#and i yearn to share this sort of thing with you all

[eemamminy-art]

I was talking with some friends about it just now and I wanted to share my headcanons for the bachelor/ettes ages in stardew valley! These are just my own personal interpretations of them and of course you can disagree if you feel differently, but I wanted to share anyway! I actually put a lot of thought into picking them and have reasons for each of them being the ages they are, which I summarized a little bit below :3

Alex - 20 He seems like he's still in this mindset of someone who just graduated high school and is about to move on to bigger things, but he's spinning his wheels talking about all the things he's gonna do and never taking meaningful steps toward achieving those things (until meeting the farmer, that is)

Elliott - 32 He seems like someone who maybe had a privileged background and lots of opportunities, spent a few years in a career and just realized he yearned for something more romantic and wistful out of life. He has these lines that seem kind of out of touch and idealistic, which makes me think he hasn't had to struggle too much in life but wants to experience that in order to live out his dreams as a writer (thus, living in the conditions he does and trying to live a very simple life in the valley)

Harvey - 35 He has to skew older just due to him being a doctor with his own clinic, but Harvey seems like someone who doesn't have too much practical experience in life and relationships, and also isn't really good at taking care of himself. So mid-30's fits perfect: still at that stage where he hasn't quite found himself or had a lot of experiences but has a very extensive education and on the surface seems very put-together.

Shane - 30 There's all sorts of reasons why Shane went off the rails (general listlessness in life, Jas' parents passing away, maybe unfulfilled dreams?) but I picked 30 for him as like, he had been struggling with all those aforementioned things and then hitting that milestone birthday kind of was a wakeup call that compounded his mental health struggles. I think he could even be older than that, honestly, but I like the idea of him still being somewhat young but just hitting that sort of "now what?" feeling in his late 20's and never pulling out of it.

Sebastian - 28 To me, Sebastian is similar to Shane in the sense of not having a direction in life and just getting by with the bare minimum while being unhappy overall. He has less life experience than Shane seems to so I put him in his 20's, but I like to think of him as someone going through a quarter life crisis who is maybe a bit more immature than people his own age but has no idea how to course correct and opts to just sleep his problems away as a means of coping with his depression.

Sam - 25 I like to lean into Sam's relationship with his little brother and the role he plays as the man of the house while his father is overseas, so I see him as someone who has ambitions in life but he is very caring and sentimental toward his family so he has been stalling his own life in order to care for Vincent, since he feels like he's the only one who can.

~~~

Maru - 21 Given the way her dad talks about her "bright future" I imagine her being in college still. I liked the idea of her and Sebastian having a decently large age gap too, to better highlight how dysfunctional their relationship is and how she looks up to him while he is unable to connect with her in any positive way. On that note, I think her being so much younger and finding more success than Sebastian also could contribute to their sibling issues.

Penny - 23 I think with Penny I put the least thought into with picking her age-- she's someone who is relatively naive and inexperienced in the world but she has an air of maturity to her as a result of her parentification. She could easily skew older or younger than this, but putting her at this age just felt right!

Leah - 26 I see Leah as being someone who is well into adulthood but still quite young, but old enough to have experience living on her own in a way that makes her so self-sufficient as she is. I can imagine her leaving home at a young age and really struggling to make ends meet for several years while creating her art. Also her creeping toward 30 could be a reason for her ex to become so pushy about her settling down to have kids and a stable, boring life, as that's the expectation for a lot of women as they get older (or at least, after 30+).

Emily - 29 She just has big sister vibes to me. I wanted her to be older than a lot of the other characters who are from Pelican Town, as this idea that like, she's always been looking out for them like they're her siblings. :3 Plus she just has wine aunt energy, I wanted her to be older than the rest.

Abigail - 23 I think I make her older than a lot of people do, though I still keep her quite young at 23. She's in college still so I wanted her to be around that age, but maybe just going through it slower than her peers. The kind of person that had to retake classes because she didn't plan out her studying or homework appropriately, or she got overwhelmed and dropped classes, or she took a semester or two off, you know! That sort of thing!

Haley - 19 Out of all of these characters, Haley seems the most immature to me so I wanted her to be very close to high school age. She has these desires to shop and to travel and to just enjoy herself, she's not really thinking about the future because she is so young she doesn't really have to. She doesn't really think much about other people initially either, because she has this worldview that doesn't extend much farther beyond herself.

[notcaycepollard]

hey, I hope this is okay to ask since you’re now talking about stackie on here again.

do you have thoughts on what happened between them, like genuinely. do you think they were just friends with benefits, fell in love along the way and til this day these feelings are still there, or more? sometimes seb says these painfully sincere things about him that make it sound like he’s in love with him and sometimes he’s all snarky and says he hates him. without even too much tinhatting what do you think about them?

okay so I’m gonna lay out a range of Scenarios in decreasing likelihood/increasing tinhatting, on the agreement that we are all just foolin around thinking out some thoughts none of this is real and I do have a hold on my normal brain

1) the intense situational friendship

we’ve all been there. A workplace that puts you in constant intense contact with each other and destroys your ability to maintain normal external life while you’re in the middle of it (filming, press tour) and before you know it you’re trauma bonding over cigarettes in the back of the parking lot and swearing you’ll be bffs forever and nobody knows you like they know you

and then you quit or the film wraps or the junket is over and you make all this big noise about staying friends and catching up but inevitably your new reality begins to get in the way, plus after a year or two you can’t sustain catch ups that revolve around work gossip when you’re not in the middle of that shit anymore, and it’s not that either of you are deliberately fading out it’s just that friendships like that naturally ebb over time but u still got a soft spot for your guy your pal your best marvel bro

2) the intense situational friendship but you act a little gay about it

maybe you’re gay, maybe you’re not, some straight dudes are pretty fun about idle gay flirting for the bit, and platonic chemistry looks like flirtation from the outside anyway so you let everyone give you the side eye and keep sharing cigarettes in a way that’s a little bit too close for anyone to NOT wonder

3) the intense situational work-crush, one-sided

it’s the above but one of you is super gay about it for real not for the bit

and maybe you know or maybe you don’t, maybe the other guy knows or maybe HE don’t, as above some straight dudes will just flirt for the bit but anyway it’s more likely he doesn’t know it’s real for you or at least he’s gonna keep the facade up

so you say some weird stuff to and about each other and play it up for the interviews and it could pass for platonic chemistry but you gotta keep the yearning on lock or you wind up accidentally looking at your work friend like he’s the sun moon and stars and then you’re lying in bed that night like FUCK did I make it TOO weird

(if it was gonna be weird he wouldn’t be constantly telling you your hair is so great and touching it in a way that makes you shiver and want something you’re not ever gonna give shape to even inside your own head)

(like running his fingers through and taking hold at the nape of your neck and threatening idly to pull it for real not for jokes, and you do wonder just once before you can catch yourself, what would it be like if he followed up with a kiss or, like, setting his teeth in the side of your throat and biting down just a little)

usually it’s recoverable if you don’t admit to or talk about your feelings, it’ll pass when you’re not spending 16 hours a day in each other’s company but he’ll hug you years later at the golden globes and he’ll still smell so good and you WILL feel Something that sort of hurts but in a mostly good way

maybe years later you’ll have worked through it and gotten a secure-attachment real life boyfriend and you’ll idly refer to that big crush you had and it won’t feel like you’re choking on acid it’ll just be Haha Wow Remember That One Time When

4) the casual work friends-with-bennies

you’re both cool! you both like to kiss on the mouth and also suck a dick occasionally! you’re never gonna come out about it because it’s hollywood but it makes a film shoot a lot more fun when you can blow off some steam in your trailer

you can drop it at the end of filming and pick it back up when you get signed for a Disney plus show together and it’s fine, it’s chill, it’s a truly optimal outcome

5) the casual work friends-with-bennies but one of you caught feelings

oh bud. we’re in mess territory and you’re gonna get burned by it but you already know that and the best you can hope for is that once you’re not fucking the feelings will fade

in all honesty it’ll still burn you less than scenario 3 because an intense friendship like that takes you so much deeper into casual intimacy but on the other hand you DO know what his dick feels like halfway down your throat and let’s be real, the smart thing to do would be call it off but the sex is too good so you’re just waiting it out for the crash

and the crash is bad, obviously, you finish the press tour and go home and if you push down you can still feel the last bruise-bite but you’re back to texting once a month and hearing about each other through social media instead of in person

you’ll do it again though because you are a sucker for punishment and it’ll be just as good slash just as bad

6) the intense situational work friendship turned friends-with-bennies

[ralph wiggum voice] haha you’re in danger

and I want to tell you that you’re BOTH in danger but let’s be real, one of you is way more likely to get real feelings about it and once that happens it’s all over for you because while he’s going, yeah this is cool I like to suck a dick occasionally and I also like my good buddy so what a good combination, you’re drawing love hearts in the margins of your script and thinking about a romantic holiday to Romania

you will end filming and he will go “good game man let’s catch up next time we’re in the same city” and you will feel something catch in your heart

all I can say is that at least you entered into the fucking part of this on the basis of true friendship and the feelings didn’t arrive until after you were already fucking. it’s still not great. It’s bad. But at least there’s that.

7) intense situational work-crush (one-sided) turned friends-with-bennies

we are in the game over zone. you are not in danger you are surrounded on all sides by forest fire and there’s no way out. you have signed up for a prolonged broken heart and [radiohead voice] you did it to yourself

either you pretend forever that you did not have a crush before you started fucking and you don’t have a crush now, and you silently suffer through losing the brief joy of getting to kiss when filming ends (bad) or you admit to your feelings and your friend tells you with grace and sympathy that he does not feel the same way (worse) or you hide your feelings so poorly that you act like a total asshole and when you do eventually admit to it the entire edifice of friendship is torn down by the force of your repressed emotion (worst).

appendix: what if they both had feelings?

no I’m sorry I simply don’t think this is realistic I think AT MOST it was a love affair where one person liked the other quite a lot but the other was in it Too Deep and that was unsustainable long-term.

anyway, my only other contribution is that apparently sebstan’s current girlfriend previously dated chris pine. for four years. isn’t that interesting? chris pine, now that’s a man with some perplexingly undefinable energy. some would say, that man is a lesbian. just interesting to me that an aspiring model slash actress would date an extremely lesbian man for four years and then two months after breaking up would get together with ol sebastian, a man who was apparently spotted celebrating his 40th with said girlfriend and a passel of other pals including his long-time buddy chace crawford.

which could mean nothing, obviously. but it’s interesting. that’s all.

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[xetlynn]

Could you write Viktor (arcane) with reader who is clingy and loves to skinship please.

arcane imagines- viktor

Christmas party

[arcane] [main page] prompt: viktor takes you to his work party in which to show you off. His coworkers were shocked at how much pda he shared with you. Not seeming like the type to do so. (i think i made him a little ooc...)

Footsteps creep close to you as you're hunched over your desk, typing away on your laptop. “Love? That you?” You don’t even glance behind you, finishing the sentence but still leaning your head toward the sound as if you were going to give the person your attention.

“If it was someone else that would mean someone broke in, hun.” The most familiar accent whispers into your ear, kissing your temple. “I’d better become more aware of my surroundings then.” You finally place your hands in your lap, turning the chair to face your boyfriend. Grabbing at his tie to keep him down so you can kiss his lips. “Missed you~” You coo. 

“I missed you too.” He mutters against your lips as you force yourself to stand up, deepening your already locked lips. 

You were obsessed with your boyfriend, almost unhealthily as you felt the urge to always, always touch him in some sort of aspect. He pulls away, placing a finger on your lips before you could bombard his lips once again. “I have a work party.” He spits out with half-lidded eyes, craving another kiss from you. 

You scrunch your nose. “Alright, when is it?” You press your lips to his finger playfully. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” You tell him. 

He snickers, “I want you to come with me, dear.” His hand held onto your waist, and your eyes gleamed. “Really? Are you sure?” You question, only making sure because Viktor is extremely private with his life. Taking things slow was in his blood, you didn’t mind it though. You loved this man. And as you respect him, he respects you.

Your love language is physical touch and as his normally isn’t he still let you touch him whenever you pleased. Now he expects it, now he actually loves it. He yearns for it For you. 

“Of course, we haven’t had a party since the first week of us dating, same time last year.” He begins, “it’s been a year and I want to show off the love of my life.” He pecks your cheek and you bite your lip, holding yourself back from pouncing on this man. 

“It’s this Friday, I’m sorry for the late notice.” He juts out his bottom lip. “You knew I’d be free though, don’t lie.”  You boop his nose, your hand was trailing up and down his arm,

“I’ll get our outfits together. I’m extremely excited now.” You let him go, grabbing your phone. He leans against his cane, watching you fervently scroll on the device. “How would you feel about the color red? Since it’s a Christmas party I’m guessing?” You ask, sneaking a few peaks up at your boyfriend who’s trying to hide his smile. 

“I say, choose whatever you like, dear.” He walks over to your closet to grab pajamas he left from the many nights of sleeping over here at your apartment. 

“You spoil me.” You giggle, shutting your laptop and going to your bed to flop down on your stomach. “Always,” he mumbles as he changes out of his work clothes. Unbuttoning his white shirt. You break away from your screen just to take in the view before you. You let out a small whistle and he rolls his eyes, throwing the clothing at your head and you let out a laugh. “You're such a pretty boy.” You hum, hugging the shirt to your chest as you bounce up to your knees. 

“[Name].” He warns and you giggle. “Sorry, sorry. I know I’m just too seductive.” You wink, crawling to the edge of the mattress, motioning for him to come close. He got his plaid soft pants on before walking over, holding a sweater he was about to throw on. “Yes, dear?” He looks down at you. 

“I love you.” Your hands go to his sides, pursing out your lips to which he smooches. “I love you too.” He gets his sweater on and you pout, keeping your hands on his skin. Not allowing the cloth to go all the way down. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asks with a lopsided smile. 

“Mm, movie?” Your eyebrows are knitted together, Gaping up at him as your mitts wander all over his skin. “Dear,” he grins, snatching at your wrists to pull them away. “Let’s watch a movie.” He climbs into his designated assigned side of the bed. “Oh okay, so you hate me.” You dramatically sigh, snuggling into his side immediately along with handing him the remote. Viktor snorts, turning on the tv. 

•••

“Dear, what is taking so long?!” Viktor shouts from outside your bathroom, fixing his red holiday tie. “One moment, I’m almost ready, I swear!” You yell back, checking yourself out in the large mirror. The dress felt a little tight in your chest area. Pressing your lips together, trying to adjust it but nothing helps it. “Oh well.” You whisper, shutting off the lights and exiting the tiny room. 

“How do I look?” You give a twirl, your heels clicking on the wooden floors. Viktor gawks at his girlfriend, his cheeks flushing. “I’m guessing it looks good?” You tease, grasping at his hand to force it on your hip. Wasn’t much of a hassle to do. “Of course, more than good.” 

“Great, let’s go.” You press him into a kiss. His hand falling to his side as you strut away. Slipping your purse over your shoulder. He follows behind you, his eyes never leaving your body that looked absolutely stunning in the red dress. 

•••

“Are you sure they’ll like me?” You glance up to your boyfriend, walking hand in hand into the building. “Hun, that’s a silly question.” He squeezes your hand. You smile, bussing his soft lips. A gentleman opens the door for the both of you, you thank him as Viktor nods his head to the man. 

You admire all of the decorations in the large hallway. “I can’t believe you work here.” You murmur, it was gorgeous on the inside and out. “It is quite nice.” He agrees. 

“It should be in the media room.” Viktor directs you, pointing with his cane. “You never told me this place was ginormous” You genuinely are impressed with his workplace, not seeming to stop with compliments. He just smiles at your words, 

At last you two enter what looks like a ball room. Your eyes widen. Clutching his hand. “Wow.” You whisper in admiration. “Heyy! Viktor and… who’s this?” An unfamiliar man comes up to the both of you. You smile politely. “This is my girlfriend, [Name]. Hun, this is Jayce. My partner on the latest assignment I told you about.” He introduces and you thrust out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard lots.” 

His expression was in utter confusement but nonetheless took your hand, noticing the other one holding onto his coworker’s. Which shouldn’t be surprising he was just told you were his girlfriend. “You as well, how long have you two been with one another?” 

You look over to Viktor who motions for you to go ahead and answer. “We just celebrated our 1 year last week actually.” You inform him, letting go of Viktor’s hand to hold onto his side. Jayce catches that as well. He didn’t figure that his work partner would be into physical touch but he just melts into your touch. 

“Well, congratulations.” Jayce says to you, glancing over to Viktor who was just gawking down at you. It was if he were in some weird trance. “Thank you!” You beam. 

“Of course, let me introduce you to my wife. She’s actually a part of the executive team and planned the party herself- I’ll be right back.” He says, heading off to find his life-partner and you look to Viktor. “He seemed lovely!” You bump his hip gently. “He is a genuine man, for sure.”

The two of you go over to the snack table, Viktor’s hand stays on the small of your back as you make a plate for the both of you to share. Waiting for Jayce to come back with the mystery woman, well mystery to you. 

“Do you want fruit?” You ask. “Sure.” He shrugs. You look back to him with an annoyed look. “Yes, dear.” He corrects himself, and you chuckle. You hate the word sure with a passion. It never tells you what the person truly wants. 

“Thank you.” You huff, finishing up the plate. 

You snake your hand back to his torso, you feed him a grape as you step to a table. A voice clears their throat behind you and you place the plate down. Both of you turned to whoever it was. 

“Mel, this is Viktor’s girlfriend, [Name].” Jayce presents you  as if you were a huge surprise and you straighten your posture, swallowing down the fruit you had just popped in your mouth. “You’re beautiful!” You spit out on accident and she giggles. “So are you! I didn’t know Viktor had such exquisite taste.” Mel flatters you and you radiate happily. 

“Oh! You’re too kind!” You blush, sheepishly squeezing yourself into your boyfriend’s side. Both Jayce and Mel observe your demeanors. How utterly in love you guys are. 

How every move he takes, you follow, or how your hands are glued to him in any way they can be. And Viktor wasn’t any better, he liquefies into every touch. His peepers at no time leaving sight of you. 

As the four of you chat you suddenly have to use the bathroom, you try to look around. Wondering where it could be but you didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. You chew at your bottom lip, Viktor notices. “You alright, dear?” He whispers into your ear and you nod. “Mhm, where’s the restroom?” You couldn’t hold it anymore. 

Mel overhears. “Oh, I can show you! Come with me!” She offers out a hand and you take it, not without kissing Viktor’s shoulder. 

As the two of you walk away, Jayce turns to his work partner with wide eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about her!?” He aggressively questions and Viktor sighs. “I mean seriously! She’s wonderful!” He continues. 

“She is.” Viktor nods, stuffing his empty hand into his pocket. “And you are so whipped for her. I mean the pda. I did not take you to do that.” Jayce was incredibly dramatic but Viktor kind of expected it. 

“Are you done?”

“Almost,” Jayce says. “You melt right into her, and you can’t look away for a single second. You’re obsessed with the woman!” He exclaims loudly. 

“Of course I am, Jayce. She’s my girlfriend.” Viktor lets out yet another sigh. “I know but I’ve never seen you with such… love in your eyes. You never look at me like that.” Jayce teases. Viktor glares at the man in front of him. “You’re an idiot, Tallis.” Viktor sees you heading back, mentally cheering that he doesn’t have to listen to this anymore. 

Mel and you were laughing with one another, your hand holding your stomach. The two of you leaning on one another. “You are so bad!” Mel shakes her head, giving your hand a small pat as you calm yourself. “I know, I know! That’s not even the worst of it!” You cry out, Viktor’s lips tug upwards. Jayce was even grinning ear to ear at the two women enjoying themselves like this. 

“What are you two laughing about?” Jayce questions and even Viktor’s intrigued. “Oh, um, I’m telling her about how Viktor and I met.” You disclose, raising your brows over to Viktor with a smirk. His cheeks turn red, remembering the moment. “What was so funny about it?” The tanned male asks. 

Viktor bows his head down, it was embarrassing on his part. 

“It was at a grocery store, both him and I were looking at the cucumbers and grabbed the same one. Like straight out of a romantic movie. Except Viktor told me that I would probably need it more than him.” You tell the story, going over to your boyfriend's side, taking his hand. “Oh my god.” Jayce gasps but Mel gently hits him. “It’s not even the best part!” She already starts snickering. 

“I told him that I need more than a cucumber for satisfaction. I was trying to flirt, it came out horribly.” You giggle, the two in front of you bursting into laughter. Viktor hides his own chuckle. “How did little Vik respond to that?” Jayce inquires. “Oh he was too stunned and I of course made it worse for myself!” 

“I told him, oh gosh I don’t know if I can say it.” You hide your face in your boyfriend’s shoulder. “I can do it.” Viktor perks up now that the worst of his part is over. “Go ahead.” You clench your teeth, cringing at the memory. Jayce and Mel are practically on their toes, so excited to hear. 

“She told me that she’d take my cucumber though. Then her face dropped, realizing what she said. She then backtracks and she says she meant number but the cucumber joke messed her up.” He tells the rest of the story. Even explaining how your first date went. 

And as time passed throughout the night you were chatting it up with everyone that came over. With that you could feel Viktor’s energy begin to deflate. You excuse yourself from the group conversation and walk over to the punch table. “You okay, dear?” Viktor worriedly asks. You knew he wouldn’t leave unless you said you wanted to. “I’m getting a little tired of all the talking.” You lie, pulling him into a hug. 

“You ready to go home?” He rubs your back, soothingly. “Mhm, as long as you’re okay with that?” You innocently look up at him. Knowing you were playing him too well. “Of course, [Name].” He plants a kiss on your forehead. 

“Let’s go say our goodbyes and we can head home.” He assures you and you smirk as you give him one last hug. 

•••

Turning the car on, you look over to your boyfriend who’s closing his eyes, resting in his seat. “I lied.” You back out of the spot. “Excuse me?” He opens his left eye, raising a brow. “I didn’t care if we left or not. I just knew you wanted to leave.” You simply say, pushing the gear into drive before laying your hand on his thigh. 

“What?” He sits up. “I lied because I knew you would’ve forced yourself to stay for my enjoyment.” You inform him with pursed out lips, wanting to pat yourself on the back. “Honey, you didn’t have to do that.” His hand falls a top yours. “I know but I love you and know the love of my life so well. I’d rather spend the rest of the night with you.” You look over at him. 

“I love you so much.” He groans out, throwing his head back. “Really? How much?” You stick out the tip of your tongue. His hand travels up your forearm then back down. Repeating this action. “I’ll have to show you when we get home, won’t I?” He purrs and you let out a squeal in excitement. 

[jpmarvel90]

Dont Belong Part 3

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Word Count: 7175

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: Y/n's infection is hitting her hard and she's still struggling with her feelings on her parents. Thankfully, Yelena is there to help cheer her up and she brings along a surprise that might just make everything feel better!

