; his mouth covering hers laughs in a long, deep kiss that causes her toes to curl and her entire body to shudder.

*****

Her eyes remain closed when he pulls away; smiling when she feels him peck the tip of her nose and then dropping her head into the warm, safe place between neck and shoulder. Content and relaxed in the familiarity of him; the smell that lingers on both skin and clothes, the wall of solid muscle that she lies upon, the warmth that radiates from his body. And the way his hand sneaks up the back of her shirt and his fingers find the small of her back; able to feel the callouses as he repeatedly strokes smooth, pale skin.

“What else were you thinking about? You said ‘stuff’. That’s plural.”

“I don’t know if you want to hear about those things.”

“They have to do with tomorrow, don’t they.”

Nodding, Tyler presses a kiss to her brow. “Yeah…”

“I guess it’s better to talk about it now; we certainly won’t have time once we get out on the street. Is it something to do with the plan? How you’re going to get me out of here?”

“No. I’m confident about that; I’m not second-guessing it at all. I know I can get you out of here. Safely. And to the airport. That’s not what’s eating at me.”

Rolling onto her stomach, she places her forearm across his chest and then rests her chin upon it. “What IS eating at you?”

“Do you think we made the right choice? When it comes to Millie? And sending her with Alcott?”

“You agreed that it was way too dangerous; extracting and transporting Millie and me together. You didn’t even feel comfortable doing it. And when someone with your experience and your skill set admits to not feeling good about something…”

“This isn’t the mercenary side of me talking. This is the regular guy side. The DAD side.”

“And what’s it saying?”

“That it needs to know we did the right thing. That we made the right choice. It’s not like I don’t like the guy; he’s damn good at his job, and we’ve had a pretty decent working relationship. There haven’t been any issues. But this is my kid we’re talking about. My little girl. That I didn’t even know existed until four days ago. And I need to know that we made the right choice. By picking him to look after her.”

“I wouldn’t have talked you into it if I didn’t think he was the best person for the job. I trust him, Tyler. With not just my own life, but Millie’s. And believe me, I don’t trust many people when it comes to her. I don’t hand her over to just anyone. I know how much he loves her, and I also know that he’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.”

“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Just blindly trust someone like this. Especially with something so important. I just found out about her. I just became a dad again. And when I think about something happening to her…”

“She’ll be in great hands. Other than Nik and Yaz and maybe John, Alcott is the only one that I would one hundred percent trust with her. And seeing as the other three people will be busy doing their own thing and it’s a horrible idea to bring her with us…”

“I’ve already lost one kid. I don’t want to lose another one. Especially one I just found out about. I haven’t gotten a chance yet; to really get to know her. She doesn’t even know I’m her dad. What if…?”

“No. No. No,” she scolds, and places a palm over his mouth. “We are NOT playing that game. That is not a road we are going down. That leads to nowhere good. She’s going to be fine. She’s surrounded by people who love her and would do anything to protect her. These people are her family. They’re…”

His eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist. Displaying more aggression than necessary as he pulls her hand away from his face. “I’M her family.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that they’ve known her all her life. Since she was just a little thing, still in my belly. I…”

“At least they got the opportunity. I wasn’t given a choice; whether I wanted to be there or not.”

“And I’ve apologized for that. Many, many, MANY times. And I don’t care if I have to apologize times more. You said it yourself; no one hates me for more than I hate myself.”

“I don’t want you hating yourself. And I don’t want you to keep apologizing. I don’t want either of those things.”

“Then tell me what I can do. Tell me what you want me to say. What you need me to do. Because whatever it is…”

“I want Millie to know. About me. That I’m her dad.”

“And we talked about that. We came to an agreement. That once we were in Australia and things settled and we got her into a routine, we’d sit down with her and…”

“No. That’s not soon enough. I want her to know NOW.”

“Tyler, with everything else that’s going on and everything she’s already been through…”

“Why are you underestimating her? Why aren’t you giving her the benefit of the doubt? When it comes to what she can and can’t handle. You said it yourself; how resilient she is.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to dump more things on her. I know she’s strong and tenacious but…”

“Is that how you see it? That you’re ‘dumping’ me on her?”

“No! Of course not! You’re taking everything I say totally out of context. It’s just big news, you know? It’s life-changing; finding how your dad’s been right under your nose for almost a week. She’s been asking about you…about her dad…for almost two years now. At least twice a week. But considering what she’s been through in the last five days…”

“None of that is my fault. What happened between you and Alessio. You took that job; knowing that Millie would be in direct contact with those people. You knew exactly who they were and what they were capable of, and YOU brought her into that. People talk about how I’d be the bad influence; a mercenary having a kid and putting a target on her back. Yet it wasn’t me; getting her mixed up in this bullshit.”

Esme sighs heavily. “I deserve that. And it’s not like I haven’t accepted the blame. You’re right; I took the job and I put her in harm’s way. But…”

“I came here because I needed to fix someone else’s mess. And I stayed because it WAS you. I could have easily said ‘fuck you’ and left. And a lot of guys probably would have. But I stuck around. Because I didn’t want anything happening to you. Or her. I agreed to put my own ass on the line so the two of you could live to see another day. So I think the least you could is hear me out. When it comes to why I want this.”

“ You’re right; it IS the least I can do. I don’t mean to lessen what you’re going through or how you’re feeling. It’s not intentional. I’m sorry, Tyler. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to.”

“You see how Millie loves me, yeah? I mean, she tells everyone she comes across. That she does. And she goes on and on about the things we do together; about going for pancakes and letting her watch that goddamn, fucking Bluey on my phone and how I didn’t let the bad guys hurt. She even talks about how we have the same favourite ice cream. And how good I am at tucking her in. She calls it a ‘Millie burrito’.”

“She adores you. She loves being with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”

“I hate that she tells people I’m just her mother’s boyfriend. And says I’m just here to keep you and her safe and kick some’ asses. And I especially hate it when she calls me by my first name.”

“I know it does. I know it hurts. I can see it in your eyes; every time she calls you Tyler.”

“I have to hold back. With my own kid. I can’t treat her the way I want to. I can’t LOVE her the way I want to. And that’s not fair, Esme. Not when I had to miss four years of her life. Through no fault of my own. It’s not fucking fair, and you know it.”

“You’re right. It isn’t. It isn’t fair. At all.”

“Everything you know about me. Everything you know I went through. Especially when it comes to losing my son and the horrible fucking choice I made. You knew what that did to me. What it STILL does me. And not only did you keep Millie a secret from me, now you’re keeping me a secret from HER.”

“I’m not…”

“We talked about it. About having a family. About how much you wanted to be a mum. And I was more than honest with you about how scared I was. You knew it fucking terrified me; the thought of being a dad again and fucking it all up a second time. But I was willing to do it. I WANTED to do it. With you. And now I get that second chance and I can’t do anything with it. I have a kid I can’t even claim.”

“Why didn’t you say all that right at the beginning? When we first talked about it? Why didn’t you just come right about how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking? We could have come to a different decision. A compromise. Had I known all this…”

“This is no compromise. Not when it comes to her. Not when it comes to MY kid. We have to tell her. It’s as simple as that.”

“For her benefit or yours? Because if you’re thinking solely of yourself, I’m sorry. I can’t agree. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. But Millie comes first. She HAS to. She’s four years old, Tyler. She’s a baby still. And yeah, she’s strong and she’s resilient, but she’s still a little girl. A VERY little girl. And if you just want this because of how you’re feeling…”

“This isn’t just about me. When do I ever think of just myself? Be honest. When have I EVER been like that?”

“Never. You’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. Selfless to a fault, even.”

“I know she’s been through a lot this past week. I’m not denying it. And it’s a hell of a thing she went through this morning. But do you see how she handled that? How quickly she bounced back? By the time she went to bed last night, it was almost like nothing ever happened. She was back to herself. She was bouncing around and telling jokes and fighting me on going to sleep. I mean, I had to read five stories for fuck sake. Before she’d even close her eyes.”

She manages a smile. “I told you she’s stubborn. She’s her father’s daughter.”

“But she’s also YOUR daughter. And all that strength? That bravery? That comes from her mother. You’re not giving her enough credit, Esme. I know she’s only four. But she’s resilient, and she’s smart, and she can handle way more than you think she can.”

“I just don’t want it being too much, you know? Emotionally. I don’t want it to be more than she can handle after everything else. And if I’m being totally honest? Selfishly speaking? It kind of scares of me. How she’s going to react.”

“You’re worried she’s going to be angry. At you.”

She struggles to hold back her tears. “I’m worried she’s going to hate me. For not telling her sooner. For not taking her to meet you before all of this.”

“Hey…” Tyler cradles her face in his palms. “...she’d never hate you. You’re her mum. Look how much she loves you. How much you love HER. You’ve always given her that; she’s always known how much you love her and how you would do anything for her. She’s happy, and she’s healthy, and she’s so fucking smart. She loves the world and everyone and everything in that. That’s because of YOU. How you’ve brought her up. How could she EVER hate you?”

“I lied to her. About you. She’s going to wonder why. She’s going to ask questions. A lot of them. I know her.”

“She’s got questions, and we’ve got answers. We don’t need to hide anything. There’s nothing for either of us to be ashamed of. There’s no deep, dark, dirty secret. The truth isn’t THAT ugly, Me. It isn’t. And I am one hundred percent sure she’ll understand; why you did what you did. And if she hears it from BOTH of us…”

“This is just such a mess. Had I not waited this long to tell her….”

“A little late now, don’t you think? It’s done. I’m here. And we are in one hell of a fucking mess.”

“I’m assuming you mean the job and not THIS.”

He nods.

“So what do we do? What’s the plan? When do you WANT to tell her?”

“As much as I want to tell her as soon as she gets up, I think we need to hold off. Until we get home. And then we do it ASAP. We don’t hold off. No waiting for things to settle or a routine to be put in place. We just do it. Everything else can come later.”

“And we’ll do it together?”

“Took us both to make the baby, yeah?”

“Well, I DID to all the hard work,” she chides. “You merely got your ten minutes of fun.”

“Excuse you? Ten minutes? I’ve been going more than ten minutes since I was sixteen years old. WAY more.”

“What do you want? A cookie? A cake? One that says ‘congratulations, you came inside of me’?”

He smirks. “You really ARE a smart ass.”

“You love my ass.”

“I do. Sometimes a little too much.”

She rests her forehead against his. “I am so sorry, Tyler.”

“For what? Having a great ass? For making me a simp for it?”

“I can’t believe you even know that word.”

“Your slang does eventually get to Australia, you know.”

“I meant I’m sorry for all of this. I’m sorry for leaving, and I’m sorry for not telling you about Millie. I’m sorry for not getting a hold of you a lot sooner; for not having the courage to just bring her to you. You deserved to know. That you were a dad again. You deserved to be there. Through everything. Especially when she was born. And I’m sorry I took all of that from you.”

“I don’t need to keep hearing ‘I’m sorry.’ I KNOW you are. I don’t doubt it for a second. What I need is for you just to let me go off. When I NEED to. You’re my person, Esme. You always have been. And don’t want that changing. So what I need is for you to just let me get all this shit out. And not take it personally when I do.”

“I can do that. It’s kind of hard, though; NOT taking it personally. I’m the one who did all this. Made such a mess of things.”

“And everything’s going to work out. We have been through a hell of a lot worse. If we can get through that THAT? I don’t think there’s much we can’t get past.”

“We need to get through tomorrow first. Before we can even start concentrating on what’s next. And if something goes wrong…”

“You just let me worry about all that, okay? That’s part of my job. Goes along with this whole bodyguard thing.”

“I have to say…” She once more leans her body against his, chin resting on his chest. “...you guard the body VERY well.”

“Is that what the kids call it these days? ‘Guarding the body’? I really need to brush up on my slang.”

“Millie will teach you. She’s four going on fourteen some days. She’ll have you saying ‘sus’ in no time.”

“What the hell does that mean? ‘Sus’?”

“Short for suspicious, I guess. I don’t know. And I don’t ask. She’s four; she doesn’t understand half of what she learns and repeats. Which is why you’re going to have to watch your mouth around her. Or she’s going to have the vocabulary of a drunken sailor by the time she starts school.”

“No one thinks anything of it in Australia. Kids throwing the word ‘fuck’ around.”

“I just rather she not be one of them. Just in case the Wicked Witch of the Mid-West ever does meet her.”

“You don’t want her telling her grandmother to go fuck herself?”

“What I want and what is acceptable are two entirely different things.”

“Just for you, I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“For you, being on your best behaviour means not getting shot half a dozen times.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s going to be all behind us. Once this is over, that’s it. I walk away. For good.”

“And you’ll be happy with that? Retiring? From this life anyway?”

“I will. I’ll have everything I need at home. Why risk losing that?”

Smiling, she pecks the tip of his chin. “That’s a very good answer.”

Using gentle fingertips to push strands of hair behind her ears, he cradles her face in his palms; eyes never leaving hers as the pads of his thumbs graze along the tops of her cheeks. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You just have to trust me.”

“I do,” she assures him, and once more lays her head upon his chest; releasing a sigh as she tucks her head under his chin. “With my life.”

[thedragonagelesbian]

Once upon a time, Cyrus Hawke had taken great comfort in pain. Hurt was a kind of testimony-- on the battlefield, in the bedroom, evidence of his physical existence that he could bear witness to and thus discover, again and again and again, his place in the world, both literal and metaphorical.

But there was no solace in this, the fever drawn between his eyes down to the pit of his stomach, throbbing like an open wound, raw and festering and pulsing out to the blurry edges of his being. The tadpole writhed against his skull, its small wriggling form quaking with anticipation. Perhaps it danced in time with its six kin, a coordinated celebration of their metamorphosis, life exalting in the correctness of its evolution.

