#When there are many other horrible things he's done

[annalacerda17]

This!

This is exactly right.

Also, from his own perspective, Wei Wuxian couldn't have chosen to ignore what was going on in the labor camps once he had learned about it, because that would go against everything he was as a person.

He didn't fight for the Wens because he thought that would accomplish something. He always knew he was just buying them time, and that there was no guarantee he would be able to save them for good. He certainly hoped so at one point, but as things progressed it became clear to everyone that they were living on borrowed time.

But to Wei Wuxian that wasn't the point.

The point is that a horrible injustice was done to those people, and he found out about it, so he couldn't ignore them and go on with his life, because that would go against his very nature.

Wei Wuxian knew very well that taking the Wens out of the labor camps would paint a huge target in his back. He knew that the sects were corrupt to their core. He had noticed that the Jin sect had been trying to occupy the power vacancy left by the Wen sect. Wei Wuxian wasn't a fool, and he wasn't overestimating his abilities either.

Actually, I think a lot of people read this part of the story and assume Wei Wuxian was politically illiterate. That's not true at all. If anything, it's Jiang Cheng who is a political fool who falls for every one of the Jin sect's traps.

Wei Wuxian was very aware of the political undercurrents, and made his choices accordingly. However, and this is the point the novel tried to make, one man can't change society by himself, no matter how right or how powerful he may be. Wei Wuxian's social class was working against him, and that made it impossible for him to speak to the other decision makers of the cultivation world - the sect leaders - on equal terms. This also meant that the culprits were the ones controlling the narrative, which is why Wei Wuxian's reputation was destroyed so thoroughly.

Wei Wuxian's only option was to deter them with brute strength. I'm making this point because so many people in this fandom keep asking why Wei Wuxian didn't just talk things out. Like, he tried. But in my opinion it was very clear in the novel that nobody wanted to listen to what a son of a servant had to say. Especially a son of a servant who dared to be powerful and refused to bow his head to the upper class.

When he chose to fight for the Wen remnants, Wei Wuxian did so hoping that if nothing else happened, his power and the Yin Tiger Tally, combined with his choice to settle in the burial mounds would be enough to deter the sects from pursuing them further. But he always knew that this wasn't an indefinite solution to the problem.

The point is that Wei Wuxian didn't "throw his life away" for nothing, because when he decided to protect the Wens he wasn't expecting to save them forever. He knew very well that he was borrowing time for them and that the chances of things working out permanently were quite low. He had hope, but everyone there knew it was far-fetched. He still chose to do it because he didn't see it as throwing his life away. For Wei Wuxian, protecting the Wens was his only choice in that situation, because doing otherwise would be the same as throwing away his soul. Wei Wuxian could never turn a blind eye.

one mild sentiment i see echoed around alot is that despite everything, wei wuxian failed to “save” the wen remnants, that him going to such great lengths was an effort in vain. but... no?? he did accomplish alot by taking them to the burial mounds. he gave them time. he gave them a period of peace and community life. he gave their elders a sense of togetherness. he gave them a chance to heal some of their wounds together. he prevented their slow, agonising, brutal, INDIGNIFIED deaths at the labor camps, prevented their daily suffering under the oppressive guards.

as wen qing said: they all should have died a long time ago but wei wuxian’s efforts did bear sweet fruits, however bitter the end might have been.

and here’s the thing. the wens survived through wen yuan. their legacy still remains because all the remnants and wei wuxian (and ofc lan wangji) fought to see that happen. imagine if they hadn’t, if wei wuxian wouldn’t have done anything. the wens would have seen their demise in the labor camps with nary a mention of their deaths. they would have been wiped out without ever getting the chance to say their piece or take their stance. as things went, atleast wen qing and wen ning faced their deaths bravely, as leaders of their community. atleast, wen yuan could live a fulfilling life. atleast the wen remnants had a year and more together, to enjoy some of the peace the post-war cultivation world was enjoying.

and that is what wei wuxian gave up everything for. a cause greater than himself.

[enbyfvcker]

Growing Attached

Wade x Logan (worst!wolverine)

Word count: 1,7k

Tags: fluff, smut, suggestive/explicit content, established relationship, headcanons, animalistic!logan, scent marking, praise kink, slight degradation kink, switch!poolverine

It is ironic to Logan how quickly he got attached to the guy he tried to kill nearly ten minutes after meeting and who annoys him as a daily rotine. But Wade crept his way into his heart and made a home there, slowly tearing his walls down.

Hell, he tried to sacrifice himself for him. And looking back, he would do it all over again.

He's really grateful for how his life turned out after Wade practically kidnapped him. He was miserable before.

He has a home now, a warm place to sleep. Wade is always cooking for him, and beside how he pretends to hate the merc's jokes, he realizes he's laughing way more often. He made new friends, and it hit him that now he's also part of that same family he saw on that picture Wade showed him on the Honda Odyssey, the family he helped save.

At first, staying with Wade and blind Al was supposed to be a temporary thing. But months passed, and he found out that he didn't wanna be anywhere else. He wouldn't have it any other way.

He spent so much time alone, so many years feeling the weight of losing all that mattered to him and being hated for simply existing, surviving.

He doesn't want to be alone anymore. Even if it comes with the risk of losing everything all over again. He'd fight for it with claws and teeth in the bat of an eye. He wouldn't bear to lose everything again.

Al would joke about how Wade tamed Logan. About how, at first, he was all gruff and grumpy and drowned in self-destructive behaviors, always drinking his ass off whenever he could. But now he's softer.

Wade convinced him to lay back on drinking one night when he crumbled on the merc's arms after getting completely wasted, telling him about all the horrible stuff he went through in his universe. Told him about the nightmares, what he seen, what he's done...

Wade would always ease him and calm him down, bringing him back to the present when Logan had a nightmare.

Wade would get him doing stupid stuff like movie nights, painting nails, going out in the middle of the night to go eat cheap street food. One day, he got Logan to play Just Dance, the merc laughing as he and Laura danced to some pop song.

So maybe he can't really contest it. Wade did, in a way, tamed him.

And he feels like it should bother him more, but it doesn't.

At first, his feelings confused him, but loving Wade was easy.

Give hatred and insults at Logan, and it will be reflected right back at you. But give him affection and care, and it is also reflected.

In his own way.

