#and the girl who started the same day as me is engaged to a woman

[girlscience]

so like is being the weird kid that didn't fit in ever going to go away or am I going to have to live like this forever?

[theostrophywife]

mattheo's mixtape.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: lovesong by the cure.

author's note: this idea has been in my head for so long, but now it's finally out. strap in babes, we're simping for mattheo on main. something about those pretty brown eyes and angelic little curls just get me. your honor, i adore him.

The bell outside the door to the record store chimed softly as the boys ventured inside. Mattheo peered curiously at the buzzing neon sign, the slightly scuffed black and white vinyl floor, and the racks and racks of records lining the walls. Though he hadn’t been to the muggle side of Edinburgh, it didn’t look all that different from its magical counterpart.

Yet Mattheo felt like a fish out of water all the same. 

Behind him, Theo continued rambling as they perused the vast collection of records laid out before them. “What songs have you picked out? Is there a theme? We’ll need to collect all the tapes for the cassette recorder and compile them all into a single tape.” 

The slew of questions Theo threw his way was enough to make him feel overwhelmed. Mattheo was well aware that he was completely out of his depth here, but he was determined to learn. Admittedly, he was quite ignorant of the muggle world until you came into his life. The more you told him about the queer customs and traditions of the non-magical population, the more he began to crave your stories of taking the tube, eating fish and chips until you were sick, and visiting Brighton with your cousins over the summer holiday. 

There was a whole world out there that you were a part of, which made him want to be part of it as well.

“You boys alright?” asked the kind woman behind the counter. "Would you like some help?"

Mattheo shied away from the attention, but as usual, Theo turned on his charm and flashed a winning smile at the older woman. “As a matter of fact, we do,” his friend drawled. “My mate here is looking to make a mixtape for his girlfriend.” 

The woman smiled warmly. “How sweet. I remember those days. There’s nothing quite as magical as first love,” she said with a dreamy, faraway expression. “I’d be happy to help. What songs did you have in mind?” 

After turning over his list, the woman, who turned out to be the owner of the record store, helped compile the cassettes Mattheo needed in order to make the mixtape. She patiently showed them how to record each track and slowed down the instructions so Mattheo could diligently write down notes. 

As Mattheo waited for the next track to record, he watched as Theo tried and failed to flirt with the older woman. 

“I’m flattered, dear. But I’m old enough to be your mum.” Mattheo snickered, causing his best friend to glare at him. 

“Age is nothing but a number, Annette.” 

“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ll find your match someday, Theodore. As I have in my husband, whom I’m happily married to.” She turned over to Mattheo and smiled. “He was my first love too.” 

Making small talk had never been Mattheo’s strong suit and you often teased him that engaging in polite conversation with a stranger every once in a while wouldn’t kill him. Without fail, he sarcastically responded that it genuinely might, which earned him an eye roll. A fond one, though. Followed by a lip bite as you attempted to conceal a smile. 

“How long have you been together?” Mattheo asked curiously. 

“Twenty years,” Annette answered proudly. “Though we were friends for ages before he finally mustered up the courage to ask me out.”

Theo snorted. “Sounds familiar.” 

Mattheo swatted the back of his head. “My girl and I started out as friends too. Best friends, actually.”

“Hey!” Theo whined. “I take offense to that. I’ve known you longer. Only difference is that you and Y/N snog, which I’m more than open to if you asked.” The wink he sent Mattheo's way made the other boy blanch.

“Sorry about him.” It was a sentiment he was quite familiar with when it came to Theo. The twat tended to flirt with anything that had a pulse. Come to think of it, he wouldn't put it past Theo to chat up a corpse. Merlin knows Mattheo had witnessed his friend trying out a pick up line on the Grey Lady. “So, your husband. When did you realize he was the one?” 

“There wasn’t a specific moment, per say,” Annette said thoughtfully. “It’s a culmination of our history together. Since we were friends for so long, Declan just knew me. He knew how I took my coffee and had it ready for me first thing in the morning. He knew that I hated driving in the snow and always offered to give me lift to work when it did. He knew that I had a soft spot for strays and never complained when I brought them home. Declan makes me feel safe. Like I could weather anything the world threw at me as long as he was by my side. I guess when you know, you know."  

Mattheo pondered her words. He couldn’t help but recall all the times that his life felt like a never ending shit storm, like it would swallow him whole and drown him from the weight of his troubles. Yet at the end of the day, he always knew that after the storm came the rainbow. That’s what you were for him. You colored his world so brightly that the dark seemed inconsequential compared to your light. 

“Y/N makes me feel like that too,” Mattheo declared. “She’s patient and kind. She’s the type of person that always sees the good in people. She saw it in me even when I couldn’t see it myself.” 

Behind him, Theo sniffled as he patted his shoulder. For all his jokes and sarcasm, his friend was actually a hopeless romantic deep down. “For Salazar’s sake, Mattheo. Don’t make me bawl like a baby in front of the pretty lady.” Theo wiped at the corner of his eyes rather dramatically. “If Y/N doesn’t marry you someday, then I will. I bet my legs would look amazing in a white dress.”

At that, Mattheo chuckled. He was suddenly glad that his best friend was more than willing to be dragged along in Mattheo’s endeavors to impress his girl. Salazar knew he never would've gotten this far without Theo's self-proclaimed expertise on all things muggle, thanks to his Advanced Muggle Studies class.

As they wrapped up, Mattheo thanked Annette for all her help. Theo promised to come back and winked over his shoulder as Mattheo gathered all of his supplies. The older woman smiled at him as they parted ways.

"Best of luck, Mattheo. Though I doubt you need it. Thank you for indulging an old woman. It was genuinely a pleasure to be able to help you today."

"No, thank you. Y/N is going to love it."

"Your girlfriend is a very lucky girl."

Mattheo shook his head. "I'm the lucky one. This is the least I could do to show her how much I..." he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "How much I care for her."

Care didn't seem like a strong enough word, but it was close. Mattheo wasn't sure he could fully verbalize the intensity of what he felt for you. You weren't just his girlfriend. You were his best friend, too. His confidante. His rock. You were everything to him.

“Remember what I told you. When you know, you know." She patted Mattheo's shoulder. "You talk about Y/N like I talk about my husband. It's clear that she's very special to you. Don't let go of that one."

Mattheo smiled to himself, his cheeks flushing. “I won't.” 

The midnight moon glowed above the Scottish Isles, enveloping the rocky shores of the Black Lake with a chilly breeze that made you shudder even underneath the comfort of your red and gold striped sweater. 

“Are you cold?” Mattheo asked softly, his voice echoing through the empty beach. 

Before you could respond, your boyfriend shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. With a shy smile, you thanked Mattheo and flushed as he took your hand in his. As you continued on your late night stroll, he cleared pebbles in your path to ensure that you didn’t trip over them on the way to the dock. 

It was the little things—the small gestures that Mattheo enacted on a daily basis that made you fall for him even more. Though the relationship was fairly new, the connection between you was undeniable. Perhaps because you started out as potions partners, which eventually blossomed into friendship and now you couldn’t even remember a time when he wasn’t part of your life. 

The two of you settled at the end of the dock and the rickety wood creaked underneath the weight, adjusting to its visitors as Mattheo cuddled you into his side. Warmth radiated off of him, heating you from the inside out with a pleasant flush. Mattheo chuckled as you shoved your cold hands underneath his sweater, curling his fingers around yours and warming you up like your own personal heater. 

“So, why did you want to come out here tonight?” you asked after a moment. 

As you peered up at him, the moonlight kissed your boyfriend’s features, illuminating the sharp edges of his jawline and cheekbones, curving down the slope of his nose and stopping right above his Cupid’s bow where his soft, plush lips curled into a shy smile as he blinked down at you. 

The flush on his cheeks was almost an exact match to the crimson scarf around your neck. He absentmindedly fidgeted with your fingers, his chocolate brown eyes flickering over your face nervously. Mattheo looked so shy and earnest, so unlike the bad boy persona that everyone else seemed to attribute to your boyfriend. 

“I made you something,” he stated. You watched as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cassette tape that you hadn’t noticed before. “I noticed that you listen to music while studying or walking through the halls, so I thought I’d compile a few of my favorite songs for you.” 

Your heart warmed at this beautiful boy. “You made me a mixtape?” 

Mattheo nodded, his angelic curls grazing his cheeks. “I can’t take all of the credit. Theo helped me quite a bit. I wasn’t sure how to make the tape for you, but he did since he’s taking Advanced Muggle Studies. We went into town last weekend and this lovely woman from the record shop showed us how to track and record the songs. I picked the ones that remind me of you the most.” 

You looked down at the cassette tape and smiled. The front was covered in little red hearts and spelled out in your boyfriend’s familiar scrawl was Matty’s Mixtape. As if that weren’t enough to make you swoon, underneath the tape was a small booklet with more of Mattheo’s handwriting. You smiled at his selection of songs. There was a mix of Queen, the Cure, the Clash, and of course, the Smiths. It was like having a little piece of Mattheo in your hands.

“I made you a booklet too. There’s a tracklist with reasons why I picked the songs,” Mattheo shuffled beside you, his body language conveying an uncharacteristic shyness. “I also drew a couple of things.” 

Sure enough, the booklet was filled with your boyfriend’s drawings. Your eyes filled with tears as you turned the pages. Mattheo rarely showed anyone his art. He was incredibly protective of anything he created since it showed a certain vulnerability. The fact that he was trusting you with it wasn’t something you took for granted. 

You traced over the drawings with a fond smile. There were portraits of you on one page, while the others contained memories that you were quite attached to. Your first date at the Three Broomsticks. The first time you wore his quidditch sweater to a Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match. The day you shared a cup of hot chocolate at Madam Puddifoot’s when the two of you were just friends. They were all in here, immortalized on paper. 

Beside you, Mattheo watched anxiously as you flipped through the pages. When you got to the last one, you grinned up at him. “Matty, these are incredible.” 

“Really?” He asked, sounding a bit unsure. “You don’t think they’re cheesy?” 

“No, I love it!” You threw your arms around him and squeezed your boyfriend into a bear hug. He chuckled, burying his face in your hair and savoring the feel of you in his arms. As you pulled away to face him, Mattheo tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His heart hurt just to look at you. He really couldn’t believe you were his. You smiled softly. “And I love you.” 

You said it firmly, like it was a matter-of-fact. Like you were reciting a truth as fundamental as gravity. 

“You love me?” 

“I do,” you replied with a smile. “I love you, Mattheo Riddle.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely positive.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to say it because I made you this mixtape and gave you cheesy drawings—”

He stopped mid-sentence as you grabbed his face with both hands. Mattheo softened at the fierce determination in your eyes. “Mattheo. You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Before that, you were the best friend I’ve ever had too. You treat me like a queen and I never have to worry about other girls trying to talk to you because you never even give them the time of day. You make me soup when I’m sick. You give me your jumpers when I’m cold. You bring me coffee when I’m pulling all nighters. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend, so yes. I love you. Not because of the mixtape or the drawings, but because you’re you.”

Mattheo was taken aback. Before you, he never thought he was capable of caring for someone so deeply. You were ingrained in him. It was like the universe had cleaved his soul in two and he’d spent an eternity searching for you. You were his other half—the better half of him that he’d been missing all along. Now that he found you, he had no intention of letting you go. 

The lovestruck expression on his face warmed your heart. His eyes—those sweet, warm brown eyes made you feel weak in the knees. Mattheo cradled your jaw and looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. 

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

You smiled as he leaned forward, bringing your lips to his in a tender kiss. He sighed in relief like he’d been waiting for this all day, fingers snaking through your hair as your body melted into his. Mattheo hummed, peppering kisses all over your face. You giggled as he pecked your cheeks, nose, jaw, and neck. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he declared with every kiss. 

Burying your face into his neck, you inhaled the familiar scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. Mattheo sighed as you scratched his scalp.

“Will you tell me about the songs while we listen to them?” you murmured against his skin. 

Mattheo nodded as his curls tickled your cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He pulled out a cassette player and popped the tape in. You cuddled into his side, smiling as he presented you with one half of the headphones. The soft crooning sound of the Smiths filled your ears as Mattheo played with your hair, telling you little anecdotes about the band and how Theo almost knocked over the cassette recorder while he tried to flirt with the record shop owner. 

You chuckled as you listened, picking up the sweet lyrics that made Mattheo choose the songs in the first place. You loved each one of his picks, but the best song by far was the sound of his heartbeat thudding in your ears, syncing with your own as it beat for him and him alone.

[delulujuls]

the true one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the pt3 of my jace series. i was having few ideas for how to end this one but i got carried away and i even started to feel bad how i decided to solve it.

we will see if i will end this up on here or write another part because man i do really feel bad for aegon:( im not gonna lie, at one moment i started to smell a love trangle forming up here lmao

summary: love lifts you up, but it can also hurt you. in case of dragon princess and young prince from dragonstone, love saved westeros from war, but it broke one heart that was already broken enough. a shattered heard from someone who since the beginning wanted love, not the crown.

warnings: mentions of sex, nothing crazy though

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. cregan stark aka the-best-wingman-in-whole-westeros and aegon 'the broken boy' targaryen)

King Viserys did not engage in many wars during his reign, for he was considered a wise and good ruler. However, those that were unavoidable, he almost always managed to win. There was one battle he unfortunately could not win, and that was the battle with his illness.

Death came for the good king shortly after his 52nd Name Day, leaving Westeros without a ruler. There were two candidates vying for the Iron Throne, each equally certain of their right to it.

Many believed that Rhaenyra, the king's first child, was the rightful heir to the throne. However, because she was a woman, the crown fell to Aegon, Viserys' eldest son. Ultimately, he was proclaimed the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but not everyone agreed with this decision. One of those who did not was Rhaenyra herself.

The Princess of Dragonstone, believing there had been a misunderstanding, began to gather allies around her who were willing to support her claim to the throne. Aegon, of course, did the same. At some point, however, there was no more talk of a peaceful resolution, and gathering allies turned into gathering armies. A cold wind blew over Westeros, heralding not only the coming winter but also war.

The most distant from the sunny King's Landing to the south was the North. There lay many settlements rich in resources and armies, which were now more valuable than gold. Both Rhaenyra and Aegon had no intention of wasting time. They had to secure allies faster than their opponent.

"You will go North," Rhaenyra told her eldest son. "Lord Cregan is closer to your age than mine. I am sure you will find a common language."

Jacaerys nodded silently and embraced his mother. He understood the weight of the task entrusted to him and intended to fulfill it to the best of his ability. Similar words Alicent Hightower directed to her eldest daughter when she visited her in her chambers one evening.

"Me?" the young princess asked, sitting in front of the mirror and brushing her hair. The maid who had been doing it earlier quickly left the room as soon as the queen appeared. "You have the King's Best Sword and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at your disposal, and you want to send me to the North?"

"Aemond may wield a sword skillfully, and Ser Criston may be an envoy of even the Father himself," she said, gripping the back of the chair her daughter sat in. "But they are still men. They are driven by the desire to fight and pride."

When she looked at her daughter's face in the reflection, the girl merely shook her head.

"The people of the North must see the sacrifice we are willing to offer. You will not gain their support by intimidating them with a dragon but with gentleness and a good heart, burning with zeal and the desire for peace."

"The desire for peace," the girl scoffed. "You want to send me there to gather people ready to go to their deaths."

Alicent lowered her gaze. She looked at her daughter's bright hair, flowing down her back like liquid gold. She took it between her fingers and began to braid it.

"You are betrothed to the king, soon to be his wife and queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she said. "You will present yourself to them as the king's prudent right hand and future good queen. No one warms the image of a ruler better than his wife."

"Rhaenyra doesn't need to send anyone to the North to gain their support," she replied, glancing at her mother in the reflection. "You know well that no one will stand by the usurper."

"Perhaps not by the usurper, but by the future queen, they might."

The young princess knew that her mother left her no choice. Knowing that her journey was doomed to failure, she mounted her dragon the same day and set off in the direction from which the cold, winter-foretelling wind blew.

The eldest Targaryen princess and the prince of Dragonstone had not seen each other since they had celebrated Rhaenyra's 32nd Name Day together with King Viserys. Much had changed since then. News of the king's death spread across Westeros, and the Targaryen family split in two. Nothing indicated that the young princes, bound by feelings, would ever meet again. Certainly, none of them expected to meet hundreds of miles from home on frozen ground.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, knew this well. Ravens informing of the visit had reached him from both King's Landing and Dragonstone. The Small Council, in which the Wolf of the North sat, tried to dissuade him from the crazy idea of bringing both warring sides to Winterfell. However, Cregan was hopeful that Jacaerys was not driven by his mother's spirit and that the young princess was not a reflection of her cruel brother. He believed he would see dragons dancing while playing on the snowy sky, not waging war. He believed that youth and good hearts would prevail.

The prince of Dragonstone arrived in Winterfell first. Vermax swooped down from the sky with a roar, causing the inhabitants to watch the winged beast in horror. Neither the dragon nor its rider had any ill intentions. The same intentions did not drive the young princess, who arrived in the capital of the North shortly afterward. Just as the relatively small Vermax instilled fear in the people, so did the sight of the massive Vermithor prompt many to clasp their hands in prayer. May the Old Gods watch over the North.