Their revelry had run afoul of the tea Cyrus usually brewed to help himself trance, spoiling it in his stomach before he could set his mind at ease. The memory of Lae'zel's dagger pressed to his throat wasn't helping anything either. Nothing would at this point, he supposed, slumped against the floor of the cavern and sweating out his last hours like a sick dog.

I could have stopped this, once.

He didn't know if that was true or not, but he had never missed the crackle of divine magic at his fingertips as much as he did then. Like sunshine after a storm burning away the fog, he had once been filled with such warmth. His very blood had run hot with miracles, and he could open himself up to the bodies of others, soothing their ailments.

What was he now?

A voice he had spent decades trying not to dwell on snaked through the aching delirium: You will never be anything more than my champion.

"That is not true," Cyrus hissed, loud enough to hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears, and when that wasn't enough to banish the doubt gnawing at his rib cage, he reached for the knife instead. Nestled by his side, small as it was, its hilt felt heavier than anything he could manage to lift now, but he took comfort in his white-knuckled grip through the leather of his glove.

Whatever certainty he had left, it was this: he would not wait for Lae'zel to end him in the morning. He would not leave his death in someone else's hands.

...Although if he were to leave it to anyone's, he trusted Lae'zel's the most. He knew singularity of purpose and duty and devotion more intimately than he knew anything else about himself. He also knew what that singularity had cost him. He wondered if Lae'zel would live long enough to realize it too.

He watched her sleeping restlessly at the far edge of the camp before, one by one, he took the rest of them in. The cleric of Shar, so convinced of the virtue of her suffering (which wide-eyed fool did that remind him of?). The vampire spawn whose body had not been his own in two hundred years, who could not remember what he looked like beforehand (should he have mentioned it? that he had also forgotten what he had looked like before magic had scarred his body?). The Hells-touched barbarian who had not known comfort or intimacy in a decade (an all-too familiar story). The wizard who had tried to show him the wonders and beauty of touching the Weave (maybe it hadn't been a ploy; maybe it had been a gesture toward mutual understanding. Toward friendship. What miserable irony to finally have friends again only to lose them now...)

And Wyll...

Wyll...

He had a harder time keeping up the facade in his sleep, tail lashing, tossing and turning and knocking his horns against the ground. As his vision began to swim, Cyrus watched him, wishing desperately to be able to take that pain away. For himself, for all of them, for Wyll especially, a man too good for a world that didn't deserve him as its hero.

I'll find you. The thought came to him slowly, pouring like hot molasses over sluggish and slowing synapses. My soul will travel to Avernus and find yours. I won't let you live out eternity there.

It would've been a good thought to end on... but the darkness that claimed Cyrus lasted only a moment. A heartbeat suspended in nothingness, and then light flooded his vision. Blinding and cold, like steel glinting in sunlight, it cut through the fever. He tried to blink the whiteness from his eyes, but all he saw were strands of color mingling with the brightness. Purple and gold and pink and silver shimmering in the void.

And a voice, distorted and distant but closer and clearer with every word: "I came just in time. You are transforming."

A gauntlet, a shimmer, a memory that was not his imposing itself on his mind, and as Cyrus sat up, he saw her: a tall and imperious woman dressed for battle, severe and familiar down to the frightening blue of her eyes.

"Meredith..."

Perhaps he should have known right away that the figure wasn't her. For all the care and detail in its facade, it didn't smile like her, and it had shifted back to give him room to breathe-- room, indeed, to throw up his hand. A gnarl of withered flesh across his palm stood between them in some meager defense.

The next morning, Cyrus would loathe that that was his first instinct. That he had cowered like some caught prey animal instead of bearing his talons and forcing this thing--memory, ghost, guardian--away from him.

"How...? What are you...?"

"Be at peace, Cyrus." A command uttered with softness and gentleness was still a command. "I saved you before." He reeled again as his mind flashed unbidden to the crash of the nautiloid, to the fall that should have left him little more than a smear of viscera against the beach. But something had caught him. She had caught him. How had she...? "And I'm here to save you again."

"No." His voice--a voice he owed to her--cracked. "I do not want to be saved by you."

[firefly--bright]

Blooming Hearts

Jean Kirstein x reader (**implied fem, they/them pronouns used) mini series, reincarnation au.

** - implied that reader stays with Sasha and Mikasa in the girl's dorms as a cadet.

summary : you never thought that some freshly bloomed flowers and newly brewed tea would help you meet the one person you desperately wanted to meet.

warnings : some angst, mild manga spoilers

a/n : last chapter!!! sorry this came out so late i just haven't been finding the motivation lately but here it is!! hope you guys like it :D

enter my taglist!

| Main Masterlist is in pinned navigation | Fic playlist | requests are open! | fic Pinterest board |

tagging: @a10vely-yutazen

--

Chapter Five - Rebirth

You stretched your limbs, sore from the ODM gear and relentless fighting. You should have been used to it, really. All the killing, all the screams and blood. But you weren’t, even after so many years of being an experienced soldier.

How could you ever get used to killing? It was a ruthless thing, to kill a part of your own species, much less your own comrades. The face of the Commander Pixis as a titan was still ingrained into your mind, unable to cast it aside.

You stepped out to the deck of the ship, looking around for your lover.

You spotted Mikasa to your left, lost in thought, as her hair flew wildly in the wind. Your gaze turned forward, finding the back of your beloved, deciding to approach him first.

His forearms were pressed into the railing. To everyone else it would’ve seemed like he had everything together, but you knew better. His gaze was distant, eyebrows slightly furrowed and you could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

Your hand reached his jaw, caressing it softly, making him loosen the tightness he had welcomed into it. His eyes fluttered close.

“how’re you feeling, flower boy?” you asked gently, not wanting to disturb Mikasa.

The nickname seemed to relax him a bit, and his lips twitched upwards. You counted that as a win in your books.

He sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping with defeat.

“its… its too much. Its so much. I want it to stop and the worst part hasn’t even started yet.” He said, voice cracking.

Your hand travelled up his jaw and stopped at his cheek, where you rested your palm near the corner of his mouth.

“I know. There’s… a lot going on right now.” You sighed, “I dont know if it gets better. But, if its any consolation, I promise to be here with you when it does.”

His eyes opened at that, “it is. It’s plenty consolation, poppy.” He kissed your palm and kept his eyes focused on you.

“you’ll have your dream one day, Kirstein. After this last thing is over you’ll be able to live semi-peacefully, somewhere safe.” You said, leaning into him.

“semi-peaceful? Why not fully?” he asks. He wants to humour you, and you know it. So, you let him, just like all the other times.

“well you don’t expect your kids and two cats to be quiet, do you?”

He chuckles in what seemed to be forever. You hadn’t seen him laugh in so long, you had almost forgotten how good it made you feel.

His eyes crinkled shut, his hair flying because of the wind, strands of it framing his face. You almost forgot how much you loved seeing this sight, how much it only strengthened your feelings for him.

Your love for him was rooted so deep into you, and you had gladly let it. Your heart was in his hands, roughened by the years of abrasiveness to them, yet still so gentle to you. He had burrowed himself in you, in your thoughts and memories and happiness, that it almost felt like he was a part of you. you had etched him on to you like a promise you’d keep repeating to yourself, a line you kept saying so that youd memorize it. And truly, you had memorized him. you had memorized every wrinkle, every hair, every freckle and every scar on his body and mind.

And you’d never forget him. you would carry him with you till the day you died, and perhaps even lifetimes after that.

That wouldn’t be so bad, you thought, as he kissed your nose and looked out to the horizon again.

It wouldn’t be bad at all.

 your mind was buzzing as you stood infront of the door to the “mansion” as sasha had put it, and she wasn’t wrong.

The house seemed to be massive, the gate itself had tight security as you spotted four guards near the front. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help it. You, like your other friends, looked at the structure in awe at the numerous amounts of windows, some with their lights on.

You could here soft music playing from the inside, followed by a rumbling round of laughter. It seemed like the party had already started.

Jean let out a whistle. “this is fucking huge.”

You heard Connie whisper a “that’s what she said”, followed by Sasha elbowing him in the ribs.

“should we… ring the bell?” you asked. Marco shrugged, still looking at the building, taking in the architecture. you took that as a yes.

The bell rang with the same tune you knew it would ring in; the tune that all rich families had in movies.

You knew Historia was a queen previously but you didn’t know that it would translate to… this. You hoped she had a relatively happy life as compared to her last one. She deserved that.

The music inside stopped, and the enormous front door finally opened.

A short, familiar looking blonde with blue eyes crinkled with a wide smile greeted you, “welcome, guys!” she said chirpily, but there was no fakeness behind her smile, no lie in her happiness this time.

You had seen her around campus, and had spotted her and ymir, you guessed, together at the tea shop in some of your shifts. You never recognized her, though. You’d never been keen to introduce yourself to her everytime you saw her, but it made sense now seeing her being historia.

The memories flew by everyone’s heads. You had gotten kind of used to this, as had everyone else, so you just mirrored historia’s smile, though yours wasn’t as wide. You didn’t think anyone’s smile could match hers.

“hey, hisu!” sasha said, and you could almost see tears in her eyes.

Your shoulders relaxed as your feet carried you to the blonde, hugging her tightly as she hugged you back. You felt sasha join, followed by connie, then marco and jean.

the warmth made your heart swirl around in your chest, like how your hair would sway with summer breeze.

It all felt so familiar, your bones almost hurt.

Then again, it could just be connie squeezing you.

The group separated from the hug, but jean’s hands had somehow found yours, with no physical inclination to removing it.

You hesitantly welcomed his gentle yet firm grip on your wrist, as historia led all of you inside the house you had stood admiring for three minutes. Historia glanced at jean’s hold on you, as she sent you a wink, and led your group into the house.

Historia was really one of the first people you openly admitted to having a crush on Jean. Though she couldn’t really help much because of your stubborn reluctancy, she did cheer you on from the sidelines as you did her with Ymir. You and her grew apart over the years, after she had been crowned queen, and with Ymir gone, you’d hardly hear from her for months. Regardless of her busy schedule and broken heart, she replied to almost all of your letters. The last one you sent stated about you were scared of the war, asking about how she was doing with her pregnancy. You didn’t know if she had ever answered it, and you wouldn’t have known even if she did.

You could almost feel the excitement as you entered the house. Your gaze was fixed on historia, talking animatedly with sasha and Connie, promising to give them a tour of her house. The hallway that led to the main drawing room itself was long, leading to a staircase.

“please give us a tour of the kitchen. I swear I won't touch anything I just really want to see.” Sasha pleaded. You smiled, biting the inside of your cheeks, seeing niccolo hide his face with his hand, pretending to be embarrassed, even though you knew he wanted to see the kitchen as well.

Marco piped up from your left, “calm down sash. Im pretty sure hisu has snacks for us.” He said, to which historia nodded enthusiastically.

“well why didn’t you say that before, and what are we still doing here-“

“there you guys are, finally! We were wondering what all that commotion was about.” You heard someone’s voice boom through the corridor.

Jean instinctively shuffled closer to you, shoulder touching yours as his grip slightly tightened on your wrist. Based on his reaction alone, you immediately knew who’s voice it was.

“Jaeger bomb!” connie almost shouted. Even though connie had met eren last week, it didn’t stop him from tackling him with a hug which eren thankfully reciprocated with the same energy.

“eren, wait.”

Mikasa.

Her voice was the same, gentle and scolding, kind of like a mother, though the hard edge of it was gone. She emerged in the hallway, her red scarf nowhere to be found. Instead, in its place, was a choker.

You had to admit, her aesthetic fit her more than you’d have imagined. She wore an oversized black t-shirt, paired with a short skirt that almost hid under the shirt. Her neck was adorned with about three chains, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gotten a belly button piercing as well. Her eyeliner was bold, and she wore black lipstick as though it was made for her, and you were pretty sure it was.

Her hair was longer, tied into two buns. You left jean’s side and joined sasha in going in for a bear hug, swaying lightly as Mikasa swayed with both of you.

the sheer familiarity of all your oldest new friends almost made your knees buckle. You were pretty sure you’d have fallen down already if it wasn’t for Mikasa and sasha’s grip on you.

--

“come on, (y/n)! everyone else who’s done it has been caught!” sasha cried, holding your hand in hers.

Mikasa sat beside the two of you, on your shared bunk, as she watched sasha practically climb on to you, begging you to sneak into the kitchens to bring her a snack.

Everyone knew sasha’s definition of a snack was basically a feast.

“this is peer pressure! I will not succumb.” You said, but you already knew your resolve was crumbling. The smile on your face slipped out, and sasha knew she won, a smile of her own creeping on her lips, as she let out a small squeal.

It was almost a weekly occurrence : after your hand to hand combat training in which you’d always somehow end up paired with jean, sasha would get incredibly hungry, usually right after dinner time. Everyone else in the dorm would get ready for bed, half anticipating sasha to convince you into submission. She’d eventually sit right beside you, pleading eyes meeting yours as Mikasa would try to tell her to calm down.

Of course, after you caved, youd sneak into the kitchens expertly, escaping shadis’ hawk eyed rounds while sasha and Mikasa would cover for you. returning with some leftover bread and cold potatoes, you’d leave some for the boys near their dorms and make your way to your own bunk, where sasha and the rest of your friends would greet you with wide smiles and whispered “thank you’s” while grabbing some of the food,one of the rare occasions where Mikasa and sometimes even annie would crack a smile.