He'd hear Wade's incessant yapping, already used to the merc talking nonstop. He kinda grew fond of it. He knew that when Wade's sad, he gets quieter than usual, and he always seems to know how to ease the merc.

When they'd fight, it would be so much more playful than the first times. They would smile between strikes and stabs and Wade could see the way Logan let him throw him around a bit.

He would go with Wade whenever he would walk Mary Puppins, accompanying behind the merc like a guard dog. Each time someone would even look weird at Wade, he would practically snarl at the person, scowling angrily. And if he heard someone saying any mean comment, Wade would have to stop him from pouncing at the stranger.

The first time Wade grabbed his hand in public, Logan tore it away on automatic, but the sad puppy look in Wade's eyes made him sigh and grip the merc's hand again, holding it as they walked. Then, the next times, it was always Logan that grabbed his hand first, not letting go until they got home.

Whenever Wade would feel self-conscious, Logan would pepper kisses all over his face, trace the shape of his scars, hold him close... In his eyes it didn't mattered how Wade looked when his heart was already so full of love for him.

He would steal Wade's shirts even though Wade bought clothes especially for him. Logan simply likes his scent.

He let his animalistic traits out more often when he's around Wade, getting more comfortable in his presence over time. Wade's heart almost melts whenever Logan rubs himself on him, practically begging to be pet. The way Wade swore he could hear purrs whenever he stroked the right spot on his hair. Or when Logan follows him around the apartment like a puppy, quietly watching everything Wade does and clinging to him.

The first nights Logan spent on the couch, Wade would wake up to see him all curled up, his eyebrows furrowed. But as time went on, he would often find Logan sleeping completely spread out, his stomach upwards as he snores lowly.

And when they started sleeping together, they would always wake up tangled in the morning in Wade's bed. Sometimes, with Logan under the covers because of the sunlight and with his face buried in Wade's chest.

Wolverines are really territorial. Logan started doing everything in his power to rub off his scent on Wade, to mark him as his. Wade would pretend to not notice, but he found it extremely adorable.

One day, when he was grocery shopping, he saw Vanessa and they talked for a couple minutes, hugged awkwardly as they said goodbye. He didn't feel anything, and it made him smile internally. A while ago, he would've been triggered seeing her like this. But honestly, how can he have eyes for anyone else when he has Wolvie all to himself at home?

When he does get home, however, Logan's nose picks up the different scent. He gets closer to Wade as he's storing the groceries, sniffing the merc's neck as he stands behind him.

"Hey, peanut. Missed you too."

"You smell different..." Logan grunts against Wade's neck, his heart racing with a feeling he can't quite place.

"Oh? How so?"

"You smell like ladies perfume."

"Well, I use ladies perfume sometimes, for your information-"

"I know how you smell." Logan snarls, gripping Wade's waist and licking the skin of his neck, biting after, eliciting a gasp from the merc. "You smell like you and me mixed together. And now I smell someone else." His grip gets tighter. "You smell like that dancer girl."

"Vanessa? Well, yes, we met shortly today-" Wade feels a sharp sting as fangs dig into his skin, the sensation making him shiver.

"Gotta mark you again." Wade chuckles at that. He couldn't help it, it's just too damn cute.

"I don't think everyone has your sense of smell, Wolvie. But who am I to stop you?"

"Don't care. Want you to smell like me..."

And then, in the next hours, Logan's all over Wade. Kissing, biting as they fuck, wishing that the bite marks would actually stay instead of disappearing in less than a minute. Their bodies tangled, Logan holding him close, his nails scratching Wade's back as he smirks with the way the pain makes Wade's cock throb inside him. He doesn't stop until his scent mingles with Wade again, until he smells like him and only him, making sure that every time he cums he does it on the merc's skin. And even after they shower together, he can still smell himself all over Wade, and it fills him with an animalistic possession.

Wade loves that feral side of Logan. So he may or may not have googled and found out that Wolverines love cinnamon and it is like an aphrodisiac for them, and then he bought a cinnamon skin oil to test it.

The first time he wore it, Logan went absolutely wild with the smell all over Wade's body, and Wade practically couldn't tear him away even if he tried. Logan seemed to go blind with lust, tearing Wade's clothes away and bullying his way into the merc's hole, his face glued to Wade's neck, sniffing his skin.

"Smells so fuckin' good..."

And Wade definitely started wearing it more often after that.

Wade noticed that Logan slowly began to be less annoyed with his pet names. At first, he would roll his eyes whenever Wade called him "honey badger", "peanut", "kitty cat", "puppy" and others, but then after time, Wade could swear he could see a light tint on his face whenever he called Logan sweet things.

"Can you grab that for me, peanut?"

"Missed me, puppy?"

"Feels good, kitten? Good boy, so perfect for me..."

Logan felt stupid with the way those words made him feel all tingly inside, his heart pounding violently as if it would burst out of his chest and run to Wade.

It was amusing to Wade how Logan could switch from being really rough and intense in bed to want it slow and soft, to crave Wade's praises and care as the merc fucked into him. Wade always seems to read what Logan needs, always meeting the hungry harshness as well as the gentle passion.

"Such a needy little slut just for me, hm peanut?"

"That's it, baby. You're so good, kitten. Such a good boy for me. You look so pretty, taking me so well~ Love you."

Logan's nightmares would slowly fade, never truly disappear, but lose its constance. Before, he could barely have a full night sleep without drinking until he passed out, and now he sees himself curling up with Wade in deep slumber and long naps.

Laura noticed the thing between them two from the start. She probably noticed before Logan could even understand it at all, but decided not to comment on it until she saw they were together.

She told Logan he seemed happier. So different from when they met on the void, in the best way possible.

And he is happier. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

[rosinkreutz]

This is all random babbling, but one thing I appreciate about Asuka's character is that, on one hand, he's the sort of billion IQ hyperlogical science man, but on the other he's also got an important spiritual/religious side to him. Especially in the older games and media, he brings up God and what God wants fairly often.

I feel like so many times when you get that character archetype (and irl people as well let's be real), they're either dismissive or antagonistic toward any kind of spirituality. Everything must have a 'logical' explanation sort of thing even when their logic is actually failing them.

I think it speaks to his intelligence, especially his emotional intelligence. Which might seem strange, but R# does call RK a liar when he says he doesn't understand people. He just wishes he didn't. Therein lies the problem- he knows exactly what pain he is inflicting and feels horrible guilt, but continues regardless because it's what needs to be done.