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n POV:

These last two days in the hospital have blurred together, a monotonous cycle of dull light and beeping machines. The weight of my infection drags on me, leaving me shivering one moment and sweating the next. I've spent far too much time staring at the ceiling, feeling trapped in this sterile room, yearning for the freedom of my life before the mission went sideways. The boredom is suffocating, and I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself with every passing hour.

I feel a constant gaze from my parents who rarely leave my side. It's strange to go from having them ignore you to being around all the time. Part of me feels like things were like they used to be when I was a full part of their family. The other part of me is screaming saying they don't mean it and will soon be gone again.

But today feels different, a whisper of hope fluttering in the air. I've been waiting for this moment, and when a familiar knock sounds at the door, my heart races with anticipation. "Can I come in?" Yelena's voice calls softly, and I can't suppress the grin that spreads across my face at the sound of her.

"Of course!" I call back, the eagerness spilling over in my tone. I sit up a little straighter, my heart pounding as I manage to prop myself up, using the button on the side of the bed to elevate myself.

The door swings open, and Yelena steps in, her expression a mix of relief and worry. Her golden hair catches the light, and I can see the telltale signs of sleepless nights etched under her eyes. "Y/n!" she breathes, rushing to my side, her voice trembling slightly as she takes my hand.

"Yelena! I'm so glad to see you." The words come out a little breathless, and I can't help the surge of emotion that washes over me. Just seeing her makes the room feel a little less confining, a little brighter.

"I can't believe you're awake," she says, her grip tightening around my fingers. "I was so scared. We all were. You had everyone worried sick." Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of my situation lifts just a bit. I don't think I've ever seen Yelena emotional like this before and it helps me realise how bad this whole situation is. She would never allow anyone to see her this vulnerable except for Mama.

"Hey, I'm okay. Well, sort of." I gesture weakly to the IV drip, the hospital bed, and the machines that surround me. "Just a little out of commission at the moment."

Yelena's smile is tentative but bright, yet it's overshadowed by the concern etched on her face. "I just hate seeing you hurt like this. You're my niece and I thought I would always be here to protect you." She shares honestly.

I give her hand a squeeze and share a warm smile when she finally looks up to me. "I can't be protected forever. Besides, I need you now. This recovery is going to be shit and I need you to help me when it gets too much." I reassure her and she nods. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to help you through it all. Stark has even set me up on the same floor as you. So, I'll be there whenever you need me." She explains, making my heart warm with the thought of seeing her for a while to come.

"What about the widows?" I ask, knowing how much that means to her. "I've already been able to help so many. Now I need to help you. The others can wait. Besides, Kate can do the research on where we need to go next." She replies. "Who's Kate?" I ask, surprised to hear that she is working with someone else.

"Just a stray that Clint found. She's annoying, but oddly fun to be around. I think you'd like her. I'm sure she'll be around at some point to say hi." She explains with a shrug.

As the initial shock of seeing me seems to fade, I can see the corners of Yelena's mouth twitching upward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It's as if she's flipping a switch, her demeanour transforming from worried auntie to the playful, teasing friend I know and love.

"You know," she starts, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms, "for someone who just woke up from a dramatic hospital nap, you look surprisingly like a zombie. I mean, I thought they had strict rules against bringing the undead into the hospital."

I let out a soft laugh, despite the ache in my chest. "Yeah, well, the food here isn't exactly helping my cause. I'm pretty sure I could survive off of those tasteless mushy meals for a week and still look better than this."

Yelena raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Mushy meals? I'd expect you to be on some gourmet diet, considering all the special treatments they give you. I'm starting to think you should at least get some ice cream as a post-surgery reward." She chuckles. "Now that's the kind of thinking I can get behind. Have a word with Tony yeah?" I reply, feeling my spirits lift. "Ice cream sounds amazing. But what are the odds of that happening here?"

"Zero. But I'm prepared for this. I'll break you out of this place and take you for ice cream. You just need to give me the signal, and I'll burst in through the window like a stealthy ninja." She mimics a dramatic leap and landing in mama's pose. "See, I'll even do my best poser impersonation!" She playfully teases and she now starts to pretend to scale the invisible walls of my hospital room, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated seriousness. "You can count on me, Y/n. Ice cream shall be yours!"

I chuckle, the image of Yelena performing an acrobatic escape making the heaviness of the past days lift a little more. "What flavour are we talking here? I hope it's not vanilla. I have standards, you know."

"Vanilla? Please! I was thinking more along the lines of double chocolate fudge with extra sprinkles. And maybe a side of cherry sauce because why not go big, right?" She shares her thoughts whilst taking the seat next to me again. Her hand resting over mine. "Now you're speaking my language," I respond, shaking my head in mock seriousness. "If I'm risking a hospital breakout, it better be worth it." I laugh.

Yelena sits back in her seat, her chest still rising and falling as she laughs at her own hilariousness. She then looks back up at me. "But seriously, let's plan this for when you're feeling better. I'm not above a hospital escape." Her grin is contagious, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders easing. "Deal. Just don't forget the sprinkles."

As our laughter fills the room, I realize how much I've missed this lightness, this camaraderie. It's comforting to think about having Yelena by my side as I navigate the uncertainty of recovery and family dynamics.

But beneath the playful banter, there's an unspoken understanding between us, a bond that allows me to express my fears without words. With Yelena around, I feel like I can face whatever comes next, armed with humour and the knowledge that I'm not alone in this fight.

"Just promise me one thing," I say, my voice turning more serious again. "Anything," she replies, her gaze earnest. "Don't let me give up on the ice cream party, okay? No matter what happens."

"Never! I'll be your ice cream guardian," she declares, puffing out her chest with mock pride. "We will have that party, and it will be legendary. I will personally ensure that you have the sprinkles of life!"

With that promise hanging in the air, I know I can count on her not just for ice cream but for so much more as I navigate this complicated recovery. Even amidst the challenges, I feel a renewed sense of strength.

Though the playful atmosphere soon disappears as Yelena looks at me with a hurt look. "You know," Yelena begins cautiously, glancing around the room as if making sure no one else can hear, "I've been really worried about you. Seeing you like this. It's been hard. I didn't expect to walk in and see my Y/n looking so weak."

"Yeah, well, welcome to the aftermath of a bullet wound," I respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing my tone, but her expression remains sombre. "I mean it, Y/n," she says, her voice low. "I can handle all sorts of dangerous missions, but this... this was different. You're my niece. I've seen too many people get hurt, and it scares me to think about what could have happened if things went even more wrong."

"I know. I didn't want to worry you, but... it's not like I planned to get shot," I reply, my voice softening. "I was trying to do my best, and it went sideways."

"It's not your fault," Yelena reassures me, squeezing my hand gently. "But promise me you'll be careful. Don't rush back into missions. I can't go through this again. I thought I lost you."

"I'm not going anywhere yet. You've got me for a while longer," I say with a playful lilt, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Her smile falters, but she doesn't let go of my hand. "You have to promise me you won't get hurt again. I mean it. You don't have to be the hero all the time, you know." The gravity of her words sinks in, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. "I thought I was doing well. I thought it was my chance to prove myself," I admit, my voice quieter now. "Prove yourself? You don't need to do that. You're already a part of this family," she insists, her voice firm but gentle.

But I can't shake the feeling of inadequacy, the bitter sting of doubt that lingers in the corners of my mind. "I don't feel like it," I confess, looking down at our hands intertwined. "Not after everything that's happened. My parents... I don't know. It's complicated." I begin tentatively, not sure how to express the turmoil inside me.

"They've hurt me for so long, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around why they suddenly seem to care. It feels like. I don't know, like they're trying to make up for lost time. They've been... around. Too around, if you know what I mean. They've been acting all concerned, but it feels more like an obligation."

I've felt torn about this since I've woke up. They're around all the time and trying to do everything that can to help me. But all I can think about is how much they have hurt me and if they would ever be able to make up for their past actions.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "It's okay to be conflicted. They've done wrong by you, and you have every right to be angry. But if they're genuinely trying to change, maybe there's a chance for you to heal too." She suggests, similar to how Steve has these last two days.

"I don't want to forgive them just because they're here now. It feels disingenuous," I admit, frustration seeping into my voice. "I've been raised to believe that actions speak louder than words, and I need to see real change." I state irritated. "Then hold them to that standard," she urges, her voice steady. "Don't let them slide by just because they're your parents. You deserve more than that." She iterates.

"I guess I'm just afraid of being disappointed again," I whisper, feeling a shiver of vulnerability wash over me. It hurt so much when I slowly seemed to disappear from their lives. I don't think I could experience that again. "What if they go back to ignoring me once I'm healed? What's the point of this?" I share, tears stinging my eyes.

Yelena leans closer, her brow furrowing as she studies my face. "That's not fair to you. They hurt you, and it's okay to be angry about that. But you deserve to feel loved and cared for. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for." "Stronger?" I scoff lightly, but inside I feel a flicker of hope. "I barely survived my first mission and ended up in a hospital bed. That doesn't feel strong."

"Strength isn't just about fighting, Y/n. It's about surviving, too. You survived, and you're still here. You're still fighting." Her voice softens, and I can see her eyes glistening with tears. I nod slowly, her words resonating with me. "You're right. I just don't want to get hurt like that again. I thought joining SHIELD would mean I'd finally be seen, but now... it feels like a mess."

Yelena shakes her head, frustration evident in her expression. "No. You're not a mess. You're human. They need to step up and show you that you matter, but that doesn't mean you have to accept their love without question. You get to set the boundaries. You get to decide what you want from them moving forward. But I do believe that you have to give them a chance to show you that they've changed." She shares, taking me by surprise.

"It was years Yelena. How can I move to just forgive them for everything that's happened? Just because they're here for my recovery, doesn't mean it makes up for everything that they've done." I raise my voice getting frustrated that no one seems to understand the depth of how much this has affected me.

She thinks for a moment before speaking up. "I know I can't understand the pain they caused you. When I heard about what they did to you, I was ready to kick both of their asses. But I've seen this determination in them. Especially Nat. I just don't want you to let the anger eat you alive. You deserve more than that. You deserve to heal, not just physically, but emotionally, too." Her words resonate deep within me. I can feel the weight of my resentment pressing against my chest, threatening to suffocate me. "It's just hard, Yelena. I don't know if I can trust them again. What if they just go back to how things were?"

"That's the risk, but it's also a chance for something better. Maybe this could be the start of a new chapter for you all," she replies, her voice filled with hope. "I mean, how many people get a second chance to rewrite their story? You can make it count." She tries to reason with me. "Or I could just end up disappointed again," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, no one said life was easy," she counters, leaning forward, her tone shifting to a playful challenge. "You've faced worse. You survived a bullet wound, for Christ's sake! How about you take that strength and channel it into something more positive? Like confronting your parents." She suggests. "Confront them?" I echo, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.

"Yeah! You're a badass. You fought off those Hydra agents; you can fight for your own happiness." she encourages. "Don't let anyone else dictate your worth. Not your parents, not Hydra. No one."

"I'll think about it," I concede, knowing that deep down, she's right. Maybe facing my parents isn't just about them; it's about taking control of my own narrative, my own healing. "Good," Yelena replies, her smile brightening the room once more. "And remember, no matter what you decide, I'll be right here, cheering you on. We're in this together, ice cream and all."

As I gaze into her determined eyes, I feel the flicker of hope igniting within me. Yelena is right. I can't let the past dictate my future. Perhaps I can find a way to reclaim my voice, my choices. And with her by my side, I feel like I can face whatever comes next.

__________

The soft hum of the machines is a constant companion, a backdrop to the quiet conversation happening in the room. Mama and mom sit nearby, each offering their own version of silent support. Mama, with her usual calm demeanour, sits crossed legged in the chair near the foot of my bed. Her posture is relaxed, but her sharp eyes betray her constant vigilance. She notices everything, always has, and I can feel her observing me like she's looking for something beneath the surface. Mom on the other hand, has stationed herself at my side, like aways. She's less fussy, thankfully, but still has to be close, like I'm going to disappear if she's not.

Sometimes, I find the silence unbearable compared to their constant and sometimes suffocating fussing over me. I feel on edge, like they're waiting for me to talk to them. I think back to what Yelena said about confronting them and doing it on my terms. But I want to do it in the right frame of mind, and at the moment, this infection is still kicking my ass.

Mama breaks the silence as her well trained eyes watch me for a while. "How are you feeling Y/n?" She asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me, as though she's trying to catch me out if I say the wrong thing. "A bit better." I respond with a slight nod, my words carefully measured. I don't want to give too much away. Not about how I'm feeling and especially not about the swirl of doubt that's been growing inside of me since the incident.

"Are you sure? You're sweating." She points out, sitting up. Mom goes to reach for my forehead, but quickly retreats her hand. She's been trying really hard not to be too much and I'm grateful for that. I should have known that she could see straight through me and notice the discomfort I'm in. "Just a little." I admit. "Is there anything we can do? Would you like some water? Or we could change the quilt for a blanket if that would help?" Mom suggests.

I think for a moment before giving in, knowing that I am burning up a little too quickly. "The blanket would be better if that's ok." I respond, earning a warm smile from mom as she stands and moves to grab the blanket as mama takes the quilt and folds it up. "Better?" Mom asks as the thin blanket now rests over my legs. "Yes. Thank you." I quietly respond.

"You're being strong, but you don't have to be." Mom says, her voice soft but persuasive. Her green eyes watching me too closely. "We're here for you." She states. Something I've heard more these last few days than I have in my whole like.

I offer a tight smile. "I appreciate that." I reply, but there's something hollow in my words, something they both notice. I see it in the flicker of mama's eyes, in the slight frown mom tries to hide. They want me to let them in, to trust them. But I can't. No right now.

The knock on the door interrupts the thick atmosphere. As we all look to the door, a smile grows on my face as Yelena pushes open the door, bursting in to the room with her usual energy. Her blonde hair bounces around her shoulders as she strides in, a smirk on her lips. She's a welcome distraction from the unspoken suspicions swirling in my mind.

Behind her, there's someone new. A brunette with wide eyes and a slightly awkward smile follows in her wake, holding a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. It's clear she doesn't quite know what to do with them as she shifts nervously, standing next to Yelena like she's trying to figure out how to fit in. "This is Kate." Yelena says with a grin, motioning to the brunette with a flourish. "Oh, right. The annoying stray Clint picked up." I reply with a grin, my eyes flicking between Yelena and the new girl. I feel a small flutter of nerves in my chest, but I push it aside, trying to appear casual.

Kate gasps dramatically, placing her hand over her chest as if wounded. "Annoying stray? Really? Is that how Yelena described me?" She shoots Yelena a mocking glare, then turns to me with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Don't listen to her. I'm delightful, I promise." She smirks.

There is something instantly disarming about her. Her smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning back before I can stop myself. "I'll be the judge of that." I say, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Kate's laugh is light. "Well, I guess I better make a good impression then huh. I'm Kate. Nice to finally meet you."

As if she suddenly becomes aware of the other two people in the room, Kate suddenly becomes a lot more nervous as she steps forward, holding out the flowers a little awkwardly. "I, uh, thought some flowers might brighten up the place." She says her voice light but tinged with nervousness. "If you don't like them, I can... I don't know, take them back or something."

I can't help but smile at the sudden awkwardness, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. There's something captivating about her, a clumsy sincerity that feels genuine. Like she's not trying to be anything other than who she is. If's refreshing, in contrast to the more guarded and calculated vibes in the room.

"No, no. They're nice. I love them." I say, accepting the flowers with a smile. "Thank you." I say gratefully. Mom steps in to help, taking the flowers from Kate and placing them on the beside table. She flashes Kate a smile, but I can't help but notice the way her eyes flick between me and Kate, like she's sizing up the interaction. Her protective nature is sweet, but right now it feels like an intrusion, like she's watching too closely.

Yelena of course, can't let the moment go without making it awkward. "Oh great. The two of you are already making goo-goo eyes at each other." She says with a snort, dropping herself into a chair next to mama with a dramatic sigh. "I should have seen this coming." She says to her sister. "Goo-goo eyes?" I sputter, my cheeks burning. "Yelena, we literally just met." Kate for her part, looks just as flustered, running a hand through her hair as she laughs awkwardly. "Yeah wow, not even five minutes in and I'm already being roasted. Thanks Yelena." Yelena has a mischievous grin as she gives Kate a thumbs up. "Hey, I call it like I see it." She shrugs.

I glance at Kate again, and despite the teasing, there's something about her that puts me at ease. Something feels unguarded in a way that I haven't felt around my parents lately. She seems real, no hidden motives, no unreadable layers. Just Kate, awkward and charming in her own way.

Mama raises an eyebrow at Yelena's comment but stays quiet, observing as always. Mom though let's out a soft chuckle, her eyes softening for a moment as she looks between Kate and me. "I think it's sweet." She says, but there's an undercurrent to her words. A subtle probing as if she's gauging how close I'm willing to let this new person get.

I shift uncomfortably in my bed, trying to shake off the unease. "Kate seems nice." I say, trying to keep things light. "But you don't need to start planning a wedding already." I joke, earning a loud laugh from Kate.

Yelena leans back in her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Well, you're already doing better than most people who meet Y/n. She doesn't usually warm up to strangers this fast."

"Yelena." I mutter, shooting her a look, but the playful banter is enough to make me feel a bit more like myself again. Even if the tension with my parents still lingers beneath the surface.

Mama exchanges a glance with mom, and I can feel the weight of their unspoken thoughts. They're both protective, maybe even a little suspicious of the new dynamic. I know they're trying to look out for me, but their watchful eyes feel too heavy right now and to be honest, they don't have the right to have any thoughts on this right now. They've barely been my parents for the last couple of years. They don't suddenly have a say in who I'm friends with.

"Well, at least you brought someone who isn't here to lecture me about being shot." I tease, giving Yelena a pointed look. Kate grins clearly relieved the conversation has shifted. "I'm just here for the heist planning." She smiles, her tone light. "Whatever Yelena has you roped into, I'm in." I join in the joke. Yelena perks up at that. "Oh, you have no idea what you've signed up for Bishop. This one here," she jerks her thumb at me, "has a history with getting into trouble."

Kate moves to take the seat next to me as both my parents decide to give us some space and grab some lunch. I'm grateful for them being able to read the room, but I notice the observant and narrow gaze of mama as she passes by Kate. I'm pretty sure I see Kate gulp a little which makes me laugh lightly.

"So," Kate asks, crossing her arms. "what's the plan for today? Ice cream, hospital jailbreak or maybe both?" She smiles, making the butterflies in my stomach flutter. "Oh, Yelena's already promised me ice cream, but she keeps postponing the jailbreak." I tease, glancing over at Yelena who's pretending not to listen.

Kate lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. "Typical. She makes all these grand promises, and then when it comes time to actually execute..." Kate starts teasingly before Yelena speaks up. "I'm literally right here." She complains, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. "And for the record. I would have busted you out, but your mother threatened to remove all the mac and cheese from the building if I did." She admits with a child like huff.

"Still scared of mama huh?" I smirk, earning a harsh stare from my aunt. "No!" She defends loudly. "Well, maybe when it comes down to you." She admits quietly, making Kate and I laugh. "Well, well. I've finally discovered the one thing Yelena Belova is scared of." Kate torments Yelena. "Yeah, well don't forget that you're the one scared of me." Yelena points out giving her fiercest glare. Something that makes Kate shrink back into her seat. "Yep. You're right. Sorry." She apologises goofily, making me smile even wider.

There's a beat of silence, but it's not awkward. It's easy, comfortable, and I'm surprised at how quickly I've warmed up to Kate. She's sharp, funny and there's a confidence about her that makes me feel more at ease. I can tell she's someone who doesn't take life too seriously, but there's a genuine warmth underneath the sarcasm.

Yelena is watching us again, her arms crossed, and her eyebrow arched like she's trying to figure out how this is going to play out. "You know, I might actually enjoy watching this." She says, her voice laced with amusement. "You two are way too cute. It's like watching a rom-com in real time." She smirks

"Okay, enough of that." I say quickly, feeling my face begin to flush, this time not due to my infection! I glance to Kate who is grinning like she's in on some joke that I'm not, and I can't help but laugh. "Yelena, don't you have some Widow business to attend to?" I question hopefully. "Nope." She says cheerfully, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "I'm on babysitting duty today." She smiles proudly whilst I just roll my eyes. Maybe I do want my parents back right now!

Kate leans closer to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Does she always talk like that, or is it just for us?" She questions. "Always." I whisper back, earning a glare from Yelena. "Alright, alright." Yelena says, pretending to be offended, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. "I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll give you two some space. Try not to flirt too much while I'm gone." She teases.

"And you," she stops in front of Kate, a stern look on her face. "If she so much as flinches you call the nurse. I will have your head if anything happens to her." She warns her lowly. Kate just nods, gulping at the threat. "P-promise." She stutters. "Good. Text me if you need anything. Now have fun being all awkward and flirty." She smirks as she saunters out of the room.

Suddenly, it's just the two of us, the room quieter but still filled with that easy, playful energy. I glance over at Kate, feeling a bit of awkwardness settle in. But it's the good kind that makes my heart race a little.

"So, what now?" I ask, trying to sound casual? Kate shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I don't know. I mean, we could plot that jailbreak. Or maybe..." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. "We could just hang out and get to know each other a little better." She suggests.

There's a warmth in her gaze, something that makes my heart flutter, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of excitement. Not just for the ice cream or the jokes, but the possibility of something new. Something good. And maybe, just maybe, I'm ready for it.

Nat's POV:

My sharp eyes have always picked up on the subtle shift in a person's demeanour, the tiniest details that others overlook. Right now, I'm studying Kate Bishop. She's awkward sure. A little too wide-eyed and jittery, holding onto those flowers like she's afraid they might combust. There's a clumsy sincerity to her that I can't decide if I trust yet. Y/n though... Y/n is smiling. Laughing even, and I haven't seen that kind of lightness in her face in far too long. Still, I remain cautious.

I watch as Y/n teases Kate, the easy flow of their banter rolling off Y/n's tongue without the weight that usually accompanies her words. It's almost as if she's forgotten, if only for a few minutes, about the turmoil she's been going through. And while I want that for her, there's a part of me that can't let go of my protective instincts. That part that wants to dig deeper into who Kate Bishop really is, figure out if she's worthy of my daughter's trust.

Because Y/n doesn't let people in easily. Wanda and I have made that even harder for her now. To be able to trust is a difficult thing. I don't want to see her hurt more than she currently is. Not after everything that I've caused.

Wanda's voice pulls me out of my thoughts as she steps up beside me, her arms crossed but her expression soft, watching the interaction with a gentler gaze than I have. "She looks happy." Wanda murmurs. Her voice has that quiet thoughtful tone that always means she's been observing the situation for longer than I realised.