“when eren and I were in singhanshina, we’d always do this. Carla – eren’s mom – would always pull eren’s ear in the morning when she found out that half the bread was gone.” Mikasa said lowly and she munched on half of the potato you shared with her.

You smiled thinking about it.

“when I was little, I’d bring home all the produce from the garden but sneak some into my room before my dad found out about it. I don’t think he ever found out about it, actually. To be fair, it was a lot of produce. Oh and the mea-“

“don’t speak with your mouth full, sash. You’ll choke.” You said, swallowing a bite of your own potato.

“eh. It’ll be worth it. Better than dying at the hands of titans.”

“fair. I’d like to die doing something I love.” You said, which grabbed mikasa’s attention.

“and what would that be?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe of old age? That’s pretty boring though.”

“oh, maybe you should go out in a blaze of glory!” sasha said, eyes bright.

“nah, that’s not my thing. Maybe just something peaceful, knowing I’ve done my job well, yaknow?” you whisper, stuffing the last bit of the potato in your mouth.

Mikasa sighs softly, “I just…. Don’t want to watch my friends die before me. I know it will be inevitable… but I don’t want to be the last one remaining.”

“you wont be, mika.” You say, turning to look at her on your left. Her gaze was fixated on her lap, the skin of the boiled potato discarded into her left hand. The soft glow of the candle made her grey eyes look softer than how they usually looked during training.

“yeah! Besides, we’re brave enough to protect ourselves. We want to be here for you too.” Sasha said, hugging mikasa’s side, as you did the same.

Mika placed her own non-dirty hand on the ones engulfing her in a hug, burying her chin into her scarf.

“thank you,” she says, “thank you.”

--

jean’s hand found it’s way to the small of your back, almost as if being with his old friends activated the reflexes that he forgot he had, as if his hand would burn off if he didn’t hold you in some way.

But everytime you moved away from his touch he felt his heart stop. He expected this, of course. He’d hurt you and it was idiotic to think that you’d forgive him just like that.

Jean watched from the side as you interacted with reiner and bertholdt, laughing at ymir’s harsh jabs at reiner. Jean mostly remained silent, watching the others joke around and catch up, adding his own opinions once in a while. Sitting on the plush couch that he knew cost more than his entire tuition, surrounded by his friends’ laughter and warm chatter, jean felt…alone. You were so far out of his reach now, standing near reiner, at the other end of the room, where your voice didn’t quiet reach his ears unless you were laughing.

He sighed slightly, getting up without an excuse to tell marco, exiting the current conversation between marco and eren. Something about eren’s degree that jean didn’t really pay attention to.

Making his way over to you, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“jean! How have you been?” reiner exclaimed, having noticed him first.

Jean shrugged, “can’t really complain. Glad to see you’re here, though.” He says, and he means it. Over the years, he grew to find in himself the forgiveness reiner needed, even growing closer to him after…everything. Now, especially in this new life, he knew reiner didn’t need to be blamed for that. Though jean still had troubles when he first met him, he quickly got over those bitter feelings. No need to carry them into a new life, right?

Reiner beamed at him, something he never did before this life. He seemed at peace, for once, and who was jean to ruin that?

Reiner continued talking to you, pulling out his phone to show you pictures of his dog, lola, who jean had seen multiple times before. Jean watched you coo at the pictures, zooming into them and pointing out details about the dog he hadn’t even noticed himself.

Jean’s eyes softened. He had to do something about this tension he so readily welcomed before, he had to fix this. So what if he felt like he would loose you again? he’d make the most of it, this time. He’d dreamt about asking you to marry him way too many times for it to not have become a reality. He was not going to hide behind his fears anymore, if he was taught anything from his past life was that he was a coward, but a brave one at that. He would prove it now, with you. he owed it to you, to himself.

He cleared his throat, a desperate act to grab your attention. You, however, kept on reiner’s phone, who was now showing you a video of his new coffee machine he got with bertholdt. Jean tried again, this time reaching his hand on the small of your back. his spot.

You look at him, finally, and jean cheers internally.

“can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks, and he’s sure you'll say no. you’re sure you’ll say no, too, but you couldn’t. like an instinct, something you couldn’t control, you nodded. You couldn’t throw away a lifetime with him for his stupidity, and you for one, were well acquainted with jean’s stupidity.

You excuse yourself from reiner, asking him to send you more of the videos of the coffee machine, and followed jean to one of the many giant balconies in historia’s house. How he knew the way, you had no idea.

He closed the glass doors as you stood by the railing. You knew he was nervous about explaining whatever situation he was in to you. mentally preparing yourself for hearing the worst of the words you kept hidden in your mind these past few months, you braced yourself. You were scared that hearing it from him would make it more real, more soul crushing, the fact that your past lover now loved someone else. You wouldn’t know how to handle it, if even you could. It was ironic, really, that in your last life you’d fought till your last breath, only to be scared of a mere sentence in this world. You wanted to delay this as much as you could, you wanted to keep the memories of jean in your arms in the nights you spent in marley, the only time you allowed yourself to have any semblance of a normal, domestic life with him.

Jean shuffled next to you, and you tried to control your breath.

“look…” he started, turning his head to look at you. you refused to meet his eyes, fearing the lump in your throat would bubble its way up through your tears. You kept your focus on the lone pole star that twinkled in the sky.

You heard him sigh, “can you… look at me, when I do this, please? I need to know what youre feeling.” He asks.

You let out your own breath, mirroring his sigh. Staring down at his shoes first, you reluctantly bring yourself up to look at him. the grip you had on the railing tightened, and his eyes flickered down to them. Swallowing, you nodded for him to continue, your face remaining expressionless.

“I’m… okay, I know I’ve been a complete dick to you these past few months. I have an explanation, I really do, but I wanted to say sorry first. You definitely didn’t deserve that. God, you… you deserve so much more than this, really,” he let out a sad laugh, “but I’m sorry. Im so, so, so sorry.” He says.

You blink, tilting your head slightly. You weren’t expecting an apology for his behaviour, but honestly, you took it. He had been a dick, for lack of a better word, and you were glad he was apologizing for that instead of telling you he found someone new. You knew it was coming, but you decided to savour this moment a little bit before jean continued. He opened his mouth to speak before you interrupted him.

“its alright. You have been…”

“terrible? Rude? Asshole-ish?”

Your lips twitch. “all of the above.” You inhale. You had to do this yourself, instead of hearing it from his mouth, the same mouth that kissed you in your last life so lovingly that you were sure he could’ve brought you back to life if he tried. “I know what you’re gonna say, and it’s… it’s okay. I mean, I’d only expect you to move on, you know? Its literally been a lifetime. I… its okay if you ran out of patience and wanted to-“

“wait, what? What are you talking about?” he asks. His hands are no longer stuffed into his pockets, instead reaching out for yours. He looks at you like he’s hurt, his eyes scanning your face desperately. Your own brows furrow. Okay, now youre confused. He hasn’t moved on like you thought he had? That still made no sense, jean wouldn’t have just ignored all your advances just because he felt like it. You trusted him more than your own hands to know that he wouldn’t do that to you if he wasn’t influenced to.

“I thought… I thought you moved on, that’s why you were being like that. I mean I am hurt, but I also didn’t blame you for finding someone else. was that… not what you were going to tell me? that you’ve found someone?” you asked, mind whirring. Your grip on the railing loosened.

Jean looked at you for a minute, unblinking, and you baited your breath. He lets out a laugh then, his shoulders slumping. His hands cover his face up as he laughs like a madman, and you're left wondering what could’ve been so funny about what you said.

His hands slip off his face. He looks at you, eyes fixed on yours, no longer uncertain or confused or guilty. Theres a glisten to them, like he’s about to cry, and if you didn’t know any better, youd think he was angry, but the crinkle in the corner of his eyes showed you otherwise.

“jesus, you thought I moved on? From you? are you insane? Fucking hell, (y/n), I don’t think I could do that even if I tried. You’re… quiet literally my soulmate. I don’t know how I even survived without you for so many years.” He says.

“huh?” is all you can manage to say. you let out yet another audible breath, feeling like your heart could beat again. relief floods your veins in an instant, like his words magically have that effect on you, and you’re sure they do. They have to. He has to.

His hands make their way on your waist, and the butterflies that should have subsided by two lifetimes flutter in your stomach once more.

Jean feels shitty, he really does, but he cant help smiling. You're allowing him next to you, you're letting him hold you like this, and it feels right, like your waist was meant to be held by him and him only, like the lines on his palm would spell out your name if he squinted. He wants to kiss you already, but he knows that would come later, after he’s done explaining himself. So, he gets on with this, refusing to waste another second hurting you stupidly.

“the reason I did that was because I was scared.” He starts. Now he’s the one averting your eyes. He feels your gaze on him, but he looks at his hands placed on your waist instead.  “I was scared… that I'd lose you again. I didn’t want to love you just to end up being more hurt than I was last time. It's selfish, and stupid and, again, im so sorry I did that, but god, you don’t understand how bad it was after you…” he trails off, pausing to blink his tears away. Clearing his throat, he continues, “it hurt so much without you. it hurt to look at every flower and think about you, it hurt to live in the house we’d always talked about without you, it hurt to even… it hurt to breathe without you, love, and i… I didn’t want to live without you again. and just the thought of losing you a second time…. But I realised that loosing you was far better than refraining myself to love you. you’re hard to not love.”

He lifts his head up then. Your eyes are shining, your mouth slightly agape, and when he moves to rest his forehead against yours, you don’t stop him. you eyes flutter and he feels your hand reach for his cheek. You rest your palm there, and he fights all the cells in his body to not kiss your hand.

“im sorry I ever did that. Im sorry I hurt you for so long, im sorry that I had to consciously not think about you. please forgive me.” his voice cracks at the end. Your thumb traces circles on his cheekbone. Jean’s heart aches, like the way his joints do when he’s been sitting down for a long time and he finally stands up. jean feels like he has just woken up and is stretching his limbs from their position. He feels anew.

 He only hopes you feel the same, and when you smile, he knows you do.

“youre such an idiot.”

He smiles too, and your feel his muscles move from under your palm, “the biggest.”

“you’re forgiven. Just… never do that again.”

He shakes his head, his hair tickling your forehead as he moves. “never. I promise.”

“just fucking kiss already!” you hear a muffled voice say. both of you turn your heads to see connie with his hands cupped around his mouth, and sasha with some popcorn in her hand, chewing them with a big smile. Marco stood along with them shooting you an apologetic smile along with two thumbs up, and you heard jean groan at the three.

Shaking his head, he looked at you again, “so… can i?”

Your answer came in the form of pulling him even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and tangling your hands in his hair. He didn’t seem to care about the fact that you were messing up the hair that he meticulously styled for you, and you kissed his lips, his nose bumping into your cheek. You heard muffled cheers from inside the house, but the only thing you were focused on was his hands rubbing circles on your waist, one of them gradually finding its way to your cheek, trailing up your side in the process.

You swore you melted right there, and you swore he rebuilt you again, in two seconds, and when you both pulled apart from some much needed air, you sighed.

Pressing your lips onto the centre of his chest, you promised yourself to find him in all other universes all over again.

He smiled then, kissing the tip of your nose as shivers went up your spine. The soft yellow light glowed from the inside and he swore to himself that he’d find you in all other universes and hoped to kiss the tip of your nose just like he did in his last lifetime, just like he did in this one, just like he would in the next, and then the next, and then the next.

And even more after that.

He hoped.  

--

[jaz-rey]

[ kathryn bernardo, cis-woman, she/her ] Look who just landed! REYNA JAZMYN DIZON, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as a STREET RACER. The city has plenty of spots for a 28-year-old HUMAN like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as BAKUNAWA, being TENACIOUS and RASH.