(Maybe this is veering into headcanon territory, but I think for him, it's like "I can logicistically follow your emotional process" deal and not like. the actual feeling part. That's the part he doesn't understand. Not in the sense that he can't feel sad about it, but he just can't share their pain. If that makes any sense.)

[marjoch]

FUTILE DEVICES

Jayce & Viktor attend a networking event. When Viktor leaves to catch his breath, he returns to find Jayce conversing with Mel. Viktor has a claim to stake.

“Are you ready?”

Dead of winter, Piltover. Partners in science Jayce and Viktor had been preparing for a networking event that occurred in the evening. Already dressed up, the pair of them had met in the lab to agree on any details they wanted to share with the people they would meet.

Jayce was the one who asked the question, walking alongside Viktor as they drew closer to the grand ballroom where the event was hosted. Viktor was hoping to stay by Jayce’s side most of the night, already overthinking the possibilities of conversation topics that could arise. “Ready,” was his simple response.

The doors were open, and someone was manning it. Viktor took note of the enforcers on either side of the entrance. Jayce was more focused on getting inside. He was immediately greeted by someone Viktor didn’t recognize, assumedly a diplomat or a politician.

“Jayce Talis! It’s been too long.”

“You could say that again,” was the response. Viktor took the moment to look around the ballroom. He’d been in here before, briefly, years prior. He’d never seen it in this context, hosting an event of this scale. The lights were bright overhead, illuminating a crowd twice the size he expected. Then again, he hadn’t been sure what to expect.

A hand on his back brought him back to the conversation. “—and this is my partner, Viktor,” Jayce was introducing.

The stranger extended a hand to Viktor, who shook it.

Jayce continued on. “We’ve got a lot of people to talk to, but hopefully we can reconnect before the night is over. We have some breakthroughs I’d love to share.”

“I look forward to it,” said the stranger. Viktor had missed his name in his distraction, and it was too late to ask, especially now that the stranger was walking away.

Jayce looked to Viktor. “Doing okay?”

Viktor wasn’t sure how aware Jayce was of his hesitations to be here, so he nodded. “Of course.”

They moved on. Jayce was having a great time gliding through the ballroom, stopping to speak to every face he recognized, introducing Viktor and explaining their work to whomever inquired. On the other hand, Viktor was holding it together being dragged from place to place and remembering far too many names to count.

At some point between ten and fifteen various conversations, Viktor was faltering. He was growing tired of moving around, his chest felt tight from anxiety, and he was counting the minutes until it was over. As Jayce said goodbye to someone and immediately waved at another from across the room, Viktor remained still. “Jayce.”

His partner turned to him, attentive.

“I’m going to find a bathroom. You go on.”

Jayce nodded, touching Viktor’s shoulder. “Okay. Come find me when you’re done?”

Viktor mirrored his nod. Jayce went his own way, drifting through the sea of bodies. Viktor watched him go, then turned around, heading out of the crowd.

The noise was worse without Jayce around. The constant talking, a hundred voices layered over one other in a horrible symphony. He’d never liked events like this. He’d gone to just one before, as Heimerdinger’s assistant, and he left early. This wasn’t something he could escape, though — he didn’t want to leave Jayce alone.

There was one thing he did know about this place, and it was where to find the bathroom. He’d ventured to it several times during the night he was here before, finding it was the best escape from the volume of the main ballroom. Right outside the bathroom was the perfect safe space: a comfortable bench up against the marble wall, shrouded by plants. It was almost a secret hideaway, one he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to return to.

Now that he had, he found a seat and rested his head back. The ceiling was just as ornate as the floors, etched with gold. He breathed, counting the seconds like he’d been coached by a kind stranger once upon a time. Within a few moments, the pain in his chest slowly subsided, and his heart rate returned to normal.

Feeling better was one thing. Returning to the event was another. He remained in his hiding spot until it was invaded by an excitable couple who decided mingling was second to doting on each other.

He set on finding Jayce, then. It was easier said than done, on account of Jayce’s constant movement. Viktor admired his ability to participate in conversation despite his introversion. Jayce told him once it was easier to behave extrovertedly in a professional setting, but Viktor wasn’t sure if he thought that was true.

Finally! On a balcony at the back of the room, Viktor spotted him. He made a beeline for Jayce, avoiding eye contact with anyone else to prevent from being stopped. As he got closer, he could see that Jayce was in the middle of a conversation with one person Viktor did recognize: councilor Mel Medarda.

Truth to be told, there was no reason for Viktor to dislike her. She carried herself with grace, she spoke with dignity, she even helped their cause in the past. She was a supporter of their work, and she’d done nothing to wrong Viktor in any way. Viktor had many thoughts on the matter, one of them being that he got the impression she supported Jayce, not the both of them.

Regardless of how true or untrue his assumptions were, he was behaving as if they were fact. He didn’t like the idea of someone taking up Jayce’s attention in the way she did. Viktor saw the way he looked at her, the way he spoke about her when she wasn’t around. It was everything he desired for himself.

Arriving at the scene, Viktor interrupted. “Councilor,” he nodded in her direction, acknowledging her presence without any further conversation. He stood close to Jayce, close enough for their shoulders to touch if either of them swayed.

Jayce looked at his partner, and smiled. “I’m glad you’re back. I was just telling Mel about our discoveries with hextech.”

So not only were they on a first-name basis, but Jayce was sharing information they hadn’t told anyone else. At this point in time, their innovations with hextech were concepts, something they’d barely given a name. They had not discussed disclosing this when they debriefed earlier.

He played it off well enough. “What did you think?” Viktor asked Mel.

“I think it has potential,” was her response. She never took her eyes off of Jayce, save for a fleeting glance. Viktor wasn’t unaware of the way she tended to look at Jayce when she was speaking to the both of them. “It’s ambitious, but don’t most important discoveries start off as such?”

Jayce opened his mouth to speak, but not before Viktor got a word in. “Ambition is the driving factor of all sociological improvements. Without it, these projects would never make it past the drawing board.”

Jayce looked back to Viktor. Viktor’s gaze remained trained forward, not looking away from Mel, who seemed focused on Jayce. Therefore it was a triangle of attention: confusion, tension, and intrigue, respectively.