I nod, though I don't take my eyes off of Y/n. "She does." I admit reluctantly. Wanda notices this and quickly makes up an excuse of going to get some lunch and we quickly exit the room. Probably much to Y/n's delight!

"You don't like it?" Wanda asks, her lips twitching into a small smile. She can read me too easily, knows exactly what I'm feeling even when I try to keep it to myself. We hover in the corridor outside of Y/n's room as I sigh. "I didn't say that." I glance towards my wife, raising an eyebrow.

"No, but I know you." She chuckles softly, and it's a warm, comforting sound that cuts through the tension I've been holding in my chest. "Nat, you don't trust her yet." It's not a question, and I don't answer right away. Instead, I look back through the window into Y/n's room. My eyes falling to the pair of them. Y/n has leaned a little closer to Kate, her laughter soft, her smile genuine. Kate's making some grand gesture with her hands, her enthusiasm endearing in its awkwardness. Okay, I think. Maybe she's not so bad.

But still. "I just don't know her." I say finally, my voice low. Wanda hums in understanding, her gaze never leaving Y/n. "But look at her, Nat. She's the happiest we've seen her in a long while." She points out. I know she's right. Y/n hasn't had this kind of lightness in her eyes since the incident. Even in the days leading up to it, she was closed off, burdened by the trauma we had caused her. I couldn't do anything to help her, I couldn't fix what I had broken. And now here comes this Kate Bishop, breezing in like a ray of sunshine, making Y/n smile like it's the easiest thing in the world.

I sigh, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. "Maybe." I admit after a pause, my voice quieter now, more reflective. "Maybe Kate is what Y/n needs right now." Wanda turns her head to look at me fully, a surprised look on her face, but she soon gives me a soft knowing smile. "That's not easy for you to say."

"No, it's not." I say honestly. "But I can't ignore how she's acting. It's good to see her like this." I glance to Yelena who's still grinning like a proud instigator of all this chaos. Y/n has her laughing too, which is aways a good sign. "And Kate, she's not what I expected." I share.

There's an awkward clumsiness about the girl sure. But underneath that, there's a kindness in her eyes, something genuine that makes me reconsider my initial assessment. She's not just some reckless kid, despite the reputation. She cares and that means something.

Wanda places a gentle hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. "It's ok to let your guard down a little." I chuckle under my breath at her words. "I don't think I'm wired that way, Wanda." I reply. "I know." She laughs softly. "But maybe you can try. Kate isn't here to hurt Y/n. She's just, being a friend. Maybe that's exactly what Y/n needs right now." I nod, though my instincts still bristle at the idea of lowering my walls completely. "You're right. But I'm not going to stop being protective. Not after we failed her so badly." My gaze hardens just a fraction. "I can't."

Wanda's expression softens further, understanding in her eyes. "No one's asking you to stop protecting her Nat. Just, give this a chance. What ever it might be." She pleads. I look at Y/n again. She's relaxed in a way I haven't seen her in months. The tightness in her shoulders is gone, replaced by something lighter, freer. And I realise that I'm not the only one trying to protect her. Maybe, in her own way, Kate is too.

"I'll give it a chance." I mutter quietly. "But I'll be watching." Wanda smiles knowingly. "I wouldn't expect anything less." She says as both our gazes fall to our daughter. Just then, Kate says something that makes Y/n burst out laughing, the sound so full of life that it catches me off guard. My heart clenches that it's taken this long. That Wanda and I created an environment where she felt like she no longer belonged in this family.

I know it's going to take time for her to even consider forgiving us. But I know that it's important that she has other people around her that she can talk to and have fun with. If it's just Wanda and me she'll become completely closed off. Maybe being around Kate is exactly what she needs. It doesn't mean I'll let my guard down completely. Not yet. I will always protect her. That's what mother's do. Even if I haven't proven my right to that title in a long time.

_________

As Wanda and I step back into our home, the familiar chaos of our boys welcomes us like a warm embrace. The scent of something sweet wafts through the air, mixing with the sharp, clean smell of wood polish from our recent cleaning efforts. I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and playful shouting emanating from the living room, and it brings a smile to my face despite the heaviness still clinging to my heart.

Tommy and Billy have been asking about their sister non-stop over the last few days, and every time, I see the worry deepen in their little faces. They've felt the weight of Y/n's absences as much as we have, maybe more.

"Hey, you two!" I call out, my voice breaking through the din. Almost immediately, Tommy and Billy come barrelling into the hallway, their faces lighting up like it's Christmas morning. They launch themselves at us, wrapping their arms around my waist and Wanda's legs in a tangle of limbs and giggles. It's a comforting noise, one that momentarily pulls me away from the weight of the world outside these walls.

"Mom! Mom! How's Y/n? Is she okay?" Tommy's voice rises with excitement, his wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of hope and anxiety. I exchange a glance with Wanda, who stands beside me, her own expression tinged with a protective softness. It's a moment like this that reminds me just how much the boys adore their sister.

"She's still unwell, sweetheart," I say gently, kneeling down to meet Tommy's gaze at eye level. "But she's doing better than she was. She'll be home soon." I try to sound optimistic, but the knot in my stomach betrays me. I know how much they want to see Y/n, and how hard it's been for them to understand why she isn't here with us.

"Soon? Like tomorrow?" Billy asks, bouncing on his toes, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. There's a slight hopefulness in his voice, and it makes my heart ache, knowing they're so eager for good news. Wanda steps in beside me, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. "She's going to need a few more days in the hospital, honey. She's got to rest and get better first." I watch the way Wanda's eyes soften when she speaks to the boys, how she has an innate ability to make even the hardest truths sound a little lighter.

"But her birthday is coming up!" Tommy exclaims suddenly, his expression shifting from concern to realization. "We have to make it special for her! Can we plan a perfect birthday for her in her hospital room?" His enthusiasm is infectious, and a flicker of warmth spreads in my chest at his determination. Billy nods vigorously, his face lighting up with ideas. "Yeah! We can decorate it and bring her cake! She'll love that!" The energy in the room shifts, and I can see both boys imagining the decorations they might hang, the cake they might bake, and the joy they hope to bring their sister.

"That's a great idea," I agree, feeling a swell of pride as I watch them brainstorm. "But we need to wait until she's feeling a bit better, okay? We don't want to overwhelm her." Tommy frowns slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. "When can we see her?" His voice is earnest, full of longing. I can hear the worry tucked beneath his words, and it tugs at my heart. "Yeah, we want to see Y/n!" Billy adds, his expression mirroring his brother's eagerness.

Wanda glances at me, and I can feel the weight of our responsibilities bearing down. "We'll take you to see her in the morning," I promise, seeing their faces light up with hope. "But remember, she might be tired and need to rest, so we have to be gentle with her."

"Yay!" Tommy cheers, his voice ringing through the hallway, and Billy joins in, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. Their joy is palpable, a reminder of the happiness that can still exist even amidst uncertainty and pain.

Just then, Steve steps out from the kitchen, having been quietly observing the boys from a distance. His presence brings a calmness to the chaos, and I find comfort in knowing he's here. "Hey, how are you two doing?" he asks, his eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene of our little family reunion.

"Mama and mom just told us that Y/n is coming home soon!" Tommy exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement, his hands flailing as he gestures animatedly.

"Yeah, and we're planning the best birthday for her ever!" Billy adds, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm, his cheeks flushed with energy.

"Sounds like you're all set for a celebration," Steve says with a smile, nodding approvingly. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he watches the boys with fondness. "I'll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need anything." He shoots us a knowing look, one that acknowledges the weight of what we're dealing with, before stepping back into the kitchen.

As Wanda and I stand there, our boys filled with excitable plans, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and dread. Gratitude for the moments of joy, the laughter that fills our home, and the love that binds us together. Sadness that our family isn't complete and dread for the challenges still ahead. We're still on shaky ground, still trying to piece together the remnants of our family after everything that's happened.

But for now, I push those worries aside. I take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of our home, and look around at the smiling faces of my children. "Okay, let's start planning for this birthday celebration!" I suggest, my heart lifting at the idea of planning something special for Y/n.

"We need balloons. And streamers!" Tommy states excitedly, his eyes bright with ideas. "And cake!" Billy insists, his mouth already watering at the thought. "What kind should we get her?"

As we brainstorm, I can't help but smile. We'll take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, we'll bring the boys to see Y/n, and hopefully, we'll be one step closer to bringing her home where she belongs. Hopefully, she'll see that we plan to be the best parents to her and in time she'll forgive us. I feel a flicker of hope, ignited by the boys' excitement and determination to make their sister smile, to show her that she is loved and missed.

"Let's get started," I say, my voice full of warmth as I gather them into a huddle, my heart swelling with pride. Together, we can do this. Together, we can find a way to help Y/n heal, and maybe even begin to mend the cracks that have formed in our family.

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality

[screampied]

pleasepleaseee write something about vampire choso

❤︎ ໋𓈒 teaching vampire choso how to please you

warnings. fem! reader, biting, inexperienced choso, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mdni.

vampire choso would be twice as sensitive as the normal human.

just feeling the warmth of your breath waft against his skin, pecking a wet kiss against his cheek was enough to make him let off a soft whimper. he was utterly infatuated with you. your taste especially, there’s never go a dull moment where he wouldn’t have his fangs softly buried into the crook of your neck. “s-sweet,” he’d murmur out, dragging his tongue softly against your skin. the sharp edges of his tongue wasn’t too pierced, but pulled down just enough to leave a few bite marks. “i want more of you, please..”

“you don’t—”

“jus’ teach me, show me,” and as he spoke, his words trembled as you were propped up on his lap—you felt how warm choso was, his body heat was something you couldn’t ignore. his bottom lip quivers before he pouts, and you felt his hardened bulge rub off against you. “i- i just wanna make you feel good. show me what to do.”

“okay,” you smile, planting a kiss near the tip of his nose, a soft whimper following from your gesture. he wasn’t kidding, he yearned to make you feel some sorts of pleasure.

choso wasn’t a virgin…he’s had his share of sheer intimacy, yet it’s been quite some time.

ever since he stumbled upon you, he’s been longing to feel some sorts of erotic delectation for himself.

as he’s hovering above you, choso heavily pants. his frame completely towers of you—you’re sat there with a cute smug grin, and you stare as his abs clench with his arms laid against the sides of you.

“you gonna stare at me all day, baby?”

you tease at the vampire, and immensely, he grows rather flustered, a fiery heat rising towards the outer tips of his pointed ears.

“s-sorryyy…princess, you’re just s-so pretty underneath me,”

he huffs out, heaving in and out. you stare into his eyes, and it was half-lidded. he’s always had this tired look about him, the darkened horizontal mark that ran across the bridge of his nose.

his favorite thing of you to do would be whenever you’d skim a thumb softly against it, pressing a few warm kisses against the mark.

“start slow, ‘s okay.” you coo, yours eyes were sweet and gentle — he couldn’t help but whine at your facial expressions. so pure, so perfect…

“hold- hold my hand.” he stammers, and you look let off an abrupt gasp once his swollen tip goads against your slick entrance.

“you’re…such a baby,” you’d let out, intertwining your fingers against his anyway.

“…yeah, ‘m your baby,” he sniffles, and he’s gradually letting himself in. you have a free hand that digs into the paleness of his back, scratching down with your lip being bitten by the top of your teeth. he was so thick, such girth being met that you were just completely taciturn. soft whines left from your lips, and the moment he goes inside of you, choso lets off a shaky, “f-fuckk,” and that makes your pussy pulse.

once choso gnaws against his lip, letting off a quiet sigh once he starts to slowly insert himself inside you, he lets off various suppressed grunts of “f-fuck,” or “babyyy,” and even, “s-shit.”

despite being a vampire, choso wasn’t too fond on sucking your blood. peculiar a bit, maybe…

but he much rather preferred sucking against the tenderness of your skin, coating you with bite marks…or even just letting you touch him everywhere. to him, that was more than enough to satisfy him.

“choso,” you’d mumble, lightly tapping the side of his cheek. he stares at you, letting off a ‘hm’ with his eyebrows raising, bringing his moans to a halt. “can- can you try talking dirty to me?”

“dirty?” he sibilates, the scorching warmth of your folds hugging him tight, keeping him thermal made his ears ring. he leans in to kiss you, and he’s starting up a cute hesitating pace before his pupils dilate, “o-oh,” and he watches a smile pull against your lips. “i don’t know how to um—degrade, baby.”

“say anything.” you’d whisper, and you can feel him stretching you out, his long yet well trimmed nails softly graze against your tummy to watch you quiver before he swallows thickly.

choso leans into your neck before panting, “okay,” and he sounds so cute — like always, he can’t help but run the ridges of his fangs amongst your neck, sucking briefly before rasping out, “y-you’re so—so um, tight ‘n wet. i wanna pump so much cum into your vagi—,” and then he buries his head into your neck, “….this is embarrassing..”

you giggle, brushing your fingers against his neck. “baby, you’re doing good.”

“am i?” he croaks, and for a split second, the vampires voice cracks.

it’s cute…

his tempo remained steady, yet his hips and thrusts against you were entirely sloppy. such squelches came out your cunt to where your ankle starts to rub up and down his waist.

he was so desperate for your praise, his acicular pointed ears always raised and twitched whenever he heard a single praise from you. just telling him how good he’s doing, how good he’s making you feel. all he wanted was to just be enough for you.

“yeah, promise,” you’d smile at him, and that was all it took for him to mash his lips against yours. his body grinds against you, and he’s so hot—you feel his hardened abs press against you each time he rocks and rocks against you.

it’s simply hypnotic, his movements.

you drove him crazy. choso had to be careful not to bite your tongue with the fangs, and that he was.

he’d moan into your mouth once you’d pull him closer. he tasted sweet, and he gets goosebumps once he feels you deepen the kiss while licking your legs around his waist.

choso’s base was hefty, there was no denying it. it continued to slap and slap against your pussy, the noises reverb throughout the room to where it’s just about the only sound you can make.

his nose nudges by yours before he playfully nips at your lip. a soft prick from his fangs before he lets off a loud moan. “baby, ‘m feeling tingly..”

“already?” you utter, staring deeply into his eyes. a pout goes over his lips at your teasing tone before you giggle, bringing him into a quick sneak kiss. “you—you can cum inside.”

“…you’d let me?” he moans, the silk running off your tone made him so hard, he didn’t know how to explain it. watching you nod, he shivers, smothering your face with various kisses to where you could barely keep your eyes open. “i— i wanna fill you so bad, you…you don’t know how much i’ve been saving for you, m-my love.”

“show me then,” you whine, and the eye contact the two of you shared was so sensual. it was intimate, as it should be. you feel him quicken his pace against your entrance, his jaw tightens and he moans.

choso’s still holding onto your hand, yet at this point, he’s squeezing it tight. he leans in to lick a long stripe up your neck. he can’t help but savor your taste each time. you were such a sweet treat.

“y-you make me wanna taste you more,” he whimpers, and you hear as his breath hitches. his voice grows a bit hoarse due to the constant moaning he’s making — and it doesn’t take long before after a few sloppy jagged thrusts, choso breaks.

when he came, it was so much…

such ropes, thick ropes. you felt every spill, he filled you up to the brim. it’s wet, and he’s an entire mess. choso’s practically hugging you, and it feels wet. the sensation of your walls freely accepting his load makes his teeth shatter in desperation. “f-fuck, i told you..”

but he wasn’t done, he was addicted.

choso feels you grip tighter against him and he nearly looses it. he’s still shaking.

spurting such dumps of his cum into you to where it’s so filthy. it starts to drip down your inner thigh, and he’s so sensitive. choso’s fangs deep into your neck again, this time he’s just lightly biting down, moans being muffled by his canines pressing against your feeble skin.

“h-how did i do?” he sighs, still sucking against your neck — his dick remained still inside of you, and he purrs softly once he feels your fingers roam through his hair. “did i…did i do good? ‘m sorry i didn’t last that long..”

“you did great, baby,” you reply, bringing him into a deep kiss. choso’s heart bested rapidly at your words, he leans into your touch as his tongue curls against yours. he was panting, warm breath colliding against yours before he pulled away, whining out a timid,

“f-fuck, i love you.”

“huh?” you’d mutter, meeting his gaze before he turned away, face turning flushed once he realized what he said.

choso pulls you close to his chest, still feeling himself pour into you before he rasps. “i— i really like you, thank y—you.”

he was definitely in love..

[fastandcarlos]

Little Spoon : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: it had always been the way that you were the little spoon until one day the two of you decided to change things up a bit

You’d lost track of time when you finally heard Oscar arrive home, a smile appearing on your face knowing your boyfriend was now just a few metres away. Oscar tried to be as quiet as possible, but with exhaustion washing over him, he could barely lift his feet off of the ground anymore. 

After texting Oscar to tell him that you were starting to feel sleepy, he insisted on you heading to bed, not worrying about staying up and seeing him. Race weekends were always chaotic, and Oscar knew that it was as important for you to rest as it was for him to rest, wanting you full of energy ready to cheer him on for race day.  

The last you saw of Oscar was him rushing out of the door that morning, hurriedly moving around the room making sure to throw everything into his bag. You tried your best to help him, shouting out whenever you spotted something as Oscar continually mumbled to himself about being late. The last thing he did before he walked out of the door was run over to you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head with a reminder of just how much he loved you. 

Your eyes began to flutter open as you heard footsteps coming towards the bedroom of your hotel suite. Excitement began to build at the thought of being reunited with Oscar, even just a few hours away from him was enough to leave you yearning to have him back by your side. 

As the door creaked open, you propped yourself up on your elbows, greeted immediately by Oscar’s soft smile. His own eyes lit up as he saw that you were awake, placing his bag down and slipping his shoes off. 

You shuffled across the bed so that there was enough room for Oscar to lay down beside you, tucking the duvet tightly around his frame before he tucked you into his side just as tight. 

“Hey love,” Oscar greeted. 

“Hi,” you whispered, “how was your day?” 

“Long...I hate how busy these sorts of days are,” Oscar mumbled against the side of your head as he planted a kiss. 

Throughout the day Oscar had sent you messages complaining about how long his day was. He had an endless stream of meetings, practises, media interviews leaving him drained. It was all part of the job, but it wasn’t the part that Oscar enjoyed, which you knew all too well. All he wanted to do was get in his car and race, he didn’t care for all the pointless conversations that needed to be had throughout the day too. 

“You’re back now,” you reminded him, brushing your hand against Oscar’s arm, “and at least tomorrow you finally get to be back behind the wheel.” 

“You know, someone actually asked me about you today, I couldn’t believe it,” he huffed, tilting his head to look at you, “how many times have the PR team told media that we’re private and won’t share anything with them.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as Oscar’s eyes went wide back at you. 

His head shook as you finished speaking, “what could you possibly have to be sorry about?” 

“I know how frustrating these things get for you; you wouldn’t have to deal with them if it wasn’t for me and our relationship-” you began to protest, only for a hand to be placed over your mouth. 

“I refuse to let you ever apologise for that,” Oscar laughed, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“As you are to me,” you smiled. 

As the room fell silent, Oscar turned onto his side, looking out across the room. You took your chance and placed your arm over his frame, resting your head against Oscar’s back. It was strange for him to be the little spoon, but somehow as you laid there, everything about it just felt right. You were a blanket of comfort and warmth wrapped around him as you tried to cheer Oscar up from his day. 

Just like you, Oscar couldn’t help but ponder the position that you found yourselves in and how comfortable it felt too. 

“This is quite nice,” Oscar faintly murmured. 

“Oscar Piastri enjoying being the little spoon, who’d ever have thought this would happen?” You couldn’t help but tease. 

“This is exactly what I need after today,” Oscar hummed, taking a hold of your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “reckon we can stay here for a while?” 

“Whatever you want love,” you insisted, “whatever will make you smile. 

“All I ever need is you to make me smile,” Oscar proudly grinned in reply. 

“Stop,” you laughed, pressing a kiss against his shoulder, “I like laying like this because now you can’t see me blushing.” 

“Are you?” Oscar quizzed, trying his best to turn his head and look at you, “I want to see you bub.” 

“No,” you grinned, burying your head into Oscar’s back, making sure that he couldn’t see you. Oscar soon turned his head again, snaking your arm back around his waist so that you could hold him tightly. 

The smile on your face continues to grow as you realise where your hand is, being able to feel Oscar’s toned stomach through the material of his shirt, running your fingertips over the definition. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Oscar couldn’t help but tease. 

You hum in reply, rolling your eyes. 

“Thank you for this,” Oscar spoke, “you’ve got no idea how much I love you.” 

“I do, because I know for a face that I love you so much more,” you challenged. 

Tangled up with each other was where you found yourselves for most of the night, Oscar tried a couple of times to turn you so that he could be the big spoon, but you stubbornly stayed where you were, knowing secretly how much Oscar loved being the little spoon for once and the one being held. 

It was something that Oscar would only ever keep between the two of you, his sudden love for being the little spoon. The feeling of your arms securely around his tired frame, being able to feel your head press against the top of his back, or your legs tickling along the backs of his own. It brings a comfort that Oscar can’t describe because as much as he always wants to care for you, he thrives off of the feeling of you caring for him just as much. 

And as you wake the following morning, you can’t help but smile as you find Oscar still entangled in your hold, a hint of a smile still on his face, eyes screwed shut, lost far away in some sort of magical dream. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[mischievousmoony]

𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑… 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 (𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝)

⟢ poly!marauders x fem!reader (initial wolfstar & lily x reader)

⟢ summary: james is the sun, the center of the universe, of course when you realize how brightly he shines you can't help but fight over him. it comes unexpectedly, the way it brings you all together . ݁�� ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁3.6k

⟢ warnings/tags: suggestive content/mature themes, hogwarts is a university these characters are in their 20s, poly!marauders, confident!reader, not proofread

⟢ masterlist

note: the dialogue is cringe i fear... this is another one i wrote for fun in the notes app before i started being active on here again

At first, James thought it was jealousy. When he saw you kiss Lily goodbye at the portrait hole, he felt it for the first time. He couldn’t really tell who he felt it for, though. But then he felt it again, this time when he found Remus and Sirius cuddling in their shared dorm, and he’d chalked it up to being jealous that his friends were in happy relationships whilst he was alone. 

He tried flirting with other people, thinking a relationship of his own would cure these feelings. In his endeavors, James found that flirting was something he’s actually quite good at. But when he was on the receiving end of flirtatious remarks, he noticed his stomach never flipped the way it did for his friends, and all they had to do was say ‘hello’ to make it happen. He even tried to go on a date, but he found himself itching to be back at Gryffindor Tower where you lot were hanging out. 

So, James decided to face the facts. He has a crush… or four, he supposes. But it’s not like romance between him and his friends is unheard of. Other students around Hogwarts used to poke fun at you all for the inter friend group dating, accusing you of things like passing each other around for the fun of it. 