When the Bronze Fury descended from the sky, Lord Stark and Prince Velaryon were on their way back from the Wall. They learned of the guest's arrival only when a rider came to meet them, announcing the arrival of a dragon.

"A dragon?" Jacaerys furrowed his brow and looked questioningly at the host. "Another dragon has come to Winterfell?"

"Yes, my prince," Cregan replied, urging his horse forward. "Let us hurry, we must not keep the guest waiting."

The young princess was informed that Lord Stark would soon arrive and was taken from the cold and invited to the chamber set aside for her stay in Winterfell. She removed her warm cloak and sat by the fireplace, rubbing her cold hands. She had been uncertain during the journey, but now she began to feel genuinely nervous. What was her mother thinking, sending her here?

Jacaerys remained silent throughout the return journey, gripping the reins so tightly his fingers went numb. Who had come to Winterfell? Had his mother sent someone after him? If so, why? And if it wasn't Rhaenyra, someone from King's Landing must have come North. Aegon? No, that would be too prudent. Aemond? Had he come to secure allies? And why had Lord Stark accepted this so calmly? Was it an ambush?

When they arrived at Winterfell, they headed straight for the castle. Instructed which chamber the guest awaited in, they went there immediately. Jacaerys' heart pounded wildly, and he did not share Lord Stark's calm demeanor. When Cregan knocked and pushed open the heavy door to one of the chambers, Jacaerys felt his heart leap into his throat. Hearing the knock at the door, the young princess felt the same. She took a deep breath and rose from her seat, smoothing her tunic with her hands. She looked up at the entrance and saw a tall, young man. She guessed that the steely-eyed youth was Lord Stark. However, he was not alone; someone else entered right behind him. The princess could not believe her eyes. She felt as though her mind was playing tricks on her after the exhausting journey.

"Jace?" she spoke uncertain, almost questioningly.

Jacaerys was in such shock that he felt as if his legs had grown roots into the ground.

"Princess," was all he could stammer out as she quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. The young prince closed his eyes and returned the embrace strongly. Feeling her in his arms, her hair tickling his face, he realized it was not a dream. It was truly her.

Cregan smiled at the sight of the dragons lost in each other's embrace. He knew he had no reason to worry. Kindness and youth would always prevail.

Still holding the girl, Jacaerys glanced at the Wolf Lord. Cregan smiled at him and quietly left the room.

"I thought I would never see you again," the girl whispered after a moment, pulling away and cupping his face in her hands. Tears shone in her violet eyes. Jacaerys took her hands and kissed each one.

"I feared the same," he admitted, not hiding his own emotions.

The pair sat by the fireplace, talking animatedly. They held each other's hands tightly the entire time, as if afraid that one might disappear at any moment.

They talked for a long time, forgetting the world around them. They spoke of what had happened to them since their last meeting, about the events that were tearing their family apart, and about the looming war. When their conversation turned to more serious topics, a servant entered the room, announcing that Lord Stark invited them to dinner. The Dragon Princess and the Prince of Dragonstone joined the Wolf of the North. The dinner was sumptuous but did not have many guests. The dining room hosted only the three of them.

"I hope you don't hold this arranged meeting against me, your Highnesses," Cregan said, pouring them wine.

The princess shook her head while eating, taking a sip from her goblet.

"It was a bold move, my lord," Jacaerys admitted. "I guess you had no certainty about how it might end."

"Indeed," Cregan acknowledged. "But I felt that neither of you held the dark values that sometimes blind your families. Luckily for me, and even more for the people of Winterfell, I managed to avoid making another Harrenhall here."

"You can't deny your courage, my lord," the girl smiled, glancing at him. "A bit of madness too."

Cregan smiled at her words and raised his goblet in a toast.

"I hope we can reach a good understanding together."

The princely pair also raised their goblets in a toast. That evening, there was no lack of wine and ale, and the topic of the impending war, though important, was left for another day. That evening was spent on more pleasant and mundane conversations. It did not resemble an evening where three representatives of different values gathered, but rather three friends.

As the wine started to buzz in their heads and the table was cleared of food, Lord Stark declared it was time to retire. After wishing each other a good night, Jacaerys went to escort the princess to her chamber. He held her securely by the waist to prevent her from falling, as their legs wobbled like reeds in the wind. The pair giggled quietly in each other's arms, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"Stay with me," she whispered when they reached her chamber. "I guess the nights are exceptionally cold here."

"How could I refuse you, princess," he smiled, and she returned his smile and pulled him inside. On unsteady legs, she walked to a small mirror and sat down, beginning to undo her hair. Jacaerys approached her and gently, with great reverence, began to help. He carefully untangled her braids, occasionally glancing at her face in the mirror. Their eyes met frequently, eliciting soft giggles. The young prince had never stopped having feelings for her, feelings that had blossomed so vividly when they spent time together on Dragonstone. The young princess couldn't recall a day when she hadn't thought of him. Her heart, which she was supposed to give to another, loved the Velaryon youth unconditionally.

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he whispered. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, feeling as if he held velvet in his hands.

The girl smiled and stood up, facing him. She touched his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Jacaerys did the same, pulling her by the waist closer to him with his other hand. He noticed a necklace with a three-headed dragon, each head holding a green emerald, around her neck. The young prince's face saddened.

"Have you already married him?"

"No," she replied. "And I still don't want to."

Jacaerys looked up at her, about to say something, but she kissed him impulsively. Realizing what she had done, she wanted to pull away and apologize, but the young prince caught the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, returning each kiss.

"Marry me, princess," he whispered. "We'll run away to where the map doesn't reach. Away from all this."

The Dragon Princess smiled and nodded, kissing him tenderly in response. Their wine and ale-soaked lips exchanged deep kisses, and their hands clumsily removed each other's clothes. Shortly after, they found themselves in a fur-covered bed, lost in each other's embrace. They didn't think about whether what they were doing was wrong. What was wrong was marrying someone you felt only fear and hatred for. The young princess knew she could never feel for Aegon even a fraction of the feelings she had for Jacaerys.

As night turned to dawn, the pair lay entwined together. Their naked, sweat-drenched, and kiss-marked bodies lay intertwined, almost as one. The girl pressed her cheek against the prince's chest, stroking him gently, and he held her, tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingers.

"Let's get married here," she said after a while. "Here, in the Godswood."

Jacaerys smiled sleepily and hugged her tighter. "Do you think Lord Stark would agree to that?"

"I think he'd be the first to bless us."

The young prince chuckled softly at her words. The girl lifted herself and looked at his face.

"I love you, Jace," she confessed almost in a whisper. "And I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

The boy smiled and cupped her face. His heart swelled at her words. The love he saw in her eyes was boundless.

"I love you too, princess. I would give my life for you."

The next day, even before the three of them sat down for breakfast, Lord Stark knew what had transpired in one of his castle's chambers. He had heard that the bed in Jacaerys' room remained unmade and that he had arrived at the dining hall in the company of the princess. Cregan would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. He hadn't realized the feelings the pair of dragons had for each other. It turned out that love could indeed conquer war. Still filled with apprehension, Jacaerys decided to present the Wolf of the North with the idea of marriage.

"Who am I to dissuade you from this idea?" he replied. "I will gladly lead the princess to the wedding myself."

That same day, in the Godswood, the wedding ceremony took place. Compared to weddings held in the Faith of the Seven, it was modest. Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, fulfilled his promise and led the dragon princess to the Weirwood tree, where her Velaryon prince awaited her. Beyond the wall of the Godswood, two large dragon heads watched, occasionally breaking the silence with squawking and growling.

The witnesses to the wedding were dragons, the Wolf of the North, the Heart Tree, and the Old Gods, who silently observed the marriage. Dry leaves rustled in the icy wind, and snowflakes settled on the rosy cheeks of the soon-to-be-married couple, who became husband and wife after a brief ceremony.

"So, it is done," Lord Stark smiled. "But what kind of wedding would it be without a feast?"

The newlyweds exchanged smiles and, holding hands, followed the Wolf of the North towards the castle. That day, the specter of war had to wait as well.

However, the next day, the issue of northern allies and whose side they would take had to be addressed. The dragon princess represented the greens, while Jacaerys the blacks.

"Have your lords side with us," the princess proposed during a Small Council meeting, gripping her husband's hand tightly under the table. "Not with Aegon or Rhaenyra. Let them withdraw from this battle for allies."

"With all due respect, princess, are you planning to fight? To be a third party in this conflict?" one of the men at the table asked.

"There will be no war," Jacaerys interjected. "And even if there were, it wouldn't be the North's war. They won't participate in what's happening in the South. This will weaken the military forces."

"We can't be neutral," another man stated. "Lack of a side is worse than betrayal. What if someone less benevolent than you comes on a dragon and razes us to the ground?"

"No one will do that," the princess assured. "I guarantee your safety."

"I do too," Jacaerys added. "The capital must understand that this conflict has no higher purpose and will only bring unimaginable misery."

"I'm afraid, Your Highnesses, that neither Princess Rhaenyra nor King Aegon will relent," one of the men replied. "Do you think your marriage would dissuade them? The King could annul it at any moment."

"The King can continue doing what he does best, drinking himself into oblivion and fucking whores," the girl snapped, involuntarily squeezing Jacaerys's hand harder. "If the news of the wedding isn't already on its way to the South, it will be soon. Tomorrow we'll head back and announce that the marriage is a peace treaty. And if that doesn't impress anyone, we'll send a message to all who have allied with both Aegon and Rhaenyra to withdraw their commitments. I swear by the Seven, no one, given the choice, will go to certain death. The fight between dragons will bring nothing else."

The princess's words brought silence among the gathered. After a moment, Lord Stark stood up and drew his sword, kneeling before the girl.

"You can count on me, princess. The Stark family will side with the young couple."

The dragon princess smiled and nodded to him. Grateful, Jacaerys did the same. Soon after, each of the men at the Council meeting followed the Wolf's lead. The girl's passionate and convincing words withdrew not only the Stark family but also the Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts, Boltons, Ryswells, Reeds, Hornwoods, and Cerwyns from the conflict. And it was just the beginning.

That same day, ravens were sent to all who had castles from the Wall to Moat Cailin, from the Stormy Shore to Widow's Watch. Each message was signed by the young couple and the Wolf of the North himself.

"I wish you much perseverance, Your Highnesses," Cregan said before they mounted their dragons. "But I believe you will manage to dissuade us from war."

It might not have been appropriate, but the girl hugged him tightly in farewell. Cregan had done unimaginable things for them in just a few days. The Wolf of the North smiled and hugged her back.

"I've never met someone with a heart like yours, princess," he admitted. "You have my word that the North will always protect it."

Jacaerys extended his hand to him, but Cregan hugged and patted him on the back. The Prince of Dragonstone smiled and returned the embrace.

Two dragons left Winterfell, but the icy wind carried them for a long time. That same wind brought news of the wedding to the South shortly after, before they had traveled even a quarter of the way.

"May the Seven protect us," Alicent sank into her chair when the maester came to her with the news. She strictly forbade anyone to speak of it, especially to Aegon. She quickly sent for the Hand.

Otto laughed when he heard the news. His daughter, however, found no humor in it.

"Brilliant," he remarked, filling his goblet and taking a sip of wine.

"Brilliant?" Alicent thought everyone had lost their minds. "She broke off the engagement. Aegon could burn Dragonstone to the ground when they return."

"If I were Aegon, I'd pack the crown in the finest cloth, seal it with the best wax, and send it to Dragonstone immedatiely."

Alicent shook her head and buried her face in her hands. Otto did not share his daughter's pessimism.

"Or better yet, he should place it on dear sister's head himself when she returns from Winterfell," he corrected. "The girl circumvented a code we didn't even know existed."

"She caused a catastrophe!" Alicent exclaimed, looking at her father in disbelief. "She was Aegon's betrothed and the future queen. She was only supposed to go North to gain allies!"

"And she decided to end the war," he replied. "We definitely placed the wrong child on the throne."

Alicent shook her head in disbelief. She didn't know if her father was joking or if he genuinely saw no problem with the situation.

"So what should we do?" she asked, looking at him.

"First, we should wait for them to return and announce this joyous news," he said.

When the dragons reached the South, they decided to separate. Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, wanting to personally deliver the news to his mother not only about the marriage but also about the withdrawal of the northern armies from the war. The princess returned to King’s Landing and immediately made her way to Aegon’s chambers.

She didn’t know if the news had reached her brother, but she decided to handle the matter herself and as a priority. A small dagger hung at her belt, and she had no guards with her except for the two standing in front of Aegon’s chamber doors. The men greeted her and bowed slightly, but she dismissed them as soon as she stood in front of her brother's chambers. She took a deep breath to muster some courage as she raised her fist and knocked on the door.

When a voice from inside instructed her to enter, the young princess pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. Aegon stood before a large mirror, dressed in armor. Three men were fussing around him, making adjustments, adding and removing parts of the armor. Three guards stood beside Aegon, talking animatedly with him. However, when they noticed the princess, they bowed, and the two tailors did the same. Aegon saw in the mirror’s reflection a figure he hadn’t seen for several moons. He smiled and turned, taking a sip of wine from the goblet he held.

"My brave, sweet sister," he said, stepping down from a small stool. He was drunk, as always. "Did you secure the North for me, my dear?"

"I need to talk to you," she approached, glancing at him. "In private."

"You heard the future queen, out!" Aegon commanded, waving his hand. Shortly afterward, the room was empty except for the siblings. The young king finished his wine and set the empty goblet aside, stepping closer to the girl. When he was within arm’s reach, he raised his hand to touch her cheek, but she pulled her head back.

"I hoped that your visit to the North would cool your temper a bit," he admitted, lowering his hand. "But i see that even the harshest cold can’t chill a dragon."

"I married Jacaerys," the girl said quickly, almost as quickly as if she had shot an arrow from a crossbow. Her voice didn’t tremble. She raised her eyes to her brother’s face. "I won’t be your wife, Aegon."

The boy snorted, but seeing her serious expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.

"What did you do?" he chuckled. "Repeat it, because I must have misheard."

"We got married in Winterfell, and Lord Stark decided to withdraw from the war. His vassal lords too, and the whole North was given the same choice."

Seeing that his sister wasn’t joking, Aegon wiped the smile from his face. His eyes, though glossy with alcohol, looked at her in shock. His eyelid twitched.

The young princess clenched her jaw. However, she didn’t take a step back. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, readying for a fight or flight. Aegon, however, didn’t say a word. He was the first to retreat. He reached for the goblet and poured himself some wine, drinking it greedily. The girl expected anything. She was ready for his screams, insults, and threats. She was even ready for him to raise his hand against her. But Aegon did none of that. He sat on the stool he had stood on moments ago and gripped the goblet in his hands.

"Why did you do it?"

The princess didn’t expect to hear that question. Now it was she who felt as if she had misheard.

"To weaken and humiliate me?" he asked, raising his eyes to look at her. "Or to hurt me?"

"I love him," she admitted sincerely. She wasn’t lying. It had never even crossed her mind to strike at her brother in such a way. "And he loves me. He is kind to me."

Aegon lowered his gaze, staring at the goblet in his hands. Despite the armor he wore, despite the title of king he held, he felt like a rat. His reaction surprised the girl. To such an extent that she didn’t know what to say.

"Would I be incapable of loving you?" he asked after a moment, looking at her again. The girl couldn’t meet his eyes.

"You only fill me with fear," she admitted quietly.

Aegon’s eyes roamed her face. He recalled a time when he had gone too far and threatened her with a knife, the times he bullied and intimidated her. He lowered his gaze. You fill her with fear, monster, he thought. You are a monster, Aegon.

In silence, the girl raised her eyes to her brother’s face. Deciding that the conversation had no chance of continuing, she turned to leave his chambers.

"I'm sorry," his voice called out behind her. The young princess turned and looked at her brother. Aegon’s cheeks were wet with tears. "I apologize for everything I did to you."

"I was never your enemy," she replied. She couldn’t muster anything more to say.

She quickly left her brother, heading to her chambers. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with her mother. She needed to recover from what she had just experienced.

Nevertheless, Westeros managed to dispel the looming specter of war. The wind from the North brought only winter, not bloodshed. Every few days, ravens arrived at Winterfell with news that another castle had joined the young dragons’ marriage and withdrawn from the war. Families from the east, west, and south did the same, sending their assurances directly to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra and Aegon had to abandon the conflict. Viserys’s eldest daughter even planned to go to King’s Landing to reconcile with her brother and acknowledge him as king. The same day she planned to set out, a messenger brought her a small chest.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing at the young man. She accepted the gift uncertainly.

"From King’s Landing, Your Grace."

Jacaerys stopped his mother’s hand as she reached for the latch on the chest. "It could be a trap."

"Would Aegon want to kill me in such a way?" she looked at him with amusement. The young prince hesitantly withdrew his hand.

Rhaenyra opened the box and had to blink several times. She reached into the chest and pulled out a crown. The same one her father had worn on his head.

In shock, she looked at her son and niece, who were as astonished as she was.

"Aegon returned your crown," the girl said quietly.

"It doesn’t have to be Aegon," Jacaerys shook his head. He didn’t believe in any good intentions from his uncle.

The girl took the crown from Rhaenyra and examined it in her hands. In several places, she noticed fingerprints stained with wine. She had no doubts.

"It was Aegon."