“What my partner means to say is that we’re dedicated to this. We’ve spent countless hours getting to the point where we can share this with you, and will continue doing so to maintain your support.”

“You impressed me from the beginning, Jayce Talis,” was Mel’s response. “If not with wits, then with determination.” She moved forward, and Jayce made space between him and Viktor for her to pass. On her way through, she put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “I’m always willing to hear about your discoveries. You know where to find me.”

She disappeared behind them. Both of them watched her go, Jayce mesmerized, and Viktor irritated. Due to his detachment of her character, he ended up looking at Jayce before his partner was finished watching her silhouette blend into the crowd.

“Jayce.”

That earned his attention. “Viktor. What was that?” He sounded as irritated as Viktor felt.

“I should ask you the same,” was Viktor’s quick response. “We never agreed to share these findings with anyone yet. You didn’t even mention it to me.”

“It just came out,” Jayce argued. “If anyone should know, it’s her. She’s an asset as an ally.”

“You assume,” Viktor snapped. “Science is valuable. There are those who wish to capitalize off of-”

“You think Mel would do that?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I think Councilor Medarda has motivations, like everyone else.”

Jayce sighed loudly. “I don’t understand why you don’t like her.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, I just…” Viktor trailed off as two other people walked out on the balcony, seeking a quieter place to converse. He shook his head. “We can finish this conversation later.”

“We can finish it now. I’m done here, if you’re ready to go.”

Viktor had no complaints, and no further words until they were outside. He took the lead this time, guiding them back out through the crowd. Once they were out the front doors, he confessed, “I was just waiting until you wanted to leave.”

“Sorry,” Jayce said, more sarcastic than genuine. Viktor knew it was because both of them understood this event was necessary to make connections that could further their research, and garner more support from the outside.

“I’m going back to the lab,” was Viktor’s next response.

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “Now? It’s late.”

“And there’s work to be done,” Viktor said.

“You should get some sleep.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

Jayce, of course, was going with him. The rest of their walk was silent, with Jayce racking his brain to make sense of Viktor’s reaction at the event, and Viktor imagining what it would be like to have Jayce on his side all the time. When they arrived at the lab, Viktor wasted no time getting to work.

Jayce couldn’t comprehend Viktor’s level of determination. Each time he thought Viktor would hit his limit, reach a point where he needed sleep, falter in his pacing of problem-solving… he was proven wrong. Now was no exception.

“Will you pass me my notes?” requested Viktor, standing in front of the board.

Jayce obliged, but was far more focused on the subject they’d left hanging. “Why don’t you like Mel?”

Viktor looked over his notes, facing the board but reading through them. Conversing while he was working was an easy multitask for him. He’d mastered it since starting to work with Jayce. “Why do you like her?”

He refused to call her by her first name. They were not close enough for him to earn the right, and he wasn’t going to do it behind her back. Plus, speaking her name invoked an additional awareness of the fact that she existed, and the mere thought was grating on Viktor’s nerves.

Jayce scoffed, but the prolonged silence before his answer spoke for itself. “I told you, she’s an asset as an ally, and she’s one of the only supporters we have on the council.”

“That’s not true,” Viktor said, turning. “Heimerdinger knows of our work, and waits for a demonstration. A goal we should be working towards.”

“A goal we are working towards,” Jayce spoke. Viktor hated the conviction in his voice. Well, he loved it, in another context. Now, it seemed like they were in a silent battle: Yes Mel versus No Mel. It was a position Viktor didn’t enjoy being in.

“Okay,” said Viktor, looking back at his notes and facing the board again.

Jayce sighed, watching him. “Viktor.”

“Hm?” Viktor was feigning focus on the notes, completely distracted by his blood boiling at the very thought of Jayce with another. Not fazed, Jayce walked over and took the notebook out of his hands.

“Jayce.” Viktor’s tone was clearly irritated, a reflection of his internal feelings.

“Come on, you have to talk to me. We’re partners.”

“Are we?” said Viktor. He was asking with the intention of suggesting they were partners in more than a scientific sense, but it flew over Jayce’s head, as most of Viktor’s suggestions of this sort did.

Jayce looked confused. While he spent seconds thinking about Viktor’s insinuations, Viktor took the notebook back and started working. Finally, Jayce had a question. “In what sense?”

Viktor close the notebook. “Asking real questions now.” He faced Jayce. “Do you like her?”

Jayce just laughed, but Viktor could tell he was nervous. That gave him the answer he needed, and he pushed the notebook to Jayce’s chest, turning back to the board.

“Take notes for me.”

Jayce hurried back to the desk. His immediate obedience earned Viktor’s gaze, but only when his back was turned. Viktor had been supposedly working the whole time when Jayce returned, pen in hand.

Viktor raised a hand to start solving the problem before them, one of many they’d had to work out. Jayce had the pen at the ready, prepared to write, when Viktor turned again. “You never answered my question.”

“Sure, I guess,” Jayce responded, almost afraid to admit the truth.

Viktor nodded. “Alright.”

Back to work. The back-and-forth was killing Jayce, who sighed loudly, a dramatic act. “I mean, she’s beautiful. She’s intelligent, and she’s an ally.”

“You have to stop using that word.” Viktor’s back was facing Jayce. “Ally.”

“It’s not untrue. She’s been there since the beginning, or did you forget she’s the reason we made it this far?”

“That doesn’t mean you have to fall in love with her,” said Viktor.

“As if love is a choice.”

Viktor agreed with that sentiment. There was no reason for him to find love in a science partner, someone who worked with him professionally. When he really thought about it, Jayce’s feelings for Mel were almost literarily equivalent to his for Jayce. It wasn’t something he wanted to admit unprompted, though. “You’re right about that.”

That gave Jayce some hope. Maybe Viktor had something going on with someone else, and seeing the ease between him and Mel was setting him off. “Who’s on your mind?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Viktor started to solve the problem, but then sighed in frustration and started over. His second try wielded worse results, if possible, and he tossed the chalk onto the ledge the board had at the bottom. Crossing his arms, he faced Jayce. “Does she like you the same?”

Jayce shrugged. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

Viktor nodded, looking at the floor, thoughts ruminating. His eyes met Jayce’s when he had something to say. “And there’s no one else on your mind?”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, oblivious as always.

Viktor was tired of waiting. Due to the proximity of Jayce’s dedication to document Viktor’s work, they were already close. He reached out for Jayce’s collar and pulled him closer.