Someone once told Sirius he couldn’t escape the incestuous nature of his family, and that’s when the boys started hexing anyone who made any sort of joke on the topic. Soon enough, people learned to keep their mouths shut. 

But it wasn’t what other students made it seem. You all may have been perceived as a lascivious bunch who couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, but there were deep emotions between some of you that surpassed mere physical attraction. 

James probably had one of the most tame histories, save for Peter, who managed to find a girlfriend outside of the group. In James’ past, there was casual fling with Lily, which both parties wanted to be more, yet neither ever had the courage to say it. The relationship ended when they both inwardly thought they’d be better off letting go than silently yearning for more. Aside from that, James had managed to kiss each of you some way or another, whether it be via drinking games or experimental fun.

As for the rest of you, let’s just say you all did a bit more than kiss some of the other members in your group before you all coupled off. 

You, for example, have dabbled in romance with both Sirius and Remus at different points in time. There was a frenzied night with Remus that had you both longing for more, yet never acting on it. And there was a time where everyone thought you and Sirius would end up together. The tension between you two was once so palpable it pervaded your every interaction and shrouded your awareness of anything but each other. It fizzled after a while of neither of you ever making a real move, but sometimes you both feel it creep back into your conversations like an addiction you couldn’t shake. 

Lily and Remus also had a history. They were together for a while, a saccharine relationship that made those around them equally jealous as they were nauseous. Eventually, they broke it off because they couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. They theorized that they must be better off as friends, but what could’ve been still seems to loom over them. 

And James doesn’t know this, if he found out now he might disintegrate on the spot, but everyone’s fancied him at some point. But there’s something about Potters and their tendency to be oblivious. Everyone’s tried to get out of James’ friend zone and it went quite unnoticed. Lily was the only one who’s ever succeeded, and yet, they let each other become their ones that got away. 

It might be a good thing that James never knew about his friends’ crushes. He probably would’ve turned most of you down, depending on the timing. And that would’ve haunted him now. He already has to deal with the pining and the nerves and the misery of it all. Regret added to that mix would send him over the edge. 

After all, the minute you all walk into the common room his heart is already racing with nerves. 

First came Remus and Sirius, Remus having his arm slung across Sirius’ shoulders. Sirius’ walk is an odd looking shuffle due to the way he presses himself into his boyfriend’s side. 

There’s the pining. James wishes he could be sandwiched between them. He imagines shuffling along, like Sirius, and watching the pace of their footsteps sync up. 

Next, James sees Lily. Beaming, as always. She has a firm grip on your hand as she tows you in after her. You two are giggling about something and James swears he’s never heard anything more beautiful than the way your laughters intertwine. He’d give anything to be included in whatever you two were so charmed by. 

“Hey, Prongs,” Remus greets as they sit on the sofa next to him. Remus’ knees knock against James’. James doesn’t want to think about how much it affects him. 

“Hi Jamie,” you say in a sing song voice, passing in front of him as Lily leads you to sit on the armchair with her. The two of you might as well be on top of each other when you get situated, your legs twisted together.

James shifts in his seat, “Hi,” he rasps, then clears his throat, “Hi guys.” 

“What are you up to?” Lily bats her beautiful, long eyelashes at James.

James picks up a book Peter left on the end table next to him, “Studying,” he lies. What he was really doing was thinking about all of you. He couldn’t exactly disclose that, now could he? 

Lily’s eyes dart down to the cover of the book, “Advanced History of Magic?”

“I thought you dropped that after OWLs?” You wonder aloud. 

James presses his lips into a line while he tries to think of what to say, “Yeah, I, er- I’m not studying for class. I’m studying for pleasure. History is a very important subject.” James internally groans. He curses Peter in his mind for not leaving a better book behind. 

The couples around him seem to share skeptical glances that make James want to walk into the Black Lake, lie down, and drown there. 

James' next words tumble out like a torrent, “It’s actually Peter’s. He was telling me something interesting from his class. Wanted to read up on it myself. Anyway, I should go return this to him. Cheers, guys.”

Before anyone can say anything, James is already speeding off with the book. 

Oh, the misery. James hates how awkward things have become. He’s not usually an awkward person, but being around all four people he’s crushing on is overwhelming, even for him. 

Somewhere in Hogwarts’ halls, James leans against one of the cold stone walls and hugs Peter’s book to his chest. 

What is wrong with me, he thinks. And then he gets a tad arrogant, I’m James Potter! I can handle anything. Even having a thing for my best friends. 

James decides right then and there that he doesn’t want to feel like such a mess anymore. It’s time for a different approach. 

The next time he sees one of you, he thinks to himself, you know how to be confident, James, you’ve done it before. And so he puts on his best act. 

But for some reason, acting confident translated into constantly flirting with all of his friends. He really had no intention of doing that, it’s not like he actually wanted to get with any of you. He’d never want to try to interfere in your relationships. But for some reason, as his words tumbled out with amorous undertones and romantic implications, the negative emotions tumbled away too. So he kind of just kept doing it. 

From then on, your interactions with James have gone much more smoothly. Admittedly, they were also much more intoxicating. 

One day after Quidditch practice, James finds you and Lily wrapped up in each other’s arms on the sofa. Your arms are around Lily’s waist as you both watch the crackle of the fireplace before you. The sofa’s back cushions lay strewn across the floor to accommodate the space the two of you take up. 

With a grin fitting his face, James approaches the sofa. 

“Hey,” he calls on his approach. The two of you shift onto your backs to look in the direction of James’ voice behind you. When he arrives, he leans his forearms on the back of the sofa, one folded over the other, and hovers above you two, “Lily, Y/N.” He greets. 

“Hi James,” Lily says on behalf of you both. 

James eyes leisurely drift along the length of the couch and back up again, “Don’t you two look cozy.”

“Sure are,” Lily grins lazily, “If there were any more room on here we’d invite you to join,” your girlfriend jokes. 

“That’s alright, doll,” James says with a lopsided smile. He then leans in closer to you, and you notice the sparkling reflection of the firelight in his eyes. He lowers his voice to a whisper as if he’s telling you a secret, “Next time.” His voice comes out like silk and his eye contact is unwavering. You find it too intoxicating to even blink.

Your lips part slightly, and you can hear Lily’s breath get caught in her throat. It was just two words, it really shouldn’t have affected you two so much. Maybe it’s the way he said them… or maybe it’s just James. James, whose tousled hair is sticking to his forehead still from a strenuous practice and whose lips are only centimeters away. 

A moment of silence passes between you three before James straightens out his spine, standing with his hands resting where his forearms previously were. 

His fingers pitter patter against the sofa back, “I’m off to shower…” James says, “Save me a seat at dinner?”

Without waiting for a reply, James walks towards the boys dormitories. You both watch James disappear up the stairs. When you look at Lily, you find her face flushed. You wiggle your eyebrows and she slaps you on the arm, knowing exactly what you’re thinking. Her hand lingers, then trails down to fit into yours. She discovers a sweaty palm, and now she’s the one raising her eyebrows. 

A few days later, Remus and Sirius find themselves in a similar situation. 

The three Marauders found themselves running for their lives from Filch after attempting to pull a prank without their fourth, who had to bail last minute. They had to rethink the plan on the spot without the extra set of hands, and found themselves nearly getting caught. 

Luckily, Remus knew this area of the castle intimately from his prefects rounds, and found them a room to hide in. 

The boys tumble inside. Sirius and James find themselves with their backs to the nearest wall, both heaving to catch their breaths. Remus locks the door behind them, and releases a shocked laugh as he backs into the room. 

“Quick thinking, Rem. I wonder what other tricks you have up your sleeve.” James says, his tone suggestive. 

“Oi!” Sirius exclaims while Remus flushes. Sirius looks a bit amused, but still feels a bit territorial too. 

James swivels to face Sirius, his body not coming out of contact with the wall. He leans his forearm on the stones above Sirius’ head. Being a bit shorter, Sirius has to look up at James as he leans in ever so slightly, “Don’t worry, Sirius. I find your secrets just as intriguing.” 

Territorial feelings cured. Sirius tries to place the feelings that replaced them and… oh. His head snaps towards his boyfriend, who looks downright besotted with the display in front of him. 

James maintains eye contact and a confident smirk as lets his arm slide down the wall until his palm is flat against it, level with Sirius’ head. He gives the wall a gently pat, then abruptly turns away. 

He takes a single step towards Remus, “I have a sneaking suspicion Filch is still lurking in the area. I’ve got the cloak, so I’m off to be your knight in shining armor and cause a distraction.” James winks, and then he’s out the door. 

The pair of boys that were left behind watch the door thoughtfully for a few moments. 

Sirius’ tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he prepares himself to make a bold suggestion. 

“Hey Moony?” he asks. 

“Yeah?” Remus responds breathlessly. 

“Hear me out about something…” Sirius trails off, still looking in the direction James left in. 

A week later, you and Lily enter the common room in search of your messy-haired friend. He spots you two before either of you find him. 

“If it isn’t my favorite girls,” James waves you both over to where he is seated, which is a small table by the window. Remus and Sirius, who look a bit peeved to have James’ attention drawn away from them, are sitting across from him. 

“What brings you here?” James asks when you arrive at his side, “It’s date night, if I’m not mistaken, isn’t it?” 

You share a look with Lily, “Yes, actually, we’re just about to head off to Hogsmeade.” 

Lily rests a hand on James’ shoulder, “But we were thinking… we’d love it if you’d join us.” 

While the confusion on James’ face starts to soften into understanding, Sirius chokes on his own spit. His voice is strained as he holds back from coughing, “James is busy.”

Your eyes dart to Sirius, “Is he?” then back to James. “Couldn’t you make some time?” You bat your eyes at him. 

Sirius looks horrified, “We have some— Marauders only!— business to attend to. James was just about to accept our invitation, isn’t that right, Prongs?”

“Uhh, I-” James sputters, wildly taken aback by what’s happening. What is happening? 

“Well why don’t you two just invite Peter,” you suggest callously as Lily’s grip on James’ shoulder turns possessive. 

“This isn’t the kind of business we want to invite Peter to. We want James.” Sirius’ eyes narrow. 

You furrow your brows at Sirius’ words and it takes a moment for the meaning of them to sink in. Your features harden as Sirius and Remus suddenly go from friends to competitors. 

“Well I guess you’re out of luck, then.” You say, squinting down at Sirius, “I think James is going to want to come with us.”

Sirius didn’t much like the way you looked down on him, so he brought himself up to his feet where he could tower over you. 

“It’s cute that you think so, but we’re closer to James than anyone. James is our best friend.”

“And I think it’ll be staying that way.” 

“I beg to differ.” Sirius counters, his tone laced with arrogance. 

James’ jaw goes slack at the implication.

“If you're going to beg I prefer that you get on your knees first.” Your voice is dripping with mockery, challenge, and something else that takes everyone a moment to decipher. 

It’s something familiar, a certain tension that’s proving once again to have never fully gone away. It flashes in Sirius’ eyes too, his fiery gaze wavering to give way for a fervent expression. 

The sudden shift in tone sent an electric shock through the three onlookers, James’ jaw dropping impossibly lower.

“Trust me, doll. Where I’m involved, I’m not the one who’s gonna be begging on their knees.” 

Remus somehow looks like he’s enjoying this, which should be unusual for a guy watching his boyfriend flirt with someone else. He’s leaned back in his seat, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips, as his eyes dart between each of his friends. 

“What’s happening,” James chokes out, the nerves he expelled weeks ago suddenly bubbling back up again. 

No one answers James. Remus is having too much fun and you are too busy staring down Sirius. Lily joins you, inching closer to both you and him as she leans over your shoulder, her body pressing into your back. 

“Oh, he’s lying, don’t you think?” She says, her voice velvety smooth. 

“Certainly so. I have it on good authority that he’s the type to want to be in charge,” you jut your chin toward Remus, whose gaze you meet while memories of each other swirl around in your minds, bringing matching twinkles to your eyes. 

“Can-? Can I interject?” James takes a shot at cutting through the tension, his voice cracking.  

“Of course, Jamie,” you turn your head from Sirius to look at him but a soft hand pinching your chin gently turns you right back. 

“Eyes on me, dollface, I’m not done with you,” Sirius says firmly, as if proving how commanding he can be. 

A choked noise emits from James’ throat and it’s not clear if it’s in protest of being cast aside again or a direct reaction to the way Sirius is handling you. 

Remus inches his hand towards James’, bumping his pinky into his. “Sit tight, I want to see where this goes,” he tells him. 

“See? So effortlessly commanding,” you vocalize to Lily, a hungry look in your eyes as they flick to Remus. 

Sirius’ possessive nature flares up. “This has been real cute, but you can you can back off of them now,” Sirius say, referring to both his boyfriend and James. 

Your eyes dart back to Sirius and that hungry sort of look doesn’t falter, “Want me to focus on you, do you? Ddon’t worry, baby, I can multitask.”

“Let's cut to the chase, are you two about to fight or kiss?” James defies Remus’ command to sit tight, suddenly speaking boldly, regaining his confidence from either sheer will or impatience, “Either is fine, I suppose, as long as you continue to let me watch.”

“I second that,” Remus agrees at once. 

“Third,” Lily chimes in, “though I’d prefer to see the ladder.” 

As James words sink in, it brings you back down to reality, that familiar veil of tension that shrouds your better judgment lifting. 

Worry filters in first, your actions suddenly feeling inappropriate. That they were, but you’re less worried about the nature of your actions and more so the fact that you behaved in such away with someone else right in front of your girlfriend. When you look at her, you’re met with a sly countenance that reminds you she was an active participant. 

You’re not the only one having inner turmoil after the racy display, a silence that’s tense for different reasons washing over you all. Everyone seems to be contemplating the implications of what just happened and how you all so fondly reacted to it. 

Lily is the one to cut through the silence first. 

“You know… I wouldn’t mind if all three of you joined us,” Lily tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as she asks “Do you, Lovie?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all,” your words coming out like a plea when you respond. 

Remus carefully stands from his seat, approaching Sirius with revere and settling his arm across his shoulder. His free hand extends to you, which you take without hesitation. His tender touch sends shivers up your spine. 

Your four sets of eyes drift to James, who’s still in his seat trying to process what’s going on. When it sinks that this is real life, he looks back at you all like you’re a newfound treasure. 

It’s instant, the way the feelings that never went away metamorphosize into something beautiful and new. And it’s an adjustment, for sure, but you all lean into it with surprising ease. 

The rumors fly, of course, when your peers start to take notice of the way things have changed. No amount of previous hexing scares them away from jumping to their conclusions and spreading their rumors. This time around, you’re all too enamored with each other to care much about what people say, but you do find it pitiful that they could never understand. But some witnesses to the loving little touches and soft remarks between each of you and all of you find that it makes sense now—all of you were destined from the start. 

For you have always been drawn to each other. It’s why you constantly gravitated from one to the next, the pull from those you left behind never really going away. 

It feels like a dream the way you all settle back into place with each other. James looks at you all in disbelief everyday. He couldn't have imagined a more perfect solution to his previously helpless pining.

You're quite pleased as well, the longing for what you never had with each of your boys finally resolved.

And Lily and Remus share a look some days, eyes twinkling, finding comfort in knowing now what their missing piece was. Or rather, pieces. 

“Well, I think I can pinpoint now why all of our relationships kept not working out,” Lily tells him once, in the very beginning. You’re all strolling around outdoors, basking in the sun, still shyly navigating through the newness of it all. 

The knuckles of your left hand fondly brush against those on James’ right. Lily walks alongside you, Remus on the end next to her. And Sirius has fallen behind purposefully, admiring the way the four of you look together. 

“Why’s that, Dove?” Remus asks. 

“Greed,” Sirius interjects, an impish grin dances on his lips as he jogs up to join you all again. He squeezes between you and Lily, slinging his arms around you both.

Sirius nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, “But who’s to say we can’t have it all?” 

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons

summary: you and robin have already shared several firsts as best friends: your first time holding hands, your first time cuddling someone, your first time flirting. so what's a little platonic kissing?

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: lots of sapphic pining, yearning, etc. assumed unrequited love. hopeless crushing. doing romantic things and claiming they're totally platonic when they very much are not. mentions of reading trying to conform to the 80s standards by dating a boy. reader is explicitly female (which should be given since robin is canonically a lesbian)

wc: 3.4k+

a/n: this one was a long time coming. it's based off of my own first kiss, loosely.

part 2

Being best friends with Robin Buckley has always been about growing – together.

Life has a plethora of lessons for young souls to learn in time, and some of those lessons were simply hard. The first time you picked up a musical instrument and attempted to play your very first note, and it sounded atrocious. Nothing like the movies, more difficult than you could have ever imagined. The first time you walked the halls of your high school, and the terrifying first wave of panic at the realization you’d need to learn the map of the lands in order to navigate that maze for the next four years. The first time you walked into a classroom all of two minutes late, and the first shatter of embarrassment in your chest as every eye in the room turned to you. The first time you trip over your own laces on your way to Chemistry, the first time you impulsively cut your hair with the kitchen scissors, the first time a boy asked you out as a joke, and the first time someone asked you out genuinely only to fumble over every single word. Your first school dance, your first time cooking pasta from scratch, your first time attending a concert without a chaperone. 

Firsts, firsts, firsts. Life is simply full of them, and they never get any easier or kinder, but having a best friend at your side certainly makes it all bearable. 

Robin Buckley was that rock for you. And you, for her. 

It’s sort of how you got into this mess to begin with. 

“It’s going to be weird, isn’t it?” 

“It’s not going to be weird unless we make it weird, Robin.”

“How can I not make it weird? Where would my lips even go?”

You’re both lucky that no one is home to hear all the shrieking currently occurring in your small bedroom. Only the posters on your wall and your teddy bear you’ve had since you were five are witnesses to the current predicament occuring. 

Robin had been the one to suggest it, in all fairness. Graduation was next week, and there had been a lot of reminiscing flying about. All the firsts, all the hopeful lasts, and all the fatal moments you needed to drag by the hair to the backyard and bury six feet under. 

The topic of conversation had veered pretty erratically, turning left towards that one stubborn B left on Robin’s postcard as a result of her refusing to attend her assigned tutoring for Geometry last year, and then sliding right as you’d huffed about that one girl who had been an absolute menace towards you sophomore year when you’d botched your improv solo at a band concert. But in the last five minutes, it had finally straightened out – it had finally begun to follow the trail of a line of remembering that no one else would ever be allowed to know outside of you and Robin. 

You’d brought up the first date you’d ever gone on. A ridiculous milkshake outing with some guy in your freshman English class that had left you feeling more confused than starry eyed or lovesick as the books promised. 

The date that had caused Robin Buckley to offer to hold your hand at random, in private moments, the week leading up to it. Just so you’d know how it felt. Just so you could figure out how to best intertwine your fingers with someone else’s without feeling terrible foreign about it all. 

It had been platonic. You both swore it had been, shrugging carelessly as you’d let your palm meet your best friends. 

And you’d felt more every time your skin brushed hers than you had the entire night with that boy. Spent the entire date wishing it was Robin’s knuckles bumping yours when you’d reached for that damn strawberry milkshake. 

“Against mine, I’d hope.” 

The dissection hadn’t ended at the hand-holding. Next, the two of you had wistfully recalled the sleepover in which you’d first decided to learn how to spoon one another. Robin had read about it in a magazine, you’d never had firsthand experience, and it just felt right to suggest. Robin had rambled for a good five minutes before you’d tugged her back into her bed and commanded her to just lay there as you figured out where you arm should go as your body curved along the back of hers. 

It had been nice. Really nice. 

You’d never gone out on another date after the Great Milkshake Catastrophe, as the two of you had called it. Robin claimed none of the boys at school could handle her eccentricism. Both of you, young girls fumbling about the world, starving for touch completely unaware. You told yourselves everyone cuddled with their friends. You told yourselves it was normal. 

But then, you’d switched positions, Robin being the big spoon as the teen magazine had described, and you swore your heart had burst when her arm wrapped around your waist and her fingers slotted between your own against your abdomen. 

You’d fallen asleep in that position. Awoken to Robin’s face pressed right into your chest as you’d spread out on your back. Ignored the flaky drool stain left behind on your skin when she’d finally joined the living once more. Pretended like you both hadn’t had the best rest of your lives as you’d clung to one another through fading dreams and subtle snores. 

It was normal, right? It had to be, because it was nice, and it had become a part of your normal sleepover rituals. 

Friends used each other’s boobs as pillows all the time, as Robin had defended. 

“Yeah, but, well-” Robin cuts off in her current stricken rambling, throwing her hands out around the air between you two, “What about when it’s more than just pecking? You know? All that gross shit, where tongues get involved and spit is exchanged and, oh God, should we be sucking on some mints right now or something? Oh my God, what if you’re allergic to my chapstic-”

Gross shit. 

The not-so-clever code word the two of you used whenever describing any sort of romantic interactions. Kissing, making out, sex. The things all of your peers were regular experiencing, sometimes even displaying in public, that the two of you only turned your noses up to. 

You didn’t want to suck the face off of Connor in your fifth period pottery class. The only person you could imagine on the receiving end of that that didn’t make your stomach turn was sitting right in front of you now, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as she clearly panicked. 

“I’m not allergic to passion fruit Lip Smackers, Robs.”

The switch to a passion fruit flavor was new. Robin had been using the strawberry flavor religiously prior, but had recently offered it to you with the excuse of your obsession with strawberry flavored things. 

And now, you’d been using it daily. Trying not to think about how many times her lips had been on it prior to yours. Trying not to think about how many ways you could twist it into some sick secondary kissing metaphor, to have your lips slick with the same sticky substance as hers had been so many times before.

Tried not to think about what Robin Buckley’s lips tasted like, period. Easier said than done when the thought crosses your mind every time you lick your lips moment after application, getting the faux sweetness all over your tongue. 

“You could be. And how would we even know? I can’t even drive! If you start to have an allergic reaction, I can’t even take you to the hospital! We don’t have a c-” 

You can’t do it anymore – any other day, you relish in the sound of Robin’s voice as she’ll squeal on and on about everything and anything. But not today. 

You cut her off with a kiss.

The very same kiss you’d both timidly agreed upon when you’d both realized graduation was next week, and neither of you had had your first kiss. 

The same deal as the cuddling. The same deal as the hand-holding. The same deal as all the pick-up lines and flirting you’d try out on each other, the same deal as all the sweet ‘love notes’ you’d write for one another and slip into backpacks and binders alike. 