OOC INFO

Ven, PST, she/they

Muse’s Name(s): Aramonta Xia Wei, Reyna Jazmyn Dizon

Tagging System: HERE

Intro: HERE

STATISTICS

Full Name: Reyna Jazmyn Dizon

Nickname: RJ, Jazrey, JR/Junior, Naga, Bakunawa

Date of Birth: July 31, 2377

Gender: Cis-woman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic

Current Age: 28

Modification: N/A, Human

Affiliation: Unaffiliated

Birthplace: New Jakarta, Mars

Current Neighbourhood: Mawar District

Occupation: Street Racer

Known Languages: Bahasa Indonesian, Japanese, English, Tagalog, Cebuano

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Kathryn Bernardo

Height: 5'2"

Eye Colour: Dark Brown, will don coloured contacts - favourites are a light brown

Hair Colour: Dark

Clothing Style: before she got fired, she was a corporate chic, heels for days, 5'2" with a 6'2" attitude type of girl who looked to belong with X Academy elite but off hours, she favours jumpsuits, sweats, sneakers, and dresses as if she’s straight out of hip hop dance practice. Duality is her thing so if she has a reason, she'd go back to corpo Reyna, but she'll settle for occasionally putting on some fashionable boots. These days, she also likes jackets with lots of pockets because as a former engineer, why wouldn’t she have tools on person? You’ll regularly find her with her black gloves on; they’ve got dragon serpents on them

Jewelry: several ear piercings and occasionally a belly button ring

Tattoos: on her back, A Sampaguita flower (Arabian jasmine), 7 moons, Serpents/dragons as a call out to her culture and her street racing name, Bakunawa AKA the bent snake, moon eater of Philippine mythology

Marks/Scars: A 2 inch jagged, vertical scar above her left ear and underneath her hair, close to her temple, and a half inch in diameter circular scar at the base of her neck

Modifications: N/A

Scent/Fragrance: GASOLINE Jk jk, she smells like Carolina Herrera’s Good Girl Blush

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: tenacious, spontaneous, perceptive, creative

Neutral Traits: hard-working, superstitious, unsentimental, restrained

Negative Traits: rash, indecisive, stubborn, withdrawn, tactless

Peeves: when people fart in her car, the way cheese dares to smell the way it does

Fears: her father, small spaces, becoming her father

Skills: bio/engineering, toxin purification, street racing, tooling, coding, fabrication skills, poison resistance

Goals: Getting a real job again, not being poor, breaking sexism in the engineering workplace

FAVOURITES

Likes: Plushies (stuffed veggies with cute faces are a fave), cheese corn ice cream, the mini screwdriver set she stole from X Academy

Dislikes: Ethanol-based liquids, Traffic violations, bricked engines 

Hobbies: Street Racing, Tinkering, Potion brewing/cocktail making

Habits: nail biting (it’s why she wears gloves), gambling on street races, carrying a functional hot sauce keychain, flipping a coin

One Cherished Item: Pressed souvenir coin from the Philippines (taken from her mom’s knick knack stash)

OVERVIEW

She never got the chance to form any memories of her mother and the memories she had of her father were traumatic at best. He was a man addicted to his vices and often at the expense of her. Low on credits, and feeling responsible for the family’s survival, Reyna became entangled with a local street racing crew. She would work on their cars with them and serve as a runner for materials. She found a family in the crew, but it wasn’t enough to save her from her father’s neglect and mistreatment.  Reyna was barely 17 when she stole the family savings and enrolled herself in a boarding school to get away from him. From then on she worked hard to secure a life she could call her own. Her academic achievements put her on X Academy’s radar and through their scholarship program, she attended a university on earth, gaining bachelor’s and master’s degrees in engineering. After graduation, X Academy invited her back to Mars to put her through an expedited internship program. They later converted her into a full-time employee due to her toxin production and purification work. Much of her studies and professional career was focused on creating and manipulating hazardous materials to reduce Mist-related risks.  During her time with X Academy, she also ‘had the privilege’ and was paid handsomely to join project ‘Nahash,’ a secretive project aiming to create hextech organs. They successfully integrated hextech into her skin and have it correspond with her hextech gloves. She contributed to the project using her bioengineering skills by combining her toxins research with the hextech bio-integration. She had two goals for this project: to create a safer alternative to cyber-augmentations and to develop a more effective security system for those who worked near the Mists. Though she was a talented engineer, not too long after touching down in New Jakarta, she quickly sought comfort from her found family and fell back into street racing. Taking on the codename of “Bakunawa,” based on Philippine mythology’s moon-eating serpent, she graduated from a runner to a racer. No longer focused on her day job, she became good at her night job while using her engineering prowess and X Academy resources to improve her car. Of course, since all things ended, she was eventually terminated from X Academy with the threat of grand larceny charges. Luckily, though, the threat never materialized. In exchange for maintaining an NDA and revoking her access to her hextech, she left the job with a cushy deal and a slap on her wrist. That should have been the end, but Reyna grew attached to her science and wanted it back. Now, trying to keep her spirits up, she’s entering her era of funemployment and trying her best. Hopefully, she can keep out of trouble this time, but who knows if she has it in her to resist her desires? 

FUN FACTS

She is half-siblings with Val. They don't know they're related yet

When she goes to the slums, she's known as Bakunawa or Naga for short.

Reyna has a high tolerance for natural poisons because of her studies. 

She is smol and proud of it. 

She’s saving up money for Hextech or stealing it back, whichever comes first.

[hierophants-hourglass]

In The Woods Somewhere

Jakob kneels at the river bank, hands resting on the silty layer of soil just below the water’s surface. The coolness of the mountain water is soothing as it threads over his skin. His eyes are closed and his ears are tuned to the sounds of the gentle stream. It’s too early for the birds to share their songs, and he’s desperate for a distraction from the nightmare that had terrorized him minutes before. He’s tempted to dunk himself entirely, to chill the unpleasant warmth that comes with adrenal surge, but he knows that would be dangerous when his fire had been allowed to burn out.

He’s currently alone. His animal companions have been distant lately. They don’t attempt to threaten his safety, but they seem avoidant. Perhaps he’s closer to the city than he realizes- after all he’s traveling on memory, his damn map had been ruined by the recent rain. 

The throbbing of his head isn’t as thunderous as it had been when he initially roused, but it aches residually. His stomach churns as his thoughts drift. He really shouldn’t be leaving his camp alone, not when it’s occupied with goods to sell. Fine pelts, preserved meats, leather work- a season’s worth of effort in one place. His visit to the nearest market has a dual purpose, but he isn’t sure he can stomach visiting her gravemarker. In a few days, it will be two years since her death. Jakob finds it hard to believe it will bring him any comfort to visit an empty plot, but he knows it would be spineless of him to acquiesce fully to her parents, both of whom have threatened him before. 

He… he doesn’t blame them. As much as his heart aches with the thought, he knows that he failed her that night- but it wasn’t just her that he had failed.

Jakob sighs, gently shaking the string of thoughts out of his head. He can’t afford to spiral, not when he knows the stress makes him vulnerable to the second occupant of his body. There’s an instant regret of acknowledging them, the power they hold over him. He knows he doesn’t remember everything about what happened, his memory too shattered by the creature’s bond. The elf’s headache worsens and his brow furrows as he lifts a hand to rub the center of his forehead, his fingers meeting the rough patch of star shaped scar tissue.

The elf is stubborn, though, and pushes himself to stand. He needs to get ready to move, and to emotionally prepare himself for the gawking he’s sure to receive for his unusual appearance. As his thoughts forcibly drift back to his errands for the day, the brewing pressure beyond his brow begins to ease and settle. 

But there’s another problem. As he begins to make his way back through the brush leading to his camp, something feels.. off. He slows his progress to a  careful creeping pace, and he realizes why. He hears in the distance the sound of a voice talking. There’s a certain burning in his head, followed by a familiar sense of dread. He’s far enough out of the way of any main paths that he shouldn't be hearing anyone, especially not at this hour. 

He’s careful as he approaches, peering through the thick forest. From here, he can see someone in the center of his camp, looking through the leather backpack he had left. They appear to be alone, talking to themselves. Jakob only has his knife on him, his bow and quiver left near his extinguished campfire, He wasn’t ignorant enough to leave his goods completely exposed, most of the more valuable items tucked away in the surrounding brush, but having someone snooping around isn’t exactly a good sign.

The elf moves to pull his dagger from its sheath, but hesitates. He doesn’t know who they are or what they are capable of, or if they even deserve his ire. His calloused fingers twitch before wrapping around the antler hilt of the knife. He’s pressed to admit he’d be more likely to kill them if he just had his bow on him. The distance would be safer and easier for a multitude of reasons, but it wouldn’t be fair of him- even if drawing attention to himself by speaking to them could be disastrous.

“Shh-ouldn’t touch th-ings. That. Aren’t, yours.”

The elf is comically short for his blood, just over five feet tall. He’s thin and tired looking, with dark eyes and bags beneath them. His hair is in a loose braid with a few choppy fringes of hair that frame his sharp features. A pair of antlers branch near his temples, more tree-like than belonging to a creature. Jakob’s wearing his resting clothes, but even now he wears her scarf. It rests loosely around his collar, appearing well used and loved. From where the stranger is standing, they can’t see the knife he’s holding at his side. 

[cwarscars-a]

Ahn doesn't have anything personal against this mountain of a man before her. She has been surrounded by ShinRa employees for years, training to reach the position she's in now, reporting to some while commanding others. She sees the animosity in some of their eyes for where she's from, but she has been nothing but loyal. Sometimes she must remind them that she is highly capable of the absolute devastation she has become so good at, questioning if they want to take their problems to the training grounds.

She's been taken up on that more times than she can count. She's rarely bested.

Heidegger, though, is another that many fear. Part of her feels like she remembers him from before, but the anxiety those potential memories bring makes her stop trying to remember. There's not much in her mind from before ShinRa, so if he was part of it, she doesn't quite recall.

"Sir," she says with no loss of professionalism. Her face is calm, eyes steady, posture perfect. She is nothing more than a trained professional here to be directed, a tool to be used, a weapon to be pointed. (She isn't, she isn't, but the struggle can't take place here, at work, in this office. None can doubt her at all. Ever.) "I was told you have a job for me."

he slips in a dash with his coffee - just a trickle of whiskey. just enough to add a little spice to his bitter brew. enough to keep him wired in a way caffeine can't do alone. he pauses an eye upon the bottle; a small flask, barely distinguishable and yet it's one he feels he has to hide. laments for a moment how long he's been having to do this for now. he'd tell anybody (were he pressed) that it'd only been a few years that he'd fallen into drinking -

in truth, it's since he'd officially 'retired' from action.

alcohol a good means of ridding his pain - the drink, easy and sweeter to lose himself to than pain medication or 'therapy'. a man could drink away his troubles but then he'd always feel thirsty -

when he thinks of the girl he's had called to his office; he almost immediately pines for another drink. thankfully for him, the bottle is empty and the strong scent of coffee overpowers any of the sting of bourbon (as it always did). and as usual - nobody would need to know.

not her, not them, not anyone. a drink something that heidegger can keep a secret with (even if the mere act of looking toward somebody like ahn would have those very same secrets scrambling to get off of the edge of his tongue).

her attitude is professional, her stance - stoic. she looks to him in the same sort of way tseng would though she’s none of his spite (or perhaps she does, perhaps she’s better at hiding it). his relationship with the turks had never been a good one, after-all. the waters long since soured by conflicting interests. the turks, a group, he’d never truly trusted. 

“Mhm-” his response is barely lifted eyes from his desk, a nod and a press of brows.  

he’d love to ask her if she remembered much of her past. love to check if shinra’s conditioning had done a good job to help her forget all of the torment; all of the horrors of war but alas, even a man as ruthless as heidegger would know that’s not a bear he wishes to poke. instead, he hums in his seat for a second. ponders on the orders given unto him by president shinra. 

what is it that they say? shit only falls one way? 

“you’re a turk and as such, are expected sometimes to commit to missions...that on a personal level, you may disagree with-” not that he’d accept such intolerance. still; there’s perhaps a human side of him that feels the need to warn her. “your mission is to infiltrate wutai as a civilian. become close with one” it irks him to simply say the name “godo kisaragi-” his scar burns. “and weave the seeds of suggestion that their enemies are the shinra once more.” a war. himself and the president are encouraging another war. to get a weakened wutai riled enough that they shoot themselves in the foot with statements and talk - that their leaders will have them looking guilty for AVALANCHE’s actions. 

were it up to heidegger - he’d not have her on the mission. 

he’d seen her back then. seen the state of her. a girl taken in as a POW and though he’s no sympathy for any man, woman or child of wutai - he’d felt his heart pound then. tasted the sickness in his throat, weaved a look of disgust across his face. maybe he’d gotten her from the fray? maybe he can’t remember. 

he leans back in his seat, a deep breath. 

“can you do this?”

[elpisays]

hero, (accidentally) hiding in vampire's (supposedly) abandoned castle

“Did you really think you were the only one here?”

Hero stopped, their body going perfectly still. 

The room was overtaken with darkness, oddly heavy in that full-moon light. Through open windows the wind crept in like a warning whistle, sending chills down Hero’s spine. They must have imagined that voice. Heard too many local tales today. Could they forget to close the windows? 

Shakily, Hero went up to figure out the mechanics of the centuries-old wooden frames. They tried to pull them down, but the damn thing would-

“Moving into someone’s home without their consent, that wasn’t very polite of you, was it?”

This time, the tense voice was coming from behind their back. Hero felt something heavy drop in their chest. 

“Turn around.”

Hero did, their knees weakening from dizziness. Vampire stood inches away, all skin, and startling blue eyes. His face did not look old, like the tales said, perhaps only a few years older than Hero’s. 

“Ah, what happened?” he asked, tracing the ragged scar on their left cheek, going all the way to the jaw.  

Hero swallowed hard. “Nothing, really.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“Just a… bad day to pick up a fight.”

His fingers, pale and smooth, were pressing the skin around the nasty mark. The touch was burning their skin alive. 

Hero pressed against the window ledge even more. Their breath hitched when the Vampire cupped their cheek with his palm, as if to see how much the mortal skin could take. 

“Please, I’ll-” Hero groaned. “I’ll make it up. I wasn’t aware-”

“Why’d you stay in the only room with a cross then?”

“...What?”

“What did I say about being lied to?” Vampire tightened his grip. 

“Fine! I- I was afraid in case the tales they say- about you- were true.”

Vampire chuckled and let them go. “Touché.”

Hero fell to their knees, breathing heavily. The moon was casting its light on their forehead, shining with sweat. 

Vampire reached for their arms as if to embrace when the world swirled around them and Hero found themselves on the same floor, but in a different, grander room. Higher ceiling, fancy finishing touches, all that jazz. Inhabited, too. 

Vampire saw them staring at the balcony doors and made a tsk sound. 

“I’m afraid no one knows I’m still alive. And I don’t plan to change that.”

He circled Hero, taking his time. 

Their memory shot back to the tales he kept hearing in town, of disappearing young people, of corpses with throats massacred. Everyone knew vampires were monsters. 

Hero’s hands were shaking now, eyes on the ground. 

“My, my,” he murmured, “What will I do with you now, dear?”

“I…” they broke off, their voices embarrassingly frail. “I promise, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He stopped now. His hand grasped their neck from behind. It was vulnerable, their throat on display. Hero could practically feel his eyes finding just the right spot to bite his teeth in. Vampire noticed and faintly smiled. 