He didn’t kiss him, yet. He only wanted Jayce to understand.

“Oh,” said Jayce, barely audible. Viktor could see the pieces falling together through the look in his eyes.

“Oh,” echoed Viktor, nodding. “I hate seeing you with her like that. I’m right here.”

With those words, Jayce made sense of it. “I think about it, too.”

He didn’t have the space to say anything else, because Viktor committed to the moment. Before Jayce could register Viktor moving, they were engaged in a brief kiss. Viktor didn’t want to drag him along until Jayce was sure, though, and this surety came in the form of a brief break.

Viktor looked up into Jayce’s eyes, and Jayce just gazed down at him. There was no thinking, just the attempt, and imminent lack thereof. In lieu of words, Jayce leaned back in, slow enough for Viktor to close the gap, which he did.

This kiss was much longer, and held deeper meaning. It was their first opportunity to explore each other, and they utilized it. Tongue on tongue, hands on arms, neck, hair, waist. Jayce tossed the notebook somewhere to their left to focus fully on Viktor, who was pleased to see that Jayce was equally intrigued by the prospect of furthering the depth of their relationship.

Jayce came up for air. Viktor had a steel grip on the back of his neck, asking a much-pondered question. “Do you dream about me?”

Jayce just laughed. It was a beautiful sound, but it didn’t answer his question. The truth was, Viktor had dreamt about Jayce for months. Each night when he fell asleep, he wished that Jayce would dream the same, just to make it even. It wasn’t fair for him to feel all the longing that could be split between them both. “Maybe.”

When Jayce leaned in for another kiss after that, Viktor leaned back. “Maybe?”

“Yes,” said Jayce, almost immediately. Viktor let him win, but the kiss was too short for Jayce, made clear by a disappointed huff when Viktor pulled away again.

That made Viktor smirk, just the slightest. He had a hold on Jayce, both physically and mentally. Viktor’s gaze wandered, from Jayce’s eyes to his lips, neck, even his chest, belt, before making their way back up again.

“Viktor,” Jayce said, a prompt that he was waiting.

“Jayce,” returned Viktor, allowing their short distance apart to fester. He wanted to see how long Jayce could go without engaging in another kiss.

In an effort to get Viktor to make the move, Jayce spoke his name again. “Viktor.”

Not giving up that easily, Viktor just smiled. “Jayce.”

That was all it took. Jayce’s hands found either side of Viktor’s face and pulled him in so hard that Viktor practically fell into him. Both hands up against Jayce’s chest, his cane clattered to the floor. Before his arms could reach up around Jayce’s neck for support, Jayce moved to grab his waist. “I’ve got you,” he murmured against Viktor’s lips, in-between the heated kiss.

Viktor could hardly repress a smile, knowing he had Jayce exactly where he wanted. Now that he was supported, he let his hands roam. There were so many things about Jayce to like, and one of them was his body, which Viktor had fantasized about more times than he would admit.

Lost in the moment, they continued on. They were voyagers in an unknown landscape, each of them discovering the other. At some point, Viktor’s urgency rivaled Jayce’s, and Jayce stumbled back. Before either of them knew what was happening, they were tumbling to the floor.

Jayce ended up underneath Viktor, both accidental and ideally strategic. He broke Viktor’s fall, an appreciated gesture, but hit his own head back on the ground. Viktor immediately put his hand upon the point of contact, cradling Jayce’s head from where he now laid on top of him.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked.

“I’m okay,” Jayce reassured, before pulling Viktor’s face down to his lips.

Viktor adjusted his position, straddling Jayce and leaning down. Some minutes into their make-out, he interrupted. When he spoke, his lips touched Jayce’s, indicative of their closeness. “Is this uncomfortable? You’re on the floor.”

Jayce shook his head just the slightest, enough to emphasize his denial but not enough to separate them. “Are you comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” said Viktor.

“Good,” responded Jayce, initiating the kiss again.

God, it was everything he’d ever wanted. He couldn’t hide a moan of satisfaction if he wanted to, and upon hearing his affirmation, Jayce allowed his own. It was almost too much, turning Viktor from a scientist into something else entirely.

Jayce’s hands wandered, from Viktor’s face to his shoulders, eventually his waist, and even thumbs hooking into his waistband. Viktor let him, even allowing Jayce to go so far as to fiddle with the buttons that kept his pants together. When Jayce tried to undo it, Viktor stopped him, reaching for his hand.

“No,” Viktor said. “Let me do it.”

Jayce sighed, disappointed. The act earned another smile from Viktor, one that Jayce could feel against his lips.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Viktor remarked, knowing good and well what Jayce’s response would be.

“No, go on,” was the response. Viktor hesitated, one hand on Jayce’s cheek, the other halfway down his chest. The halt in motion made Jayce look up into Viktor’s eyes, and Viktor raised an eyebrow. Jayce sighed again, impatient. “Please?”

Viktor nodded, acknowledging the request, and kissed him again, letting his hand resume its path from Jayce’s chest to his belt. Before setting to work on it, he ventured even lower, feeling Jayce through his pants.

“God, Viktor,” Jayce groaned through their kiss.

“Shut up,” said Viktor, using his other hand to grasp Jayce’s chin, kissing him deeper than before. He wasn’t done messing with Jayce, continuing his quest to rile him up. When Jayce moaned again, he stopped all semblance of movement, save for their lips.

Jayce wasn’t amused, hips moving to try and simulate Viktor’s touch in its absence.

Viktor broke away from the kiss. “Jayce.”

“Viktor,” was the quick and breathless response. Viktor hid his excitability well, sitting up slightly and looking down at Jayce.

“Are you going to listen to me?”

Jayce nodded agreeably, and waited. When there was no response, he spoke. “Yes,” he acknowledged verbally. All it took was Viktor waiting for him to add, “Please.”

Viktor kissed him again, moving his hand, and then setting to work on Jayce’s pants. His shirt had to come untucked first, and Jayce did the same favor for him. Viktor got through the belt, into the pants Jayce was wearing, and paused again right before his hand made it all the way in. “You’re mine. Not hers.”

Jayce nodded again, urgently.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, not hers,” Jayce said, without hesitation. “Only yours. Please, Viktor.”