[fraugwinska]

I tried my hands on an Human!Alastor fic ;> It's still very different to write for Human Al, but I hope y'all like it ;> Special thanks to @hurthermore for beta-reading and encouraging me <3 This one's for you, love! !! NSFW - Heavy Smut Ahead, Minors DNI - 6k words !!

„You need technical assistance, sir?“

Alastor looked up from the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't expect her to come in this late, or at all, not while he was still at the station. The curious little sound engineer that had started half a year ago was standing at his office entrance, hands in the pockets of her outrageous trousers. She was tiny, her small figure barely filled the door frame, even with her bulky tool bag that hung from her shoulders. Alastor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, focusing his tired gaze on her defensive expression.

She was a novelty, that one. Not the first woman working at the station of course, but the first to assert herself in the male-dominated field of technical engineering. Her male colleagues saw the spunky, brass girl as a joke, either ignoring her or trying (very amateurishly) to bed her – both which didn't faze her at all meeting both scenarios with the same contemptuous indifference. The women – secretaries, errand girls and concierges – were much more organized and refined in their bullying. Shortly after her arrival rumors had already spread, one more abstruse than the other, and they had collectively decided to pretend the engineer didn't exist in their periphery. More than once he witnessed her talking to his own secretary Ruth, just to be left standing while Ruth got up and walked out with the other girls to lunch in the middle of her sentence.

The little engineer took it all in stride, though. Never complained, never became outright disrespect- or revengeful. Gradually, her expressions steeled, her answers shortened and her work hours shifted to evenings or nights, with less people to run into.

Alastor had been fascinated by her the moment they first met. He had just started his usual 'Saturday Golden Hour', his favorite and most popular segment to host, broadcasting the newest releases of jazz and swing in the evening, just before sundown. Not even ten minutes in, right after he started playing Bing Crosby's new song 'Dancing in the Dark', listeners started calling the station by the handful, complaining about horrific feedback's and sudden blackouts. While Alastor watched Rufus Ellis, the head of the tech team, frantically run around, yelling at his workers, the little engineer had wordlessly grabbed a few tools and vanished. Five minutes later, his broadcast went back to working perfectly, sound crisp and quality flawless once again. She had returned, put back the tools from where she had taken them, and when Ellis – flabbergasted – asked her what she had done, she had calmly explained that she went up on the roof to check the transmitters connected to the radio tower and fixed a broken generator that had malfunctioned due to some doves nesting in it.

No one thanked or even acknowledged her, they just shrugged and went back to business as usual. But Alastor didn't forget, and from this day he was determined to find out more about this extraordinary girl. She reminded him of his own struggle as the exception to the rule – it was a well-kept secret throughout the station exactly what Alastor looked like and who he was. That was the only reason he was able to do what he felt was born to, a cruel, unfair compromise. So, he felt an unusual sympathy for her, in addition to just his natural curiosity for oddities. However, he didn't expect her to be so elusive.

Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation, she gave short, finite responses, avoided his eyes and hurried to get away from him, sometimes even bordering on rudeness in her haste to flee from him. Alastor was, to be frank, perplexed - his charm usually drew in the ladies unwantedly. That it had failed him now, with the little engineer, when he welcomed it for a change? Peculiar. To a degree, it angered him, but it also awakened his hunting instinct, just not the one he was used to.

“I'm afraid so, dear.”, Alastor smiled, standing up. He rounded his desk, hands behind his back, and went to her side, looking down a t her. Granted, he was a tall man, but next to her, he felt almost gigantic, which satisfied him in a strange way. “I noticed my microphone was acting up today, and would like you to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Before it decides to give up on me mid-broadcast.”

“That's my job, sir.”, she just answered, eyes intensely staring at the carpet. Alastor's eyebrow twitched in slight aggravation. But he lead her to his booth, unlocking it to let her in. She went straight to his seat, dropping her tool bag next to it and started to pull his microphone to her to inspect it. He quietly closed the door, locking it discreetly – just as a precaution so she couldn't flee him again so easily, now that he finally had her in his vicinity.

Alastor walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her carefully taking the device apart. She startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes. “It may take a while, sir.”, she mumbled, an obvious attempt to make him leave. Alastor laughed. “I've got nowhere to be, dear, take your time.”, he said with a hint of mischievous delight. He heard her scoff, turning back to her work. There was a prolonged silence, her fiercely ignoring Alastor's quiet, content humming while her fingers picked apart and put together parts and cables. He used the time to analyze her appearance – her hair was smooth but more unkempt than for a girl her age – how old must she be? Twenty, maybe Twenty-one? Vanity surely wasn't a flaw of hers, she didn't wear much make-up and Alastor saw various faint, light scars on her arms and hands, little bookmarks of mishaps and failures of her chosen career – the sight of them sent a sick shiver down his spine. Given his... hobbies, he found twisted appeal in scarred skin, finding beauty in those white, shimmering lines where blood once dripped from. He roamed her supple, curved body – unlike the recent fad of skinny, androgynous frames she was built womanly, round and fleshy... how beautiful could he paint her with white streaks on this vast canvas, add some masterpieces of his own to the collection?

“Alright.”, she pulled him out of his thoughts, mounting the microphone back on it's flexible stand. “A few cables were starting to corrode, I've replaced them, it should work fine now.” Alastor grinned down at her, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. The first real contact. “What an efficient engineer you are, dear. Always coming to my rescue, I have yet to show my gratitude.” She didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge that he said something to her, just packing up the various things she had spread out for the repair. Now that was just rude.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”, Alastor strained himself to sound lighthearted as he knocked two times on her head, feeling the shivers of impatience rising. The engineer closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, shifting in his chair with furrowed brows. “I'm getting paid to do my job. I don't need anything else.” She attempted to stand up, but his hand, still resting on her shoulder, holds her in place. “If that's all, sir?”

“Now now, not to hasty. I'd think it's unlike you to leave work halfway done. Normally you are quite thorough, aren't you?” Alastor cooed, tilting his head at her. “My work is done.” she said, her voice now intense and a faint tint of red on her cheek and neck. My, there's the little ferocity he thought she'd lost at the job. “Why we haven't tested the thing, dear – How can I be sure it works properly?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” She looked outright offended at the implied possibility that she failed the task he asked of her. He had to chuckle, such a childish reaction to something so innocent. Maybe it was because implications like these grated her thick skin, but Alastor had no problem with being the straw that breaks that camel's back. He was skilled in putting people back in their place, and with her, it would be much more entertaining and much less fatal than with his other... acquaintances. He decided to tickle this sleeping dragon just a bit more, with a funny little idea in mind.

“No one is infallible – especially when they are so young. No fault in that, dear, but I'd like to be sure.” Alastor swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her up to stand. Putting up no resistance, most likely because of sheer perplexity, he twirled her almost like in a dance, side-stepping to his chair, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, locking her there by an arm wrapped around her waist. The look on her face was worth it's weight in gold – eyes wide, mouth agape in stunned shock, and tips of the ears reddened. Her hands grappled the armrests so forcefully her knuckles were as white as the scars on her arms, and within seconds of regaining her active conscience she squirmed against his body. “What... that's so... sir, please let me g...” “There you go, dear.”, Alastor ignored her babbling, using his free hand to put the headphones on her. Her pulse under her thin, clear skin drummed faster against him, it's heat felt like it could boil his own blood.

He grabbed his own microphone, swinging it up between their faces and leaned forward, chin resting on her shoulder and the grille brushing his lower lip. She stared, dumbstruck, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. He chuckled against her cheek, leaning his mouth to the mic as he pushed the switch on the control panel up, and his rich, sultry baritone echoed in her headphones.

"How about it, darling, do you hear me?"

She breathed deeply, gulping, and her heart sped up even more. Alastor smiled devilishly against her soft skin, delighted and in awe by how far he got her worked up as she just nodded sharply.

"No soundrops, feedback or small interferences?", he hummed, his voice dripping sweet honey. She took a moment to answer. "N-no... everything seems alright."

"Lovely." He almost whispered, but she heard it crystal clear through the headphones. He let a low sigh and took off his glasses with one hand, slowly, teasingly, his nose tracing over her neck, as if it was coincidental, as if he'd never ever do such a thing intentionally, putting the accessory on the table next to him, eyes locking on the hazel ones of hers mirrored in them. "Although I wonder..." He pushed the mic nearer to her mouth, seeing a tremble running over her body. "... if the higher pitches might be a problem... You wouldn't mind help with that, would you?"

She stiffened up, barely daring to breathe, her skin erupting into goose flesh underneath his lips, he felt the impulse to press them against her, lick the salt and nervousness from it.

"Sir, I-I can't.."

He chuckled at her strained, whispering voice. How beautiful was her distress, so rich, so fragrant, almost strong enough for him to savor its essence without even needing to touch her.

"Then, may I assist you?", Alastor felt himself giddy with impish delight, his hands slowly trailing upwards from her waist to her bust, cupping her gently through the thin fabric. This made her wriggle again, a small, high pitched squeak leaving her lips that his microphone just amplified in glorious reverberations. Alastor chuckled darkly as she froze, neck burning red in deep embarrassment from the sound she heard from the headphones.

"Now we're talking. A wonderful first try. But let's see what else we can get out of you, darling. After all, we want to be thorough."

His hands palmed and kneaded the supple flesh through the cotton, feeling her squirm and tremble and the warmth of her bosom, imagining the blood rushing through her heart. How exquisite was she?

He could hear a small whimper as her head slightly lowered. Was she closing her eyes? He imagined it so. Imagined she'd shut her pretty eyes closed, furrow her brows in conflict as her legs pressed against each other in fruitless desperation. Her hands tightened on the armrest.

"You are so very quiet, dear. Why don't you relax and turn the volume up for me?"

With one of his hands he quickly loosened the two buttons that kept her blouse close and tugged at the collar to widen the neck hole, then slid under her brassier and gripped one breast with a tight squeeze. Alastor caught his breath as he realized just how sensitive and sweet the freckled skin under his fingertips was. Soft. Warm. So fragile... He would never have imagined this was hiding under her daily uniform, her sagging shoulders and loose jacket hiding those lovely features. Alastor felt a delightful spark crackle in his head and shoot up the nerves of his spine. His hunting instinct pulsed under the mask. But... with a slight delay, Alastor recognized it as a different type of hunger... one of the carnal and more depraved kind. Another novelty for him.

Alastor suddenly wondered what her lips tasted like, how soft and warm would they feel on his, her teeth biting, her tongue teasing him. How many ways could he break her - and could he do it quickly, with his bare hands, with his words alone maybe, or with his undisciplined arousal pushing against her rear-end through the fabric of his trousers? How often did she think of him? How did she think of him? Did she fear him, or dislike him even? He could hear her breathing hasten as he was trying to compose himself.

There was the devil's urge to just let himself go. To shove the equipment aside and tear those outrageously inadequate clothes away from her flesh, run his hands over the skin he didn't get to see yet, trace and map those scars of hers until they fade underneath his fingers. Mark her more thoroughly than any machine mishap ever could. Make her cry, moan, beg and whine under him until there was nothing left in her and this novel hunger was satisfied.

A wonderfully loud moan escaped her, a sweet, silky, vibrato sound of passion, that went right from Alastor's chest into his pelvis. She opened her eyes wide, pressing her hand firmly over her mouth, mortified at her own pleasure.

Oh, Alastor thought to himself, smiling mischievously as the shock of lustful rapture coursed through him, how easy it was for him to undo her. So unexplored, so fresh... "Do you wish to stop, darling?", he asked with a teasing pinch of her hardened nipple, which made her cry out and her other hand fly up and cover her mouth, too. She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and hot, eyes hazed with confused pleasure. He rubbed and teased the nipple gently in his palm, holding her close, making her struggle in defiant silence. The only sound was his gentle, patient humming.

But oh, she was breaking, crumbling like a stale beignet, and the noises his hand bullied out of her turned from hushed whimpers to barely muffled groans and cries for him, long and wanting 'Sir's and 'Oh's. She was melting under his palm. He grinned wickedly, his lower body hard and wanting against her as he put the microphone to his own lips again and spoke into it.

"Say it with your words, dear, should I stop? Or is it that you can't hear me?"

"Y-yes! I mean... No sir... d-don't... stop." There was a suppressed crack in her voice, and Alastor sighed with lust at her gasping affirmation, grinding against her plushy backside. He has found it amusing to push her limits, break through her thick skin and riddle her, like an ice pick cracking open a glacier. And now it would shatter her so gorgeously. "It's Alastor, darling." He whispered into the microphone with a dragging, sultry voice, his hand retreating from her breast, only to snake it's way to the hem of her pants. Her legs twitched, pushing together to futilely protect her modesty, but her body eagerly arched in a way that gave such easy way for his fingers to slip under the garments, feel and stroke the short, coarse hair, following it's trail, only to meet soft, silken and slippery wetness. A startled gasp escaped her and the only reason she didn't leap up was because Alastor kept his firm grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his throbbing erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, exposing her delicate throat as she whimpered, hands flying from her mouth to the armrests again, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into the hard wooden surface.

He tried to restrain himself but couldn't, he testily bit into the thin, soft flesh of her neck as his fingers found their way into her entrance and dipped deep in, coating his palm in generous wetness and crooking, exploring carefully, but with a patience even he was surprised at, eyes fixated on the taut fabric as he thrust into her in tandem with the waves her body undulated at the new sensation, her sweet taste on his tongue.

"S-Sir, please...", she groaned against his hand that still remained pressed over her lips, as if it could suppress the bliss Alastor wrought her into. He withdrew his hand for a moment, fingers wet, glistening and slick, as she was breathless, but she couldn't hide how her hips were chasing his retreating touch. He leaned into the microphone, barely lifting his mouth from her neck.

"Say my name, and I shall listen, little engineer."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, before opening her eyes, hazily staring at the ceiling as Alastor patiently waited, his fingers drawing idle circles around the sweet pearl on her outer folds. She pressed her lips together for a second, seemingly mentally preparing herself, and then opened her mouth, to give in, to submit to him.

"...A-Alastor, please..."

"I like the sound of my name from your lips, darling." He almost purred in return and resumed his movements with added vigor and focus. He put down his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into the juncture of her throat, watching her reaction and every detail of how his hand worked her over with the rhythmic hump of his hips, forcing him to breathe harshly as he was starting to be deprived of blood. He had barely noticed it, how incredibly erotic and sinful this whole thing felt not just for her, but for him, too. Partly of course, because of the chase, the coaxing, the hunt to have her call and writhe for only him, not for any of these imbeciles that tried to get their pick with her, his ears pricked and eager to savor her wanton sounds... A surprising need to be connected, closer to her than anyone ever could be in her whole life, and it made him even giddy to know no man had touched her like he was doing now, taking her purity with ease and glee.

But there was another part, something he thought slumbered too deep within him to be ever awoken, a roaring fire in his guts as the alluring, delicious scent of her arousal assaulted him like a siren's song, lulling, cajoling him with sensual desires to drown in them, to abandon all else and indulge, to completely give in and surrender. It wasn't tactical, calculating or strategic, but wild and primal and primitive, and not at all as painful or awkward to him as he had always thought it'd be.

What a revelation a woman's body could be.

He almost missed her coming into his eagerly working hand - a sudden, full-body twitch that went through her spine, a whine in her voice that ended in a choked sound as her orgasm claimed her and washed her away in the torrent of rapture - eyes going wide as the air escaped her in a desperate cry, hands gripping his thigh and the chair's armrest so hard the nails left little scratches in the wood. He barely had time to notice it before her climax hit him like a truck - the convulsing of her inner walls, gripping and spasming tightly around his fingers as he slowed and stroke out her high.

This moment was pure madness in his veins - his head foggy and airy, like a drug, like a vicious new addiction he would do almost anything for. Her body went slack against him, and the only thing that held her upright was Alastor's arm still securely around her, still keeping her pressed onto his hard length, still pulsing for some release of his own. Alastor wanted more, already was plotting what his hands could be doing to her body next as she came down from her high and back to earth, the heat leaving her body slowly as the soundproofed air trapped within the booth hung heavy with her hot breath and the smell of her passion.

The first movement of hers, after having come undone so beautifully for and on him, was to lift up the headphones.

"Well then, little engineer.", he huffed into her ear, laughing with barely hidden delight. "What is your final assessment?"

"Your microphone works perfectly. J-just like I said it would." She was determined, if nothing else. And unbearably cute when she was defiant. Alastor simply adored a fiery spirit, even as he was already thirsting for more. He looked up, her sharp tone prickling his pride. He shot her a glare from the corner of his eyes, his usually calm smile tugging upward in a half smirk as she avoided his eyes. Oh, was she starting to have second thoughts about her tone towards him?

"I always admired your work ethics and knowledge, my dear, even though you eluded my attempts to give you your well-deserved recognition." The hand not occupied in playing with her still moist, delicate flesh lifted the arm that she had still buried in his thigh, brushing his fingers lightly over her knuckles as he brought it to his lips. She went still as a stone under his fingertips. "I asked myself, what would be the reason you ignored and evaded me for so long? Do you dislike me that much, little engineering girl?"

"No." It took her a moment, a little quiver in her voice, but it seemed like this was the first time in a long while that her answer was as blunt and truthful. He sighed contentedly, planting a soft kiss on her hand. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

His eyes snapped to her, narrowed. She still refused to look at him, still tense and obviously embarrassed, her free hand trembling on her lap. So it hadn't been animosity that made her behave so coldly towards him, not aversion that made her flee his presence and not prejudice that made her avoid their encounters but...