“This handsome face of yours might convince regular people, but you’d have to try harder for me.”

Hero felt their throat go dry. “Please.”

Vampire only raised his brews. 

“I will leave town at once. Go far away. Change my name. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just please- let me go alive.”

“You are quite convincing. And distracting. Whatever I wanted, was it?”

They dared to nod. Vampire’s piercing gaze considered their profile, his palm holding their jaw with two fingers. 

He titled his head. “I didn’t have entertainment for a century.”

[theladycarpathia]

Harringrove Week Day 1

July 29th - Heatwave

“Should we stop them?” Chrissy asks sweetly, like she’s actually worried. Her eyes are all huge and anxious, a little flush to her cheeks that could be excitement or the unexpected heatwave that smacked into Hawkins at the end of July. This piece of shit town gets worse in the heat, if that’s even possible to believe. But maybe that’s Billy’s hazy memories of last year, the thick cloying heat of the Mindflayer.

“They’ll be fine,” Billy says, without even looking. Because it’s hot as balls, and he’s lounging on a deckchair with a beer pilfered from Harrington Senior’s stash and when he gets too hot he’s gonna cannonball into the pool. Because it’s a day without work, or catch up school, and Max doesn’t need a ride and he has no obligations or responsibilities whatsoever.

And that does not include stopping his boyfriend from killing Chrissy’s boyfriend.

“There were freaking bats, dude!” He can hear Munson saying and he doesn’t miss Steve’s indignant huff.

“I nearly got eaten by the fucking bats,” Steve retorts and Billy cracks open an eye to take in the view. He’s never going to get over how fucking pretty Steve is. “Or did you forget, Munson?” To make his point, he jabs a finger at his previously smooth, unblemished abs, now marred by a thick scar that juts out just above his swimming trunks. 

“That’s not adding to your coolness points, dude,” Munson says flatly. “You had to get rescued by Hargrove. No offense,” he says, swiveling suddenly like he’s only just remembered that Billy’s there. Billy raises the beer can at him. Despite a brief, tumultuous period where he thought that Steve and Eddie might be a thing, he and Munson have an understanding. 

“And you got rescued by Chrissy,” Steve counters, throwing his arms up in the air. Chrissy winces, remembering the all too close encounter where they’d nearly lost Eddie. It’s still something she and Henderson don’t quite talk about. “We’re even in losing fights with bats.”

It says something about their lives and their collective encounters with the Upside down that that even makes sense. 

“Yeah, but it was a metal concert…” Munson protests and Billy tips his head back against the sun-lounger and sighs. If those idiots could sit their asses down, this day would be perfect.

“Are you sure they’re okay?” Chrissy whispers and accepts the beer can that he offers her. He never noticed her much at school, just yet another pretty cheerleader wandering the hallowed halls of Hawkins High. But then the whole Vecna fight happened, and it turns out Chrissy is pretty badass. No wonder Munson fell head over heels for her.

Their friendship is odd, he knows. The old Billy from before wouldn’t have looked twice at her. She’s too sweet, too soft, the kind of pure that Billy hasn’t been since he was seven years old. But she’d gone into battle alongside the rest of them and never once hesitated. Not bad for a chick in pleated skirts.

“Steve might push him into the pool,” he says easily, although he’d pay to see that happen. “Let them fight about it. We’re the most badass.” He offers her a fist, which she cautiously knocks. Her fist is tiny compared to his. Hard to believe this chick was able to escape Vecna. But then again, she’d had Eddie to help her. If the call had been between Vecna and Steve, Billy knows who would win every time. 

“I took on a Demogorgon with a nailed bat!” Steve says, furiously stalking back to the cooler and Billy. When he holds out a hand expectantly, Billy presses an ice cold can into it. Once his hand is free, he’s able to slide his fingers along the smooth dips of Steve’s hips, lazily watching as Steve cracks open the tab and takes a long drink. He still can’t quite believe he’s able to do this, to touch Steve so easily in front of other people. And while ‘other people’ still only means the Party and its various associates in private settings, he’ll take it. His feelings for Steve have been brewing ever since that first glimpse on Halloween night and the day he woke up in the Upside Down to see Steve, dripping blood and wielding an oar, was the day that they all bubbled over, spilling into every crevice and chink in his armor. 

“With help,” Munson adds, looking somewhat out of place. While Chrissy is in a cute blue swimsuit, and both Billy and Steve are shirtless, Munson is still wearing a t-shirt, claiming that years of D&D in basements and dark rooms have left him unfit for the sun. Billy thinks that Eddie’s name should have been the Vampire rather than the Freak.

“And the demodogs, and the tunnels, and Russians, and Vecna, and the Mind Flayer,” Steve lists, pushing back the hair that’s fallen in his eyes. “You weren’t there for the dead melty flesh monster! Except you, sorry,” he says apologetically, half turning to Billy. Billy shrugs. As he got possessed and then basically killed by the Mind Flayer, he’s okay with it not counting. Munson can argue all he wants but none of them have Steve’s credentials when it comes to this kind of stuff. It sounds like he’s half the reason all those idiots are still alive. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Chrissy murmurs, delicately wrinkling her little nose. Steve gives a harsh huff of laughter.

“Understatement,” he says dryly, crumbling up the beer can and chucking it in the vague direction of the trash bag. “Hey, I’m going swimming. Come with?”

Billy doesn’t have to look up to know that Steve’s speaking to him. He merely puts down the beer can and hauls himself up. Steve has a thing about his pool, something to do with a girl who died there long before Billy ever set foot in Hawkins. And Steve wants to swim but won’t go alone.

He streaks past Steve and leaps into the pool with a battle-cry loud enough to upset any other nearby Loch Nora inhabitants. The few seconds when he’s fully submerged under the water feel blissful - nothing but the sting of the cool, clear, chlorinated water, the rushing of bubbles in his ears. This isn't Cali, but Steve’s here and it will do. 

One day he’s going to take Steve to the sea.

When he rises to the surface and flicks his wet hair out of his eyes, Steve’s still standing by the edge of the pool, looking unimpressed. 

“Smooth, Hargrove,” he calls out and Billy grins. Steve’s so busy paying attention to him that he hasn’t noticed Munson sneaking up behind him. 

When Steve is inevitably tipped into the water, Billy swims over and pulls him up, sliding one arm around Steve’s waist. Steve spits out water and grabs hold of Billy’s biceps. They float there, in the middle of Steve’s massive pool, and Billy is overcome with the urge to kiss him, onlookers be damned. 

“Why did we invite them?” Steve asks, watching Munson swoop down on Chrissy and pull her, giggling, out of her chair. Billy carefully wipes water away from Steve’s eyes and then pushes his hair back over his forehead. 

“Fuck me if I know,” Billy says, watching Chrissy be pulled into Eddie’s arms and how the light catches her hair when she throws her head back. They both know what it’s like to have something else inside your head, making you feel insane, and he’s glad that she’s happy. “I was all for fucking in a deckchair and eating pizza. You’re the one who wants to be social.”

“I could have invited Nancy and Jonathan,” Steve points out and then laughs at Billy’s face. He’s not ever going to be a fan of Wheeler. 

“We can still have pizza,” Steve says, looping an arm around Billy’s neck and winding his fingers through the damp curls there. Billy snorts.

“Oh, that’s the thing you focus on,” he says and, because he can’t stand it anymore, finally leans in to kiss Steve. Steve’s mouth is soft and warm, with the tang of the beer still on his tongue. They kiss lazily, drifting in the water ever so slightly, pressed together from lips to toes.

Coming back from the dead wasn’t easy but it was fucking worth it for this.

They’re disturbed by Munson taking a giant leap into the pool, a shrieking Chrissy in his arms. The resulting wave swamps them both with water again and Steve slips out of his arms to help Chrissy dunk Munson. Billy swims back down the pool to the deeper water and drifts onto his back, closing his eyes against the intense heat of the sun. When the day has cooled, they’ll order pizza and watch one of the videos that Steve is forever bringing home at Robin’s recommendation. And once Chrissy and Eddie have gone home, Billy can relieve Steve of his trunks and lick all of the salt off his hip bones, swiping his tongue over the scar and up his ribs, until Steve’s too turned on to wait. They’ll probably sleep in a messy pile on the floor again, patio doors thrown wide open to let in the cooler night air, and Steve will get up to make Billy coffee before Byers drops off the brats.

And tomorrow, it’ll be more of the same, watching shrieking teenagers take over the pool while he sits in a chair and admires the muscles in Steve’s long, lean back.

When Billy watches Steve throw back his head and laugh, he can feel the words on his tongue.

He thinks he’s going to say them soon.

Overhead, the sun reaches its peak and the heatwave continues.

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [7]: ‘night changes’ (remus lupin x reader)

a/n: i got rejected from my top choice university program today so if im gonna be unhappy, might as well make u guys happy and release parts 5 and 7

brief summary: y/n and remus are both teachers at hogwarts and this is his first transformation where he is under wolfsbane. y/n remains in human form as he transforms. werewolf or not, all y/n ever feels is him.

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

series masterlist here

join taglist here

7.

previously, in part 1:

“No, you don’t understand, it’s incredibly, extremely dangerous for a human to be around a were-“ Remus had tried to say, before Y/N had stood up and with a crack, disappeared. A single white dove hovered where she had stood, its wings flapping slowly to stay afloat.

“Y/N?”

With a crack, Y/N had appeared again.

“I didn’t know you were an Animagus.”

Y/N grinned. 

“What, you thought James, Sirius and Peter were the only ones to ever succeed at it?”

Remus still grimaced, shaking his head and looking down.

“It’s still too dangerous, I won’t risk it. I couldn’t possibly think of hurting you, I’m too dangerous-“

“Remus, stop it. You didn’t hurt Peter as a rat back in the day, you wouldn’t hurt a flinging bird either. Plus, I got a serious height advantage on you anyway.” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him teasingly, transforming back again into the dove and flying up to the ceiling. Lupin wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t-“

The dove reappeared as Y/N and kneeled between Lupin’s legs, taking his face into her hands carefully. 

“Please? Let me be there for you. Let me try-“

“I-“ Remus winced in his crippling self-doubt.

“I promise, if I ever feel unsafe, I’ll fly away. I promise.”

Remus nodded. “I love you.”

Y/N was taken aback, but surged forward to press her lips against his.

“I love you too.”

It was the first time they had said that to each other.

+

The first full moon of the Hogwarts term was now but a day away. As it drew nearer, Remus got paler and grew more irritable, as it always was. 

The students never noticed, as he remained their kind Professor Lupin to them. Remus valued the staff and Dumbledore in extremely high regard, so he mainly kept to himself to avoid conflict.

However, his short temper was not 100% appeasable. 

He was presently in his office, leg anxiously bouncing. He couldn’t help but jitter as restless energy coursed through him. The door opened, and he  jerked his head in its direction, to see Y/N walk in, slightly anxious as well.

“Hi, love.” She said, making her way to him.

“He’s late.” Remus muttered.

“It’s Albus Dumbledore, what do you expect- maybe he had a Wizarding War in Luxembourg to stop before this or something.” Y/N joked, dragging a chair beside her and taking Remus’ hand.

His leg stopped bouncing. 

+

1980.

Remus sat in an armchair in the House of Black’s library, attempting to distract himself before the night would come, a transformation night.

Loud voices reverberated across the walls, and he usually wouldn’t have minded, but the full moon made him more irritable.

“Will you guys stop yelling!” He called out across the hallway to the room where James, Sirius and a couple other Order members were talking over each other.

Sirius shared a look with James and they shrugged, making a motion with their hand asking the others to lower their voices.

“Hi, guys!” In came Y/N’s voice, as she walked through the door after a day of work, setting down her jacket. She joined the table for a few snacks, before inquiring, “Where’s Remus?”

“Ah, in the library.” James said mindlessly, shuffling the pack of cards they were playing with. He spotted Y/N head for that direction, and attempted to add, “But I wouldn’t disturb him if I were-“

But Y/N already walked in the library, wanting to see her boyfriend. She found him buried in a book, sitting slightly uncomfortably in his clothes, as if his body was having pre-transformation aches.

“Hi, love.” She said gently.

Remus peered up from his book and instantly smiled, uncrossing his legs and patting at his lap. Y/N took a seat on him, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortably.

“How was work?” He grumbled, mouth kissing up her arm and shoulder.

“Oh, just the usual.”

He listened to her talk about her day, hugging her as she sat in his lap.

James heard faint sounds of their light voices from the other room, and laughed. Sirius shook his head, both of them amused by their friend’s drastic change in demeanor.

“Little fucker.”

+

Dumbledore appeared in Remus’ office not long after Y/N joined, with a goblet of familiar-looking blue smoke.

“Remus, Y/N. I took the liberty of bringing you your last dose myself, Severus has already done so much. So, you wanted to talk about the logistics of your upcoming transformation.”

Remus nodded, leaning forward and taking the potion.

“This is your first time with Wolfsbane, so we cannot be sure on how it will affect you. However, I trust that it has been brewed properly, so it should do its function, which is to maintain your mental state when you transform.”

“So technically, he could just stay and hide here in his office and wait for the night to be over?” Y/N asked Dumbledore, thumb rubbing over Remus’ hand.

“Yes. If the potion has been brewed correctly, which I am sure it has, Remus should transform into nothing but a harmless wolf. Of course, because this is your first time, if you still wish to go outside and-“

“Yes.” Remus interjected, once he finished the last of the potion. “I wish to still use the Whomping Willow, just to avoid all potential risk.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore smiled, bowing his head. “I have complete trust in you, so you do as you please.”