Satisfied by that response, Viktor kissed him again, moving on. He liked to kiss Jayce through these moments, because it made it easier to tell exactly how Jayce felt. It was impossible to hide the hitches in his breath, the smallest slightest moans. Now was no different.

Viktor wanted him badly, but playing with Jayce was a kind of game. Seeing Jayce with Mel fueled some sort of animal in him, a possessive creature that was determined to stake his claim. This was his method.

His hands left Jayce, reaching down to work on his own pants. Jayce seems keen on helping, kissing Viktor fervently but moving his hands down to assist. Viktor paused his own efforts, pinning Jayce’s hands above him. “No,” he said again.

Jayce was frustrated at this point, shifting under him in an attempt to acquire the friction he missed.

Viktor laughed quietly. “You want me?”

Jayce sighed, almost irritated. “Obviously.”

Viktor just watched him. He didn’t have to say anything else to earn a response; the lack of action was enough.

“Please,” said Jayce, giving in. Whatever Viktor asked for in this moment, he would give him.

To be honest, Viktor had been the subject of Jayce’s dreams as much as it was the opposite. Jayce had awoken some mornings dazed, wondering how he could possibly go into the lab and face Viktor without any hints of what his mind imagined the night before. It was all irrelevant now that Viktor had him in this position.

Viktor listened to his pleads, making quick work of anything separating them. He touched Jayce carefully, slowly, paying attention to the way Jayce gasped, faltered, faced the ceiling in moments when he would otherwise be captivated by Viktor’s kiss. He leaned down to Jayce, bypassing his mouth for his ear while he was overcome. “Are you ready?” He whispered, a distant echo of Jayce at the beginning of the evening.

Jayce’s nod was all he required before Viktor continued to have the lead, guiding Jayce inside him, taking it slowly and exhaling in satisfaction while he adjusted. Jayce was louder than he was, much to Viktor’s amusement. They had yet to go further, and this is how he had him.

Slow but steady movements. Viktor was fully in control, and Jayce wasn’t raising any argument about it. If anything, he was in support, his hands finding Viktor’s hips.

Viktor’s hands were on Jayce’s chest, using him as a prop while he did the work for both of them. When Viktor could barely control his breathing, head thrown back skyward, Jayce thought he was the most captivating sight he’d experienced in his twenty-seven years of life.

At some point, one of Jayce’s hands reached up to Viktor’s face. His partner read his desire in the act, and leaned down to kiss him, elevating their experience. Each and every sound out of Jayce’s mouth was a part of the choir living in Viktor’s mind. He’d lived this before a hundred times in his dreams.

The near-silence in the room (apart from themselves) was imperceivable to either of them, each living their own symphony. Jayce could hardly believe his luck: this was the last thing he’d expected to occur, yet the first thing he’d desired.

On the other hand, Viktor could hardly believe this was the point they’d gotten to. He’d wanted Jayce for years, and to have heard his pleads not once, not twice, but quarce… he was almost pondering how many times he could get it out of him.

In his curiosity, Viktor broke the kiss, continuing the act they were partaking in without their lips touching. He hovered above Jayce, yet again pinning his arm above his head. The hand that was on his hip was fine to remain where it was, but anything beyond, he was determined to control in an attempt to hear Jayce again.

Jayce was already frustrated again by the restraint. It made Viktor more excitable, something Jayce would have noticed if he wasn’t so preoccupied with his own physical feelings.

Back to the game, as always. Viktor slowed their pace and leaned down, choosing to let go of Jayce’s arm, only to guide him back to his own hips. His lips lingered just above Jayce’s, close enough to touch within the constant motion. He purposefully kept them from connecting, and Jayce sensed it.

“Please, Viktor,” Jayce murmured.

Five times, then. Viktor gave into him, kissing him softly at first, intensifying it as he picked up the pace again. Jayce was bewitched, completely lost to anything apart from Viktor… just the way his partner wanted it.

The closer they got, the sweeter the kiss tasted. There was no scientific differentiation from the first kiss to now, apart from the feelings they shared for each other and the feelings they invoked through this behavior.

“You’re mine,” Viktor’s words were quiet against Jayce’s lips. “Not hers.”

“I’m yours,” Jayce responded, with a moan so loud that Viktor briefly considered the fact that they may be louder than intended. Who was nearby at this hour of the night, though? No one except for the two of them.

Viktor continued on, getting to the point where he couldn’t mess with Jayce anymore. The pleasure shared between them was too great for him to carry on. Jayce noticed this shift and moved his hand back up to Viktor’s face, brushing his thumb against his partner’s cheek.

Eyes closed, Viktor focused on keeping the motion going. His hand found Jayce’s on his waist, gripping his wrist tightly. He exhaled, heavy, and Jayce thought it was beautiful.

A slightly faster pace and opposite hand fully on Jayce’s chest steadied Viktor closer to the end he was bringing both of them towards. A minute or two into this, Jayce put both of his hands back on Viktor’s hips, assisting where Viktor wouldn’t let him before.

“Jayce,” Viktor began, about to complain about losing total control, but unable to get further than his partner’s name before an uncontrollable gasp interrupted his train of thought.

“Let me help,” Jayce insisted.

Those words alone brought Viktor back to the determination he’d had before. He was not about to give up on singlehandedly getting Jayce off, especially not after the dispute they’d had about Mel. He didn’t stop Jayce, but he maintained the pace, and therefore the control. He only faltered as he got close, leaning down to kiss Jayce again.

Jayce moaned against his lips, giving Viktor validation in his attempts. He could sense the end in sight and powered through, not letting up for a second. At some point near the finish line, Jayce gripped his hips tighter, and Viktor sensed the change. In an effort to prolong his own pleasure, he slowed the pace down.

“Viktor,” Jayce nearly immediately complained. “Please.”

Who was he to deny him? He returned to what he’d been doing before, much to Jayce’s approval. The obviously audible crescendo of sounds from Jayce was worth each moment leading up to this point. It wasn’t like he wasn’t getting off, either — he was having a great time, and he was on rhythm to finish with Jayce.

It worked out just as intended. Viktor felt himself nearing a climax and held out until he succeeded, hearing Jayce’s corresponding audible cue that he was also done. As if he couldn’t feel it.

When all was said and done, they were left with heavy breathing, shared sweat, and a laugh from Jayce as Viktor took a spot next to him on the floor. Viktor had a hand over his eyes, both shading from the light and from Jayce’s gaze. Jayce turned to watch him.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” he said.