The same deal as that fluttering in your chest every time she looked up at you at the local pool, eager to see if you’d witnessed her flip beneath the water. The same deal as all the nights you’d cried into your pillow after being pestered about if any boys at school caught your eyes, because you knew they hadn’t and they never would. Your eyes were already too busy, completely captured by the sight of the brunette now pressing her lips against yours. 

None of the boys at school could ever compare. 

Passion fruit and strawberry mingles within the short peck, freckled cheeks and nose smashing against yours in the most awkward fashion possible. It could be weird; it should be weird. 

It’s not. 

When you pull away, Robin is completely stunned into silence for quite possibly the first time in her life. And her lips are shining with some of your residual spit, and her cheeks are the perfect shade of rose that no actual flower could capture.

Mother Nature herself could never replicate the girl in front of you. The girl you’d been best friends with for six years now, the girl you’d pined relentlessly for for just as long. 

Only you’d just recently realized it. Somewhere between the lip smackers exchange and the movie night in which you’d intertwined your legs on the couch and felt the weight of her between your hips as she’d passed out. 

Looking at her now sort of feels like realizing it all over again. Sort of like looking out over a precipice, and taking a deep breath, because you know you’re leaping off the cliff. No scared looks over your shoulder, no hesitation as you throw your foot out into mid-air. 

The kind of rush you’ve never felt with a boy, and never will. 

“Was that…” she whispers, voice hoarse before she clears it, batting her gorgeous lashes and taking the shakiest of breaths, “Was that good?”

“I dunno,” you lie, “I think we should try again.” 

It’s like a dance, you soon realize. Following her steps, guiding her with your own. She slides her way up closer, and you press your back against your headboard. Her hands are shaking when they brush your outer thighs, and your blood is racing as you tug on her elbows to guide her to straddle your lap. 

You both had said, after all, you needed to learn to be better kissers. That you couldn’t leave high school without having shoved your tongue down someone’s throat at least once. Your words, not hers. 

Your desperate attempt to make sure that someone was Robin Buckley. Your pitiful attempt to have the one thing you don’t think you’ll ever be allowed to hold. 

The weight of her on your lap is nice. The feeling of her lips returning to yours is nice. The way neither of your hands know where to go as you let your lips linger together a few seconds longer than the first time is nice. 

It’s far nicer than Connor from English could ever make you feel. It’s far nicer than that poor boy at the diner ever was, though he tried his best. 

You’re the brave one, when it’s all said and done. You’re the first one to let your palms settle at her hips, squeezing ever so gently to feel the softness beneath slot perfectly into your hold. You’re the first one to timidly include tongue, parting both your lips, trying to ignore the shivers running up your spine as all you can taste now is passion fruit lip smackers. 

Even with your own lip balm, you know your lips are horribly chapped. Dreadfully thirsty and desperate to absorb all the love you know isn’t yours to claim at this moment. Chapped lips, quivering hands, shaking breaths. Unsure movements and the ringing question in the back of your head of am I doing this right? 

Is she feeling what I’m feeling? 

Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But she’s kissing you back. Her tongue is meeting yours in movements that are nothing like the movies, shy baps that you both will probably laugh about later. Kitten licks to test the waters. 

And then there’s the retreating. The rock of her body as she settles her weight closer to your knees, and her tongue is put away in favor of just letting her lips slot between yours in slow and lazy movements. You can feel every deep breath she takes through her nose between the kisses, you can smell her perfume seeping into your psyche every moment she spends so close to you. 

The only lesson being learned right now is that you were an idiot. You were an absolute fool, and you are absolutely in love with your best friend.

“Better?” she questions when she pulls away entirely, and you try not to whimper. Try not to show her how badly you want this, need this. 

You hate the silence and you nearly wish she’d start babbling again. You wish she’d give you a reason to kiss her and shut her up, if for nothing more than to taste passion fruit and yearning all over again. 

You’re quiet for a few beats, staring at her as your chest heaves and your heart begins to twist up into terrible shapes. “I… Yeah. Yeah. I think we’re getting the hang of it, don’t you?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” her nervous smile breaks, and you wish she wouldn’t continue the thought, but she does, “You’re gonna be a pro in no time, breaking boys hearts left and right when you kiss them like that.” 

You don’t want to break a boy’s heart. You want to break hers – you want to entirely implode her heart the way she has yours, and have the honor to know it was mutual. A mutual destruction you both dove into headfirst. You only want to kiss Robin like this, forever. You only ever want to know how right her hand feels in yours, not some guy who can’t even choke out the right words to invite you to the cinema. 

You want, and you want, and you want. 

And just as you bite your tongue, decide against pouring out all your affections all over your bed sheets and pulling her right back into you again, desperate to share air with her and only her, you can hear your front door slamming over. 

Robin has never moved so quickly in her life. Jumping off your lap, leaping to the edge of the bed as a feverish blush overtakes her entire body. As though she might be embarrassed, as though she might be regretful. 

You still haven’t moved from your position, back sticky with sweat against the headboard, when your parents walk past your open door and say hello. 

They probably don’t even hear your sad and quiet excuse of a returned greeting, too enraptured by Robin’s own excited quip of saying hi. 

Your parents love her. Adore her in a way parents should care for their child’s closest confidant. They treat her like their own daughter, and Robin’s parents do the same for you. Once a month, your mothers meet up for mimosas over brunch and probably giggle about how lucky their girls are to have one another. 

You get it. You love her too. But certainly not in the way you should love your best friend. 

They finally leave, and Robin is quick to turn to you, eyes shining with all the stars and sunshine the Universe could have to offer, “That… um, thank you.”

“For what?” you laugh breathlessly, finally shifting forward, looking down at your thighs that had served as a temporary home to the girl who holds your heart, trying to swallow down any shame and all that rapid longing. 

“For… you know,” she smiles, a secret for the two of you to only ever keep, never sharing with the world. Selfishly, you almost enjoy the sentiment, “I’m sorry I was acting so weird about it before. You were right, it didn’t have to be weird unless we made it weird. I’m lucky to have you as my best friend, you know? And like I said, if you’re…. You know, doing that with boys, you’re going to be a certified heartbreaker. The world isn’t ready for my best friend. Besides! Another thing checked off the list, right?” she pauses, and you swear the smile has gone sad, but you can’t risk the projection, “Now we can both say we’ve done… that… before graduation! And-”

You speak before you can think better of it, interrupting her entirely, “I think I need more practice.” 

She stops in her tracks, eyebrows raising wildly and eyes turning to saucers, “What?”

“I think…” your head reels, desperate to come up with an excuse to kiss her again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. “I think I need more lessons, yeah? Like, I don’t know. More practice,” Oxygen evades you in desperation, giving your best puppy dog eyes, system in overdrive as you stare at her lips and your voice drops to a careful whisper, “My parents are out of town next weekend… Maybe we could try again then? Same time?” 

You swear her smile shifts, and you hadn’t even noticed the ingenuity in it previously until she dazzles you with one that must be real. As if you’ve just made her year, lightened her load, offered over your first born to the darling girl. 

“Well….” she moves her eyes across the room, focusing on a polaroid photo of the two of you pinned to the wall above the desk, “I mean, we did say lessons, plural. I can see if Steve will cover my shift on Saturday night if that works?” 

Am I doing this right? 

“That definitely works.”

Is she feeling what I’m feeling?

“Perfect. It’s a…. date, then.” 

“It’s a date.” 

It’s not. Only to you, never to her. 

But it’ll be enough. It’s enough to know next Saturday, she’ll be back here, in your bed and in your lap, getting that passion fruit chapstick all over your lips and shaking your chest from the inside out until it’s ready to burst. 

One day, you might be the brave one, when it’s all said and done. You’ll tell your best friend all the ways she feels so nice, and all the ways you want to capture that niceness in a bottle for the rest of your days. You’ll tell her the way you have no interest in the boys at school and how you’re cursed to forever be the heartbroken, never the heartbreaker, and only ever at her hand. The very same one clasping yours as she stands at your front door, thanking you vaguely once more, grinning ear to ear as she gives you three tight squeezes that are completely lost on you. 

Today’s not the day, though. Today is the day where you spend the night in your self-made cage, face buried in the pillow, noises somewhere between desperately muffled screams of frustration and dry sobs of torture leaving your lips as you picture the way she’d looked after the kiss. Her eyes softly shut, her lips still puckered, her neck entirely exposed as she tilts her chin back to look at your ceiling through her eyelids. Picturing the way that next time, you’ll try to convince her the two of you should learn the art of neck kisses. Picturing the way that next time, maybe you’ll grab her hips a little harder or let your hands wander a bit farther to her thighs. 

Tonight is the night you have no idea amongst your pity party, that Robin Buckley is on the other side of town, experiencing the exact same turmoil as she longs for the girl who tastes like her gifted strawberry lip smackers – the very same one Steve Harrington berated on her to get rid of when she’d vomited out all the ways she hates fake strawberry flavoring, but you love it, and she’d convinced herself if she bathed herself in enough of it, you might just want her the way she wants you. 

Tonight’s not the night, though. 

One day, the kissing lessons will simply be kisses. One day.

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[meow-xine]

Ohhh I am so obsessed with him 😫

Shota Aizawa x Fem reader

Cw: smut, some plot… oral (F! receiving)

Background: Aizawa is your husband but you haven’t seen him in WEEKS due to him being caught up in work.

Shota has just been so busy as of late. Truth be told, with the two of you sharing so many aspectual responsibilities – many stemming from Shota’s job, you had felt a strain on your relationship. Shota rarely had time for you anymore, him spending more time now than ever at work, trying to make sense of villain attacks and dorms. Sometimes he would be gone for weeks, the only interaction being a text or a late night call. Of course you kept yourself busy, going to work during the day then occupying yourself with small things around the house; cleaning, crafts. No matter how much you distracted yourself though, there was no way to stop the yearning for your husband. You knew it was necessary, and you would in no way ever try to stop him from doing what he needed to, but you just wish he could take one day off. Life just hadn’t been the same.

“I just miss you so much.” you sobbed into the phone resting next to you, laying down curled over a pillow. This had become a sort of routine, Shota calling you up later than he should, knowing that you would be awake and expecting to hear from him. “I know, I miss you too. It’s.. it’s just been so complicated trying to balance everything. Know that if I could come home to you I would.” He sighed. It wasn’t much easier on him, and you knew that. You often found yourself getting off the phone feeling more guilty than anything. He had a lot on his plate, and you were sure your complaining wasn’t of much help. There was just something about the late night that seeped into your words, taking control and slurring your speech. You weren’t used to staying up so late.

“I’m sorry baby.. I just don’t feel good without you here. It’s too quiet and dull.” you continued your earlier recurring thought. Silence interrupted by your small hiccups filled the air. It was stagnant and dense, but not uncomfortable. “You know it breaks my heart to hear you like that honey.” He interrupted the silence, followed by a sigh. “I’ll do what I can to see you as soon as possible.” he continued. “You promise?” “I promise. Now get some sleep love, it’s late.” And with that you hung up and fell asleep, remaining in the same curled position. 

That was two weeks ago, and since then you had been carefully watching the news reports and attacks against both Shota and his students. It was scary stuff and you constantly had to remind yourself that he would be okay– that they would all be okay. Even with reminders though, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and out of control, sometimes forgetting to breathe until Shota got a break on TV. You followed up with texts and phone calls afterwards too, needing more than just a digital image showing he was safe. 

Finally, amongst the sea of phone calls you had gotten, it was your husband.

“[Name]? Baby?” it was Shota, he sounded happier than he had in a while and you swore you could feel his smile through the phone. “Hi Sho, I’m here. How are things going?” you smiled too, not being able to contain yourself after hearing him. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Things are going good, especially today. I rarely ever take time off work so it was pointed out that I am long overdue for some PTO.” “Oh yay! Do you know when exactly you might be getting some days?” You stood up from the couch you were sitting on in your shared home. “Well…” He started, but before he could finish his sentence the doorbell rang. “Oh, I’m sorry, give me one moment, someone’s at the door..” He chuckled, “Sure.”

You made your way to the door making sure to hold your phone to your chest before answering. Upon opening the door, the phone in your hand was long forgotten, falling to the floor. It was Shota on the other side, lazily holding his phone to his ear. He hung up and opened his arms, allowing you to run into them.

“You’re here! Oh I’ve missed you so much.. I wish you would have told me you were coming ,I would have worn something nicer.” You rambled feeling embarrassed for just wearing one of his shirts and PJ shorts. Not leaving enough time for you to finish a thought, Shota wrapped his arms around you, one snaking around your waist and the other rubbing your back. “Hi baby..” 

You released yourself from his embrace, taking a moment to look at his face and notice the small differences. He looked tired and weary, no thanks to the battles he had endured. Despite everything, it was still your Shota standing in front of you. Your eyes moved down to his lips and before you could think you were all over them. You pulled back, apologizing, “Oh! Sorry,” you knelt down to pick up some of his bags, “let’s let you get settled in first.” 

The two of you carried his bags to your bedroom, placing them on the floor. Before Shota made an effort to unpack, he walked over to you and brought you in for another hug, this one tighter than the last. One of his hands was wrapped warmly against your head, bringing you closer to his chest. You inhaled, making a mental note to lock his sweet musk scent away for when he inevitably had to leave again. “I missed you so much baby, you have no idea.” he spoke, his voice soft and gravelly. 

You loosely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, one of your hands holding his cheek and his hands still lingering low around your waist. “I missed you too Sho. It felt impossible without you here. I’m just so happy you’re okay.” He smiled down at you and planted a small kiss on your lips. He deepened the kiss, disentangling your entire being yet somehow making you feel more full than you ever had all at once. His hand was now placed against the nape of your neck, all the while slowly backing you up into the nearest wall. 

Once you felt your back touch the wall you couldn’t help but break free of the kiss and gasp, being too entranced to notice the position you were in until now. Shota wasted no time in returning to the kiss, using the hand on your neck to bring you closer to him. The two of you melted into the kiss, a mix of small groans and whines left Shota’s mouth as he lost himself in you. He broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to look at you beneath his frame before speaking, “Baby I need you right now..” he groaned, searching for approval in your eyes. You displayed agreement through a nod and took a step forward. Shota, before beginning to take off your clothes, gently let his hands run across your body longer than he needed to. It had been so long since he had been able to feel your skin underneath him, he wanted to savor it. 

He took off your shirt, admiring what was underneath as he lifted it above your head. Once he discarded it to the side, he worked on removing your bra. You were now completely bare from the waist up and your dark haired husband couldn’t help but stare. “Oh I’ve missed you so much.” He lowered his earlier kisses down to the side of your neck, bending his knees as he moved down to kiss your exposed breasts, one hand massaging the other as he worked. You let out soft moans, the pleasure slowly surging through you. It was more intense than usual, it had felt like eons since you had been touched by him, yet it seemed he still knew exactly how to please you. 

‘C’mere baby,” he led you to your shared bed, sitting you on the edge. You were almost laying down, your elbows propped up stopping you from doing so. Shota got down to his knees in front of you, sliding his hands on either side of your thighs and he slid your shorts off, your panties being the only remaining article. Upon seeing your wetness seeping through the cloth, Shota chuckled  “Awh baby, you’re soaked.” He looked up at you with lust clouded eyes. “Let me touch you, please love.” It took you a moment to fully process and respond to him, you were far too distracted by the sight of your usually dominant husband kneeling before you, so undone. “Yes-yeah, of course you can.” you responded after far too long of a pause. 

He returned one of his hands to its earlier position, slid against your thigh only now massaging you slowly. His other hand moved up slowly to your clothed pussy and you gasped when you felt him touch you. He used his hands to spread your legs open and teased small traces along your inner thighs, moving his face closer. You shivered as you felt the warmth of his breath close in. He planted a trail of the most gentle kisses up your thighs, pausing once he got just close enough to make you antsy. You whimpered, “please Sho..need you..”

“You know I can’t say no when you ask like that.” he smirked, then slid your panties off, gliding a finger down your slit. He inched his face closer, attaching his mouth to your clit after a few small licks. The wave of pleasure crashed down on you all at once, “Oh Sho…” you moved your hands to grab his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Once his gentle demeanor faded, he was devouring you like a madman, groaning and mumbling into your arousal. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed this..” he lazily groused, slipping two fingers into you. He curled them up into you, the sheer amount of unfamiliar pleasure was almost overstimulating.

Your grip on his hair tightened, indicating he must have been doing something right. He paused to look up at you, “Yeah? You like that? ‘Course you do..” he trailed off, his mouth finding you again. Your nerves heated your entire body, that combined with the growing knot in your belly was enough to push you over the edge. You bucked your hips, now riding his fingers more than anything. He pulled his face up to look at you again. “Oh baby you look so pretty coming undone f’me right now.” his fingers sped up reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. “So pretty.”

“I’m- fuck.. M’ so close Sho..” you couldn’t control yourself anymore. Rolling your hips at the same speed his fingers were fucking you, you couldn’t help but toss your head back in satisfaction, your release smashing against you. “That’s it baby.. good girl..” Shota spoke, his fingers never once slowing until you were worn out. You whined due to the absence that filled you as he removed his digits. 

He stood up, looming over your relaxed frame. He knelt down to kiss your forehead, grabbing one of your hands to help you sit upright. “You did so good baby.. So good.” He sat next to you, stroking your hair. “Oh I love you Shota, so much.” you whined into him. ”I love you too [Name].” He smiled, honestly not wanting to get up. “Now let's get you cleaned up, it’s late.”

“What about you though? I feel bad not returning anything..” You said, feeling a mix of pleasure and guilt all in one go. “Don’t worry about me, we have plenty of time.” Shota responded. He walked to the bathroom, starting a hot bath with a mix of calming oils; then returned to you and brought you to the tub.

The two of you were slipped in you got comfortable in the middle of his legs, your back resting against his chest. “I love you Shota.” you closed your eyes, feeling relaxed enough to go to sleep right in the tub.

He wrapped his arms around your torso. “I love you too, [Name].”

[formulawolff]

xiv. the aftermath - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: ANGST, lots of angst, mentions of sexual relationships, slight mentions of misogyny, cursing, slut-shaming, mentions of divorce, toto is lowkey yearning through this messiness, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“do you have any idea how serious this is?”

you huff, rolling your eyes slightly, “i am quite aware.”

“you are actively engaging in a sexual relationship with the team principal of another–”

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

“james,” a voice interjects, “do not make assumptions. we are not quite aware of the details or nature of their relationship.”

james scoffs, folding his arms across his chest, “i think i have a pretty good idea of the nature of their relationship. she fucking kissed him. in front of the entire world, nonetheless. it was not just a small peck either it–”

“james,” the voice’s tone shifts, hardened with a sternness, “she’s a twenty-two year old woman. she can speak for herself. i am aware that you are very passionate about the current reputation of the team, but i think we need to let her speak for herself, hmm? would you like to make a comment regarding the incident in monaco?”

your gaze falls on sir patrick head, co-founder of williams racing. surrounding you were members of the board, along with members of the management committee. all around, the paper white walls of the board room were blank, reminiscent of an interrogation room. the lack of notebooks, tablets, and laptops on the table were no help either, as you felt the entire focus of the room was lasered in on you. to your left was james, alex on your right. 

marcus prosser, one of the heads of commercial and marketing sat across from you, his phone lying on the table, recording every single second of the ongoing conversation. you swallow the lump in your throat, shifting uneasily in your chair. 

“do you want me to start from the beginning again or?”

“if you would like,” patrick shrugs, “you are not inclined to share every detail regarding your relationship with the mercedes team principal. we would like to know the gist of it, that’s all. is it strictly personal? borderline business? has he spoken of any future contract deals? that sort of thing.”

“well,” there was no reason to lie anymore, “after the first grand prix, in bahrain, he approached me. that was the beginning of our personal relationship.”

“did he mention any sort of thing about a future contract with mercedes?” marcus inquires, jotting down a few notes, “look, to put it plainly, the fia wants to ensure that your contract was not breached. that is the main thing that everyone is buzzing about. if he approached you with a contract deal and then began a personal relationship with you, then that’s textbook manipulation. mostly due to the fact that he was using the deal as leverage to kindle that relationship. and he deserves to be punished for that.”

“but what about me?” you raise a brow, “i consensually agreed to the personal relationship. i wanted–”

“you have to remember that you are thirty years younger than this man,” marcus’ voice is quiet, “he took advantage of you. he knew your age, and he began a relationship with you.”

“what happened to me being an adult?” you counter, “i am so sick of this bullshit that everyone is spreading around. i wanted a relationship with him. it wasn’t like he cornered me and demanded that we start seeing one another. it developed over time–”

“developed over time?” patrick’s brow furrow, “elaborate on that.”

“oh my god. i feel like we’ve been over this about a million times,” you exhale, “the relationship started in bahrain after the grand prix. we have been seeing one another in private since that night. i made things public in monaco. are we forgetting that here? that i was the person who initiated that kiss?” 

“so in summary,” marcus clears his throat, his eyes honed in over the plethora of notes before him, “you placed eighth in bahrain. toto wolff approached you later that evening, stating that he wanted a personal relationship with you. in these last few weeks, the two of you have been engaged in a romantic relationship. is that correct?”

“let’s not forget that in that time, he did approach me inquiring about her contract,” james interrupts, “that was around jeddah or miami, i don’t really recall the details.”

“while i appreciate the statement,” marcus’ eyes narrow, glaring over at the team principal, “i was speaking to your driver.”

sucking in a breath, you nod, “everything we have discussed thus far has been answered to the best of my ability.” 

“i see no further need for questioning,” marcus leans forward, pressing the stop icon on his screen, “if no parts of her contract have been breached, then i see no issue with their relationship. additionally, i trust that she has a good head on her shoulders and would not betray the team in any fashion. however, if there are future contract talks or negotiations, then you must facilitate a meeting with not only us and mercedes, but with the fia. they will want to ensure that you are not treated differently than any of the drivers or given perks that most drivers are not.” 

“that’s it?” james coughs, “what about—“

“you can speak with her on your own accord,” patrick leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, “you have to remember james, she has won us a significant number of grand prixes. she is currently in first place for the title. and with her current trajectory, i do envision her standing on that podium, showered in champagne.” 

“you see,” marcus taps his pen against the table, “if anyone’s reputation is suffering, it’s toto’s. he is the one who has a family. he is the one with an established career at mercedes. our american girl here, sponsors, investors, and the general public can forgive and forget. especially when there are world titles at stake.” 

“but what about our team?” james retaliates, his voice growing louder with each and every word, “what about our reputation?” 

“to be quite honest,” james, the other marketing head chips in, “we haven’t seen much talk regarding our reputation. most of the focus is on toto, like marcus said. additionally, imagine the publicity that are going to come out of this. drive to survive has already sent usa number of inquiries regarding an episode about our american girl. the fans are raving. in their words, they’re excited for the drama that will unfold in the coming season.” 

“so to clarify,” you pipe up, “i’m not in trouble?” 