“And I should… I won’t forget who I am, I won’t lose my mind?” Remus asked.

“No.” Dumbledore confirmed. “Your mental state will stay intact.”

“Then, I can technically be in human form with him.” Y/N gasped as the idea jumped into her head. She was immediately met with startled looks from both Dumbledore and Remus, Dumbledore merely intrigued and Remus looking downright terrified. “I mean, I could be with him. Me, a human.” She added hastily.

Glancing at Remus’ fervently opposed look, Dumbledore merely stood up.

“I will leave that between you two to discuss. Goodnight, and good luck.” He said. “Oh! And one more thing.”

His eyes twinkled. “I hear talk amongst the students since the start of term. About you two.”

Remus and Y/N looked at each other nervously.

“Something about spotting their Charms and Defence teachers always being present in each other’s offices…”

Y/N mouth dropped in shock, trying to figure out how students could even know where they spent their nights, before Dumbledore laughed heartily, shaking his head.

“I kid, I kid, I have heard nothing of the sort. All that has reached my ears are the raving comments about your classes and subjects. Keep up the good work, Professors.” Dumbledore chuckled, and vanished into the fireplace.

Y/N stared dumbfounded at the spot he disappeared, before letting out a laugh.

“I-“ She blinked. “He is so weird, and can you believe, I almost let slip that I’m an Animagus-“

She stopped once she looked at her husband, whose expression was grave.

“Wha-“

“You cannot stay in human form with me.” He shook his head.

Y/N stayed silent for a second. “Why not? If this potion works, and we know it will, your-“

“We can’t be too sure!” Remus sighed. “Werewolves, we hunt for humans. We look for victims to bite, to… to-“

“If the potion doesn’t work, then I’ll just transform into a dove, like always.”

Remus met her eyes in a worried gaze.

“I’ve been a bird countless of times on your transformations, you’re still gonna let me do that, are you?” Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You even said, werewolves look for humans, animal companions are harmless-“

“Which is exactly why you can’t be in human form, darling! The extreme danger that would put you in, you have no idea.”

“I have no idea?” Y/N pursed her lips, instinctively reaching out to her bicep, on which lay a tiny white scar.

Remus glanced at it too, with almost hatred and remorse in his eyes, as he sighed, hand tracing over it and kissing it.

+

“Maybe you should transform right now, my love.” Remus said anxiously as he, Y/N, James, Sirius and Peter walked through an abandoned part of the woods.

The sky was dark, and the clouds radiated a faint shimmer indicating the full moon would appear soon.

“I won’t transform until I absolutely need to.” Y/N said firmly, hand holding onto Remus’ tightly.

“She’ll follow our lead, Moony, don’t worry.” Sirius said.

Unintentionally, they stopped at a small hill, deeming the timing to be right.

“Y/N, it’s not too late, you could just Disapparate away, I-“ Remus said to Y/N.

“Remus. Stop. I’m not scared.” Y/N smiled at him, cupping his cheek. “You’re still you. And I love you, all parts of you. Nothing will change that, or you and me.”

Remus nodded, breathing quickly and pulled her in for a kiss, before the other Marauders beckoned Y/N to back away slightly as the moon started to peak.

The night changed in an instant.

The opal orb shone in the sky and in the moonlight, Y/N watched as Remus’ tall silhouette trembled, his body morphing into a werewolf.

Y/N was in awe. His body lengthened. His shoulders were hunching. Hair sprouted visibly from his head and neck and his hands curled into clawed paws. Straightening up, he howled to the sky, the sound echoing into the rest of the night.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The Marauders had transformed as she kept her eye on Remus. For a second, the werewolf’s eyes met hers, but before she could do anything, he lunged for her.

Adrenaline shot through her body as the werewolf made a swipe towards her, a big black dog jumping in between them just in time for Remus’ sharp claw to slightly graze her shoulder before she transformed with a crack, into a dove and flew up, batting her wings.

+

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that.” Remus whispered painfully, finger tracing over the small permanent scratch near Y/N’s shoulder.

“But I’m fine.” Y/N pursed her lips, eyes looking into Remus’ face imploringly. “Because I knew that it wasn’t you. And after the night ended, you cared for me so tenderly and lovingly. Gently. Because that is the real you.”

+

Remus soaked a warm towel for the millionth time as he sat Y/N on the toilet next to the sink to tend the small scratch she had acquired from him.

“Rem, it’s okay, do you realize that I’ve broken literal bones before! This is nothing.” Y/N said, letting him clean the patch of skin before taking both of his hands in hers. He kneeled in between her legs.

“I could never forgive myself for this, I’m so sorry-“

“Please. In the best way possible, shut up.” Y/N smiled, eyes welling up at the unnecessary look of remorse plaguing Remus’ face. “That wasn’t you. And nothing that I saw or felt last night changes who you are to me now.”

“You don’t…see me as a monster? You don’t even feel a tiny bit scared being with me right now?” Remus teared up.

Y/N smiled, eyes crinkling and letting tears fall down her cheeks. “I just feel you.”

+

Y/N woke up from her nap the night of the full moon to find Remus’ side of the bed empty. Eventually, she had gotten Remus to agree to let her accompany him as she always did, but in human form this time.

Getting up, she spotted Remus already at the door. She crossed her arms.

“Are you running away?” Y/N frowned, her husband jumping at getting caught.

“No, I-I figured I’d head out earlier.”

Y/N walked towards him, squeezing his shoulders.

“We talked about this. It’ll be okay.” Y/N reassured him. She saw the fear still in his eyes but he nodded, blinking some away and reaching to get Y/N’s coat for her.

They walked in the chilly night air, making their way to the Forest. Although this felt completely new, they had never done this at Hogwarts and they were expecting new results tonight, there was also a sense of déjà-vu present in the air.

Y/N had been helping Remus with every one of his transformations during their entire marriage and before, ever since she was 18. It’s been almost 13 years that they were in this together.

We're only gettin' older, baby

And I've been thinkin' about it lately

“Thank you for being here.” Remus said, squeezing her hand. “And I don’t just mean tonight.”

Y/N squeezed it back tightly, beaming at him. The moon was close to being fully out, and they stopped on a small hill overlooking Hagrid’s Hut where it would appear in full view.

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

“Remember, if I make any sudden moves, you transform on the spot, okay?” Remus looked down at her, eyes full of conviction. Y/N nodded.

They both stood there, waiting, anticipation through the roof. They felt nauseous, from nervousness. The clouds began to fade, and more moonlight shined onto them. Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands and took a couple steps back from each other.

Everything that you've ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

The first beam of light hit Remus as the full moon emerged.

But there's nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

His neck began elongating, thick hair growing from his head and covering his back. His shoulders hunched as he grew taller, breaking through the material of his clothes. 

It will never change, baby

Y/N watched from a short distance as Remus morphed into a towering creature. Her incantation was ready in her head, just in case she had to transform into the dove.

It will never change, baby

Slowly, the full-fledge werewolf straightened up from its hunched over position. His eyes met Y/N’s and her body tensed, remembering. Instead of lunging at her, he sat down, his human-like eyes expressing gentleness. Y/N took a tiny step towards him.

“Remus?” She said, voice trembling.

The werewolf nodded.

Taking steps closer, she shakily got down onto her knees to join him on the ground. She lifted a hand, tentatively, and inch by inch, approached it to cup his cheek. At the contact, they both breathed out in relief.

“I just feel you.” Y/N smiled, tears flowing from her eyes.

It will never change me and you.

to be continued

a/n: as always i’d love to hear what u thought or what ud like to see of the series:)

tags @bicyhot1  @pink-hufflepuff  @legitlaughingflamingo @brod16  @gerardonmyway  @blueleonor  @suranne-doesstuff  @rxmusblxck  @spxllcxstxr  @littleemo477  @just12randomfandoms  @svnkissdd  @norrreee  @m4r13l3y  @jess6578  @rorysreallyrandom  @the-nightingale-not-the-lark  @archeve19  @wolfstarslovechild  @pan-pride-12  @x4kai4x  @chrrybmb-mp3  @reggieluna  @happyslittlekitten  @missemilygilmore  @all-things-fictional @strangefirething  @abitofeverythinggg  @yeahshewayout  @imfreeeeeee123  @harold-pothead  @lunnybunny12  @ellieblack11  @tugabooos  @joyfulbiscuit  @justonemorechapter07 @wonderwoman292  @skateb0red  @secretsthathauntus  @siriusblackswhoree  @sabonbonn  @untraveled-road  @annabeljareau  @valiantobservationkitty @diffbeanofbrand  @theeicedamericano​  @spencerreidlove  @flannellover67  @wishiwasdeadric  @becks7401​  @katsav17  @emmy-kitty13  @purritoqueen  @girl22334  @monicafebyana​  @talsiaa​  @sierrax023​  @axva03  @uhh-dk  @nataliahgrace​  

[amphxtrite]

george weasley x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), swearing, spelling/grammar mistakes.

do not read if you are not comfortable.

summary: When the twins and the reader move into their new apartment in Diagon Alley, you finally confess to George about the feelings you’ve accumulated through the years, which eventually leads to more.

a/n: This was request from anonymous for a george weasley x reader, first time smut, thank you for requesting, I had a lot of fun writing this!

word count: 4k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

“Give her hell from us Peeves!” Three voices cry before soaring away into the clear blue sky.

Everyone knows of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. The students who disobeyed every rule, every year to save the wizarding world.

In the Hogwarts walls there was another group of students, while not as heroic, were just as well known. George Weasley, Fred Weasley and Y/n L/n were the notorious pranksters of the school. You couldn’t walk ten feet without someone being a victim of their work. For years, the school was their playground, pranks ranging from covering students in feathers, slipping belch-powder in professors’ tea and making products of their own that would take the world by storm in the years to come.

Every student at Hogwarts knew their group by name, swiveling heads in alertness when one of your voices was about, or running the opposite way when a familiar laugh rang out. There was never one without the others, so when your grand scheme of fireworks and sparks flew through the air, no one was surprised to see three brooms zipping about, accompanied by laughter and the screams of the pink toad who had terrorized the school of magic. Your names would go down in history among the students and as you zipped away through the clouds, a giant ‘W’ in your wake. The joyous feeling of freedom breaks free and you join the twins in the life you’d been dreaming about since you met the two in your first year, and away from the hell you’d endured.

With the help of Harry’s generous donation, the three of you set up shop in Diagon Alley, making the most bizarre and far-out designs the three of you could think of. Working long and hard to perfect each and every one of your products for your grand opening in a couple months.

The three of you spent most of your time in the apartment above the shop, concocting your brews and relishing in the new-found freedom you had taken for yourselves. The three of you worked, laughed, high-fived and dusted each other off after bad days, you grew even closer to the twins and with the new atmosphere and life, and feelings you’d accumulated through the years came about that had your stomach erupt in butterflies around your best friend.

If you were to ask anyone in Hogwarts about the mischief trio, first you’d see their head swivel and panic cross their eyes, next they’d tell you. While you were all close and the twins were practically connected at the hip, George Weasley and Y/n L/n had an unspoken ‘thing’ between them, and it was quite obvious to everyone, but them, and although cliché it was one of the castle’s favourite subjects for drama.

While oblivious to the gossip, George had fancied you since the moment he met you in first year. Watching your eyes light up at him and his twins’ antics and then showing them some tricks of your own. He must’ve been blushing beet-red because at that moment he fell. He fell for your sarcastic remarks, your love for books and muggle movies, he fell for the way your nose scrunched when you were concentrating and the way your eyes lit up whenever it snowed. George could go on for hours about all the things he loved about you, but actually telling you was a whole other story. You were such a positive, bubbly person, he could hardly tell the difference between a romantic or platonic action. Did you mean to brush his hand like that? Was that little smirk for a reason? Did you know what you did to him when you bit your lip like that? Or when you walked with a little more swing in your hips.

George wanted nothing more than to wrap you into his arms and hold you close against him, murmuring every moment he fell in love with you into your ear, listening to your heartbeat and pressing kisses across your temple, but at the same time he wanted to make you squirm beneath him, make you scream his name and take away your ability to walk, leave his mark across your skin and taste you. He just wished he had a hint to how you really felt about him.

“Oi, George! Get down here, we need some help with this stand!” Fred’s familiar shout shakes the daydreaming red-head out of his daze, cutting his thought of you short.

“Alright ya twat, no need to yell!” George huffs, speeding down the stairs to the shop area and walking towards you and Fred.

“How can I be of assistance, my dear brother.” George smirks as he approaches. “Well this stand won’t fit in between the other displays, we just need help pushing it in.” You shrug, jabbing your thumb towards the empty display stand.

George claps his hands together and the three of you get to work. You did your best to pry one of the displays to the side while the twins push the stand into place. Everything was going well, you made great progress and the display case was starting to slide in. It wasn’t until the twins gave a final heave, that you lost focus, your eyes dropping to a certain twin’s toned bicep, peeking out from his skin tight shirt, and you failed to remove your finger from the crevice.

“Bloody Hell!” You cry as your fingers are crushed in the closed space. Quickly yanking your digits out of the gap, you hold them close to your chest, you double over in pain. “Fuck, that hurt.” You groan, examining your fingers to be lightly scratched and bruised. 

George can only just register your pained yelp before he’s fussing all over you just like his mother would. “Oh my goodness, are you alright love? I left my wand in my room, come on, I’ll fix you right up.” George gently takes your arm and hurries up the stairs leaving a confused Fred behind. 

“Hey it’s alright Georgie, it’s just a small cut!” You try to reason with the persistent ginger, but George doesn’t let go. “Nonsense darling, your finger is bleeding, I’ll heal it in no time.” He continues, sitting you on his bed as he picks up with wand from his bedside drawer and takes a seat next to you.