Viktor turned to look at Jayce, then. “You don’t mean that.”

Jayce just smiled, reaching over to push a strand of hair out of Viktor’s face. “Whatever you want. I’m your partner.”

The look in Viktor’s eyes was some mix of satisfaction and disbelief, a feeling that getting what one wants often entails. There was comfort in knowing he’d achieved what he desired, but fear in the possibility of loss.

Jayce pulled him into an embrace, then, as much as an embrace as they could share on the actual floor. They didn’t have to exchange words to come to an agreement, one that Viktor couldn’t let live long before his own thoughts interrupted.

Viktor refastened his pants, sitting up and searching for his shirt, which was nearby. In his efforts to get rid of their clothing, the pile had remained close enough. “We should get some sleep.”

Jayce mirrored him, sitting up and hunting for the clothes he’d lost. He pulled them back on, but barely: the shirt unbuttoned, same with the vest he had been wearing, tie hung around his neck. No amount of disbelief could keep Viktor’s longing away.

Jayce stood, and picked up Viktor’s cane. Then and only then did he extend a hand to help his partner up, setting him up for success and support. Viktor was grateful despite his lack of explicit expression towards the matter.

“You can stay with me,” Viktor offered. He lived closer than Jayce, and he missed their closeness from before. “If you want.”

Jayce wanted. He nodded eagerly, and motioned to the door, prepared to follow Viktor out. Viktor led the way, abandoning the work he’d gone back to do. There was always tomorrow, right?

The pair of them individually sorted through their thoughts about the night. These ruminations came to a close when they made it to Viktor’s, laid down next to each other, and drifted to sleep. When Viktor woke, Jayce was holding him, just as he’d always envisioned to help him sleep during the rough nights.

[terezicaptor]

Wait people talking abt the wilbur situation: this is such a bizarre piece of misinformation to be talking about but I wanna clear up who Jebediah Springfield is in the series because I've seen some misinformation.

Jebediah Springfield is the founder of the town Springfield. In the episode Lisa the Iconoclast he is revealed to be a pirate who tried to kill George Washington, but otherwise in the series is a neutral figure, sometimes used for jokes about shitty historical figures. He had an adventuring companion named Shelbyville, who started up a rival town by the name Shelbyville. In the series they are not depicted as abusive to each other (which is a piece of weird misinformation I've seen) and Shelbyville is not his girlfriend (another piece of misinformation.) Shelbyville is a man.

This is such a mild thing but it's so odd to me that people are miscontrueing it.

Anyway support Shelby Shubble.

[monabee-draws]

Thinking about my Crow Rook Emmaline and how her and Lucanis' best and worst parts of their lives lined up so opposite to one another.

Rook is a happy, healthy and beloved Circle apprentice around the same time Lucanis becomes a Crow fledgeling. While he's thrown into the deep end and beaten under guise of training, Rook is desperately happy to be out of the alienage, well fed and finally learning to be literate.

Then, during the early years after Rook is made Tranquil and serves in the Circle, Lucanis grows into being a Crow. He's on good terms with his close soon-to-be Talons Teia and Viago, and he and Illario aren't thinking too hard about Caterina's eventual choice of First Talon. It's probably the happiest part of Lucanis' youth, and the unhappiest part of Rook's (if she had the capacity for anything but endless neutral indifference.)

Then when Rook joins the Crows, Lucanis is reaching the height of his fame as the Demon of Vyrantium. Everyone knows his name, Illario is off with him somehow, Caterina is ever more demanding. But he's doing good, he's completing his contracts, he's protecting his family. Rook is busy being perfectly thorough, efficient, and scaring the shit out of Viago who - despite his wariness at hiring a tranquil to his house, feels some degree of sympathetic responsibility for Rook. Maybe he sees the inevitable endpoint of their profession in Rook's blank compliance. Maybe that makes him hold Teia a little tighter in the morning light. Either way, both of them are teetering somewhere between downfall and joyful belonging, but remain passing ships in the night.

And then, air. Rook is no longer Tranquil. She is free and brazen and drunk on life. She is learning to wield magic in service of her work. All the rage and the screaming on the inside bursts out and makes her sloppy, but she keeps being given passes for it so long as things get done. All the while, Lucanis is being mourned. Missing, suffering, trapped physically the same way Rook was trapped mentally.

Two more years pass like this. In her freedom, Rook goes too far, messes up the Antaam job, and doesn't regret a moment of it. Viago sends her away, care even in that. In the end she brings back the brother they thought they'd never see. For the first time in their lives - world-ending events notwithstanding - both Rook and Lucanis are unbound, supported and safe. And they get to be that way together.

[girlcored]

idk i was watching the new defunctland about disney animatronics and i realized i'd never seen the hall of presidents. which then i watched and it made me pissed about FDR again. most of the presidents in that show get their COMPLETELY fair criticism but no one ever wants to talk about japanese internment. the white washing of his presidency gets done too easily around here just because of the new deal and the allies winning the war...girl the atomic bombs

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I hate when I get into these phases when once I process through one thing causing me anxiety there's another thing right behind it

[divinekangaroo]

a home painted bright with blood and thorns - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | (COMPLETE)

After the S4-S6 election/marriage, pre-S5. Some months into Tommy and Lizzie's marriage.

This frequently absent father and husband considers that he often does his best work in extreme circumstances: time pressure, resource constraints, situational uncertainty, high stakes, and gross emotional wounding. He knows what to do, doesn't he?

No matter what sort of internal spiralling disaster cascade he's busily ignoring inside. No matter what badly considered spur of the moment decisions he makes to get through the moment that he might pay for later. No matter what—

.

Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Charles Shelby, Ruby Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Frances, Various Shelby Household Maids, Charles Strong, Cyril the Dog, | Domesticity, Intimacy, Menstruation, Bodily Fluids, Bodily Solids, Bodily Functions, Babies, Lactation, Mental Health Issues, Repression, Abusive Families (Past), Attempts at Communicating, Trying Hard, Family Trauma, Family Feels, Nail-Biting, Household Dynamics, Absent Father, Avoidance, Deflection, Trying Sooooooooooo Hard, Distress, Comfort Sex, Dysfunctional Family, Contraception, Spiralling, Intrusive Thoughs, Mild Paranoia, Grief, The Lasting Legacy of Catholicism, Fear of Mental Illness

.