"Ah." Alastor chuckled softly at her awkward behavior, grinning delightedly at the revelation. "Of course."

Shyness was a curious thing, he thought, often misinterpreted as either prude modesty or cold antipathy. And it seemed Alastor had fallen for the latter interpretation - he would've been miffed at the thought if it hadn't brought her here, into his lap, and into his hands - alas, better late than never, he guessed. And there was still something to take care of.

"Well, since you're not running from me now..." His hand left hers and joined his other one in pulling the belt of her pants open, gently tugging on the metal buckle until the strap slipped free. "Let me finally show my gratitude in kind, for the lovely engineer and her marvelous work."

He loosened his tight grip on her, enough so that he could turn her to face him - for once, she glanced at him from under her lashes, not only out of bashfulness now - but he thought he saw something like cautious anticipation there, too. His grin became even wider as she kept his gaze, even if barely. A last stubborn act of shy rebellion - in another situation it would have enraged Alastor, but now, he was delightfully fascinated and challenged by her stubborn nature, by the unpredictability of her reactions even now, as she herself hooked her fingers under the hem of her pants and pushed them down over her shapely hips.

The last barrier of decency fell between them, revealing the full picture before him - there was her reddened face framed by cascading locks, eyes lowered in embarrassed defeat; Her stiffened nipples prominent on her perky, tight breasts; The damp patch of dark pubic hair that barely hid her glistening privates and the plush roundness of her thighs. And the whole body covered in tiny, white streaks, healed cuts and burns scattered in between her freckles. Oh, she would be delightful to ruin over and over again.

He took a step towards her, his hands immediately moving to her hip, exploring, caressing the soft flesh. This time, she did not move away from his touch and watched him with big, wide-blown eyes, full of expectation and a new type of uncertainty as he lifted her up onto the main control panel. He discarded of his jacket, the cloth too heavy and hot for him now, and threw it aside carelessly, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he went back to the woman, his little prey. Her knees parted slightly when his body wedged between them, an inviting gesture from her, though Alastor suspected she herself didn't notice. He grinned darkly, lifting her chin up by a finger, before bending over and planting a firm but restrained kiss on her lips, feeling his own skin crawl in electric stimulation, eager to finally taste her. His hands made quick work of his slacks, freeing his almost painfully erect member with a pleased sigh. From the way she gasped and her eyes widened, he could easily deduct that she had less to no experience whatsoever.

Oh, what a fortune. Alastor relished the thought of claiming precious, well kept treasures, his breath quickened as he broke from the kiss, hands running over her heated skin in swift, soothing motions, goosebumps trailing in their wake as he felt her shudder with hesitant desire beneath him. Oh, this would be fun.

"Let's be sure you'll hear my message loud and clear, this time, hm?"

He took her mouth again before she could protest, discreetly angling the microphone down with one hand just near enough where she would soon enough be connected to him. With a sly grin, he lined himself up to her waiting entrance and slowly pushed in. She stiffened at the unfamiliar invasion, a mewl muffled against his lips and hands in his shirt, and he stilled, enjoying the way her body reflexively tightened and squeezed around him as she tried to cope with the sensation of him stretching her.

She gasped as her chest heaved from the feeling, her walls convulsing around him like a vice. He allowed a low groan to escape him, she felt so gloriously tight and hot he had trouble keeping his composure, hands twitching to rut into her and just plow through.

"Ready for the final test, darling?"

"T-test...?"

He didn't bother to give her an answer as he started to move. In and out, with slow and drawn out movements, keeping his thrusts shallow at first, deep and precise enough to press against her innermost point and making her moan helplessly. The wet sounds of their coupling reached his ears, coupled with her wanton cries, an obscene and enchanting noise he was waiting for. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the headphones from where she had put them down, lifting it to one of her ears. Her face flushed in such lovely shades of red when the squelching echoes of what the mic picked up reached her ears, amplified and oh-so-clear thanks to her own handiwork.

He let out a guttural chuckle as he leaned into her, still thrusting slowly, her head falling on his shoulder and hanging onto his shirt for dear life, knuckles white as she could hear all the sweet sounds their bodies made and how they connected, each inch of her body singing praises for only him, for his size and rhythm. He could tell the moment her walls began to relax around him, squeezing the blood into his member as she took him in again and again, accepting it's size wholeheartedly with greedy eagerness.

"Such a talented woman.", he praised into her free ear, sighing at the delicious way her slick, swollen lips slid over his length, her thighs twitching against his with every single thrust and every word that fell from his lips. "Just listen to the fruits of your impeccable labor, dearest. Almost wasted in a place like this."

A moan, shaky and delirious, a shuddering sob for him, so high and flustered she sounded almost pained escaped her throat. She pressed against him and with a jolt that reverberated through her spine, convulsing so sweetly against him he almost came from the tremor that rushed through his cock. But it wasn't her peak. Alastor hadn't gotten his fill yet and he wouldn't stop now until it was both of their turns, but damn if he wasn't tempted.

He reached to the other ear to put the second headphone on her. Now her world had no escape, she could only listen, only hear every filthy wet noise of his slick slide, his ragged breathing and the beat of her own heart- a heavy, cacophonous staccato.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head clouded and flushed, looking up at him with rapt fascination. His own gaze met hers as his pace increased, suddenly snapping his hips with harsh precision, and his voice was low, carnal.

"But their loss is my gain, darling. Don't you ever forget that, now."

And his thoughts went to of those incompetent, thickheaded dunderheads who took their jobs, but were no where as skilled or invested as her, knowing full well they were inadequate and undeserving to get close to her, trying to touch what clearly should have been for him alone to do, and it sent a nasty spark of possessiveness through Alastor, igniting a furious hunger, a beast waking up within him and snarling with unbridled desire, to claim, to mark her as his. And nobody else's.

He grinned devilishly, a low rumble in his throat as a needy whine escaped his little engineer and he grabbed her waist tightly, digging his fingers into the fat there as he picked up speed and drilled into her with more intensity, savage, merciless and utterly ruthless, finally throwing all composure and rationality overboard to replace it with feral instinct and possessive desire. Her hands clutched him desperately, thighs tensing and pressing against his moving hips, her choked cries of his name were nothing else but heavenly and he was filled with lecherous obsession and greed - yes, he could get addicted to the sound of his name being screamed and moaned from her lips, her sweet, wet flesh fluttering around his throbbing length, the violent stuttering of her breath that just enticed and pleaded him to continue.

"Mine. My own, little, eager engineer." he hissed against the shell of her ear, headphones slipping from her, hips still pounding away at her heat with feverish pace and an undeniable pleasure coiling low and tightly within his pelvis. With every harsh thrust, every desperate, salacious cry, he pulled her deeper and deeper into sinful depravity, her head thrown back in bliss, the headphones slipping from her head as her nails scraped desperately over his clothed chest. The sharp bites of pain mixed with a sweet ache and tightening within Alastor, telltale signs of his climax nearing rapidly. "No more avoiding me, no more elusion or flight for you, understood? You are mine and mine alone."

Her toes curled as his words spurred her over the edge with him, her core spasming and quivering around him as her moans became ragged and desperate, jaw agape in rapture but no words found as she toppled into her orgasm, dragging and taking Alastor with her. The immense wave crashed into him and swept him along, and he growled in the sensational and exhilarating feeling and his head fell against her shoulder, with a growl ripping from his throat, low and guttural. His seed emptied in her with long, forceful spurts, her body tensing and relaxing as each twitch and jerk pushed his release deeper and deeper, the pleasure so acute, so sharp it was almost painful, until both their highs subsided and Alastor had to rest against her for a moment, their labored breaths the only noise that reached his ears.

Alastor sighed contentedly, his hand loosened it's grip and his fingertips gently traced over the angry, red lines they had left behind on her tanned skin of her waist, feeling her shivering underneath him. His lips pressed into the soft crook of her neck, placing a tender kiss on the flushed skin. He would have to do something about the bruising and marks... His eyes wandered up and he noticed that she was staring now, hazily and exhausted, her pupils still wide, lips bitten swollen and reddened, her cheeks and chest still painted pink with lingering arousal. The sight was so deliciously debauched and lewd, a smirk crept on his face.

"It seems that the equipment is indeed in perfect working order again, thanks to you, darling."

"...Yes, sir." she replied warily, her voice still breathless. Her usual demeanor returned, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes she tilted her head away from him. He chuckled, lifting her chin and capturing her lips once again, not much for hers but more for his own gain, and then moved off and out of her. He took a moment to savor the view - the red, swollen flesh, leaking his essence that pooled on the metal surface of his control panel he would work on in a few hours, and her thighs glistening in the faint orange light of the booth.

"Please, darling, from now on..." Alastor took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping the mess of his hands and cleaning her with careful gentleness, her legs twitching weakly at the contact.

"...call me Alastor."

He hummed quietly and lifted her from the console, closing the buttons on her blouse again with fastidious efficiency after she slipped back into her pants. Then, with a few quick motions, Alastor picked up his jacket and fixed his own appearance, before helping her stand properly on her trembling feet.

"I trust we won't have any misunderstandings anymore?" He smiled at her, tilting his head slightly, a soft and yet challenging smile, his hand cupping her face and the thumb brushing her lower lip. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder again, her eyes flickering downwards, then back up, before she nodded silently. "Excellent."

Alastor put the headphones back on their rack, before taking his glasses, slipping them back on and reaching for the door handle, his other hand extended towards his little engineer in an inviting motion.

"Come along, my dear. Let me treat you to a nice cup of coffee, I find there's nothing better after a job well done."

She paused, her face going a shade darker and her lips pressing together. Then, after a heartbeat, she stepped next to him and through the door he opened for her. He could see the small smile that crept onto her lips as she hurriedly passed him, a shy glance shot towards him, but this time it didn't feel like she wasn't fleeing, but almost daring for him to chase her.

Another kind of hunt, he mused, and the thought made him smile as he closed the door and followed her out.

[folkloresthings]

hello hello hello !!! i just want to say i love love LOVE your fics, esp the oscar ones… the one you posted a few hours ago 🥺 my heart 🥺

i saw your post about oscar requests and i thought it’s meant to be because i’ve been listening a lot to taylor these last few days! could i maybe request osc and “all of the girls you loved before”? 🤭 hope you’re having wonderful day sweetheart!! 💓

-@httpiastri

this song. this man. thank u @httpiastri

ALL OF THE GIRLS YOU LOVED BEFORE. ❨ oscar piastri x reader ❩

despite being young, you weren’t stupid. you knew millions of women would kill to be with your boyfriend. you knew that, before you’d met, he had girls hanging off of his arm every weekend. you knew he’d had girlfriends before, flings and flirtations. but for six whole months, he’d been yours and yours only.

he never spoke about his ex’s, just as you never spoke about yours. you didn’t need to — you were too wrapped up in your love for each other to care about anyone else. that was, of course, until you went home with him.

the australian grand prix meant meeting oscar’s family for the first time. it went perfectly, an absolute dream. his mother adored you, fawning over you every second you stayed in her home. you, too, were her biggest fan. she’d raised the man you loved, bringing him up loyal and kind and everything you had fallen for.

being in his hometown meant bumping into other people from his life, or his past. even the ones you didn’t want to.

“oh, hey! y/n, right?” the bar was loud so you could barely hear the girl over the music. you nodded, smiling, and took a sip of your drink.

“yeah, that’s me! hi!”

the girl smiles back at you, but its one that makes you uneasy. a judging sort of smile, one that takes all over your features. all of a sudden, you hate the dress you chose and the way you’ve done your hair. this girl is stunning, all tanned and beach waves.

“i’m jessica,” she tells you, assured. “i used to go to school with oscar.”

your eyes light up, loving to hear from people who knew oscar long before you did. you look around for your boyfriend, but he’s off somewhere with lando.

“he’s around here somewhere — have you bumped into him yet?” you ask, innocent and sincere.

“no, not yet. i’m dying to see him though.”

you engage in as much painful small talk as you can, your gut twisting uncomfortably as you concur that this girl knows something you don’t. you only relax when you feel a familiar hand on your waist, oscar’s lips pressing in greeting to your head.

“hi, baby,” he murmurs, eyes going a little wide when they find the other girl’s. “jessica?”

“hey, os!” she greets brightly, reaching across to hug him, awkward from where his hand never leaves your waist. “i was just talking to your new little girlfriend here. have you taken her to all of your spots yet?”

your brows furrow towards the girl and she smirks.

“oscar used to take me to all these special places around here when we were going out. i’m sure he’ll show you them, won’t you?”

“oh, you two dated?” you question, glancing between jessica and your boyfriend.

“yeah, for ages.”

“barely.”

the two speak at the same time, jessica’s cheeks going red from oscar’s answer. she was fighting a losing battle, and his grip on you was only getting tighter.

“me and y/n have our own places,” oscar states, gaze cold. “see you, jessica.”

he’s pulling you away from the scowling woman before you know it, out to the empty smoking garden and fresh air. his eyes screw shut, frustration pulling a low groan from him.

“shit, i’m so sorry. we dated for, like, a month when we were sixteen. she cheated a few times and only took interest when i started driving for F1,” he explains, breathless and panicked. “i swear, she means nothing. i can’t believe she tried to talk to you like that.”

“oscar, calm down,” you laugh fondly, taking his soft cheeks in your hands. he returns a pout, eyes all puppy dog like to make you melt. “it’s fine. i’m not bothered about her.”

“you’re not?” oscar sighs, relief shedding from him. “i thought you’d be… i don’t know, annoyed.”

“that you have a few ex—girlfriends?” if you couldn’t already be impossibly in love with him already, he was giving you a million reasons to be. “babe, all of those girls — all of the ones you loved before, they’ve made you the one i’ve fallen for.”

oscar visibly softens, and it fills you with so much emotion that you feel your chest seize. he squeezes at your waist, pulling you into a tooth—rotting kiss. you press against his soft, wine stained lips but he’s smiling too much into it that the kiss is lost in a sea of loving giggles.

“i never loved any girl the way i love you, you know,” oscar whispers, eyes raking over your love stricken face.

“not even your mum?” you smirk, poking his side.

“shut up,” oscar grins, kissing you again. “yeah, but don’t tell her that.”

[veronicaphoenix]

the unmaking of a warrior | part 9

Pairing: Samurai!Noah x Princess!Reader Series masterpost here✨ Word count: 7k

Tags & trigger warnings: tiny bit of angst at the beginning, descriptions of wounds and blood, fluff, sexual content (oral sex with fem. receiving, praise kink ("good girl"), hints at noah having a breeding kink, p in v unprotected).

Please, be advised this part contains a scene involving shibari (bondage) and this might not be everybody's tea regardless of what it means for noah and his princess. I've approached it with care and love, and there's obviously consent from her side and noah is being gentle and attentive through it all, but I understand if some people are not comfortable with reader being tied up while there's sexual intercourse, hence this note.

I've also revised this very quickly, so apologies if you find any typos or mistakes.

Additional useful info: - Zabuton: cushion/pillow. - Omamori: good luck charm meaning to protect.

A wisp of smoke drifted around me, curling from the incense sticks that burned softly in the temple. 

I had lost track of time, and with that loss, some of the anguish that consumed me began to ebb away. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t quite that. Maybe it was the presence of the temple and the protective amulet in my hand that had lulled me into a fragile sense of security, a belief that everything would be okay. 

I found myself in a sort of meditative trance. It had started as a prayer, my eyes closed, my fingers wrapped around the omamori, and my lips whispering fervent invocations. The image of Noah’s bleeding chest had been almost unbearable, but now, the panic had receded, if only momentarily. My breathing had steadied, and while a deep sadness still weighed on me, the panic no longer had me in its relentless grip. 

Nearby, the elderly woman who had given me the amulet was engaged in her rituals, her presence palpable not only through the bowl of prayers she tended but also through the calming energy she radiated and I could feel even with my eyes closed. 

It had taken me a moment to recognize the old woman—it was the same one Noah and I had met earlier that morning in the dining room. Rika had mentioned that the woman and her husband were the oldest couple in the community, residing in a small house behind the temple. They spent their days watching over the community and aiding those in need. 

Though I hadn’t asked for help, at least not with words, the old woman had appeared by my side as soon as I collapsed in front of the altar. Even without exchanging a single word, I felt her presence, a silent guardian over me and, most importantly, over Noah. 

My soul and heart were not alone in their pleas to the gods for Noah and for a just resolution to the battle ocurring beyond these walls. 

The tears had long since dried on my cheeks. A breeze flowed through the open doors and expansive windows of the temple, growing stronger until it startled me, causing my heart to momentarily freeze and my voice to catch in my throat.

The fight was over.

As the wind softened into a gentle caress, I refocused on the amulet in my hand, gripping it tightly once more and resuming my prayers. 

I lost track of how much time passed while I remained there, kneeling with my hands resting in my lap. The fear that had taken root in me was so overwhelming that I didn’t notice the breeze transform into an even tenderer touch. For a fleeting moment, I felt wrapped in a cocoon of protection and calm.

But the silence was abruptly broken by a voice from the entrance to the temple behind me.

“He will live.”

The omamori slipped from my fingers as I heard Noah’s voice, a jolt of shock coursing through me. I sprang to my feet, steadying myself on trembling knees, and turned around.