“no, you’re not in any sort of trouble,” patrick’s voice was gentle as he spoke, “this is something that has never happened before in the history of formula one. there is sort of a grey area. at least, right now. per your contract, we cannot dictate who you can or cannot date. however, if you end up deciding that you would like to join toto at mercedes, please be as transparent with us as possible. additionally, be forewarned that the fia may not allow it due to conflict of interest.” 

“right,” you nod, fiddling with your thumbs, “i thought i was going to lose my seat, if we’re being honest.”

“as long as you do not leak confidential team information with mr. wolff, then i do not see an issue with it,” patrick affirms, “we can’t afford to lose you. you’re our little shining star.” 

at his tenderness in his words, tears brim your eyelids, threatening to spill over. your lower lip trembles, alex wrapping an arm around your shoulders as your voice shakes, “i-i can’t th-thank you guys enough. for everything. thank you for sticking by my side as we figure this mess out.”

“it’s not the worst we’ve seen,” a chuckle bubbles up in patrick’s throat, “sure, we may appear to have a no-nonsense policy, but we consider ourselves to be pretty flexible. also, this isn’t a mess. honey, it’s your personal life. of course we’re going to make sure that your well-being is prioritized. if you want to pursue a relationship with this man, we just want you to be happy.”

“besides,” marcus shoots you a wink, “it’s our job to keep the press at bay. if you would like, we can release a statement that we have thoroughly investigated the matter and will not make any further comments. that will keep the media satisfied until mercedes releases their own statement.”

“that would be nice,” you sniffle, wiping away a tear, “again, thank you so much. you guys have no idea how much this means to me.”

“we’re not going to force you to end things with someone just because you’re on different teams,” patrick rises to his feet, crossing over to you. patting your shoulder, he continues, the corners of lips curled into a sympathetic smile. 

“besides, susie wolff worked with us for quite some time. although the circumstances are a little bit different this time around, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a williams driver and a mercedes team principal involved in a romantic relationship.”

in the wake of monaco, it almost felt as if your little secret was completely exposed, for the entire world to pick apart and ridicule. 

well, it was your fault, after all. 

to make things worse, you could no longer seek out your escape, as he was thirty-nine miles away. 

in the moments following the kiss, the wave of realization came crashing over the two of you, the cameras flashing, gasps arising from the crowd. you were whisked away by james, the image of toto almost disappearing as more and more journalists swarmed him, their phones and mics poised, eager for any sort of information regarding what just occurred. 

it didn’t take long for the headlines to be blasted all across social media, tabloids, and any sort of press associated with the world of formula one. 

toto wolff, team principal of mercedes-amg petronas, was deeply involved in an affair with the twenty-two year old williams driver.

to put it lightly, you spent the following hours sobbing in your motorhome, the guilt filling you to the brim, pouring out as the tears splattered all over your pillow. 

alex was the first one to offer solace, reaching out hours after the monaco grand prix. 

when you didn’t answer the phone after about sixty-seven calls, he showed up, flowers and snacks in hand, a mix of emotions painted across his features. 

yet, the second he noticed the tears, he set the items down at the door, scooping you up in his arms, rubbing your back as the sobs rang out, filling the space with your wails. 

“are you okay?”

“d-does it look i’m okay?”

“can i come in?” 

“if you even want to talk to me right now. the entire world hates me.”

“even if the world hates you, i love you. let me in.”

so, you allowed him in, your walls crumbling completely as you started from the very beginning, recalling every possible detail. you began with bahrain, filling in the spaces through monaco, including the spat with daniel, as well as your time in brackley. at first, alex was stone-faced, taking it all in. however, once you were finished, wiping away your tears once again, he leaned over the couch, offering you a tissue. 

“you’ve been wiping away your own tears the last few hours. let someone else do it for you this time.”

the only aspect you did not include was the offer to sign with mercedes. as much as you wanted to tell someone, to get that crushing weight off your chest, you knew you couldn’t. that was far too risky. well, not like there were many risks left. your biggest secret had been spilled to the entire world, no thanks to you. 

so much for keeping things between the two of you. 

as much as you wanted to believe that the other drivers despised you after monaco, that was far from the truth. 

lando, charles, lewis, george, and oscar had reached out, mostly voicing their support. lando was shocked, but he was more concerned about your well-being. same with oscar and charles. 

lewis and george on the other hand, had somehow gotten ahold of your number, leaving a series of voicemails. 

hey, hey, hey. it’s lewis. george and i want to come over and talk for a little bit, if that’s okay? i promise we just want to comfort you. toto is not doing too well either. if you want, we can sneak him over here somehow. it may be kind of hard, but we’ll try our best to make it happen. 

hello, it’s george. we know that you’re really in the chatting mood right now, but we want to come over and bring toto. we know you need him. we would just make sure that no one comes by or bothers the two of you. just let us know what’s the best option. i hope you’re okay. 

however, you never called the british drivers back. 

it wasn’t like you didn’t want them to bring toto or comfort you, it was just the matter at hand. 

they didn’t deserve to be whisked into this. 

and fuck, they sure as hell did not deserve any negative press if they were spotted around your motorhome or speaking with you.

sure, you were really fucking scared of was what to follow in terms of your future career following the kiss of monaco, but you were more apprehensive of the press. the fia was vicious at times, but nowhere near as ruthless as the headlines, articles, and videos the press created. if the fia was a storm, the press was a hurricane.

and sure enough, it seemed as if the media was never going to let this go. even though the entire grid was prepping for canada, here the press was, pestering you for comments or tidbits on your little “affair” with the team principal. they nearly salivated over it, the slightest morsel or crumb of information dramatized into a lengthy article or used for clickbait, generating thousands upon thousands of views. 

you were called a slut. you were called a whore. you were referred to as a homewrecker. it was stated over and over again that you should never set foot in a garage or sit behind the wheel of a car ever again. 

this is why women should not be in formula one. they fuck everyone and everything in sight. even married men. 

god, what a fucking slimy slut. fucking a married man? breaking up a family? the fia should ban her from competing for the foreseeable future. 

yet, the general public was unaware of one crucial piece of information. 

toto wolff was a single man. 

a very single man. 

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“i cannot believe you. i cannot fucking believe you.”

toto wolff sat in his office chair as a figure paced back and forth, shaking her head, her tone laced with a venomous barb. 

before him stood susie wolff, her neatly cut hair bobbing as she moved, “toto, you have fucked up before, and i have happily stood behind you, supporting you with everything i have. but this? oh my god. oh my fucking god. this is absolutely atrocious.”

yet, the team principal’s mind was focused on other matters. 

his mind wandered, relishing the way your plush lips felt in that moment in monaco. the way your arms were around his neck, pulling him closer and closer to you as your mouths molded together, his tongue slipping in as your head rolled back, granting him more access. the way your beautiful lashes fluttered. the way you marched up to him, determination deeply embedded across your gorgeous face. the way the entire world around slowed, the team principal completely lost in you as the cameras recorded, taking in every second of the kiss. 

fuck, he missed you. 

too much. 

so much that he took every blow from susie’s frustration with ease, still as a statue as she continued on, the words drowning in his ears. 

“are you even fucking listening to me right now?” the question snaps him out of his trance, the team principal blinking.

“sure.”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” she growls, pointing a finger at him, “do you have any idea how much this has diminished our reputation? our marriage?”

“what marriage? we’ve been divorced for some time, susie.”

“the marriage we’ve been putting on for the cameras!” the blonde exhales, bringing a hand to her temple, “we’re supposed to be happily married, toto. or was that something that slipped your mind as you were fucking that little american driver? in our home, nonetheless.”

at the sheer spite in her tone, the team principal’s jaw clenches, “you have no idea what you’re talking–”

“i know you toto,” fingers massage her temple, “it’s pretty obvious that you’re screwing her. if you weren’t, you would have dropped her like a fucking hat the moment she pulled that little stunt in monaco.” 

since monaco, the days blurred together. 

how was he supposed to rebuild his broken reputation, his shattered world when you were thirty-nine miles away? 

well, not like there was much to repair. 

after the incident, the team principal was thoroughly investigated by mercedes, as well as the fia. he answered every single one of their questions with his full capabilities, ensuring to include every detail that would grant him some grace. well, there were a few things he left out. 

one, your visit to brackley. 

two, the numerous conversations involving his offer to sign you with mercedes. 

three, the fact that you were joining him at mercedes for the 2025 season, driving alongside george russell. 

there were no recorded conversations, messages, or evidence proving that he was planning to sign you. so, there were no repercussions. the only incident found was the time he spoke with james, inquiring about the details of your current contract. 

sure, toto was a little careless when it came to keeping things private. 

but he was not an idiot. 

he was not going to lose his job over this, that was for sure. if the fia was to discover about his offer to make you a world champion at mercedes, he would be terminated immediately. so, that part was to remain in the dark. 

at least, for the time being. 

after speaking with the board members of williams racing, mercedes made it very clear that if there were to be talks of signing the american driver, or even hints of wanting her to join the team, then it needed to be officiated among both teams, in a space where the conversation could be recorded. there were to be no special perks, exceptions, or favoritism towards the driver. each and every aspect of a future contract would be detailed in a manner to ensure fairness and equality. 

additionally, since this was one of the first few times that a team principal was involved in a romantic relationship with a driver, there were not a lot of rules or regulations regarding the subject. the fia made it clear that they truly had no direction or idea of how to go about the matter. and since it was not a prominent issue in the world of racing, they were going to leave it up to the teams to deal with the matter. 

thank god for the gray areas. 

yet, there were repercussions. consequences of his actions. 

and one of those repercussions was standing before him, her eyes narrowed, her brows knit together, foot tapping against the floor.

“toto, just tell me this one thing.”

“and that is?” toto presses, leaning back in his chair. 

susie inhales a sharp breath, her fiery gaze breaking away from the team principal as she stares at the floor, eyes glossy from the promise of tears. 

“are you in love with her?”

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as always, if i forgot to include you, or if you would like to be added, please let me know! i'll try to get you added asap! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all so much! <3

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They're Your Bodyguards (Royalty x Knight AU Part #2)

𖠁 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

❦ Based off this hc I had written a while back

Price

He upholds his noble promises, he wouldn't ever dare to wander too close into your life

With every string tugging at his heart, he restrains the overwhelming feelings, he remembers the oaths he's made

To keep in this way was dancing death's waltz

Oh, but your soft silhouette blending in the foliage with the aura of golden sun was refreshing like morning dew, how is it possible for the human heart to long for something it has never had? We dream of a haven, but is there hardly one on this earth?

He longs to have what is restricted, maybe what has been out of reach has always appealed to us, since children we want what is above us, as young people we crave what makes us feel alive, and in our limited existence we continue to search for it

It was all forsaken; what was left unsaid, the silent sentiment, the shared glances that were neither given nor taken, for nothing was accidental nor hidden between the both of you... only guarded

Ghost

Here is another fool, one who thinks love is a controlled emotion, have pity on him!

The only salvation he can be found guilty of on base of selfishness is imagining you imagining him, secretly he loses himself in fantasies of a future that can never be

He hath nothing but muted passion for you

And from the silence, is it possible to determine the outcome? It does nothing more but to hurt one's feelings, does the bearer more hurt than partaking in improper fantasies, for it is all in vain and a reaching for and grasping at the wind

In the end the happiest fool is miserable, the most disciplined king conquers nothing, and the bravest knight afraid of battle

What pain for nothing!

Soap

Not a word from your lips heard, not a touch felt nor a sensation given, but those eyes speak for the entire soul

This story doesn't have to be a tragedy, because no matter what it will never end the way everybody wants it to, "vivamus, moriendum est", but you'll let yourselves live blissfully

Nothing can stifle his silent joy, his merry face goes about all day desirous of crushing you with a million acts of affection

The mindless dialogue he recites, staring off into nothing as he finds your capricious eyes shining like a glow the lake flashes at the evening sun

He'll find beauty in your entire being and relate it to things because if one day, you find each other a long way off, the sentiment will remain and the earth will remember you and remind him

Gaz

What's forbidden only makes the temptation greater, hm?

With such yearning and softening of his eyes does he gaze at you, it's a feeling that's so heavy and present in the air it's impossible to ignore, an energy only igniting between you both

He's engulfed in dreams of what could be, but surely it's not all just a figment of his imagination, to a certain point you mirror his thoughts

The emotions that won't stop growing rise to the surface and threaten to breakthrough, ruining his discipline, yet are always present and showing through every act and small interaction with you

The brushing against one another, the whispers that want to turn into screams, the heart begging to be let out

Roach

It had been dawning on him, a premonition of sorts in the air since he started serving your family, as if it was destined to happen

Now as he gazes up at you from his head lying on your lap, your bodies hidden from view by the tall hedges and vines in the garden, he almost melts at the sight of you

Even if the weather isn't favorable, you walk hand in hand, free of worries for an evening or night, it feels as if the sky could be never-changing and the circumstance always right

And as he reflects back on this years later, he remembers it fondly, though now gone and far away from one another, he gathers these memories and wonders if there was no ending to it, would you two have kept laughing innocently?

He would let your name slip from his lips one last time as if calling you softly into the fading sunlight

Alejandro

Every time you cross paths after meeting and loving in secret it is like the morning after a heavy torrent of rain, you cannot hide the smiles breaking out onto your faces, nor the fidgeting of hands wanting to embrace each other

An impulse so strong that it can barely be contained when he gazes deep within your cherub eyes, your lashes fluttering as the shimmering sunlight reflects on water, this scene all too perfect

Curiously, he will gaze at you and construct the most beautiful verses he seriously believes he would have made a great poet

You're everything he's held dear, not only does he love tenderly but deeply, you hit every feeling spot within him unveiling a new world

Rudy

Oh, but he's so respectful, so contained, so true to his word, until he finds himself alone in your chambers, faced with an order he has the right to deny or be a little selfish

For once he is given choice and it is difficult to remember his priorities

How could he deny? When you're murmuring so softly, and you're welcoming him so well, making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter even if it's a false feeling only for a little while

He'll cherish that moment for a lifetime, because for once he's known what heaven feels like, smiling easier and more often

His mind drifting back to you, you're unforgettable, not just a fleeting moment but an experience

Phillip Graves

He looks curiously at what is before him; the kingdom's precious flower, and as he gazes he becomes entranced in a thread that with time will become too hard to be undone by a single pull

It starts out as a foolish act but soon grows into much more, but was he ready for what came with it? The yearning, the sensitivity and vulnerability he was exposing himself to?

With every look that gained new meaning and lost their playfulness, you became all too attached and duty no longer was first

Perhaps this was the beginning of your descent, your spiraling into doom and recklessness, crumbling and giving in to your heart who beats so wildly only once in this ephemeral sentiment

Makarov

The repetitive phrase that leaves your lips every time, "we can't do this" or "we shouldn't", always the regret setting in after saying you've let go

And frankly, he doesn't care nor does he care whether you completely let go of it or not, it'll be your stone to carry, not his

Just feel the pull between you, focus on the fact that you're in his arms right now, your royal attire loosely around your shoulders and your worries and responsibilities should be a mile off by now

Concentrate on what you feel, he's trying to remind you, there is nothing selfish in enjoying the sensations for a little while

Or is he trying to put his conscience at ease with these words he tells you? What a reflection of his soul they are, and what truth do they carry

Keegan

You find him deeply captivating and intriguing, you feel bad for having so much curiosity for him

In a room full of people and yet you always wonder if he's there among the crowd, and with so much noise in the world does he stop and listen for your voice?

So dreamlike were these short moments of delight it must've been a dream, you met only at midnight behind heavy velvet curtains that obscured all light

You could only feel with your fingertips and hear soft murmurs that you tried to memorize, you would later pray in your tucked corner of the room, whispering softly into your blankets that it was real

Someone felt for you and the memories had really happened

König

The brooding figure that wishes he had the privilege of learning about you without repercussions, without that nagging thought of it coming back to bite at him

To color in the blank spaces of unknown, wishing to reside in the intimacy of your heart and mind, to navigate what is familiar

The blossoming interest in you reflecting in his eyes, making you feel a strange sense of safety when with him, a calming feeling that you welcome too well when in his presence you find rare to recreate when alone

Not even castle walls could grant as much security as he could, they were old and empty, standing many years and guarding many families before you, it was only a false sense of security that had been handed down to you

But he, he was your own, your own to cherish and love for now and even if his love wasn't a family heirloom to pass down maybe that was fine, let yourself hold this selfishness close to your chest

Horangi

A gambling game he is playing, it's as if he has a thing for chasing after what is not secure nor certain, but that's what makes it appealing

He doesn't stick much to rules, if he does it's only for a short time until he finds his own way of doing things, he was never concerned with playing the game fair

So he's not hesitant nor does he shy from trying risky things with you, it's all a game to him

The momentum only increasing as the stakes rise and he finds himself almost tying his fate to you, wanting for once in his life a secure future he can be sure to have, to reach out for and receive

Nikto

The craving for something different and rattling came to you when you discovered his tarnished past

It was so different to what you knew, and maybe it was in that darkness and chaos that you found comfort, a world you wanted him to share with you, more intimate than any touch

More erotic and through-provoking were his shards of soul revealed to you than an affair, and his growing confusion at how easily he shared parts of him with you

A hidden memory arising from the depths of his mind, trying to show him how comforting it felt to be perceived for what you were, he wanted to indulge in it a little longer each time

He knew his desires and dreams wouldn't change a thing in his life, but this peace freed him from the chains that had been weighing heavy, he felt lighter and allowed himself to long for someone

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Chapter 10

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, somewhat proofread WC: 8.7k A/N: I debated breaking the chapter into another chapter but it would have left everyone frustrated lmaoo so this chapter is on the longer end!(although you won’t be any less frustrated anyways) Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

The Sylvancrest Prince had met all kinds of people during his travels, friendly merchants, citizens from neighboring realms, some questionable, but all in all, good people. Even back in the Eastern Sea nation, he was always greeted with warmth. Always garnered attention as the youngest of princes.

Yet, surprisingly, the fourth prince had never really had any true friends of his own.

His brothers had always had their own responsibilities, and although they doted on him, they never quite found the time to entertain him for long. Other kids his age played with him, but they always made him feel the heavy weight of the prince title he carried.

His guard, Seungmin, who was close to his age, was almost the exact opposite in personality.

Quiet, dutiful, and frigid. Although Hyunjin had managed to get Seungmin to crack here and there, even drawing out small moments of mischief and fun, there was always a line the guard never crossed. Much like those playmates of his.

And it was this Foreign princess, who made him understand, for the first time, what it meant to have something like a true friend. Someone to share cheerful banter, long conversations with. About all kinds of things that piqued their curiosity. Unbiased, free. 

Someone who focused on him, on whatever he rambled about, with an enthusiasm that matched his own. Similar rambles slipped from her lips, and her eyes radiated with the ambition to see the world, to learn more.

Even if they hadn’t known each other as long as they felt like they did, it was clear that the two were alike, that their friendship was something that was unguarded, comfortable. They had even promised to keep in touch after his return, exchanging letters filled with thoughts and discoveries, things he was certain she would enjoy reading.

He had never exchanged letters with a friend before, never received anything of the sort himself. The idea of it excited him, in a way he hadn’t expected. Prominent in his glowing expressions that expressed his feelings easily.

But after the events over the past few days, Hyunjin began to notice something different. His friend’s smile no longer reached her eyes. Her mind seemed elsewhere, her presence across from him, but her thoughts clearly distant.

Then he remembered the Elysium King’s offer. The ridiculous proposition he still couldn’t fully grasp. 

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on the second princess. She attempted to smile as she dismissed her “slight fever,” but the weariness in her expression was unmistakable. 

It was clear to him that she wasn’t happy here. Perhaps she never had been, and likely never would be.

In a kingdom where being the daughter of the king’s mistress, a lower-princess, earned you nothing but scorn, where arrows and bitter glances followed, true happiness was a distant dream for someone like her.

Hyunjin didn’t have any particular romantic feelings for his new friend, at least not yet. But he believed they could get along just fine. He believed he could make her happy. Perhaps she could join him in his travels, explore new lands, chasing that ambitious curiosity of hers through new experiences. The kind she’s only read about.

Hyunjin didn’t think he would propose such a thing today. To offer her an escape from this place. He knew well that a princess like her could only leave through marriage. If necessary, he would offer her that. 

He would marry her, if it meant she could have the freedom she deserved.

He would be a good friend. 

He was being good friend. But as the offer laid out bare, his words easily slipping through his lips, he caught the frantic twinge that flashed in her eyes.

A similar gaze he had seen just the day prior in someone else.

Someone who stood stoic, piercing gaze boring into his amidst the dense foliage of The Grand Forest.

Hyunjin sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he chuckled, the familiar sound breaking the tension that had settled in the air.

   “It’s too bad.” His words had come out casually, not even a hint disappointed, gaze never leaving her now, taken aback by his sudden shift. 

The Second Princess stared at him in wonder.

It seemed as though he’d rescinded his proposal just as quickly as he had offered it.

Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, relaxing against the cushion of his chair.

Princess Y/N opened her mouth, her next words lodged in her throat.

Did she acknowledge his roundabout proposal? Replying with an answer they both knew? 

Or perhaps apologize for rejecting him without even considering?

Instead, Y/N gave a slight smile, tilting her head as she spoke.

   “Do write to me about the lakes, Hyunjin.”

The informal words, the title-less address, made Hyunjin’s grin widen. Their friendship seemingly deepened with a simple rejection.

A comfortable silence settled between them. 

Princess Y/N reached over to place his novel back where she had taken it from. He sipped his tea, before suddenly placing it back down with a clatter, as if some idea just flashed through his mind. Already moving onto the next topic.

   “I might take a detour instead. Perhaps explore some more before my father tries to tie me down with responsibilities.” He groaned at the thought.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, confused. 

   “A detour?” She questioned with a repeat. 

Hyunjin nodded enthusiastically.

   “Yes, maybe head up North—I’ve only seen snow once as a child, what a fascinating sight it was.” He almost rambled, his eyes lighting up.

   “Snow?” Y/N’s eyes widened with its own excitement, her interest piqued. 

The idea of seeing something she had only read about in books sparked a new fascination. Trying to imagine the white expanse of the soft snow covered ground.

   “I’ve never seen snow. Is it really that cold?” Her words were laced with new curiousity, one that made the foreign prince chuckle as he shook his head.

   “I can tell you all about the Sylvancrest lakes Y/N, but I’m no expert on the Northern Snow. Maybe one day, you’ll visit that place instead.”

His words lingered between them, and Y/N’s smile faltered. Her gaze slowly drifted to the biscuits between them, her thoughts slipping back to the expert of the Northern Snow.