[garlique]

god oh my god this sucks so fucking much, i knew today would be the worst day so far but holy fucking shit i truly just wish i was fucking dead!!

[featherymainffins]

Ough I fucking hate holidays because it is my duty as a child to visit my parents and just take whatever the fuck happens to me.

[sqoa]

cw stalking

☓☓☓ stalker!satoru likes exploiting his heightened senses to learn everything and anything he can about you. he doesn't even need to be in the fucking room to know that you're sitting with your thighs pressed together because you're still thinking about the letter he slipped under your door that morning.

the letter, in which he wrote the dirtiest details about yourself that not even you picked up on. like how when you're really horny you become restless and can't keep still for too long, or how when you cum your eyes squeeze shut and you almost look scared of the pleasure you're giving yourself. which he loves, because your fear is an aphrodisiac to him.

but you figure whoever it is that's stalking you is only stabbing a guess at what could be true. because there is no way he's someone you've fucked, because you don't fuck on a whim. the only other explanation you can come up with is that he's been in your home, either to install cameras or slip into the shadows late at night when you're touching yourself. which is a ridiculous thought, so he must be assuming.

until you come home from a particularly gruelling day to find a small box on your pillow.

it's black, and wrapped in a blue ribbon that looks hauntingly familiar to the shade of blue—you shake your head. with trembling hands you open the box to find three things. one of which is a baby blue vibrator, the same shade as the ribbon and a certain set of eyes you often think of when you touch yourself. you also find a smaller box with a note attached.

'a promise, until you trust me enough to replace it with the real thing, doll.' it reads, and doesn't make sense until you open the box and find a ring inside. expensive looking and glistening under the moonlight coming in through your window. it fits your ring finger perfectly when curiosity bests you and you slip it on. You should be panicked, locking your doors and calling the police but there's a horrible ache in your lower abdomen that has you awful restless, and you realise that perhaps your sweet-tongued stalker knows a little more about you than you do yourself.

weeks of gifts like this go by, from sex toys to expensive meal deliveries each night, you're starting to feel more like a sugar baby than a victim. and still, you haven't even given in to your stalker... you've been too scared to touch yourself, to put the box of toys he's gifted you to use, because each night as you fall asleep you dream of vile things done to you by a man you can't see the face of. you worry that if you give in, let him watch you fuck yourself stupid on the toys he brought you, you won't want to hate this. to hate the way he calls you his doll, like you're a toy to be played with, in a home he somehow has access to despite how many times you change the locks.

it's not until you're on a mission one day, alongside satoru gojo. you're in an awfully tight space together, stuck in an abandoned warehouse and boxed in by curses that you're sure he could handle in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. but you're here, pressed chest-to-chest and breathing in the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing together—sugar on his breath.

and you're just so needy, after weeks of denying yourself in hopes of boring your stalker away. you have to press your thighs together, satoru's hard abs against your stomach is too much: and the way he looks down at you, laboured breath and glossy lips parted... you have to look away. but when your gaze meets the ground, you catch a glimpse of something that you hadn't noticed before.

a ring on his finger, one that matches yours—hell, it even looks cut from the same gem.

and his voice is poison. "you've been hiding from me haven't you, my doll?"

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

[cookie-waffle]

I’m glad more people are respecting botw/totk Link as an actual character with some level of depth, but, I think too many of you are forgetting the kinda person he was after losing his memories.

He’s playful, and especially good with kids.

He is HORRIBLE at flirting, or probably only does it as a joke and isn’t serious about it. Might even say things that are inappropriate sometimes.

just a general smartass.

He’s bashful. He breaks the stoic demeanor when told he looks cute in his new outfit or is asked if he has a crush on someone lol.

Other things Link has done that I couldn’t find images of but do actually happen:

- Scamming a creep into giving him his shoes.

- (botw) Trying to actually for real use the “but I’m over 100” excuse at a bar when he was 17, and completely failing at it.

- Drank what is essentially hyrule’s equivalent to sunscreen.

- Actually enjoys eating rocks

When people try to analyze Link’s character, I notice that they try to brush off depictions if his character that are more “silly goofy guy” as ooc, when those interpretations are still actually based in canon evidence.

Even Creating a Champion describes him as “more lively” after waking up. Mipha’s journal mentions he was more happy and extroverted as a young child, implying that he likely became that way due to trauma, but still probably has those playful tendencies.

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. ���Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[aingeal98]

Headcanon that Tim introduces Cass to reddit and helps her make an account. But she mostly uses it to ask questions and user batgirlfan99 accidentally becomes a meme and an urban legend. Half her posts are AITA situations listing either horrible trauma done to her which she doesn't acknowledge as trauma or moments where she was most definitely the asshole but seems massively confused as to why. To make things more baffling the other half of her posts are questions to various subreddits like "Why does food have out of date labels when it tastes fine?" or "How many bones can I break when I'm fighting someone before it becomes cruel and not OK?" and "How can I get a real passport if I don't technically exist?"

She's so completely serious about all of this people aren't sure if it's an elaborate bit, shitposts like dril, or if someone should call a hospital and get her help. Tim's having too much fun watching it all happen so he strikes a deal with Babs to make sure Bruce never finds out and shuts it down. Babs agrees because it's nice to see Cass interacting with civilians even if it's anonymous and online.

Unfortunately Cass goes a little too locally viral on a discussion thread about Gotham water, insisting that she drank it for two years both during and after No Man's Land and she's fine, so people are clearly exaggerating about the chemicals. Bruce gets wind of it and starts making plans in case the account is run by a new Gotham joker variant but the more he looks at it the more these questions seem familiar...

The next time they're having a family dinner he mutters to Cass: "I still don't think I was the asshole during the Soul fight. You didn't give the full context ."

After this reveal, the rest of the dinner is spent with both of them arguing their case and everyone voting on if Bruce was NTA. Dick, Tim, Duke and Damian vote YTA. Cass and Bruce vote NTA. Dick says Cass was also the asshole for punching him in the face which sets off a whole new round of discourse.

batgirlfan99 deletes her account the following morning, leading to widespread mourning across her frequent subreddits. Cass still thinks it was worth it. She knows the difference between laundry detergent, fabric softener, and fabric conditioner now.