There he was, not a ghost, but the man I loved, covered in blood. 

His clothes were stained and torn, with small patches of crimson on his cheeks and jaw, cuts marring his left thigh and arms, and a deep wound still oozing blood on his chest. My breath caught in my throat, and a sob escaped as I rushed to him. He let his katana fall and pulled me into his embrace, his arms wrapping around me with desperation.

I didn’t care about the dirt clinging to his clothes or the blood smeared across his skin. All I cared about was the warmth of his body against mine, the fierce reality of him being here with me. I clung to him, struggling to contain the sobs that had built up during his fight and my anxious wait in the temple. I could sense the fatigue in his embrace, the faint tremor of exhaustion.

It was the soft, resigned sigh that escaped his lips that made me pull back slightly. Noah’s gaze met mine, filled with a tumult of anguish, fatigue, and a lingering fear of having disappointed me. With a weary hand, he reached up and gently wiped the blood from my cheek with his thumb, a troubled wrinkle forming on his forehead as if it pained him to see me tainted by the violence that had marked out lives. 

“My father,” I began, clutching the lapels of Noah’s tattered combat suit, my voice trembling. 

“I spared his life,” Noah murmured, his voice muffled as he buried his face in my hair. “He’s wounded, but he’ll survive.”

The relief that surged through me was like a soothing balm, easing the tension that had gripped my heart. But the word ‘wounded’ caused me to pull away slightly, my eyes instinctively drawn to the gash on Noah’s chest. 

“You need someone to tend to you,” I said urgently, my eyes filling with tears. The sight of him, battered and bloodied, was breaking my heart. The thought of him being hurt, especially by no other than my father, was too much. 

“I’m fine.”

“Noah, you’re losing blood.” I started to ask how he had managed to make it all the way to the temple in such a state, but then, he faltered. 

His posture sagged, as if the effort of standing and speaking was too much. The sight of his vulnerability drove a deeper ache into my chest. I took a step closer, reaching out to steady him, my hands gripping his arms. My panic flared again. 

I guided him to sit on the floor as I watched how every movement was draining him. The old woman appeared almost as if by magic, and in a second she was directing Noah to remain seated as she placed a small zabuton on the floor. 

With a quiet authority, she instructed him to lie down, and Noah, wincing, carefully reclined. 

“Open his shirt,” the woman instructed. My heart was pounding in my chest. The voices in my head screamed that this wasn’t the end, that there was still a chance I could lose him. 

The cut on Noah’s chest, while not as deep as I’d thought initially, had been bleeding for a while, and his exhausting only compounded the gravity of his condition. I remained momentarily paralyzed, caught in the horror of the situation, in the thought that it could get worse, but Noah’s groan of pain snapped me back to reality. He was trying to open the lapels of his suit, but the effort was too much for him. I knelt beside him, my hands trembling as I gently pulled aside the fabric. Every tug brought a pained wince from Noah, the material sticking to the wound, making the task even more agonizing. 

Once his chest was exposed, the woman reappeared with a bowl filled with water and a wooden box. From the box, she retrieved a handful of gauze, a roll of thread, and a needle. Noah turned his head slightly towards her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of resignation and discomfort. 

“It needs to be stitched,” she announced with a calm resolve. 

Noah’s shoulders sagged with the weight of his exhaustion, and he threw his head back, his eyes searching for mine. I reached out, my fingers entwining with his. I could see the fatigue and the faint hope in his gaze. Despite the grime, blood, and sweat, he was still the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. When he tried to smile at me, it took all my strength to remain upright, my legs feeling like they might buckle beneath me had I been standing.

“We’re free,” he whispered, his voice a fragile thread of reassurance.

As his words settled into my heart, a couple of tears slipped from my eyes and traced a path down my cheeks, falling onto Noah’s hand, which I had brought to my lips. I kissed his knuckles gently, each touch a silent vow of my love and devotion. The old woman’s skilled hands began the delicate work of stitching, but for now, all I could focus on was the warmth of Noah’s hand in mine and the promise of a future where we would face everything together.

Nearly two hours later, Noah and I were finally back in the house.  

The walk back had been arduous. The wounds Noah sustained from my father’s swords were extensive, not only requiring stitches on his chest, but also on his left bicep, where the cut had been particularly deep and concerning. The old woman at the temple had worked meticulously, disinfecting and stitching each wound to prevent infection. We’d stayed at the temple for a while. Noah had eaten, hydrated, and rested a little before we made our way back to the village. 

Back in the house, I helped Noah into the bath, carefully washing his wounds and bruises. Despite the delicate nature of the task, Noah didn’t utter a single complaint. Instead, he watched with a quiet intensity as my hands moved the sponge over his battered body.

There was a profound intimacy in this act of care that transcended even any physical union. Washing him was a way for me to express my care and love for him. The softness of the sponge against his skin, the careful way I tended to each bruise and scrape, felt like a sacred ritual.

As I glided the sponge across his shoulder, Noah reached out and took my wrist gently, placing two soft kisses on it. The gesture brought a smile to my face, warming the chill of the night and the embarrassment I felt at seeing him so wounded. Noticing my reluctance, he drew me closer until he had me leaning over him, his lips finding mine in a deep, reassuring kiss. His hand rested at the back of my head, grounding me in the moment and making the pain and worry fade.

In different circumstances, I would have discarded my clothes and joined him in the tub, oblivious to the overflow of water and the cramped space. 

Touching his wet hair, I rested my forehead against his and murmured, “The water’s getting cold.” 

He nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and affection. 

A while later, I was in bed, sitting cross-legged, feeling the weight of recent events settle heavily on my shoulders. My gaze flitted uncertainly around the room, not knowing where to fix it. On our katanas? On the dress from our outing to the market, now tainted by Ren’s dagger? Perhaps on the Daruma doll on top of a drawer, a token of good luck and protection Grandma had gifted Noah?

The last few days played on a relentless loop in my mind. The terrifying thought that we might lose everything to my father seemed to have passed, but the echoes of those moments clung to me. Only hours ago, I had feared that Noah and I might be torn apart, our future snatched from our grasp. Now, the realization that we were finally free, that our future lay ahead of us, felt almost surreal.

I glanced at the window, slightly ajar, through which a gentle night breeze flowed in. The room was bathed in soft, muted light from the street below, casting elongated shadows that danced quietly against the walls. Noah emerged from the bathroom, his body wrapped in boxer shorts, the faint scent of soap and water mingling in the air. Despite the healing of his wounds, his spirit was battle-weary and his mind exhausted from the ravages we had experienced together the past few days. 

It was hard to believe that four days ago, only the two of us knew of the love between us. Now, it felt like the secret had been shared with half the world. 

Tears welled up in my eyes, a blend of relief and the residual fear that had held me captive only hours before. They slipped down my cheeks, mingling with the remnants of anxiety. I hurriedly brushed them away before Noah had a chance to see them. 

Shaking his head, he dropped the towel he had used to dry his hair, and knelt at the foot of the bed. His hand reached out, beckoning me to move closer.

I shifted my position, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed so that Noah’s face was slightly below mine. His gaze was filled with adoration and a quiet plea, his brown eyes shimmering with love and promises. He touched my cheek with a comforting caress, sliding his fingers to my chin as he softly spoke.

“We should sleep,” he said, his voice soothing and weary.

I took his wrist and guided his hand to my cheek, leaning into his touch as if drawing strength from it. I closed my eyes, pressing my face against his open palm.

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“What do you want to do, then?” his voice held a tenderness that was as reassuring as it was gentle, a promise that he was ready to fulfill my every need. It was as though he could sense the depth of my love for him, the way it filled every corner of my heart. 

Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you.

I let out a sigh, not one of heaviness but of pure, unadulterated love. My feelings for him had always been intense, even before I came of age, and knowing that our future was no longer just a dream but a reality filled me with a profound sense of joy and anticipation. The thought of spending the rest of our lives together made my heart flutter with an exhilarating mix of excitement and nervousness.

“Just be with you,” I murmured softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Make sure you’re okay.” My gaze drifted to the cut on his chest, now bandaged but still red and angry. The pain was evident in his features, despite his efforts to remain stoic. He was a Samurai, accustomed to enduring pain, but I could see through his brave façade. His grimaces and fleeting glances betrayed the discomfort he was trying to mask.

I gently traced my fingers across his chest, careful to avoid the wounded area. My touch was meant to be a balm, a soothing caress that offered him comfort and reassurance. The cut would leave a scar—a reminder of the sacrifice and courage he had shown, a testament to his willingness to go to great lengths for us.

“I’m fine,” he said with a soft smile, the warmth of his expression gradually melting away the tension in his face. “But I can be better.”

My eyes met his, my fingers resting near where his heart beat beneath his skin.

“How?” I asked, my voice laced with concern.

“By being inside you,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes that momentarily pulled me from my worry. His words made me frown slightly and tilt my head in curiosity.

“But you’re hurt,” I said, my voice firm but tender. I wasn’t opposed to his desire—my own wishes aligned closely with his. However, the reality of his injuries weighed heavily on me. He had fought bravely only hours earlier, and I didn’t want him to overexert himself. “I wouldn’t want you to…”

“I’ll be nice and gentle,” he interrupted, his voice filled with an earnest promise.

And that was all I needed.

Suddenly, a gentle smile spread across my face, mirroring the one on Noah's. This was a moment we both needed—something deeply personal and healing. I couldn’t imagine denying him anything. Not now, not ever.

In what felt like slow motion, Noah rose from his seated position. His tall frame and muscular build were even more striking as he stood before me. I blinked slowly, almost reflexively, and watched the bulge in his boxers pulse. His touch on my chin was light and almost imperceptible, his fingertips grazing my cheek as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“Take off your robe,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

I obeyed without hesitation, slipping out of the silk robe and revealing the cotton panties beneath —the only piece of clothing I was wearing—. Noah’s eyes softened as they drifted over my exposed body, over my breasts, but there was a glint of hunger in his gaze that spoke of a deep, insatiable need.

“Show me you still trust me,” he said next.

My heart raced, a mix of apprehension and relief coursing through me. This was who we were, what we had become together. After the chaos and bloodshed, this was where we needed to be—close, connected, and unafraid.

I moved to the edge of the bed, offering my wrists to him. I looked up, meeting his warm gaze, silently pledging my trust and surrender.

Noah’s expression was filled with pride and a hint of relief. He stepped away briefly, opening the sliding-door closet where we had stored the clothes Rika and her husband had gifted us. When he returned, he held a collection of belts in his hands. 

He selected a black one from the pile and laid the others beside me on the mattress. He knelt on the floor, aligning himself with my height, and began to tie my wrists with a single-column tie, our eyes locking in a silent exchange of understanding.

“Can you lie down for me?” he asked softly once he was done.

I nodded, and as I settled back onto the mattress, Noah hovered over me momentarily, asking me to lift my head for a couple of seconds so that he could push my hair away to ensure it wouldn’t be caught or tangled. 

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Noah pressed a kiss to my shoulder before stepping back to the foot of the bed. He took my panties with him, letting them fall to the floor, and picked up another belt from the assortment beside me.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous flutter in my chest. 

Despite my unwavering trust in Noah—knowing that he would never hurt me—the suspense of not knowing what was coming next always made me feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety. My feet itched with a restless anticipation.

Noah seemed to sense my tension. He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on my left knee, his lips warm and soothing against my skin. “Bend your leg,” he instructed gently, “so that your calf is pressed against the back of your thigh.”

I followed his guidance, folding my leg as he directed. His fingers began to caress my inner thigh, tracing light, reassuring patterns on my skin. The gentle touch was a familiar comfort, easing my nerves and bringing a sense of calm.

Once I was in the right position, Noah’s hands moved to the belt. His touch was steady and deliberate as he started to tie it around my thigh, making a single column tie just below the hip. The belt was soft but firm, securing the bend of my leg with a snug yet comfortable grip. He then guided the rope down to my calf, encircling it snugly in an evenly spaced manner. His movements were deliberate and attentive, each wrap around my leg made with practiced grace. 

As he continued wrapping the kimono belt around my leg, keeping my thigh and calf together, he paused to check my comfort. His fingers brushed against my skin as he made adjustments, ensuring the rope was tight enough to hold but not so tight as to impede circulation. Every now and then, he would look into my eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. His gaze was soft, his concern palpable, and it made me feel deeply cared for.

When he reached the end of the belt, he secured it with a neat knot, making sure it was both secure and aesthetically pleasing. He took a moment to gently press his fingers along the wraps, feeling for any signs of tension or discomfort. His touch was tender and reassuring, 

His careful attention extended to the second leg. I bent it without him having to ask for it, and I heard a satisfied hum escape his lips. He took about ten minutes to complete the tie there as well. Each movement was measured and thoughtful, his focus loving and unwavering as he worked on me. 

With the belts snugly encircling my legs, I felt an increasing sense of surrender with each passing moment. Noah’s gaze and the secure feeling of the ropes around me gradually pulled me into a deeper state of subspace. The outside world faded away, leaving just the intimate bubble we created together.

Noah’s soft voice cut through the silence, asking if I was alright. The concern in his tone, combined with his lingering touch, grounded me and made me feel cherished. His attentiveness to my comfort and the connection we shared through this experience made it easier to let go.

“Arms above your head,” he instructed softly, and I complied without hesitation. His approval came in the form of a ‘good girl,’ which filled me with a deep sense of pride for pleasing him. 

Noah’s hand rested on my knees, gently pushing them up and apart. I felt a flush spread across my entire body as he exposed me to him. His gaze was intense and appreciative, taking in every inch of me—every imperfection, every scar. It was a gaze that made me feel both vulnerable and deeply valued.

His touch was tender as he slid his hand from my neck down the valley between my breasts, moving slowly until he reached my lower belly. His fingers paused, resting over the mound between my legs. “I need this,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with need.

As he said those three words, he sank to his knees. He grasped my tied legs, pulling them closer to the edge of the bed. 

I closed my eyes as Noah’s breath fluttered against my skin, the anticipation building with each touch. His kisses began on my inner thighs, making me feel cherished and adored. When his lips brushed right below my navel, a shiver ran through me, his breath sending goosebumps all over my body, my nipples hardening in response.

“Everything’s okay,” he whispered, his voice vibrating against my sensitive skin. His words created an almost electric sensation, making my entire body tingle. “I’m going to show you right now.”

“Please,” I murmured, my voice barely above a breath.

His next kiss landed on the delicate area where my thigh met my pubic region, along the inguinal crease. The proximity of his mouth had me shivering, struggling to contain a moan.

“You can bring your arms down now, baby. Touch my hair while I have my mouth on you,” he instructed, his voice low and comforting. “I love it when you do that.”

A grin spread across my face, unable to be contained. “I know,” I replied, a hint of satisfaction in my voice.

His smile seemed to widen against my thigh, and I could feel his pleasure in the gentle way he responded. My fingers tangled in his soft locks as his mouth began its exploration between my legs. Each touch was slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensitive. He took his time, savoring every flick of his tongue and every gentle suck, creating a rhythm that was both intimate and profoundly connecting.

The unhurried pace allowed us to savor each moment, to explore the depth of our bond in silence. My body responded to him instinctively, wriggling beneath him as pleasure built. Soft, sweet moans escaped me, marking the perfect synchronization we shared in that moment. His hands roamed across my hips and lower belly, sliding up to caress my breasts and tease my nipples, adding layers of tenderness and stimulation to our connection.

Noah knew my body better than I knew it myself. When I bucked against his lips, craving more, he responded with a firm hand pressed against my lower abdomen, holding me still. Despite the pause, his tongue continued its gentle, insistent work, licking and flicking. The pleasure built up until I was shuddering and arching off the mattress, my body consumed by the climax he’d drawn from me.

Even after I came, he remained there, praising me, continuing to lick and kiss me with calm, mindful strokes. I had given him my orgasm and with it, I had released half of what I’d been holding inside since we left my father’s state. 

“That was sweet,” he commented, lifting his head from between my legs, satisfaction evident in his voice. I quivered at the sight of his lips, glistening with the evidence of my arousal. He licked them clean and even though I had just reached a nice climax, I felt ready to give him another one.

He stood up. His hands went straight to the ropes binding my wrists, deftly untying the knots. I watched him quietly, regaining my breath. I noted how he moved with a confidence that spoke of his extensive experience. Each knot he loosened revealed not just his skill but his deep understanding of me—both as a my warrior and my lover.

Once he had freed my wrists, he gently rubbed them between his large, calloused hands, his touch both soothing and reassuring. “Do you feel any pain?” he asked, his voice tender but concerned. 

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. The pressure felt nice.”

“Good,” he replied, his gaze relaxing. “I’m going to change the ties now, so that your wrists are tied to your ankles. Is that okay?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Noah.”

“Good girl.” His voice held a note of pride as he began working on the new knots. “I’m going to make you feel really good while you’re all tied up and I’m inside you, I promise.” 

His focus was intense, his hands working almost too fast for me to keep track of each knot. 

“The moment you need me to untie you,” he addded, eyes meeting mine with a commanding gaze, “just say so, okay?” 

“I will, Noah.”

“Perfect.” 

His hands continued their work, placing my wrists at the bottom of the triangle formed by my calf and thigh, efecctively tying my ahnds to my feet. The adjustment was meticulous, ensuring that my hands were now cupping my own feet. 