You extend your hands to George and without a beat he murmurs the healing spell. “Episkey.”

Your cuts begin to close and the bruises fade away, leaving no pain and no sign of injury. “Thanks George, you’re the best!” You giggle wrapping your arms around the tall Weasley and inching closer to him.

It had become something of a tradition for the two of you to heal each other if one of you were to get hurt back in school. Whether you’d scraped a knee or had come to the other bearing Umbridge’s scar, you’d done your best to help one another, learning new healing spells for this specific reason. 

A smile spreads across your cheek as you think back to the days you’d run to George with a burn or a cut, only coming to peace once he’d had a go at it, or at least wrapped it in a bandage.

“Do yo remember, back in Hogwarts, when we’d come to each other just to heal our little wounds.” You pull back from the hug and take George’s hand in yours. 

“Of course darling, how could I forget.” George grins, reminiscing of the days not so long ago. 

Back in your days with the pink toad, George would be the first person you’d run to after detention, small sobs racking through you as you showed George the first of many scratches in the back of your hand. 

‘I must not laugh in class’ 

George had helped you reduce it to a pink scar, but the pain remained with you for long after as the memories of that horrid quill raked your brain.

George was always your comfort, he’d stuck by your side and was there for you when you needed it the most. Long nights of star-gazing, studying, planning and laughing had also helped you come to terms with the love bubbling inside you for George Weasley.

“Thank you for everything, back in school I mean.” You sigh, leaning onto George’s broad shoulder, a light smile gracing your face.

“There’s no need to thank me love, if anything I should be thanking you for saving me from detentions.” George smirks, wrapping an arm around you. You begin to laugh a bit as you think back to when you’d trick filch into leaving his post before pulling the red-head through the long halls. 

“Feels like so long ago.” You murmur and look up towards George, finding him already gazing back at you. “Last time you did it was only a year ago love.” The younger twin smiles, leaning closer.

Your eyebrows knit together and your face heats up at the sudden closeness and a question that has plagued your mind for years spills from your lips. 

“Not to be nosy, but why do you always call me darling or love, Georgie?” 

This was it, George’s thoughts began to race. This was the moment he could finally confess to you, finally know how you felt about him. 

His lips turn up into a huge smile, as he pulls you closer to him and looks down for a moment, gathering courage. 

“Y/n, I’ve fancied you since the moment I saw you on the train. You immediately caught my attention, but once I really got to know you, I knew that I was done for. You’re so funny, beautiful and absolutely perfect, but you’ve never really showed me you fancied me and-” George pauses for a moment, trying to pick his words right. “Well, I just want to know how you feel.” He simply states, looking deep into your mesmerizing e/c eyes. 

Your smile widens as George finishes his confession, and tackling the red-head onto the bed you hug him tight against you. 

“I fancy you too idiot! Why else do you think I’d only go to you for my scars and bruises, why I’d save you from detention all those times, I’ve fallen in love with you!” A melodic laugh rings from your lips as George wraps his arms around you with a hearty chuckle, pressing kissing on your head just like he’d dreamed of doing. 

Rolling the two of you over, George now on top, the blushing ginger admires your laughing form beneath him. You were positively angelic and he couldn’t help himself from what came next.

George leans down and captures your lips in his, snaking his arm up to hold your hand against the mattress while the other cups your face. The kiss is chaste at first as George familiarizes himself with your lips, truth be told he hadn’t had his first kiss yet, only daydreamed of doing it with you. Now, with your lips finally against his, he wanted it to be perfect.

Running his tongue against your bottom lip, George wordlessly asks for permission to deepen the kiss, nipping lightly on your soft pink lips. Parting your lips you allow George to run his tongue around your mouth, as your teeth clash and your tongues swirl around each other. 

George eventually pulls away to catch his breath, never letting go of your hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that love.” the prankster smiles, pressing a small kiss to your nose. 

“Oh I can imagine, especially with that pressure on my thigh.” Your eyebrow raises in a teasing tone as George goes a brilliant shade of scarlet, his freckles seemingly disappearing under the dark hue. 

“I- uh, I’m sorry. It’s just-” George begins to ramble, trying his best to explain himself to no avail. 

A small smirk plays on your lips as you capture George’s lips into a loving kiss again. 

“It’s alright Georgie, I want this too.” You sigh onto the gryffindor’s lips, circling your hips around underneath him.

George lets out a low moan at your action, squeezing your hand and looking back into your eyes, pupils dilated and dark with lust. “I’ve never done this before.” You admit, running a finger up and down George’s side, glancing down at his lip caught in between his teeth. 

“I haven’t either, but I’ve imagined doing this with you before.” George shrugs, removing his hand from your cheek and placing it on the waistband of your shorts. “That makes two of us.” You tease, running your free hand up the beater’s toned chest. 

George doesn’t hesitate to crash his lips onto yours again, rolling his hips against you. Your mouth parts enough for him to slip his tongue past your lips again and explore every inch of your opening as his hand pulls the waistband of your shorts down your thighs before promptly flicking them to the floor. George uses his long digits to tease your clit through your panties as he kisses down your jaw and collarbone nipping and sucking, leaving a path of pink marks down your upper chest. “So wet for me already love?” He smirks as his fingers find the soaked patch on your heat, eyes darkening as he pushes harder against your clit.

“Yes George, f-fuck, right there.” You plead softly as George continues to ravage your clit, hitting the sensitive bud perfectly and sending waves of pleasure through your being. The gryffindor obliges, rubbing your heat faster and harder as your eyes shut and your head falls back against the soft pillows, allowing George access to your neck, sucking dark hickeys onto your skin as you writhe beneath him from the stimulation from his fingers and lips were granting. 

Slowly inching your fingers up, you pull the beater’s shirt up to his chest, motioning him to take it off as your fingers move lower to the waistband of his trousers. George removes his fingers from your panties to teasingly pull off his shirt, sitting up a bit to show off his toned abdomen, taking his sweet time to throw the shirt aside and fix up his short hair, sending a wink down at you. 

Your hands seem to gain a consciousness of their own, slowly tracing down each muscle, drawing dangerously low before George leans down to push your shirt up your chest. Raising your arms, your shirt joins George’s on the floor. “You’re absolutely stunning love.” George praises as he reaches behind your body to unclasp your black bra, quickly throwing it away and pressing kisses across your breasts. 

You begin to run your hands up the toned red-heads chest when he takes hold of your hands and pins them above your head against the soft cushion, his grip soft, but firm, unabling you to move despite how hard you squirmed. 

“Don’t bother darling, now stay still like a good girl.” George smirks, lust evident in his low rasp as he kisses down your naked chest, swirling his tongue around your nipples and massaging them with his calloused hand. Your attempts to escape George’s grasp are forgotten as his teeth begin to nibble on your sensitive buds. Head falling back between your arms, you arch your back against George, silently begging for more. George grins into your skins and pulls back to admire your pleading form, reaching down to undo his belt with a small fumble, eventually pulling his trousers and briefs down completely. Your eyes fly open at the feeling of George’s hard cock brushing up against your inner thigh as George’s dark, brown eyes display a playfulness as he teases his tip against your clothed core. 

You begin to struggle against George’s grip again, wanting to take his throbbing length into your mouth and make him beg beneath you. Unfortunately, George has different plans and his clutch stays firm. 

“Ah ah ah, just let me make you feel good y/n, save that for another time.” George purrs, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down your legs. Your arms grow limp as George uses his hand to spread your thighs apart and place himself between your thighs. Right in front of where you needed him most. “Please don’t tease me anymore George, I-I need you.” You beg shakily, desperately rolling your hips to gain any friction, your timid demeanor being overthrown by overstimulation and need. 

“Patience darling, you’ll get me I promise.” George smirks, closing the space between you to press another heated kiss to your lips and continuing to coat himself in your slick, sliding himself up and down. Bringing his free hand to your clit again, George pushes his thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves, swirling it around with a light pressure, swallowing your loud moans into the kiss. Once you were squirming beneath him again, back arched and hips thrusting up for more, he finally begins to push himself into your soaked core.

A feeling of ecstasy and satisfaction runs through your veins, bringing a whole new feeling of pleasure and clouding all your senses as George pushes deeper into you, awakening an intoxicating new feeling you could get addicted too.

George pauses for a moment, pulling away from the kiss for a moment to check in on how you were. Your eyes are shut, your mouth agape in a small ‘o’ and with the loss of his lips, desperate moans spill past your lips, mixing beautifully with George’s name. 

The toned red-head begins to thrust in and out, incoherent groans falling from his lips as your core clenches around him and your hips buck up to greet him. Picking up the pace. You cry out George’s name over and over again as he continues to snap his hips in and out of you, your body growing limp and your eyes rolling into the back of your head with each thrust. George continues to pound deep into you using all his strength to go deeper and harder, reintroducing his fingers to stroke your clit as he desperately swirls and thrusts his hips. 

“Fuck, you make me feel so good darling.” George growls against your ear, peppering kisses to your jaw and burying his face into your neck to try and stifle his loud moans. 

With George whispering sinful praises into your ear you can feel a knot tighten in your lower stomach, and your hips begin to buck again and again, begging for release. “Oh fuck George, d-don’t stop, I’m gonna cum.” You mewl breathily.

George, fueled by your moans pushes himself even more, thrusting and swirling his hips until he feels your core clench deliciously against him and your shaky moan cry out.

As your coil snaps, spots flood your vision and your body tenses as shockwaves of euphoria shake your body and your hands beg to grip onto something, cries of pleasure mix with the sound of George’s skin hitting yours as the beater continues to snap his hips into your throbbing core, his cock twitching and pulsing deep inside you as you ride out your orgasm and his release builds up. 

George throws your leg over his shoulder in a desperate action for release, using the new angle to push deeper into you and feeling your core contracts to grip his cock, driving him absolutely insane. 

“Oh my Godric, George you make me feel so fucking good, please let me help you.” You look up to your constricted hands and back into George’s dark orbs, pleading with him to release you. 

George gives a couple more lazy thrusts before he releases your hands and pulls himself out of you. Despite your legs being unsteady, you lay George’s head down on the other end of the bed and begin to kiss down his sweat stained body, slowly making your way down his long body.

Licking a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock, you slowly take George’s length into your mouth, swirling the pulsing tip around your tongue and hollowing your cheeks before going deeper. George’s eyes shut once again as you take him, burying his fingers into your hair and helping you to guide your lips down. Taking what you can’t fit into your hands you start to bob your head up and down, using your lips and hands together as you lick and suck at the sensitive skin. George begins to spew profanities and buck his hips into your mouth, pulling your hair up and down a little more forcefully as you begin to gag lightly. George continues to buck and moan, your name being sobbed from George’s lips as he feels his orgasm taking over him and hot cum floods your mouth. You try your best to swallow every drop, only a couple beads sliding down your chin as you lift your head from George’s length. 

“God you look so gorgeous with my cum dripping down your face.” George smirks pulling you onto his bare chest and kissing down your cheek. Your only response is a blush as George continues to stare down at you as if you were his last meal, drinking in all of your post-sex features. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and swollen lips. Sighing, he pushes those thoughts away as he pulls you up to see him face to face. 

“That was amazing love, thank you.” George grins, pulling you against his chest and playing with your soft hair.

“Of course Georgie, but Merlin my legs are sore.” You groan into George’s chest as his chest vibrates with a chuckle. 

“I’m afraid Episkey won’t cut it for that darling.” The red-head prankster teases, reaching down to caress your legs lightly. “That’s too bad, have you got any other remedies?” You joke, wrapping your arms around George’s torso, a smile growing on your lips. 

“Just lay here with me darling, Relax.” George sighs, pulling back to gaze into your eyes again with a growing smile. “Sounds good.” You respond, a small yawn falling from your lips.

“I-I love you y/n, I’ve fallen in love with you so many times over the years and the fact I still haven’t asked you this question yet is killing me, would you be my girl? Please?” George pouts, giving you his best puppy eyes as you giggle and cuddle closer to his chest. 

“I’d love nothing more, my love.” You sigh happily as George’s eyes light up and he peppers your face with butterfly kisses.

“Next time the two of you shag, at least put a silencing charm over the room!” A disgusted shout, causes the two of your to flinch. “Sorry, Fred!” You laugh at the older twin’s plea and turn back to your love. “Guess we were a bit loud, weren’t we?” You tease.

“Me? Oh no darling, that was all you.” George smirks. “And who’s fault was that?” You reason, pressing a gentle kiss to George’s lips once again. 

“All mine, I can say that with honor.” The red-head smiles victoriously and pulls you against him again with a chuckle.

“Godric, I can still hear you!” Fred’s annoyed scream rings through the room again.

The two of you only laugh at Fred’s interjection, too busy staring into each other’s eyes to care. The two of you had come so far, from pulling pranks in the Hogwarts halls, running to each other for a spell you could easily perform when you were hurt, to moving into the same apartment to follow your dreams and making love to each other after your confessions of love. You’d only dreamed of being able to hold the boy who’d stolen your heart with each Episkey and prank, and here you are lying in his arms with love bites scattered across your chest and legs too tired to move, slowly drifting to sleep as all your dreams came true.

[bokettochild]

Hi! I really like the fics you write, and for the requests I was thinking some Wild and Legend bonding? I’m a big angst fan, but fluff always makes me happy :)

Okay, so, this was partially inspired by this, but also this.

I'm not really sorry, this has been brewing since the last update and I finally wrote it. That and I broke my writers bloc and figured out how to write Legend again!