The White Mountains where he had been, were filled with snowy terrains. It must have been greuling.

He must have been cold. Must have fallen sick countless times.

Her heart ached suddenly, and she couldn’t help but curse herself for so many of her wrong choices.

But Y/N knew she was going to continue to make these wrong choices.

Continue to push away the Crown Prince of Nightshade.

A love so tragic she would rather keep him in the dark than let him be kept away from her.

And as Y/N stood on her balcony that evening, staring out into the dark night, she couldn’t help but be drawn back to thoughts about Chan, couldn’t help but think about him again.

It was always like this.

Where once she would gleefully read her love stories, picturing a mysterious man, someone handsome, someone who was madly in love with her. Someone who was her Chan. 

Now as she pictured him, handsome, perhaps in love with her.

She couldn’t be giddy. Couldn’t let those emotions that made her cheeks twinge with pink and red, her skin burn with heat, warm and fuzzy, take over.

Chan was no longer hers.

Chan had a face. A handsome man, grown into all the things Y/N had once fantasized. Chan was real.

To the touch, to the kiss.

But Chan wasn’t hers. Chan was the Crown Prince. 

Prince Christopher, who loved the girl that had once saved him, because he must.

And even if deep down she knew it was pathetic to draw such a conclusion, she decided it was true. For her own sake.

Y/N had dwelled on it. Her mind spun with thoughts that never seemed to settle.

Thinking. Deciding. Doubting.

Over and over again.

She thought back to when she had lied to him. The hidden truth, nothing near a little white lie she had tried so hard to convince herself it was. Aware deep down that it was a cruel one. 

That her denial of being that princess that once saved an enemy prince, befriended, made promises, was the right thing to do.

The lie that had taken life from her lack of confidence, her self-doubts, snowballed into something she couldn’t control.

Then, it hit her. A realization that should have come to her long ago. One that lingered deep in her chest, spilling out with every encounter. A realization waiting to be made.

Her heart clenched painfully as she finally made a clear-headed decision, as the weight of it all sank in. 

Y/N didn’t deserve any of it.

His friendship. His loyalty. His lingering gazes, dimpled smiles.

His love.

She had trampled on his hopes. Her lies twisted so deeply, that she was certain he would hate her once he found out. 

The truth of how she had toyed with his heart. How she was going to continue to hurt him. He should hate her.

It was the right decision. She had to believe it. 

The fairytale stories she had once dreamed of belonged in novels, not in her life. They were things she should never have expected, let alone hoped for.

Could she really have expected anything else?

He was the Crown Prince of an enemy nation. One her family was preparing to assassinate. To go to battle against. Starting a war that they would perhaps lose.

Maybe she would perish along. 

Y/N thought back. Thought of Chan. 

Chan who wasn’t hers. Who belonged to his nation, his title, his crown.

Prince Christopher who belonged to his people.

Their friendship had been doomed from the moment she’d pulled him from that river, from the moment she had wandered back into the forest the day after.

Tears slid easily down her face, pooling at her jaw as she stared into the dark, moonlit night. She struggled to convince herself that this decision, this painful separation, was the right one.

He should return. But he should never know the truth. He should believe that Sienna wasn’t the one he should love. 

That the princess he sought, no longer existed. 

He’ll be hurt, he'll suffer a bit. Saying goodbye to a promise that he failed to keep, a reunion that would never happen. 

But he’ll be fine.

There was going to be nothing tying him to back Elysium. Nothing tying him to her. 

He would protect his nation, his people, like he should as the Crown Prince.

And even if she perished somewhere along the way, his thoughts won’t dwell on it.

His heart shouldn’t ache, he shouldn’t be in pain.

The sobs were impossible to control, her face contorting as she cried, palms pressing against her lips to muffle the sounds.

She longed to see him. To hold him, just one last time before she let him go forever. But she knew she couldn’t. If she did, the resolve she had fought so hard to build would shatter in an instant. 

All Y/N wanted, all she needed, was for him to return.

Safely. And she would make sure that happened.

────────────────────────

The preparations for Elysium’s Royal wedding had begun. 

The Crown Prince of the nation was finally to wed his fiancee. A daughter of a powerful noble. The eldest daughter of a Duke, one that had been picked out ever since they were children. 

The banquets, the dinners, the revelry that had started off these celebrations had all been leading up to this union and the ceremonies that followed. One that seemed to be dragging on for weeks, and finally the end was nearing.

It was supposedly a grand occasion, one which the whole kingdom was to look forward to. 

But as Y/N made her way through the town square, her well-kept appearance and the knight who trailed closely behind her made her rank clear. 

A high-society noble, perhaps even royalty. 

And with that, she immediately caught the wary glances of the townspeople. It had been months since she’d been allowed to walk freely through the market, and though her lavish appearance had attracted attention before, this time it was different. The locals seemed to regard her with a quiet…distaste, as if her presence here was an unwelcome reminder of something they resented.

Just as Anna had mentioned, Princess Y/N was witnessing it firsthand. The disdain the people held for the nobles and the royal family was evident in every glance they shot her way. It seemed to grow stronger with each passing day the King failed to address the suffering caused by the Fading Ill and the misfortunes that had befallen the poor. The weight of these frustrations was clear in the eyes that peered over in her direction.

She couldn’t blame them. 

The slum dwellers, the poor. The lower class, and the everyday merchants. They were fed up with a King who seemed to care only for the upperclass. The celebrations felt drawn out, flaunting wealth while the people suffered. The cold season was approaching, and the Fading Ill disease continued to spread, yet the King had done nothing. 

No words of comfort, no aid sent to those in need. No search for a cure.

From the outside the kingdom seemed to be harmonious, coming together to celebrate the royal union. Yet, the contrast between the royal festivities and the people’s struggles was impossible to ignore once you got a closer look.

Y/N had ravaged the Nightshade Books she could find on sickness, cures, poisons, that the Elysium library carried, yet still there wasn’t much she could find. Perhaps, if she could slip into a herbal shop or medical tent, she might learn more about this sickness from someone who had treated patients firsthand.

The Second Princess watched the dressmaker, giving orders to her seamstresses to pack the fabrics that had been pre-approved months ago. She glanced around at the maids who accompanied her, each carrying boxes of trinkets and accessories the future Princess consort had also chosen, now ready for pickup.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with her own rings. Her eyes traced the intricate fabric of the dress she wore. Symbols of the wealth and high status the townspeople likely saw her as. But in that moment, she felt more like a well-dressed errand girl.

Perhaps the Queen Mother took some twisted pleasure in assigning Y/N these menial tasks. Maybe she relished the fury that coursed through Lady Katherine whenever the mistress learned of the discrimination, often taking it out on Y/N. As if the daughter had any choice but to bow her head and follow orders.

Their return from Melgarde had emboldened her mother, making Y/N wonder how the older woman would react once she lost this small sliver of importance, the fleeting power she would lose after Ian's wedding. 

Once everything returned to its original order. 

Once Y/N returned to being nothing but the forgotten princess.

But for now, she had been left to manage these kinds of responsibilities while Sienna entertained the new guests arriving as the wedding day approached.

She should have felt envious, felt that sting of injustice whenever she had to take on Sienna’s workload, when she was given such lowly tasks, handling duties a “princess” like herself should never have to do. 

Yet, oddly, she felt a sense of relief. 

The chaos of the preparations offered an escape from the ever-watchful gaze of Chan. His piercing stare, always following her whenever their paths crossed, hadn't gone unnoticed. Especially after the other night. The ghost of his lips working against hers, still tingled whenever she recalled it.

But she was too afraid to do anything more than offer a quick curtsy as she passed him, her expression hardening as she clung to that new mask she decided she would wear.

After the carriage was loaded with trunks filled with new dresses and jewelry, the long line of seamstresses, along with the head-dress maker, all gathered to bid her farewell. Their presence drew attention, but it was the Princess' knight who seemed to feel the weight of it. He glanced around warily, acutely aware of the tension in the air.

   “I shall visit a herbalist.” Y/N's sudden declaration caught the young knight off guard. 

His head snapped back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he quickly regained his composure.

   “But Princess—”

   “It won’t take long.” She muttered curtly, turning to dismiss the dressmaker and her entourage, urging them to return to their shop.

The knight’s attempt to intervene irked her more than she cared to admit. She had wandered through the town square countless times, unaccompanied except for a maid or two trailing behind her. 

Who was he to stop her now?

Suddenly, her thoughts flashed back to the other night. The night she returned after her… rendezvous with the Nightshade Prince. At least, that was how it had felt.

After recovering from her fever, Y/N had reflected on how easily she slipped back into her chambers, unnoticed. She remembered the knight. How he'd been slumped on the ground, clearly passed out. It was almost effortless for her to sneak in and out during the dead of night while he slept, yet he still had the audacity to claim he was guarding her.

The Second Princess had seen that glint in his eyes before. The same look she often received from the attendants and ladies-in-waiting at the Queen’s palace.

That condescending look. The gazes of being looked down upon.

Of course he would, he was one of the Queen’s people after all. Assigned to her back in Melgarde Estate by aides from the Queen’s palace themselves, when it was decided that she would play a role in this fake harmonious family picture the royals attempted to paint. Although, that had been smeared long ago with the whispers of the arrow incident that still lingered throughout palace grounds.

She felt the stares as she walked down the market path, the knight trudging silently behind her. People stepped aside as she drew near. Y/N should have felt offended by the clear disdain in their gazes as they glanced back at her, but she didn’t. She was used to such scornful looks. In fact, she found herself more curious than bothered. 

How far had the neglect from their ruler gone that they couldn't even tolerate the presence of a high-society lady among them?

Her gaze shifted to the small herbal shop ahead. Her eyes raked over the exterior before she turned to her knight.

   “Stand guard here. No need to follow inside.” She ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

Before the young knight could respond, she was already moving toward the door.

The medicinal scent of herbs filled the air, hitting her with a waft as soon as she entered, mixing with the faint hum of quiet voices.

The shop was small, its interior racked with shelves of dried plants, hanging shrubs, and jars filled with liquids. Behind the counter, was a curtained doorway, likely led to the herbalist’s backroom, where he concocted his remedies.

Some women lingered near the counter, their eyes instantly darting toward Y/N at the sight of her, their surprise evident on their faces. The Second Princess offered a quick, polite smile, bowing her head in greeting. The women exchanged a brief glance before returning the gesture. 

It was clear from their bewildered expressions that noblewomen rarely acknowledged people of their status.

Suddenly, the small curtain behind the counter was pulled back with a whoosh, and the herbalist appeared. He faltered mid-step as his gaze fell upon Y/N. A lady of high rank, no doubt. He cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses before addressing the two women.

   “—Apply this twice a day, and it should reduce the itch. Try not to get the infected area wet.” He instructed, in the midst of a diagnosis it seemed. 

After the women handed over their coins, they shared another cautious glance at the Princess before quickly exiting, leaving only Y/N and the herbalist. The older man, who seemed to also be the shopkeeper, settled his gaze on the out-of-place young lady.

   “How may I assist you, Miss.” He asked, his tone neutral.

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to approach her questions. She had no idea what symptoms were tied to the disease supposedly spreading in the slums, spreading into the outskirts of town. Instead, she glanced around the shop, her eyes darting over shelves, baskets of herbs, and jars of syrups. Her thoughts wander back to that one passage in the last Nightshade book she read.

   “What is a common poison?” The question was blurted out before she could think better of it, blinking back at the older man who was as stunned as she.

The herbalist’s gaze slowly narrowed as he scrutinized her. He took in her high rank once more before the Second Princess cleared her throat, taking a step closer toward the counter, standing straight as if to not appear nervous.

   “I-I’m writing a story.” She attempted to add.

It wasn’t the most believable excuse, but it was enough to make him sigh, his wary gaze softening slightly as he pieced together his own conclusions.

Noblewomen asking about poisons wasn’t unheard of. Some used them for beauty, others for darker purposes. Poisoning, murdering, common enough in the shadows of the world of nobility, especially during inheritance conflicts or out of jealousy.

And the shopkeeper had taken one glance at Y/N and easily assumed so. Although usually, he was dealing with their personal maids rather than the noblewomen themselves.

But who was he to judge? A humble herbal shop keeper who made big coins when dealing with such individuals, one who never wanted to get on the bad side of nobility.

It was unfortunate, but a young lady like her turning to poison wasn’t the most surprising thing he had encountered.

With a final shake of his head, he disappeared behind the curtain to the backroom. She watched, eyes laced with curiosity, fidgeting with her gloves. After a few moments, the herbalist returned, glasses pushed up again.

On the counter, he set down a vial containing what looked like a simple dried plant, a few dried berries. Perhaps even just a small stem, preserved in the thin glass tube.

   “It’s the most common, but a potent poison.” His words were curt, yet still made Y/N flinch, never really thinking about poisons, let alone seeing one.

   “Deadly Nightshade.” He continued, the name of it made her heart skip a beat, her gaze snapping up to meet his. 

However he seemed unphased, continuing to speak as if it was a script memorized. But still, the Princess noticed how his tone had dropped to something quieter, almost... cautious.

   “You can grind it to powder. You can cook it into food. Or ingest it just as. The berries, are the most toxic.” He whispered, lowering his voice even more.

Y/N only stared, her eyes blinking at the thing that looked like any common shrubbery she had seen.

The name of it instantly made her think of the Nightshade Kingdom, of the Nightshade Crown Prince. The man who drifted through her memories, his touches burning on her skin like poison itself.

   “I-I’ll take it.” She found herself muttering, her fingers raking under her robed hood to pull out her pouch of coins.

   “—But you shall also tell me more about the Fading Ill sickness.” 

The pouch, fat and full, had clanked against the counter, making the shopkeeper blink almost bewildered anew, by both her question and her actions.

   “Fading Ill?” The repeated words fell through his lips as he eyed the pouch of coins.

   “It’s a spreading disease.” His obvious information made Y/N mentally groan almost, brows furrowing as she leaned in.

   “Of course I know that. What are the symptoms?” She pressed, forgetting all about her nervous fidgeting amidst her thirst for answers.

The herbalist fell silent for a speck of a moment before he let out a chuckle, head shaking.

   “Do you?” He raised a brow, watching as Y/N’s taken aback expression looked back at him.

   “The high-ranking nobles have stayed ignorant of the lower classes’ troubles.” He continued, the edge of cynicism in his voice. 

The older man reached for the pouch of coins, taking a glimpse inside to ensure the amount vaguely as he spoke.

   “The symptoms start pretty mild, like a common cold. But once it holds, there’s persistent fatigue, a faint but unsettling cough, and strange, fleeting visions.” He looked up to Y/N, watching the young noblewoman absorb his words.

   “There’s coughing of blood and the patient begins withering from the inside.”

The herbalist watched her eyes widen at the implications of death. Those unfortunate souls who couldn’t fight the illness, didn’t have the means to cure themselves, had simply begun fading away, succumbing to the disease. 

He sighed, his hand tapping against the wooden counter, signaling the end of these kinds of talk. The rhythmic sound pulled her back from her thoughts.

   “They’ve ignored the cries for help. The diseases that run rampant. It’s surprising to see a young noble lady asking questions about it.”

His words echoed everything Y/N had encountered. Whatever Anna had recounted, whatever she had seen and felt ever since she stepped into town.

   “You don’t intend to ingest this poison in attempts to cure the sickness do you?” The herbalist’s tone turned incredulous again, his eyes darting between the Princess and the vial.

She immediately shook her head, getting rid of his suspicions almost instantly.

   “Deadly Nightshade can be used as medicine for certain things, when concocted properly. But no one in Elysium knows enough about it, or the disease, to even attempt to make a cure. The people continue to suffer, while our ruler refuses to find said cure.” The shopkeeper muttered the latter part under his breath, moreso to himself as he secured the vial tightly, placing it in front of her to take. 

Then, as silence stretched on between them, he realized what he had said.

Words that questioned the royal family, the King. And he had spoken them in front of a high-ranking noblewoman. If she reported him—

   “I’ll overlook what you’ve dared to say.” Y/N said quickly, her voice cold as she gripped the vial and nodded toward him. 

   “But you’ll forget my purchase.”

Without sparing him another glance, she exited the shop. 

The Second Princess didn’t truly intend to purchase the vial of the poisonous shrub, but the weight of it in her grip was undeniable as she stood outside the herbal shop. The glass container felt heavy, almost suffocating against her chest, made worse by the constant presence of her guard. She clutched it close, hoping her anxiety wasn’t visible on her face.

Damn it.

It would be disastrous for a princess like herself to be seen with poison, and she regretted not picking up a simple scent pouch instead. But there was no turning back now.

Her knight trailed behind her as she walked with confidence, though the nervousness swirling inside her didn’t show. She was doing well. Really well, too.

The journey back was short, maybe felt even shorter than when they had left for town. Maintaining a facade that didn’t draw any suspicious glances her way, Y/N hid the vial under her robe.

The attendants and maids had rushed to unload the carriages, bustling with the trunks of fabrics and trinkets she had brought with her. Her knight’s attention was briefly diverted to the servants darting past him, giving Y/N a head start.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping her knight remained occupied by the attendants, his path blocked. 

She couldn’t afford for him to see her holding the vial. 

She couldn’t afford for anyone to see it. Unable to even fathom what sort of consequences would follow.

But, of course, that was bound to happen. With her head turning back to repeatedly glance over her shoulder, she didn’t notice the collision until it was too late.

Her body swayed as she instinctively reached out to steady herself by holding onto the person she had bumped into. Once grounded, her widening eyes met Prince Christopher’s equally stunned gaze. His grip on her forearm was firm, holding her up. An unexpectedly intimate position, though not as much as their last close encounter.

Chris’ gaze immediately flicked to her hand, noticing the vial she still gripped tightly. The vibrant color of the dried plant was unmistakable in her fingers. His brow furrowed with a frown, but before he could speak, Y/N recoiled, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she swiftly pulled her arm under the cover of her hood, hiding the tube.

   “Princess!” The knight had caught up, his stance instantaneously rigid as he positioned himself in front of her. 

His wary gaze swept over the Warrior Prince and his guard. One that made Han step forward, his own intense expression fixed on the young knight, silently sizing him up.

Y/N hadn’t even noticed Han until now, her focus had remained on Prince Christopher from the moment they collided. But now, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his gaze.

   “Let us head back.” She said, her tone shifting to one of authority, attempting to ease the tension that had settled between them. 

   “There’s much to do.” She glanced back at her knight, the one who had always been defensive around the Nightshade warriors, his Elysium training evident in his watchful eyes. 

The knight relaxed his stance, crossing his arms behind him as he nodded.

Y/N could sense Chris wanted to say something, maybe about the vial he had clearly seen, or about the strange way she had been avoiding him lately. But she wouldn’t allow him to speak. She dipped her head in a quick, dismissive farewell, cutting any potential conversation short.

The Nightshade warriors watched her retreating figure, and Chris felt a familiar annoyance bubble up inside him. The Second Princess was always so cautious, yet always seemed to be running from something. From someone. 

Running from him. 

   “Was that what I think it was?” Han’s voice broke through Chris’ frustrated thoughts, pulling his attention back to his friend. 

The Warrior Prince slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on Y/N's path.

   “It seemed so.” Chris muttered, his focus still on her.

Han groaned, irritation flashing across his face as he began to piece together the implications of what had just occurred. 

What did she plan to do with that poison? 

Perhaps they truly intended to lace it into his Prince’s tea. The mere thought made the guard clench his fists.

He glanced at Chris, who was still fixated on the direction Y/N had gone. Han knew his friend well enough to see the obsession in his gaze. 

Perhaps he would happily drink any poison-laced drink given to him by her.

────────────────────────

Felix stood rigid at the door, his eyes scanning the prominent figures gathered in King Bahng’s meeting room. The tension in the air was thick, a heaviness that even Commander Seo’s youngest son, Changbin, could sense. The Northern Warrior shot a quick, thoughtful glance toward the Solar Guard, his expression mirroring the uncertainty that hung over them all.

   “My King, we must take the first step.” Commander Seo urged once again, his voice firm, as he had done for the better part of the last hour.

Since the Commander’s arrival, he had brought his brigade of warriors, with Changbin at his side. Their presence underscored the gravity of the situation, the urgency palpable in their every move.

   “We can’t attack first, Commander.” Captain Elliot countered, his tone sharp, as he stood firmly by the King’s side.

It was the same debate, unfolding in a weary loop. The Nightshade Commander had been urging for immediate action, while the King’s Solar Captain insisted on holding back, waiting for the situation to escalate just enough to justify their move. 

The King sighed, his gaze shifting toward Felix, who had entered the room not long ago, clearly waiting for his chance to speak.

   “Do you have something to report?” The King’s voice cut through the tension that hung thick between the Solar Captain and the Commander.

Felix cleared his throat, stepping further into the room, the weight of the moment settling on him.

   “The Prince’s Midnight band have received a sign from their leader. It’s been two days, but once the path cleared, they were able to identify the markings on the tallest tree.”

Silence fell over the room, every eye turning toward Felix, waiting for him to elaborate.

   “What was the sign?” King Bahng’s voice bellowed, deep and authoritative.

   “A circle. Eight tallies.”

The moment the words left Felix’s lips, the Commander’s expression darkened. His brows furrowed in immediate understanding, his displeasure clear as he processed the implications of the message. He let out a “tsk” of frustration.

   “We’ve received the Crown Prince’s orders.” King Bahng continued, his voice firm and steady. 

   “Remain defensive. Encircle the border with as many stealth warriors as possible. We’ve already lost two days.” He pointed toward Elliot before turning his gaze to Commander Seo.

   “We have five days, Seo. Are your warriors prepared for war?” The King asked, his sharp eyes fixed on the scar-littered face of the Commander, who responded with a smug smile.

   “Prepared? Of course. We Seos have always been the backbone of the Kingdom’s strongest army. We just await your orders, my King. Surely, we could get a head start and eliminate the enemy royals before—”

   “We cannot jeopardize the safety of Nightshade’s Crown Prince, Seo.” King Bahng interjected, cutting him off with a steely look.

   “War is not about bloodshed, as you well know. It’s about protecting our people. And right now, we have our people in enemy territory.”

The Commander lowered his head, inhaling deeply, finally relenting.

   “Yes, Your Majesty.”

────────────────────────

The Second Princess of Elysium stared at the vial of Nightshade poison on her desk, her mind a storm of thoughts.

It was a small thing, but its presence filled her with an unsettling weight. The plant had once gleamed a vivid green in the light of day, but now, under the dim glow of her bedroom, it seemed darker than ever. The two shriveled black berries rolled slowly within the vial, one having fallen off the stem during her journey back to the privacy of her chambers. Possibly when she had collided with the Warrior Prince.