As he worked, I could feel the new arrangement of the ropes stretching my limbs in a way that was both restrictive and incredibly stimulating. Noah’s attention to detail was meticulous, each knot and wrap designed to heighten our connection and the sensations we shared.

My feet rested flat on the bed, the cool fabric beneath them constrasting with the heat radiating from the constriction above. I watched as Noah’s hands worked methodically, the cotton belts slipping through his fingers with ease.

He looped the belt around my wrists, pulling each end through the careful knots he had already made at my ankles. My breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts as I felt the binding tighten. Noah’s movements were almost reverent as he ensured the knots were secure yet not painful, balancing restraint with care.

Each tug of the belts brought a new sensation—tighter, more restricting—until I felt the belts drawing my limbs closer together, the tension making every muscle in my body aware of the intricate web of bondage. His fingers brushed against my skin, a fleeting, almost intimate touch before he moved away to adjust the knots with a final, authoritative tug.

As I shifted slightly, the belts creaked and shifted, an audible reminder of their grip. Noah’s eyes met mine, and there was a flicker of something inscrutable in his gaze, a blend of focus and something deeper that I couldn’t quite decipher. I was completely at his mercy now, each movement of mine dictated by the binding ropes and the skillful precision with which he had tied them.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he looked at me with a mixture of satisfaction and affection. “Are you comfortable?”

I nodded, the excitement of anticipation mingling with the comfort of being cared for so thoroughly. “Yes, Noah.”

His smile widened as he took in my bound form, his eyes filled with both desire and admiration. “You took good care of me in the tub. Now I’m going to take good care of you here, in this bed.”

He leaned down to placed his hands on my waist. At the same time his thumbs stroked my sides, he bent his head down and pressed a loving kiss to my stomach, lips lingering there with a softness that seemed at odds with the tightness of the ropes binding me. The warmth of his breath and the tender touch made me shiver in pleasure.

He lingered there for a moment longer, as if relishing the profound connection between us before he drew back just enough to speak, his voice low and hushed, imbued with both solemnity and hope. “We’re free,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on me with a blend of affection and determination. “Nobody can dictate our future anymore—only we can.” With two fingers, he traced a circle around my navel. “One day, our children will grow here,” he continued, his lips and fingers replaced by his warm, broad palm, which now lay pressing tenderly on my womb. 

The words hung between us, a promise and a vision of a future that felt both distant and tantalizingly close. His eyes softened as he took in my expression, revealing a vulnerability beneath the surface of his composed exterior. A flutter of excitement danced in my stomach, mingling with a growing need to feel him inside me. At that moment, the ropes that bound me seemed almost inconsequential compared to the profound meaning behind his declaration. 

He stepped back, and the room fell into a hush, punctuated only by the soft rustle of the belts keeping me bound and the steady rhythm of our breathing. 

Noah undressed, sliding off his underwear and letting his cock spring free, hard and proud. 

With a careful, practiced hand, he adjusted my position on the bed, lifting me slightly so he could kneel comfortably between my legs. His presence was commanding and powerful—broad shoulders, strong arms, and muscular thighs—yet there was a controlled gentleness in his approach. The intensity in the way he looked at me was unsettling and deeply intimate, as if he could see past the surface to something more profound.

A shyness fluttered over me, the intensity of his stare making it hard to hold his gaze. I tried to find distraction in the room’s shadows or the patterns on the bedding.

“No,” he barked, his voice cutting through the silence with a sharp edge. “Look at me. Eyes on me.”

The command jolted me back to him There was no escape from the depth of his stare. The authority in his voice made my heart race, but there was also a strange comfort in the clarity of his demand.

I held his gaze, trying to steady my breathing. His eyes remained fixed on mine, unwavering, as if he was searching for something in me, something that only this moment of connection could reveal. The weight of his expectations pressed against me, mingling with the tightness of the ropes, creating a blend of tension and anticipation that just got me hotter.

With a grip that took me by surprise, Noah lifted my hips and settled my ass on his lap, my bent and tied legs resting at his sides, feet and hands floating mid-air. In that position, his cock was perfectly aligned with my core.

“Arch your back a little,” he instructed. “Get comfy, baby, because I’m going to enjoy my time with you like this.”

He guided me closer with a gentle pull, adjusting me until I was nestled just right. I shifted slightly, seeking the most comfortable position by resting most of my weight on my shoulders. 

A tender kiss was placed on my knee, followed by the gentle press of his thumb on my clit, making me gasp from the unexpected sensation. The touch was not harsh but warm and teasing, much like his previous caresses. He took his time, rubbing his cock against my folds, from my clit to my slit, stirring a mounting anticipation.

In one deliberate, slow thrust, he was fully inside me. A small frown appeared between his brows—a sign of his awe and fascination with how perfectly our bodies fit together. I gasped and closed my eyes momentarily, savoring the overwhelming sensation of finally having Noah inside. 

He remained still for a moment. My skin prickled with goosebumps under his scrutiny, the anticipation of his next move almost palpable. His dark eyes held a fierce intensity that should have been intimidating but instead felt deeply reassuring.

“You’re mine,” he declared.

And I felt completed. 

Because I was his. Always had been. 

And he was mine. 

As the rhythm between us began to build, his movements were tremendously delicious, a blend of passion and reverence. I couldn’t say for certain if he kept his eyes open to observe each one of my expressions and reactions, as I had closed mine, losing myself in the sensation of our bodies being joined. Each thrust, the slide of his cock inside me, the press of my lower body against his thighs—everything melded into a singular, euphoric experience. I felt as if I were floating on a cloud.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, his voice an urgent whisper that barely touched the edges of my consciousness. “Talk me through it, sweetheart. I need your words. Come on.”

“It feels so good…” I managed to respond, my voice trembling slightly. I arched my back as he entered me again, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. “I don’t want this to end.”

“It won’t,” he assured me.

He wasn’t talking about our lovemaking. He was talking about us, our bond, the love. 

An overwhelming surge of emotion coursed through me. Maybe it was all the love I had for him, everything I knew I would do to keep this man at my side. I opened my eyes, watery because his promise, coupled with his movements, threatened to bring me to tears. My eyes fell to the cut on his chest. 

My gaze fell to the cut on his chest, which had been stitched and now marred some of his tattoos. Despite the imperfection, it was a mark of his love, never to be seen as anything less than beautiful. That’s when my concern shifted to him.

“Are you feeling all right?” I asked softly, my head hazy from the pleasure, the friction of his cock moving in and out making my mind all fuzzy.

“I’m feeling okay,” he replied, his tone filled with genuine warmth, his movements never losing focus. “There’s nothing like this, being inside you,” he bit his lip as he observed the way his thick cock disappeared inside of me. “And you look so beautiful, taking me like this because there’s nothing else you can do. I wish you could see yourself.”

One of his hands slid down my calf, his fingers gently finding the ones resting by my foot. He grasped them tenderly, offering a small, loving squeeze.

It was these subtle gestures that had first made me fall for him. Back when we were just teenagers and our encounters were still new and thrilling, Noah had always been cautious and restrained about touching me. But whenever he sensed something wasn’t right—perhaps when I had a rough day or something kept bugging at me—he would let his hand brush mine as we walked through the forest or beside the pond, he would pretend to remove a stray leaf from my hair, or would place a flower behind my ear with a compliment. His small acts of affection were one of my favorite parts of him, something that no one else had got to experience from this implacable Samurai.

Such a charmer he’d been—still was. I just don’t think he was aware of it. His actions always spurred from his very soul, intent with love, from a soul that radiated tenderness.

What was there not to admire about this man?

I’d do anything for him. My feelings for Noah went far beyond mere love; they transcended the physical. He was my life.

In the midst of my thoughts, Noah guided our lovemaking with a steady, rhythmic intensity that left me breathless. And a while later, a powerful urge to be even closer to him took hold of me. 

I longed to be freed from the restraints, to wrap my arms around him and pull him even closer. My chest ached with the need to feel his skin pressed against mine, to close the distance between us. I needed him to understand how desperately I wanted to feel his body enveloping mine, entirely. I wanted to kiss him, to hold him in a way that our current position did not allow.

I focused on the sensations of our connection, savoring the way his touch ignited every nerve in my body. My hands itched to reach out, to cup his face and draw him into a kiss that would seal our shared ecstasy. Each time he entered me, I could feel the tension and desire crackling between us, a force that pushed us toward the edge. I could feel every pulse of his cock, every throb of his desire matching my own.

In a breathless whisper, I pleaded, “Noah, untie me now. Please.”

His eyes flickered with both determination and a hint of surprise. Without breaking our connection, he began to carefully untie the restraints that held me. 

Once he had freed me, Noah’s hands massaged my ankles and wrists to ease the tension from the binds. The attention was both soothing and arousing. As he adjusted our positions into a missionary, I eagerly wrapped my limbs around him, my heels pressing firmly into his backside. His lips traveled over my face, brushing gently against my cheeks, jaw, and down my neck, each touch fueling the fire of our connection.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through me, a surge of strength and dominance began to rise within. I struggled, but I finally managed to flip Noah over. I guided him onto his back. His look of surprise was fleeting, quickly replaced by a mixture of curiosity and admiration. I was careful, mindful of his injury, not wanting to cause him any discomfort or risk opening his stitches.

Once I was atop him, I took charge, riding him with a mix of passion and care. The control I exerted was exhilarating, and Noah’s expression shifted between awe and appreciation. 

Noah, as the dominating Samurai he’d been and always would be, didn’t wait more than couple of minutes to sit up, though. He wrapped his arms around my middle, and urged me to move my legs so that I was wrapped around him. His other hand tangled in my long hair, guiding me down to his mouth as my body sank onto his cock. Settled onto him, my clit brushed against his lower body, and I could feel the pressure and pleasure escalate to an intense, feverish pitch.

The new position, the way my body rubbed against his, how we moved against each other, elicited louder sounds from both of us. 

The connection was so profound that I knew I was on the brink of exploding, the pleasure mounting with each passing second. The combination of his warm embrace, the rhythmic motion, and the intense intimacy between us made it impossible for me to hold back. 

However, when Noah rested his forehead against my bare shoulder, not even a couple of minutes after, an unfamiliar dampness caressed my skin. My heart twisted at the unexpected vulnerability in his touch, and I was flooded by a sense of worry. I stopped my dance atop him, and gently cradled his face in my hands, guiding his gaze to meet mine. 

“Noah,” I whispered, my breath mingling with his, “are you crying?”

He blinked, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

I had never seen him crying.  

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, “I’m so sorry for everything I put you through.”

A warm, reassuring smile spread across my face.

My boy.

My soldier.

Crying in my arms.

“Noah…” I pressed a kiss to his nose, another one to his cheekbone, as words came flooding back to me. “You didn’t force me to do anything. I’m very capable of making my own decisions. Remember that line?”

He frowned at first, but soon his lips curled into a wry, relieved smile. He let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face and letting his forehead fall against my shoulder. 

I held him, none of us moving for a while. I let his hands roam my back, explore my skin. 

“I was terrified” he began, the quiet of the night welcoming his soft-spoken voice, “when I noticed you weren’t there in the market, and then when I found you in that alley with Ren, and he had you—”

“Shush,” I interrupted softly, lifting his head with a finger below his chin and pressing my forehead to his. “That’s in the past now. You don’t have to be scared anymore, and neither do I.” I traced the line of his right ear with my fingers as I inhaled him. His scent was intoxicating. It felt surreal that this man was mine; that he’d always been. Maybe it would take me forever to grasp the notion. “It’s just us from now onwards,” I continued, letting a playful, cheeky smile slip onto my lips. I lowered my voice, catching his full attention with an intentional buckle of my hips against his. “Maybe little ones in the near future. But tonight—right now— it’s just you and me, Noah.”

His smile broadened, mingling with a mix of gratitude and love. We lingered in the moment, our bodies intertwined, our breaths mingling. The weight of the world seemed to dissolve as we savored the intimacy. Our tears, our fears, and our shared pain were left behind as we focused solely on each other.

When Noah started rocking me against him again, I felt a profound sense of completion. The struggles and uncertainties of our journey seemed distant and insignificant compared to the future ahead of us. 

I closed my eyes, holding onto his shoulders. The world outside faded away, leaving only two adults lost in each other, the same ones that had been kids once; kids who knew nothing about love but learnt everything together. 

*deep breath* this is the last part of the series. The next update will likely be the epilogue, which will be divided in two parts and will take place at least two years after these events.

Thank you so much to every single one of you angels that have taken the time to read this, that have been patient with me and my slow updates, and have cheered me on to continue and have kept me motivated to write this story. Writing has always been one of my favorite things to do, and doing research for it, learning about other cultures, and getting to share this with you all and seeing your reactions literally has no price. I'm such a sap but that's okay 🤓

Having said that, epilogue part I coming soon! 🤭 ✨

Taglist:

@girlfromrussia-universe | @kankuurohs | @somebodyels3 | @missduffsblog | @respectfulrebel

@badomensls | @shilohrosechicken | @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @concreteangel92 | @darling-millicent-aubrey | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[esther-dot]

We Will Be the Walls of this House 27k @tornadodream

"She stood firm, her clutch steady against his forearm. 'You are my brother.' 'No,' he said, and his voice was gravelly. 'No, I am no brother of yours, Sansa Stark.'" The war has taken much from both of them. But when Jon Snow returns from the south as the new Region-King of the North, Sansa Stark knows that the best way to secure Winterfell for the both of them is a marriage that neither of them want, but the marriage that they both know that they need.

To Be Alone With You 10k @methedras

If he willed it, Sansa would make a Stark of Jon. One way or another.

I'm Holding You Closer Than Most Because You Are My Heaven 8k by @sansaswolfbits

Perhaps she deserves more than a man who loves another woman, but it's him she wants, so she'll take whatever part of him she can have. She's grown used to pretending, how hard can it be?

want me to love you in moderation? well don't you know, i wish i could 8k by @sansaswolfbits

He had Winterfell and Sansa, and everything that should have been Robb's, or Bran's or Rickon's, and now hers, and he couldn't even allow himself to enjoy it. The guilt was eating him up, tearing away pieces of him every single day and keeping him up at night. All of his brothers—who had never been his true brothers—had died so that he could be Lord of Winterfell, so that he could use the girl he'd once called sister to take everything that was hers for his own. Even with Jon it was just her claim he needed. But at least to him, Winterfell was more than a keep and a title. He understood what her home meant to her. They shared the same memories and suffered the same losses. Jon cared for her, but he didn't love her the way a man should love his lady wife.

Finding Love in the Strangest Places 50k

The Rebellion didn't happen till Next Gen: Arya was engaged to Joffery and eloped/was kidnapped by Aegon. Robb and his father Brandon went down to King's Landing and Mad King Rhaegar killed them. Now Jon has to marry Robb's betrothed Sansa Tully. Sansa had a crush on Robb and now has to marry his sullen younger brother before he goes off to war.

The Northern Crown 2k by @hkafterdark

They were married in the Godswood as the snow fell around them.

The Quiet Balance of Wolves 12k by @sevensneakyfoxes

Regardless of what may or may not linger between them, he knows exactly the horrible position he is putting Sansa in: her home and freedom for another interloper in her bed. Jon cannot put her through it again. “My brother knew that the blood of dragons needed to flow in the North, and despite his misguided attempts at creating a lineage, I am starting to understand why. Wolves and dragons were meant to balance each other." Jon is thoroughly sick of prophecies; blood is blood - spilt, it looks the same red on snow. -- Daenerys and Jon make a deal. Jon barters poorly.

Seasons of Wine 1k by @geekprincess26

Sansa still drinks wine only when she has to. Every so often, as the world changes at a dizzying pace around her and her cousin Jon, she has to.

Say Your Vows Against My Skin 8k by @madamebaggio

Jon had married Sansa to protect the North. At least, that was what she thought. Sansa had married Jon to be protected. At least, that was he thought. Their marriage might have started for political reasons, but they love each other. Now if they'd could only say that to each other... Fortunately, one night makes them realize they might've been missing something significant about their relationship.

Duty, Desire, or Love 2k by @damdamfino

Sansa’s duty as Queen is to give the King an heir. But what if that is the only reason Jon is so gentle and caring to her? Would everything change if she told him she was with child? What if she wanted to pretend…for just a little longer.

What Grows in Winter 3k by @orangeflavoryawp

“There are too many years ahead to think of the years before.” - Jon and Sansa. Through the years of a harsh winter, they tend their love.

The Songs Never Mentioned the Scars 2k by @azulaahai

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who's first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

time goes by go and i can't control my mind (just keep breathin') 10k by @ladyalice101

“She’s grieving," Arya says, "I’ve never seen her like this and I don’t think she should be alone, but I - . . . have you ever seen her so sad?” Jon’s face has pulled down, the lines etched across it deeper than she’s ever seen them, and there’s a true sorrow in his eyes. “Once or twice,” he answers quietly. “You’re right, she shouldn’t be alone." - We have sad Sansa being comforted by Jon, we have arranged marriage, we have pining, we have feasts, we have bed sharing! This one is just chock full of tropes friends.

Take Me To Wife 1k

When the liege-lords and bannermen to House Stark find out that their king is not who they thought he was, a solution is suggested in the hope of restoring peace among his subjects.