Suffer 🙂

Sunset Comforts

Twilight was dead.

That was the thought flashing through his mind as he called the younger heroes to order. The worry that stung in his heart as Hyrule and Four charged towards the enemy that had downed their friend with ease.

A gleaming axe had struck the wolf form of their brother mid spring, and the pained and breathless whimper of the canine mixing with the wet squelch of the blade pulling free echoed in his mind.

Legend’s stomach rolled, the need to turn to the side and be sick growing as the battle continued on around him.

He didn’t know how he took command, simply let his emotions fall to the back burner, pressing down the need to vomit along with memories of a dark sewer, a gleaming blade, a wizard's cackle and wet and wheezing breaths. He focused his gaze on the enemy and called out orders, forcing the hero’s spirit to take the reins while a young hero fell to the background, eyes wide and full of tears as sobs built up in a throat that words had not poured from in years.

Blades sang a death dirge as monsters had fallen; enemies laid low by the weapons of the heroes still standing. There were no words to the song as an eerie silence hung over the field, only the sounds of battle and the occasional cry filling air that felt thick and muddled as they fought. And when at last the final monster had fallen from Wild’s blade, and the shadow had long since faded back away from where it had come, leaving the heroes bloody and breathless, Time and Wild had sprung to the rancher’s side.

Legend stood to the side, hands gripping his blade, ignoring the blood that trailed over his clothes and skin, eyes wide as they’d watched Time firmly press Warriors’ scarf to the gaping wound in -the now hylian- Twilight’s chest.

White and red clashed beneath blackening green, and Legend’s stomach revolted again at the sight, one hand pressing to his lips as he’d been forced to turn away, the sight to much for him. Bloods stench was heavy on the air, death and destruction smelling of gaping wounds and foul flesh, and it made his stomach roll. There was no task he could complete as he stood to the side and allowed the others to fuss and heal, and the mere smell of the blood on his hands made him wince back nausea.

He was covered in the stuff, it coated his body and overwhelmed his senses, and as the other’s fussed over far more pressing matters than blood; a wound, gaping and black with shining bones exposed to the air and torn flesh and-

Legend keeled over, heaving and wheezing for breath as the contents of his stomach found a new home in the carcass of a slain bokoblin.

The camp that night was plagued by the eerie heaviness in the air that had lain over the battle-field.

Warriors leaned back against Sky’s side, hands shaking from having laid the final stitches, eyes bleary as the Skyloftian gently pressed a potion to the captain’s lips. Not far from the two, Hyrule’s glimmering hands worked over Twilight’s chest weakly, shoulders drooping and hands shaking until Four had gently pulled him away with his one good hand, the other wrapped and hung in a sling from his neck as he gently ushered the traveler towards his bed roll to sleep.

Time, to no one’s surprise, sat at Twilight’s side, the ranchers hand clasped tightly in his own as worry creased already heavy brows, a single eye dark in the fading light as a song, bitter and almost tearful rings through the air. There are no words, but Warriors’ voice, heavy and weary, joins in, and though Twilight’s body lies still and the rancher hasn’t opened his eyes, there’s a flicker of his lids as his breath evens slightly, the faintest of hums sounding wet and broken from blood-stained lips.

Legend turns his gaze away.

None of the others had seen his shameful reaction earlier, and as much as he wants to be of aid, he knows that the blood that coats the bandages wrapped around Twilight’s chest and spatters over his clothing will only made him ill again, which will be in no ways helpful.

Violet eyes drift over leaves and stone before coming to rest on the form of the Champion, curled around himself at the furthest edges of the camp, fingers digging into his arms as his eyes remain fixed on his mentor. The vet blinks in surprise as his gaze trails from Twilight’s broken form to the huddled form of the man’s protégé, hiding on the edges of the camp and making no moves to approach him.

Does Wild have trouble with the blood too?

A closer look reveals that the champion’s face is red, eyes puffy and tear tracks rolling down his face, but the gaze on the champion’s face is hard, and Legend finds himself shaking off shivers from the intensity of cornflower hues as they stare across the camp, resolute and dark.

He’s useless to the healers, and the sight of Twilight’s blood streaked across all the surfaces around camp, red and wet and warm and full of life that should be staying inside him and not bleeding out because he needs to live, he needs to live, he needs to stay alive! Link can’t live without him he can’t it’s just not possible please-

The vet forces himself to breathe, shaking his head and blinking back his own tears as he moved towards his fallen friend’s protégé. He can’t offer any help to the others, but at the very least he can knock Wild out of his own head.

Twilight would want that.

As feet pick across the camp, bare because he can’t stand the ooze that coats his boots, he wonders when he began to wonder what the rancher would want or do.

Wild’s fingers are digging into his arms, blood springing up beneath his nails as they grip tighter, and Legend has to fight the urge to flinch away at the sight. It’s shameful, his aversion. He’s a hero and he’s killed more enemies than he’s seen seasons. Yet, he still flinches back at pooling red, and the droplets that roll down the champion’s arms to drip onto the ground are enough to make his stomach lurch again.

“Quit it.” He scolds, positioning himself in the way of the kid’s line of sight, blocking off the sight of the rancher as cornflower blue flicks up towards him.

His stomach rolls again at the ethereal glare that’s cast his way, eyes too old and a soul too shattered for the young body they’re set in. Still, he’s fought a corrupted goddess, he can meet the gaze of the champion, but it’s hard, and he hates it, but he forces himself regardless. Violet and blue clash, trails of gold set in each as both boys glare at each other, both disapproving in their own way before Legend shakes his head, reaches down and pulls the champion’s hands free of his arms. “None of that now. You don’t need more scars, kid.”

Wild’s eyes blink slowly, but there’s no recognition in them, and Legend finds panic flooding through hm as he realizes that Wild may or may not even be fully aware at the moment.

Great Seven, what would Twilight do?

Wild is stiff as a board and silent as death itself as Legend kneels before him, the kid’s gaze unmoving as he glares over Legend’s head, right between his ears, to where Twilight lays in his mentor’s hold. Pain leeches into the silent cold of ethereal blue, and something inside the vet shatters, his chest burning lightly at the pain and hopelessness that crosses over the kids face for a brief second before it returns to stony coldness.

Ah.

“It’s not your fault.” He breathes, crossing his legs underneath himself as he gazes up at eyes that won’t meet his own. “Wild! You can’t blame yourself; you hear me?” His own gaze hardens as he focused on the kid. “Twilight chose to chase the Shadow. It was his choice-” Glowing blue turns to him with a ferocity that nearly steals his breath, but Legend presses forwards, golden tinging at his own irises as his voice rumbles low and firm, blessedly free of its usual squeaks and breaks. “Twilight chose to fight. I’m not saying this is his fault, but it isn’t yours either.”

The champion’s gaze is stony and silent.

“You had no way of stopping this.” Legend repeats, hand clasping the kid’s arms just below the shoulders and gaze heavy as it meets the flickering blue before him. “You were on the other side of the battlefield, your arrows would have only made things worse and you had no way, on Din’s green earth, to reach him before the shadow struck.”

Wild’s eyes flicker up to Twilight’s broken form again, but the vet catches the kids face in his hands, eyes firm and glimmering slightly in faded light of the sunset. “Do you understand?”

“I failed.” The kid croaks out, broken and stiff and every word labored as if it is a weight that holds down the kid’s tongue. Each weight falls hard and heavy on Legend’s shoulders, pain dancing through his chest at the broken soul that cracks through the stone gaze. “I couldn’t save him.”

“No one could.” Legend presses, voice catching in his throat.

“I should have.”

The words are simple, but they bear a weight that nearly fells the veteran hero right then and there, and he watches in horror as tears pool behind Wild’s eyes as they turn to gaze at the dirt at his feet.

“I’m supposed to be the Hylia forsaken Hero.” The kid curses softly. “And I can’t even save my best friend.”

“You can’t save everyone.” He murmurs in reply, his own gaze struggling to stay on the kid before him and to not follow it to the ground.

Red hair and a bubbling laugh ring in his memory alongside a booming laugh that is weakened by blood that trails from an open wound, hidden in the sewers below the castle. Hands that held his own, laughter that rang with his and voices that carried joy and wonder on tehri lips as they filled his heart and breathed life into his soul.

Both of them are gone. He couldn’t save them. He’ll never have another chance to try.

“But Twilight is still alive. He’s still breathing and...” A wet laugh stutters up in his chest, broken and wrong, but impossible to hold back. “He’s still trying to sing on key.”

Wild’s eyes freeze the breath in his throat, hard and shattered and angry as they bore into him. “Twilight is still alive because Warriors and Time saved him.” The kid hisses. “He’s alive because everyone else banded together and staved off the monsters. He’s alive because you all are heroes enough, that while I was pulling my sorry ass off the top of a wall, you were all down there protecting him!”

The kid’s voice rises and those behind them turn to stare, but Legend isn’t cowed. He’s heard many a worse speech from his own shattered soul ringing in his mind again and again over the years. The kid’s broken voice and aching soul aren’t enough to bring him to tears and reassurance.

Twilight might treat the kid with care and grace that one would a wounded child, which Wild needs. But the kid also needs the sense slapped into him, and Legend’s very good at that.

“You all protect everyone!” Tears spill down the kid’s cheeks as he glares at Legend. “All I ever can do is sit by while everyone else struggles, and I can’t even offer help!”

“Wild-”

“My whole world died while I was sleeping!” Wild’s voice breaks, blue eyes sparking with lights that aren’t natural or Hylian.

“And I killed mine!” Legend shoots back, gaze and voice both dark as he meets the kid’s stare. “You’re not the only one of us to have ever failed!”

The champion blinks at him in shock, and Legend takes the moment to catch his breath, eyes blinking open again to meet the kid’s. “I destroyed a whole world. People, places, families and homes. Just blotted them out of existence.” His voice is firm but tears prick at his eyes as he glares down the taller hero. “You aren’t the only one who messed up.

“What matters though, is that when you were given a second chance, you took it. You stood to your feet, after being killed in battle you came back. And you walked right up to Ganon and drop-kicked his ass back into whatever hell it came from.” Violet and gold swirl in the vet’s gaze as it bores into Wild’s, the kid’s expression fading just left of wonder as he stares back. “You are still living your second chance. You are going to make new mistakes. You are going to get hurt. Other people are going to get hurt. What matters is that you don’t spend all your time crying over what you aren’t, and instead use it to become what you can be.”

The vet’s gaze softens. “You’re a good kid, Wild. And a great hero. Don’t ruin that by worrying about the past. You don’t live there, so you don’t belong there. Get your ass in gear and start worrying about the now.”

Wild opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by Legend. “And I don’t mean fussing about a battle that’s already lost. I mean by getting over there and hugging the stuffing out of your grand-mentor or whatever the shit Time is to you, because the guy is on the verge of tears and none of the rest of us can help.” The vet cracks a weak and strained smile. “Twilight’s strong. He’ll pull through. Don’t make me have to explain that you’re depressed because you can’t accept what he sees in you.”

He’s not fast enough to pull away before Wild’s arms are wrapping around him in a tearful hug, sniffles and sobs escaping the kid as he whispers thanks into Legend’s blood matted hair, and Legend can’t even bring himself to pull away. Instead, he gently rubs the kids back, grumbling back fondly until Wild pulls away, rubbing at his eyes and nose he offers Legend a wobbly smile, before standing and making his way back into the center of the camp.

Time’s face when Wild comes over and wraps his arms around the man is priceless, the tune on his lips fading out as the man folds Wild into his arms with a quiet sob, and Legend fights back a twitch of his lips as the two hold tight to each other.

Night falls as the others fade off into sleep.

Legend had finally pulled himself back into the camp once the lights had dimmed enough that the blood across their faces and clothes could be mistaken for dirt and shadow, and while the others cling to each other in their sleep, his eyes are fixed on the rancher.

Twilight’s breaths are sharp and strained, chest stuttering and stopping agonizingly often as the night continues on. Each time it stutters, Legend has to hold his hand above the rancher’s mouth and nose, waiting for warm air to caress his palm. Each time it comes late, panic blossoms inside of him, and Legend has to hold his own breath as he waits for it to eventually puff out again.

Time sleeps not far off, Wild’s curled in his arms where the two had dozed off after their nerve-wracking evening, and Sky is settled not far from them, Hyrule pressed to one side and Wind to the other, and Four lying across the lot of them while they sleep.

Warriors sits at the edge of the camp, hands working over the blades of his brothers, cleaning away blood and dirt and sweat with practiced movements as his gaze flickers from the forest to the fallen hero, concern in the royal blue gaze as it turns every so often to Legend.

He knows the captain wants to tell him to sleep, wants to tell him to rest, but seeing as the man himself doesn’t seem able to do it either, neither presses the other to sleep. Grim understanding flashes across the camp when their eyes chance to meet, and Warrior’s turns his attention back to Legend’s sword where it lays across his lap, hands working over it while its owner sits beside Twilight.

He doesn’t know when he’s taken Twilight’s hand in his own. Doesn’t know when his fingers start trailing over worn scars and calluses, taking comfort in the warmth that they find there as he holds it close to his chest, breaths deep and stuttering as his eyes flicker over Twilight’s pale face.

“You better be okay.” He whispers, voice breaking slightly as tear prick at his eyes. “I told the kid you will be, but it you make that a lie I’ll-” A sob breaks the silence, one that Warrior’s politely ignores as Legend drops his gaze, clinging to the still hand. “You’ve got to make it through this, Twi. Please! Please!”

Scarred and calloused fingers twitch softly, clasping Legend’s own weakly as another sob shatters the silence.