She sighed, sinking deeper into her chair, her eyes still fixed on the deadly shrub she hadn’t intended to purchase in the first place.

After completing her tasks for the day, she had made up an excuse about needing to retire early, convincing Anna that she was simply exhausted when the young girl seemed concerned anew by her out-of-character actions. Though recently none of her actions seemed anything close to her usual behavior. 

But now she sat at her desk, the cold night air breezing through the crack of the balcony doors she had left open, in hopes the chill would ease the suffocating weight in her chest, and would calm the storm swirling in her mind. Overwhelmed by whatever she had learned today, by this vial in her possession.

She had jotted down notes, writing out symptoms of Fading Ill, scraps of information she could recall from the herbalist she’d spoken to that afternoon. 

His words had stuck with her. The ones about the poor suffering, while the royals celebrated. While she sat here enjoying the comforts of a cushioned life. Even if she was looked down on, it was nothing compared to what the slum dwellers were living in. It made her feel guilty, that same drive that had erupted within her the first time she had heard about this sickness, had returned with much more intensity. 

Her father was not going to do anything about it anytime soon it seemed.

At least not until after Ian’s wedding in a few days. 

Once again she thought back to the herbalist and his warnings about this poisonous plant, its uses.

To grind, to cook, to mix.

Her eyes widened as a thought struck her.

   “A poison that could also be used as a medicine…” She whispered to herself.

The Deadly Nightshade, a common poison, yet no one in Elysium knew much of its uses beyond death. 

Ironically, the Kingdom known for its herbalism and medical advancements, named after this very poison.

Y/N chewed her bottom lip, torn between curiosity and frustration. If only there were books on such things in the palace, instead of the endless shelves of useless histories and ceremonial records.

If only she could run to Chan about this. 

The Nightshade Prince would know far more about poisons than she ever could, she was sure of it.

   “Have you finally decided to poison someone?”

The deep voice shattered the silence of her bedchamber, making Y/N jump, a startled scream slipping from her lips as she whipped her head around to find the Nightshade Prince standing in the room, having entered through the same small crack in the door she had left open.

It seemed as if he too was thinking about her.

About whatever he had seen this afternoon. 

Her gaze snapped toward the grand doors at the far side of the room, where her knight stood guard. The knight who surely would have heard her scream.

Yet, there was no movement. No rush of footsteps. No knight bursting in to protect his princess from a potential threat.

   “He’s not here.” Chris finally spoke, and Y/N’s eyes flicked back to him. 

He was leaning casually against the balcony door, his gaze briefly scanning the glass tube of the toxic shrub on her desk before settling on her stunned expression.

   “I thought I would have had to render him unconscious once more…” He continued with a touch of disdain, his eyes narrowing. 

   “But it seems your knight had other plans. Not worthy of being called a knight.” The anger in his words was unmistakable.

Y/N took in his words, processing everything. Finally understanding that the other night, her slumped over guard had in fact not been in a deep slumber out in the corridors.

Yet as her eyes settled on him, she could only stare at his intense gaze that traced over her, suddenly making her stiffen. 

She watched him look back at her desk, at the plant he definitely recognized at just a mere glimpse. At least she had been right about him knowing much about such poisonous plants.

   “I purchased it out of mere curiosity.” She finally answered his question, composing herself after her initial shock.

He tilted his head, brows raising as he took in her lame excuse. 

   “Purchasing a poison out of curiosity…that’s a first.” He seemed amused slightly.

Then his eyes narrowed, staring into hers.

   “Do you intend to poison me?” His question lingered in the air.

One that made sense. The foreign prince had been guarded ever since his arrival, and seemed even more so after learning certain things it seemed.

Still, the question left her frowning, a sense of unease settling over her.

   “You’re a Nightshade healer aren’t you? Surely you must have certain levels of immunity to such poisons.” It was a guess, something that seemed to be true with the way his expression morphed, slightly impressed, but he didn't answer.

Possibly still guarded, still wary. She was a princess of Elysium after all.

An enemy princess. One who loved him, his presence here making her heart hammer against her chest.

   “What are you doing here Prince Christopher?” 

The air between the two of them had shifted almost instantly with her simple question, making the Warrior Prince stand straight, gulping back to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

He could have told her that he wanted to speak to her.

That he wanted to know more about what she meant the other night. Why did she have such a dangerous plant in her possession?

He could have asked why she was avoiding running into him, avoiding confrontation.

That he wanted to know more about why she knew of Sienna not being his childhood friend, one she supposedly didn’t know about.

Maybe it was another guess. Like she had just made about this poison. But he wanted to know.

He could have told her he missed her. 

There were so many thoughts that flitted through his mind, yet standing here, staring at her hardened expression he couldn’t utter any of them.

His silence seemed as frustrating to her as him, making the Second Princess drop her head as she sighed.

   “You too must take my rank lightly.”

Her statement bewildered him, his brows narrowing into a deep frown at the implications. Taking a step closer before faltering from his stuntedness. 

   “What nonsense—”

   “Then what else? You freely enter my bedroom as you please. Jeopardizing my reputation as a young maiden. Isn’t it because I’m the daughter of the King’s Mistress, because you think I’m lowly?”

The words had come out harshly, words that had pricked at her ever since her birthday banquet. Ever since he had laughed at the existence of the King’s illegitimate children.

She watched as his expression grew upset, her words poking him with slight anger. But Y/N continued, as if talking to him after what felt like forever, made her bare out all the things that he’s done to hurt her unintentionally, finally pouring out in her own harsh words.

   “Just because you’re a Crown Prince and honorary guest, does not mean you-you can disrespect me.” Her stern tone faltered with hurt, gaze dropping to the ground.

Chris inhaled deeply, finally understanding.

He had already learned long ago that the second princess who no one outside the King’s court knew the existence of, was in fact not a sheltered or guarded girl like the Nightshade Warriors had assumed. He’d long learned that she was looked down upon by the higher-ranked royals, by her own mother even. 

That she cried often, that she hurt often.

He had long felt protective over her even before truly understanding his feelings. 

Yet now he understood. Princess Y/N, who held her head high, deep down, was very insecure. 

The Nightshade Prince exhaled, taking another step into the bedroom.

   “I do not take you lightly, I could never take you lightly. Nor do I mean any disrespect.” Chris finally spoke, unsettling the silence that befell them, his words sincere.

   “I know it is rude of me to barge in here and risk your reputation, but I could not control myself—I…” Chris’ words faltered for a moment. “—I wanted to speak to you.”

He knew it was a stupid excuse. Such an insignificant reasoning for his damning presence here in the privacy of her bedroom. But it was nothing but the truth.

   “Speak to me…” She repeated, a small laugh, tinged with bitterness escaped her lips.

   “—And you thought sneaking into my palace was to do so?” She almost glared back at him.

Both her words and her expression slightly irked Christopher, as if she was purposefully trying to misunderstand him. Each sentence of hers, drawing out his frustrations.

   “You run from me the moment you catch a glimpse. How else am I supposed to speak to you?” His tone was almost incredulous. 

She wasn’t surprised he had noticed, she didn’t really attempt to hide it either. Hoping her distant behavior would make him look at her badly.

   “Why do you think I run Prince Christopher?” She spat, her voice sharp.

   “You said the other night ‘didn’t happen’, yet you’re the one who seems to be reliving it every time you see me. It shouldn’t have happened. At least not like that. But can you not lie to both of us and accept the fact that you had wanted it as much as I…” His tone had softened, his awaiting eyes, twinged with frustration, with desperation.

Reminding her of the same look he had given her in the rain. 

A look that makes her stiffen, her hands clutching at the fabric of her nightgown.

   “I did not want that kiss.” She answered, her words cold almost.

A coldness that spread into the air between them, making the foreign prince stare at her with a slight surprise.

Yet it didn’t last long. His gaze darkened, slightly upset.

   “But you did not stop. You pulled me closer. You kissed me back.” His tone was slightly defensive, slightly something else.

Hurt.

It was time it seemed. To hurt him further. To put up that act that she had convinced herself into, determined to make him lose all interest in her.

To make him hate her.

To keep him safe.

   “What do you want me to say?” She asked, the venom in her words flowing freely.

   “That it was amazing, that I was desperate to kiss you? Well, that would be a lie. I hated it. It disgusted me. T-to kiss you— “ Each word felt like a prick, dripping with disdain.

The Princess watched, her hands balling as tightly as they could against her sides, holding back the tears that threatened to betray her and fall easily. But she continued.

   “—You, who kissed me like some predator.”

Chris could only stare, eyes raking over her suddenly distant figure. Her harsh words stung, each one a sharp stab against his chest. 

But what hurt more, perhaps, was the gaze. 

Even through the disgust that flashed across her face, the gaze remained, piercing him with an honesty he couldn’t ignore. It was the same gaze he had learned to recognize, the one she wore when she lied. That subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her eyes.

It was the same gaze he had seen in the rainy garden, when she had pressed him to leave but couldn’t bring herself to let go. It spoke volumes in the silence between them.

Prince Christopher dropped his head, masking the hurt that flashed across his face with a small laugh, his eyes returning back to glare into hers, gaze sharp and intense.

   “A predator?” He repeated, his voice dropping low, a tone that has her flinching slightly, yet not enough for him to catch.

   “Aren’t you? Your presence here is proof of it. Like a nightly beast you are so proud to be compared to.”

She knew it was low of her to spew such utter nonsense, knowing they weren’t even close to her true thoughts.

Knowing well enough that they would hurt him. Perhaps enough for him to look at her with disgust-laced eyes, like she had been pretending to do so.

The Warrior Prince’s jaw tightened at her words. His eyes trailing over her tense form. Her arms that had slowly crossed over her chest almost defensively as he stared.

   “So you’re showing your true colors then?” He muttered bitterly,  watching her stay silent, her eyes refusing to meet his.

   “Are you saying you’re just like them all? The nobles, the royals of Elysium, who are afraid of us? Who looks down on us?” 

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with tension.

Y/N’s grip on her arms tightened as she struggled to control her emotions.

   “I am a Princess of Elysium—An enemy princess. And—” Her voice faltered, his sharp eyes boring into hers, making her inhale silently.

   “And you terrify me Prince Christopher.”

The lies spilled into the silence that settled, his brows relaxing as he took in her words, processing. His eyes darted between hers hoping to find that they were false. Yet that glint he had seen earlier lingered no more. 

And he realized that she had been telling the truth.

That she was scared of him.

His lingering gazes, his touches. His presence here all seemed to terrify her.

Allowing herself to fall for him like he had her, terrified her.

A heaviness settled over him.

He had left behind the tensions within Ruby Hall, the defensive stance he was suddenly in. He had left behind the anxious thoughts that coursed through him upon realizing that he didn’t have his childhood friend here. 

He had pushed it all back to sneak around here, to climb into her chambers like a true beast.

Like a true mad man, in attempts to get her to look him in the eye. So he could apologize for his actions that night. So he could speak to her.

To explain to her about the crystal bird.

To hold her.

To kiss the second princess who undeniably attracted him even if he resisted. Although a part of him had been aware that he had perhaps been drawn to her from the moment they had exchanged words.

Perhaps the moment she had caught him loitering outside the Queen’s corridors, her gaze piercing even behind the veil that covered her face. His curiosity piqued.

But here she was now. The walls she had built around herself were not easily torn down. Instead, suddenly revealing a side of her that she had supposedly hidden throughout his entire stay.

Chris doesn’t believe it. That the girl who had advised him to be confident about himself, his nation, asserting his power, in front of these Elysium nobles, now claimed it was all a farce.

The girl who opened his eyes to what he could now understand as true love. The one who had made him question his feelings for his childhood friend, someone he thought he loved in some way, only to realize it was her he had fallen for, now claimed he disgusted her.

That she was terrified of him.

Claimed that he was truly a beast of the night. Sneaking into her bedroom, into the garden that night to lay his filthy hands on her.

Her lips, her actions, her words scream “Hate me. Like I hate you.” But her gaze spoke of something else entirely.

A desperation perhaps? A flicker of something he had seen before, amidst the downpour. Amidst the turmoil that churned between them.

From the outside it would have made sense. They weren't close, let alone be anything near friends. 

He knew the way she interacted with Hyunjin, saw first-hand how she spoke with him. How friends with one another spoke. Her form relaxed, her lips thinned into soft smiles.

Her giggles. 

The sound of which he had heard once that afternoon with the gathering of royal children. Yet, that sound seemed to haunt him, flitting through his thoughts whenever they felt like it.

But now he could only stare, his intent gaze boring into her. Her chest heaving from her anger, her frustrations that seem to spill out so easily in front of only him.

   “Do you truly wish for me to hate you then?”

The words hung in the air, a heavy silence falling between them as they settled. He watched her eyes widen slightly as she processed them.

He wasn’t sure why he had asked.

Part of him hoped she would shake her head, saying “no.”

Part of him hoped she would embrace him, her arms tightening around him just as they had that night. Her lips pressing against his.

But she does none of that. Her form stiffened, gaze locking with his, unwavering.

   “I do.”

Prince Christopher inhaled sharply, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before he took a step back, his posture stiff, his movements almost courteous.

A grim silence fell between them before he finally spoke.

   “Very well, Second Princess Y/N.”

His tone was cold. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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[yoru-no-seiiki]

tagging @onyanjune and @h0ly-l3mb for giving me the idea/motivation to do this lol

link to original post here

tw/cw: MDNI or you WILL be blocked, DDDNE, (skip for spoilers) yandere! reader, mentioned non/dub con, mentioned filming of said non/dubcon.

yan! cool kid has two siblings, your upperclassman and underclassman respectively. and it hella irritates him how close you are to the two.

ofc yan! reader’s intentions have and will always be depraved yearning. they only befriended the pair for the sake of “getting close to the in-laws.” after all you wouldn’t be a good future spouse if you weren’t somewhat involved in the family side of things.

but your tunnel vision sort of . . . backfired.

“quite a bunch of lunches you’re packing.” he mumbled, raising his head from his arms after a thorough nap through class. he had already studied everything that subject had to offer and thoroughly memorized it thanks to his notes that were covered in photos of you.

“oh these? these aren’t just for me, silly.” you answered. he already knew what you were planning, and you already knew that he knew, but keeping this façade of normalcy was a game you two liked to play, “you haven’t been bringing food to school recently i’ve noticed. so i made some more to share.”

“just one?”

you blinked at him, confused. laughing after you realize where his eyes were focused on. you explain that the rest will be going to his siblings, since you thought it may be a household / financial problem.

soon after that you took off, trying your best to hide the giddy feeling in your body threatening to spill unto your facial expressions.

yan! cool kid stares at his brand new lunch and wonders if you also cut out heart shaped potato for their curries, planning out ways to torture yan! loser later

yan! loser who’s yan! cool kid’s younger brother. they look so different, their demeanors even further apart. the only way you knew they were related was cause you stalked the latter on his way back home and almost killed the former before you found out.

you dropped by his class with a smile. his classmates staring at you with wide eyes as those in higher levels rarely ever go to this section of school.

“i hope you don’t mind, but i made lunch for you. is that okay?”

“is ThaT okAy?” he parroted back at you, his voice cracking, nerves on edge at all the people staring at the situation. he was going to eat lunch alone in the bathroom again like always but was occupied with erasing the marks left by his bullies on the table.

you laugh at his response, and set the lunch you prepared on his table.

you stare blankly at the brutal remarks written across. silently you walked outside before coming back with a spare table. you frown as the food you left remained untouched.

“you should eat first. lunch won’t last forever.”

you pat the poor boy’s back and left.

one last delivery til you were done.

you breathed in, knocking the door to the student council’s room. “mr. president, it’s me.”

“come in.”

yan! school president doesn’t even raise his head to look at you. his focus remaining on the papers in his hand and table. “leave the lunchbox there.” the bespectacled man points to your table in the room.

you set it down obediently and walked out. at least, you tried to until he stops you. “before you go, tell me why i shouldn’t report your actions to the faculty.”

you don’t turn around from the door, but still you answer, “hm, actions?”

“you, using school funds to pay for my youngest brother’s harassment.”

“…mmm…” you turned around, placing a hand on your chin in feigned deep thought “because . . . you love love love me?”

yan! president sighed. you hear paper shredding.

“you may go.”

you giggled. stepping outside of the stuffy room to go finally see your beloved again in class.

you put a hand in your pocket and fished out your phone. briefly smiling at the home screen wallpaper of yan! cool kid and quickly tapping out the password.

you then delete the video of yan! president tying you up as his unclothed hips slammed into yours. your skin covered in bites and slap marks all over. your eyes converging fear as tears fell and your mouth was gagged and unable to voice the feeling. the once prim and proper man man groaning in ecstasy and yelling words of degradation as he defiled you.

but you could only cringed at the words “i love you.” escaping his lips.

“a little reward for mercy i suppose.”

you stuff your phone back into your pocket. wondering if you should also warn him about the laxatives.

[pawpiefawn]

𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x gn!reader 1.1k words alhaitham cooks you a dish from his childhood.

in the apartment you shared with alhaitham, there was no explosive rage or hurtful yelling – there were no plates thrown or doors slammed or chairs hurled against walls that had seen more than they should have.

no, home was quiet and healing. it was ivy-crawled bricks, breezy curtains and ambient lighting that was a testimony to the soft-lipped love he spoke to you, words he learnt passed down from his gentle grandmother.

alhaitham would keep you safe; he promised himself the moment his eyes met yours.

love was gently knocking on the door to tell you that dinner's ready. love did not rage or come home angry – it did not yell at you over something trivial. love was patient and whole and kind. home was love, love forgave and repented and knelt to ask for forgiveness; love forgave, without a second thought, because love was home.

home was love, alhaitham was home, alhaitham was love.

between you and love, you usually cooked – it wasn’t that alhaitham didn’t want to cook, or that he couldn’t; well . . you were just better. better in the sense that dinner’s vegetables just seemed to slice and arrange themselves neatly in obedience to the ruler of the kitchen. somehow, you measuring seasoning with your tender heart always made it taste better despite his countless accurate measurements.

cooking in the kitchen was also where love was found.

it was in the sweet, soft light that entered through your kitchen window, perfect rays broken up through the trees outside – and of course, it was found in alhaitham; his built frame leaning against the kitchen countertop, admiring you and feeling a slight twinge of envy at your proficiency in the kitchen. dishes were cooked with ease and you just had so much fun, twirling around with your wooden spatula. you gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before turning back to stir your pot of stew.

“ah, it’s going to burn–”

“don’t be silly, it’ll be fine!” the only thing he felt in the kitchen, with you at its helm, was happiness.

perhaps he could try once again? perhaps he could– no, he would. he would make some of that happiness with his own hands, laden into porcelain bowls to share with you.

the next time alhaitham walked into the kitchen, it was with aching arms heavy with brown bags chockfull of dinner ingredients. vibrant padisarah petals, marbled chunks of beef, plastic bags filled to the brim with rice grains and aromatic spices that left its mark on your kitchen. he knew exactly what he wanted to share with you tonight.

“you’re cooking?” he hears your footsteps as you bound into the kitchen, pattering against the cool marble excitedly.

“yes, i am. dinner should be ready in a few hours.” alhaitham lets a faint smile grace his features. you wrap your arms tenderly around his waist, burying your face into his back. he couldn’t see your sweet grin this way, but that was alright. your joy practically radiated off your warm frame.

“thanks for cooking tonight.”

he lets his hands work their magic – some sort of magic he still faintly believed in. it had been some time since he cooked something like this, after all; and much less a dish he last tasted in his last remnants of childhood.

in went the beautiful cuts of meat, sizzling over hot oil, browned then mixed with all the nostalgic spices his tastebuds yearned to remember. fresh limes, red tomatoes, sweet onions, everything tasty and good were then added to the mix. white pearly grains of rice were cooked and added to the pot.

almost done, now.

all that was left was to wait for everything to meld in perfect harmony. alhaitham found himself staring at his work. the rice was a blank canvas for the myriad of spices, with familiar love and nostalgia that this dish brought together in a pot. empty dishes and cutting boards stained with effort littered the kitchen counter, and he sighed in fervent exhaustion just at the thought of cleaning up.

“oh! don’t worry about the dishes tonight, i’ve got them~” you chirped eagerly, tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of whatever was making your kitchen smell absolutely heavenly.

“you’re sure?” alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “i can do it, it’s not a problem.”

“no, i’m sure – you put in so much work for tonight! think of it as a thank you!”

always so sweet, offering to lend a hand no matter how tiresome or bothersome it was. did you know how much of an angel you were? alhaitham lets another smile slip past his weary face. thank you.

he hears the timer ding! and immediately turns to the stove, his masterful work steaming and ready – it looked incredible. warm gravy coated every grain, beef chunks tender and pulling apart at the force of a dinner fork. it smelt incredible. it was warm, spicy, fragrant with every hint of nostalgia he added.

it smelt like home.

kind, inviting, warm, hopeful, home.

“it’s done!” alhaitham lets out a quiet laugh as you wrap your hands around his waist again, peeking at the food hungrily.

“it smells so good.”

“this one’s for you.” he nods, setting down your bowl after ladling steaming hot biryani into it. he finishes it off with a few padisarah petals, turning the bowl towards you.

“alright, chef. you wanna introduce your dish?” you tease, giggling softly and pushing some rice aside to reveal the chunks of spiced beef. you spoon a portion of the biryani into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully and savouring every bit of effort he put into tonight’s dinner.

“well, i wanted you to try something i grew up eating. my grandmother made this for me in my childhood years.”

you hear your spoon clink against your bowl as you set it down to rest, staring at him.

“you made me something your grandmother used to make for you?” there is a slight quiver in your voice as you comprehend his sweet words.

this wasn’t just any dinner, then. it was a part of himself that he wished to share with you. it was young alhaitham seated at the dinner table, waiting for the food every night made by his loving grandmother. it was when three wooden chairs were swapped for two new ones, when only a good plate of homemade food could make him push aside any grief. it was his grandmother’s love in a dish –constant, reliable, and never failing to bring a hint of a wistful smile to his face.

“i did. i thought you would enjoy it.” alhaitham smiles, looking up from his bowl to see you wear a sombre, yet grateful expression; but there was no denying that you were enjoying it.

you were loving every bite, immensely – it tasted just a touch heavier on your tongue after he shared – and it was beautiful. nostalgia was the most powerful ingredient one could add, and time only told the truth – everything tasted better, when made with all the love and care and conscience in the world.

“thank you, alhaitham.”

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

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