All My Days 74k by @kit-kat21

The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man. “Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation. “Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.

Put Your Hands on My Waist, Do It Softly 1k by @kitten1618x

The Great War has ended, and Jon and Sansa have wed, but a marriage of convenience has evolved to so much more. As the frigid winter winds whip about outside the walls of Winterfell, Jon suggests something new to take the chill off, testing the boundaries of Sansa's trust in him.

tongue-tied disservice 9k by @ava-rosier

Jon and Sansa are wedded and bedded for the good of the realm.

Strange Bedfellows 7k

Married at Daenerys' behest, Sansa and Jon take a chance and open up to one another on their wedding night.

forbidden fruit's in season 13k by @bravegentlestrong

Jon and Sansa get married. For political reasons. And heir producing purposes. They only have sex this much for the good of the realm. There is a 0% chance they're secretly in love. Alternatively titled "Newsflash, asshole! I've been in love with you this entire goddamn time!"

Jon Snow's 5 Infallible Steps to a Successful Marriage 1k by @azulaahai

By mutual agreement, Jon and Sansa do not share the lord’s bedchamber.

Beasts of Seasons 69k incomplete

She had prepared her words and her actions meticulously.She hadn’t prepared to actually see him. Or, Jon and Sansa reunite and things don't go according to plan, forcing Sansa to reevaluate her identity and her loyalties and forcing Jon to come back to himself. Post-ADWD, bookverse fic. Jon and Sansa reunite on campaign to win back Winterfell.

i could offer you a warm embrace 10k by @amymel86

Of course he wants to keep his newly earned grotesque covered. He’s seen it in the looking glass; a sightless milk-white eye surrounded by angry puckered red scarring from brow to temple. Jon is not a vain man, but no one wants to witness their king’s weaknesses, least of all his wife who had once dreamt that her husband should be a beautiful, fair-haired prince. Well now you have a half-blind brother king.

Hard times for Dreamers 4k by @comma-spice (this was posted in 2014)

She shouldn't feel saddened by his outward lack of affection. Outside of their separate chambers Jon was a good, dutiful husband. He tried to see the logic behind her requests, agreeing on the importance of Bran sitting with them during the morning petitions, and riding out to Wintertown to visit the smallfolk. They rarely fought, and when they did an easy compromise was often found. More importantly he was kind, which was something she had long come to accept as impossible in a husband. Sansa is Bran's Regent and she starts to suspect perhaps she and her husband have built their marriage on a misunderstanding.

time's been kind to you, my love 23k orphaned

Sansa knows her loyalties lie with the Northern independence. Robb might have forgotten her, but she hasn’t forgotten him. Married to Tyrion, beaten by Joffrey- she’s never allowed herself to forget. Sansa has Stark engraved deep into her blood and bone. She’s been a quiet girl for long enough: wolves are protective of their own, after all, and it’s time she lived up to that.

[Aged up Jon and Sansa, set in an universe where, on Jon’s fourteenth birthday, Ned tells him his true parentage and Jon goes to Essos instead of the Wall; upon hearing of Sansa’s predicament in King’s Landing, he returns with an army.]

and I'm like falling water, set me free 2k by @aflashofgreen

Sansa resents these childish dreams of hers she can’t let go of despite the years. She resents them as much as she cherishes them.

From a Flicker to a Glow 8k by @dresupi

In retrospect, it was stupid to think Joffrey Baratheon had ever intended to propose marriage, but Sansa Stark is often blinded by wolves in sheep's clothing, especially if they have very fine wool. Jon arrives to save her, reminding her of the knights in the stories she enjoyed as a girl, complete with a white horse and all. But is he only offering to save her because she needs saving? If so, will that be enough foundation upon which to build a marriage?

but you're the one that i want; is that really so wrong? 4k orphaned

In light of the North’s demand for a marriage alliance, Jon and Sansa have some long-harbored matters to discuss.

Fill the Earth 6k by @darkmagyk

Arya Stark is a simple girl with simple desires: a prosperous North, a safe family, a large pack. And that her favorite brother and only sister would get on with the heir making business. She cannot have a niece until they are properly bedded. But as always, Jon and Sansa are being difficult.

And the Geese Are Headed North 13k by @yekoc

In the dark and honest part of her that Sansa is no longer afraid of, she had thought that Jon would die, and she was no sadder than she was relieved. In the months that she ruled Winterfell while the great war of men and wights waged around them, she felt herself growing into her power, sinking her roots back deep into the Northern soil. She enjoyed it, ruling. She was good at it. And at night, she had a wide bed and a door that locked and she was never cold. If Jon died in the war, she would miss him like she missed Robb and Rickon and Bran. She wouldn’t miss her husband. Seeing him now, she notes the absence of the relief and joy that marked her first glimpse of him at Castle Black. Instead, she feels a too-familiar grief: my brother is gone.

PRE CANON - WESTERN- FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[menendezsource]

Hi guys! A anonymous person asked me if I could make a post about Lyle & Erik’s previous relationships!

So here it is!!!! 😊

‼️ Lyle’s Girlfriend’s ‼️

• STACEY FELDMAN•

Lyle met Stacey ( his first girlfriend ) while he was attending Princeton Day School. He was just fifteen years at the time of meeting her. She was a manager for the boys tennis team. Lyle and Stacey were both very dependent on each other, and they often showed affection towards each other, like holding hands and hugging in the hallway. ( which by the way was against the rules )

Lyle would every week send roses to Stacey and he also bought her stuffed animals so she wouldn't feel alone, since her parents were going through a divorce. They also talked about marriage and children.

Unfortunately Stacey ended the relationship when she went off to college and realized that she wanted to experience more in life and that she was also too young to get married.

Also Lyle was hurt by Stacey's rejection and tried to win her back by promising to buy her a fur coat.

FUN FACT: Lyle & Stacey were voted for the class awards as the couple who were most likely to get married!

• JAMIE PISARCIK •

Jamie and Lyle started dating in 1986 and she was on an off girlfriend, they officially broke up in the spring of 1989. They renewed their relationship after Lyle's parents death in 1989. After Lyle was arrested, Jamie was very supportive of him, because she believed in his innocence. Lyle asked her to marry him while he was in jail and Jamie agreed.

Jamie quickly changed her mind and stopped supporting Lyle after he confessed to her that he and his brother killed their parents. When Lyle said that the parents abused them, she didn't believe him and they broke up.

During the trial, Jamie admitted that after she and Lyle broke up, she sold the engagement ring and kept the money. She claimed, that she wanted to return the ring to Lyle but he refused to take it. She lied multiple times on the witness stand to hurt their case.

• CHRISTIE GARAN •

After Lyle broke up with Jamie in the spring of 1989, he started dating a woman named Christie. Their relationship didn't last long because Christie told Lyle that she might be pregnant. Jose approached Christie and paid her to get an abortion. Lyle and Christie broke up after that.

Jose didn't approve of Christie because he thought she wasn’t smart enough and since Jose wanted Lyle to go into politics, Jose wanted Lyle to date a girl who would be more suitable for him.

Kitty and Jose also called her a "bimbo".

• CHARMAINE •

Lyle and Charmaine met only one day or on the same day he and Christie broke up.

Jose said to Lyle that he had a girl that he thought Lyle should date, so Jose gave Lyle her phone number and said to Lyle that he should call her. Jose claimed that Charmaine was the right girl for him because she was smart and she was the daughter of a business executive, whom Jose knew.

Jose wanted them to be together because he thought, she would be a good wife if Lyle went into politics.

This was the only relationship that Jose approved and the only girl Jose chose for Lyle.

Their relationship didn't last long and their broke up after few months.

FUN FACT: Charmaine was also a beauty queen winner, same as Kitty was.

• TRACY BAKER •

Tracy and Lyle briefly dated in 1989.

Tracy testified to some incidents that she witnessed while staying in the Menendez house. When she was there for dinner, she witnessed Jose got suspicious of Kitty and that she “ supposedly “ poisoned the food.

Tracy said, that Jose was very nice to her and polite. She was also attacked by Kitty when she started to ask her if she was having sex with Lyle in her home. Tracy testified that Kitty flew into a fit of rage and that she even physically assaulted her.

‼️ ERIK’S GIRLFRIEND’S ‼️

• KIRSTEN SMITH •

Kirsten ( his first girlfriend ) met Erik in February 1987 at a tennis practice and on March 1st they had their first date.

They dated for 7 months. Kirsten testified in the trial. She, for example, testified about how Erik used to wear the same tennis clothes and that Kitty gave her a credit card to buy him "normal clothes". She also mentioned that she saw Erik treat Kitty well, that he was very polite and that Kitty never treated her badly, Kitty even kissed her. Kirsten said that Erik had very little self-confidence and that he hated his nose and ears.

Kirsten described one phone call she had with Erik. She and Erik were supposed to meet but she received a hysterical phone call from Erik, saying that he love her and that he can't see her anymore, and that Erik wanted to break up with her. Kirsten said, that she heard Jose's voice in the background.

• NOELLE TERLESKY •

Noelle and Erik met in Lake Tahoe 5 months after his parent's death. They started dating in January or March of 1990. Noelle was going to pre-trial hearings but whether she supported Erik is unknown.

• TRACY MCENANEY •

Tracy was the girlfriend that Erik dated during the time he killed his parents. In 2017 Tracy revealed that she and Erik went driving in Kitty's car, up to a hilltop.

She recalls that most of the time they were just talking in the car and that she remembered that Erik was very sad, and cried a lot at that moment. Tracy also said that Erik was hard to read at that time.

Tracy unfortunately didn’t support Erik and said that she never believed in the claims of abuse. She says that the reason why she never believed him was because she never witnessed anything happen when she was around him.

That’s all folks! 😉

Hope you enjoyed this post and if anyone has any more questions on Lyle or Erik’s relationship’s feel free to comment or DM me 😊

[duskier]

Fem Gaz is the type to call you her wife looonnnnnnnggggggg before you’re engaged because she just loves you and it brings her joy to imagine her life so intertwined with yours.

Fem Soap does it because she is a u-haul lesbian just being held back by you and/or her commanding officers (they just don’t want to do the paperwork for spousal support and what not when y’all haven’t even dated a month yet) (she blames it on being catholic. It’s not. She’s just a freak who wants her wife to fuck day in and day out)

Fem Price only does it in her head, but she started doing it ok like the second date and is just waiting for her costumized ring order to come through. She’s gonna a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly before the second year anniversary if it kills her.

Fem ghost does it because she owns you (and you own her).

Anon please know you own my heart for this ask... you get me....

Gaz has you in her phone as your wife- little diamond ring emoji next to it and everything. Literally before you hit your six-month anniversary. She calls you it every chance she gets- when you call, she flashes that dazzling smile to those around her saying, "oh, its my wife, gotta take this-"

-and when she makes dinner reservations at restaurants you couldn't dream to afford she puts it under Mrs. & Mrs. Garrick- possessive woman who can't stop thinking about how your first name goes so well with her last name.

-Whenever she comes home there is something so simultaneously arousing and heartwarming to see how your lives have inextricably merged- your toothbrushes in the same cup, your dresser next to hers, even finding your hair on her clothes when she's back on active duty. Seeing your names next to each others on legal documents, whew, it makes her dizzy- filing taxes takes twice the time because she keeps stopping to kiss on your neck.

-Gaz isn't about owning you, or you owning her. It is that solidified partnership. A mutual agreement set in stone, an unbreakable vow, all consuming.

Soap literally is fucking you on the second date (is it even a date- she was set to fly back to base and instead she's cutting it close to making her flight in time because she just had to see you again before she left) and rambling about how you'll love meeting her family this Christmas. Sweaty bodies pressed together and she's musing about a summer wedding while she makes you cum on her fingers. (Fucks your brain out with her strap promising to make an honest woman of you someday soon, make you her bride, G-d as her witness- she misses her flight.)

-GENUINELY when you meet her team for the first time they all have to give you a talk. Please, please, keep your girl on a leash and PLEASE do NOT marry Soap no matter what. They already found a ring in her bags and you've been together maybe three months. (She keeps buying you rings. Says they are promise rings. This is a lie.)

-She takes you to a bar near base and wow... weird... everyone here already knows about you, knows your face. Weirder though they don't know your name- just, "Hey, Johnny's wife is here!" Apparently every time she gets hammered here, she takes out her phone and talks about you to anyone who is willing to listen.

Price plans it all out. You say something innocuous on the second date that settles it for her- you're the one. If Soap is playing sloppy checkers with her girlfriend trying to get her to marry, Price is playing chess with you- and she's always four steps ahead. She keeps it to herself that she calls you her wife, sure, but it doesn't stop her from whispering it to you in your sleep. Kissing your head and saying, "Good morning, my pretty wife."

-She convinces you to be the U-hauler between you. She's got a gorgeous, big house that's vacant most of the year anyways- why not move in? Rent free, it is too good to be true. And if you catch yourself playing housewife, because she can't cook or clean properly to save her life, what's the big deal? She's just so tired when she comes home, pretty eyes full of gratitude when you take care of her. (Before you know it she's got you barefoot and pregnant, fully moved into her house, your wedding photos hung above the fireplace. You wouldn't have it any other way, watching her during her time off painting the nursery.)

Ghost absolutely knows it makes you MELT when she calls you her wife. People always ask, but she knows the hold she's got on you doesn't rely upon government notes or any fancy ceremony. Ghost never really cared to be married, in all honesty. But she sees your eyes brighten when people ask about a wedding, how you look up at her with hope in your eyes. She gets a little dizzy suddenly at the idea of setting her claim on you in stone.

-Genuinely, she broaches the subject when she's fucking you- watches your eyes roll back in your head when she growls out, asking, "You gonna be my pretty little wife, then?" Doesn't let you cum until you agree, tears in your eyes while you're gasping out yes, yes.

[zombholic]

| 𝐃𝐑. 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐓. 𝟒 |

abby’s pov

walking into the seattle hospital, abby greeted everyone, hands in her white coats pockets as she entered her personal office.

Dr. Abigail Anderson

was written on the black door name slip, unlocking her door she slid her coat off, placing it behind her rolling chair before taking a seat herself, she starting on all the paperwork for surgeries she had to confirm for. a soft knock from her door only a few minutes after she walked in.

“come in” her eyes never adverting from her paper and signatures “hey abs, i got you coffee” owen chimed in, placing her favorite black coffee on the table near the doctor. “oh hey owen, thank you, how you been?” she finally focused her attention on her ex fiancé who unfortunately is neurosurgeon at the same facility.

“i’ve been the same, just curious, manny is having an engagement party next week on sunday, he finally proposed to ms. scientist” owen let out a chuckle, desperately trying to get his ex back. “yeah of course i’ll come, haven’t seen that pendejo in months” she crossed her arms, mans spreading in her chair.

“would you be wanting to come with me? yanno, for old times sake” he left out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck “well, i was thinking if manny will let me, bring my close friend along instead” she only used close friend not wanting to assume your guys situation at the moment. seeing as owen clearly tensed up in his chair, he sat up straight.

“oh who’s the friend?” he could only curiously ask, not knowing what abby has been doing ever since she broke things off with him “her name is y/n, she’s pretty young but i think everyone would love her, she has the best humor i’ve ever seen” the muscular woman clearly swooning over the girl, even just saying her name gave her butterflies in her stomach.

“oh a girl” owen relaxed a bit, not seeing the very indicating signs that his ex was now fascinated with someone else, a woman. “i don’t think manny would mind at all, she’s probably harmless” he would’ve continued on the conversation until his pager started to go off “that’s my sign to see myself out, see you sunday abs” his gaze lingered a little longer before he left her office.

abby pulled out her phone, her big arms leaning on her desk as she carelessly scrolled through all your social media pages. abby being older didn’t understand that tiktok showed who was able to view your page, the doctor repeatedly watching all your videos, biting down on her bottom lip.

one thing about the cardiologist is that she loved to take things slow, first kiss on the third date, confirm the mutual feelings for each other, she will take her time to make sure its the perfect day to ask you to be hers.

abby hates having intimate moments over the phone, it’s classless unlike her who will take you out on the most magical date, wait till the moonlight is shining on your face, ocean waves flowing so heavily she has to give you her coat to ask you to be her girlfriend.

then theres you … who is literally the most impatient, impulsive girl anyone knows, how else did you get majority of your tattoos anyways? and how else did you end up with three cats that you had to sneak into your apartment to avoid the repulsive pet fee. you’ve gotten into god knows how many fights and arguments with random people because they looked at your loved ones the wrong way.

polar opposites

—

abby dialed your number into her phone, waiting as it rang for the first, second and third time before you picked up with “doctor? is there an emergency” you sarcastically gasped causing abby to snort “yes there is actually, i need you to be my date for my friends engagement party” she had a toothy smile over the phone, your voice already having her in a foolish daze.

“and how could i ever say no to that? it’s a date lady hulk” god that made her die of laughter “lady hulk? you’re so creative with your words baby” you swore up and down if she continued calling you these pet names you would get down on your knees and suck her str-“will you pick me up?” you spoke up “of course, i’m a lady, i’ll see you sunday and i’ll text you the time when i find out ok?” her little black box going off in the pocket of her fitted scrubs “sounds good to me doc” “bye sweetheart.”

she smiled oh so sweetly before hanging up the call, she could swear that she could listen to you talk nonstop and never get bored. getting up and wrapping the coat around her she dashed into the patients room “he’s having a stroke, close the curtains.”

—

sunday came creeping by sooner or later, abby who was getting dressed in a fitted long sleeve beige sweater that showed off her arms so well, black slacks with a belt wrapped around and her boots, her har as always in her signature braided ponytail.

she wrapped a cartier watch around her wrist, god she looked so expensive. abby grabbed her engagement present for her friends and headed out her house to swoop you up finally.

parked outside of your apartment she took her phone out to text her pinned contact, y/n 💕. (shes a old give her a break)

—

Hey, I’m outside.

coming! putting on my shoes loser

—

she watched as you exited the apartment complex, she couldn’t keep her damn eyes off of you, admiring every aspect of your outfit to the way your black skirt fitted your waist, your grey sweater that fell off your shoulder to the stunning way you layered your silver jewelry.

silver, got it.

she thought to herself, doing her usual thing and opening the door for you, the smell of your florally perfume hitting her like a drug that she can’t get enough of. “you look so so beautiful y/nn” she softly licked her lips, basically drooling over you.

you couldn’t even lie, you were doing the exact same thing, your jaw wanting to drop to the floor with how she had her sleeves rolled up halfway on her arms, god her arms. “you literally look tasty” you giggled causing her to grin.

—

y/n’s pov

it had been almost ten minutes since you and abby arrived at manny’s, abby having a glass of very expensive liquor in her hand while having you cling onto her other arm like you were showing her off, she loved the way you were wrapped around her.

“so y/n are you in school? majoring in anything?” owen brought up, he was burning holes into your face ever since you walked in holding abby like she was yours. “um no, i’m not in school, i just decided it wasn’t for me i think i rather just explore different things before i settle into one thing for the rest of my life” nora and mel were literally in awe of you, they loved that you were so open and honest.

“oh so what is it that you’re interested in doing?” mel smiled, genuinely wondering unlike owen who wanted to tear you limb from limb. “i think if i do want to school for something it would be veterinarian school, i adore animals.”

abby couldn’t keep her eyes off you, gently rubbing her fingers on your arm with a loving smile across her freckled face. “so do you work?” owen butted in once more “yeah i work at a small coffee shop” you gave him a tight lipped smile causing him to snicker “abby you found her at a coffee shop?” he remarked, he fucking hated that he would rather be with someone of working class than him.

abby was quick to defend you but you were quicker “listen white guy, not all of us our privileged enough to even afford to go to school, i will beat your ass if you keep talking” you jabbed your finger in his chest, everyone around chiming in to calm down the situation.

“oh please you’re the size of my fucking arm i can throw you around like a rag doll” abby pushed you behind her, grabbing the collar of owens button up, nostrils flaring as she threw him against the wall causing him to lose his breath for a minute. “keep talking owen and i will rip your god damn head off” she yelled before manny had to get in between the both of them.

“owen it’s time to go, guys the party is over just go home” he sighed defeated that owen managed to ruin a important day for him.

—

abby had taken you to her place, still in complete anger from what owen did. you sat on the edge of her bed as she undressed into something more comfortable, she walked back towards you, cupping your face in her hands making you look up at her, her thumbs softly caressing your face “i am so so sorry for what he did, i would have never let him touched you ever.” you held one of her hands that was holding your face and smiled up at her. “abs, i’m not mad at you i swear, plus why was he even coming at me?” you farrowed your brows in genuine confusion.

she sighed heavily, getting down on her knees in front of you, her hand still holding yours. “he’s my ex fiancé, he was jealous of you, why do you think i left him? he always had outbursts like that and i just couldn’t.” she shook her head disappointed “ew you were almost married to a man?” you looked at her in disgusted before turning into a ball of laughter “he’s so ugly, why?” you were curious “i can’t even tell you myself hun, here, i’ll grab you some of my clothes and you can stay here for the night ok?” you felt your stomach burst out in fireworks.

staying at her house? oh my god.

AUTHORS NOTE: yall … anyways fuck owen and idk anything about working at a hospital so if my info is wrong DONT COME AT ME!!

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Breaking Free: Chapter 1- Hearts & Tires

Pairings: AU! Mechanic Dean x Reader

Chapter Summary: Y/N is navigating her new life, alone when she meets Dean, a mechanic who is too kind already.

Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse, threats, abusive ex fiance.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

Dean Winchester had seen her around for months now. The shy, reserved woman who always walked alone to the coffee shop every morning. Every morning around the same time, there she was, smiling polietly yet nervously as she walked by.

He didn't know much about her, except that she was engaged to Andrew Wilson, a well known reporter in town, and sometimes he swore he could see bruises peeking out from beneath her makeup, but he never asked. He just nodded politely back when she greeted him.

He wasn't sure why he felt drawn to her. Maybe it was the vulnerability in her eyes, or the way she seemed to be the most beautiful girl he's ever laid his eyes on.

Either way, every morning when she walked by, that little smile of hers made his heart beat faster in his chest, and it was something he was excited to see.

But for the past week, she didn't appear at the coffee shop and Dean couldn't stop his concern when he realized there was no sign of her. He asked around discreetly, but no one seemed to know where she had gone.

I once saw a quote hanging on my therapist's wall "As long as you're still alive, you always have a chance to start again."

At the time, it seemed absurd. Why would anyone need to start over when they could just move on?

But now, here I am, needing that chance to start a new life. I barely escaped alive, and now I have the opportunity to make things better for myself. The problem is, I have no idea how to begin.

A few months ago, my life was completely different. I had everything-A fiance, a beautiful house, a life. It was supposed to be our fresh start together. But within days after our engagement, I discovered he was cheating on me.

Without thinking, I stayed, wanting my relationship to work so badly but it got worse and he showed his true colours.

Confronting him only made things worse. He denied everything, accessed me of lies and blamed me for his indiscretions. He turned the tables to make me seem like the one who was crazy and abusive.

I followed him to this new town because of his career, I gave up everything for him, and I endured his abuse because I believed i deserved no better.

A month ago, I knew I needed to leave. I stood up to him, telling him I deserved better, and he hit me-brutally, mercilessly. Not stopping until my blood was on his fists and I was laying there, broken and beaten down.

He told me he could continue, he could hurt me any time he wanted because nobody would ever believe me. He was a respected citizen and people knew him as so.

That's when I realized, I had to run. Because the moment he realized he could hurt me in such brutal ways and get away with it, that's when I knew if I didn't leave-he was going to kill me.

And nobody would do anything about it.

Now, I found myself homeless, with only a few bills and my car to my name. The money in my account, once shared, has been emptied by Andrew.

I was stranded, with no one to turn to except distant parents who have their own issues and blamed me for not making the relationship work. I was alone, and broken.

The next morning, I woke in a motel room, drained and uncertain of my future. The weight of my situation laid down on me like a heavy blanket I couldn't shake off.

A loud thump on the door made me jump as I cautiously opened it. My heart skipped a beat when I found myself face-to-face with Andrew, wearing a mocking smile. All I wanted to do was slam the door in his face, but fear stopped me.

"Y/N, I was surprised you didn't come home last night." he taunted.

"Why would I come home after what you did?" I shot back, crossing my arms to hide the panic within.

He laughed sarcastically. "You still think you hold the cards here. I didn't do anything to you that you didn't deserve. Nobody would ever believe you. Half our neighbors already think you're the toxic one. Your story isn't going to match up. You have nobody on your side."

Swallowing hard, I dropped my arms. "I don't care if nobody believes me. I know what happened, and I'm going to tell my truth."

He stepped closer, and I froze, regretting pushing him. "He pressed his forehead against mine, his gaze intense and threatening. "You do that. I'm thrilled to see what happens when you start opening your mouth."

I backed away, turning from him, afraid he might strike again. He chuckled and left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. As the door slammed shut behind him, I finally felt a moment of relief, like i could breath again. I didn't care about exposing him or proving anything to the world. All that mattered was being safe from him and finding a way forward.

Stepping outside to grab some breakfast, I halted in shock. All four of my tires were slashed, a knife laying on the ground nearby.

"Fucking Andrew," I muttered, realizing he wasn't done tormenting me. He wanted to see me broken, crawling back to him with nothing. But I refused to let him hurt me anymore-physically or emotionally.

There was an auto shop not far away, and I figured that was my best shot at getting help with my car.

Walking towards the shop, I spotted a mechanic underneath a car, engrossed in his work. "Um, excuse me, sir?" I called out shyly.

Startled, he cursed softly and slid out from beneath the car. My breath caught as I met his gaze. It was him, the man I said hi to every morning. I couldn't deny that I always found him cute, but up close he was more like a model out of a magazine-bright green eyes, a face streaked with grease that somehow looked good on him.

His eyes focused on mine, recognition on his features as his breathing hitched slightly, before a flirty smile appeared. "Ma'am? What can I help you with?"

I blushed and dropped my head, which only made him chuckle softly, causing my cheeks to burn even hotter. Quickly collecting myself, I explained, "I need new tires, all four are empty and I'm looking for the cheapest option."

He frowned but chuckled underneath his breath, leaning against his car and wiping his hands, eying me with a hint of curiosity.

"Is it here?" he asked, gesturing toward my car.

I shook my head, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "No, it's at the motel I'm staying at."

"Okay, can you bring it in? I can give you a better estimate once I see the car," he suggested.

"I was just going to buy the tires, and bring them back." I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed at my idea.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised. "No offense sweetheart, but how were you planning to bring four tires back to the motel? I'm not sure I could even manage that."

I sighed, realized he was right-it was a stupid plan.

"I can't afford a tow truck," I confessed quietly.

Understanding and pity crossed his face and he nodded sympathetically. "Well, if you want, I can get my truck and come with you-for free."

I blinked in surprise and stared back, unsure if i heard him correctly.

Grinning, he grabbed his keys and gestured for me to climb into the truck beside him. The ride was surprisingly comfortable, with occasional glances exchanged that sent my heart fluttering.

As we arrived back at the motel parking lot, I felt a strange sadness knowing our time together was ending. I barely knew him, yet I already missed him. It was crazy-I couldn't be developing feelings for someone new, especially fresh out of a toxic relationship.

He stepped out of the car and I quickly followed, standing a good distance away from him as he observed the mess from this morning. "Oh.. Wow." He muttered, eying the tires.

"What?"

He cleared his throat and looked back towards me, "Nothing it's just... when you said your tires were empty I thought you meant they popped not this... You don't seem like the type of person who would have somebody slash all four of your tires."

I smiled to myself shyly, trying to keep the anxiety at bay. "I must have pissed somebody off, I guess."

He chuckled lightly and leaned down to check the wheels, focusing on what type I would need. I leaned against the truck and snuck a glance at hi; god, he was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.

He stood from his spot and nodded, "Luckily, we have the right type at the shop. I can bring it back with me and drop your car off tomorrow?"

I smiled gently and nodded in response. It's not like I could really speak right now while he was standing right there in front of me, his beautiful green eyes shining in the light.

He smirked in response and got to work hooking up my car, taking the keys and getting back into his truck. I was about to turn and leave when his voice called me back.

"Hey, wait!"

I turned and came back to his truck, leaning on the window to face him. He swallowed hard, and he looked... nervous?"

"I uh... Your name.. I need your name for the... papers."

I bit my lip to hold back a laugh, "The bill?"

He laughed to himself and dropped his head, "Yeah, that would have sounded better."

"What?"

He blushed and lifted his head, "Nothing, sorry. Um, your name is?"

My cheeks burned red, and for a split second I felt like I couldn't breathe. The way he was staring at me was different than before; it was intimidating and filled me with desire for this random man.

"Y/N.. My name is Y/N."

He breathed in as a relaxed smile erupted on his face. "That's a gorgeous name."

I could feel the heat spreading all down my body; the nerves were kicking in. Why was he flirting with me of all people? Did he know about me?

"And your name?"

"Oh right." he laughed, sticking his hand out to shake mine. "I'm Dean."

I smirked as his name left his lips. Dean-now there's a name I wouldn't mind screaming out. No, wait, stop.

"Dean.. What a unique name, I like it."

This time his cheeks burned red, and god, he was so cute when he blushed. He cleared his throat and nodded before starting the car, a small wink sent my way making my stomach do backflips.

"I'll see you tomorrow Y/N."

I smiled in response, "Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow, Dean."

I watched the truck leave the parking lot, and strangely enough, I felt sad. I didn't even really know Dean, yet my heart missed him. It was crazy-really frigging crazy.

Is the universe messing with me? Is he?

Dean couldn't quite understand it, but he found himself strangely drawn to her. Everything about her seemed to captivate him; the way she looked at him, the effortless way her hair fell across her shoulders in the truck, her attitude, her infectious laugh and her smile that could light up a room.

As he parked the truck and began to unhook the car, his father appeared, wearing his usual grumpy expression.

"What are you doing?" his father questioned with a hint of disapproval.

"Changing the tires," Dean replied, glancing at the car and then back at his father.

His father scoffed, visibly annoyed. "With her. Haven't you heard the rumours about her and Andrew?"

"Yeah, but she seems alright. They are rumours, Dad."

"You do realize that by helping her out, Winchester Mechanics could lose our opportunity to go on the news? Andrew promised us some TV time, but that could change once he finds out you're getting cozy with his ex."

Dean rolled his eyes, frustrated by his father's stubbornness and self-centeredness. Despite his good intentions, his father often looked down on his choices.

"Dad, I'm just fixing her car. We just met, it's not that big of a deal."

"Sure," his father muttered skeptically. "I saw how you looked at her. Just... be smart, Dean."

After his father left, Dean leaned against her car and couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew he had lied to his dad—it was a bigger deal than he let on. There was something about her that had taken hold of him, something he couldn't quite explain. Deep down, he knew this was just the beginning. Maybe he was crazy, or maybe, just maybe, she felt it too.

He would find out tomorrow for sure.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter  coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[luffyvace]

Boa Hancock & Neferatari Vivi x female reader for women’s day!!

ik I’m late to women’s day guys!! But I’m still gonna participate! (Totally not an excuse to write for some of my fav op girls that I haven’t written much for yet)

Hancock x a fem reader would be like the ultimate alternative timeline to her not falling in love with luffy lol

let’s say your in the kuja pirates specifically,

that would make more sense as to how you got closer since your on the same crew and obviously get to interact with her more versus just fan girling in the crowd lolol 😂

just the same as luffy, she’d realized her love for you after getting worried for your safety and feeling ill (love sick 😀) mid expedition at the fact that you might be hurt

when everyone gets back to the boat she tried to unsuspectingly scope you out (tried because she was actually frantically searching for someone and wouldn’t say who as everyone panicked-) and as soon as she saw you she sighed in relief! But soon after, she started blushing and she felt a warm fuzzy feeling!

what was this? Is this what they call..? Love?!

it was such a joyous feeling..! She couldn’t believe she was feeling such intense emotions at your presence alone!

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”Lady hebihime!! Are you all right?!”

”all right..!”

”right..!”

”right..”

Your words echoed over and over again in Hancock’s spinning head. You..we’re worrying for her?! Your so…kind!- So!- so!- your such a selfless woman!!

and yeah that’s pretty much how it went HAHAH

you can pretty much guess you’ll get special treatment from then on, she’s in love with you after all!! Naturally it’s her duty to protect her lover! 😊 (you haven’t even asked her out yet Hancock! - Glorisa)

she invites you into the palace and gives you the best food and treatment straight away!! Put your feet up dear! Are you hot? tired? Do you need water?? “Hurry up and bring the giant fans! My lover is hot!”

no pun intended even though you are 😉

“lover..? Lady hebihime..! May I ask what your talking about..😅”

”o-oh! W-well..I was just thinking…maybe…we could go on a date..?! ☺️😅”

“ME?? Hebihime!! I- I’m honored but what brought this about?! This is….strangely sudden, you know? Not trying to be rude!-”

”Hancock!”

”eh??- I mean!- hebihim-”

”Hancock!! Y-you..can call me Hancock..if you’d like!- I mean if you’d prefer to call me something else like a pet name, honey or dear m-maybe-…!”

”But!- hebihime-”

“-And to answer your question! What brought this about……I’m not sure myself…I have no idea actually, I found myself worrying about you and when I saw you again….When I saw you..! When I…..Kyaaa! 😍”

”Hancock!! Are you all right?! What happened!?

“ !!….You…! You!- You said my name!! This must be..! This must be!! What they call!- Engagement!~ 😍😍”

”huh?? 😀 hebihime?-“

“No! Go back! Don’t call me hebihime anymore!! We’re getting married next month so!- So call me by my name from now on! Okay honey?! 😍💗”

*mutters while being carried bridal style by Hancock* “I’m getting married…to the hebihime..😵‍💫💫”

and yes you actually did get married the next month :)

being the wife of the pirate empress is the liiiife 😎👍 you get whatever you want, whenever you want and however much you want of it!! Without a question! Your words are as absolute as sold gold on the island of women! Hancock will likely even ignore elder nyon/Glorisa for you <3

and yeah you can pretty much just imagine your dream life for the rest! Expect that to become your reality when married to Hancock bc even thanos snap can’t compare 🗿😭

Vivi is such an awesome girl - honorable mention okay? 😤👏

let’s say your not a straw hat tho :) just for funzies :3 imagine you’ve lived on alabasta just as long as she has and even infiltrated Baroque works with her. And also helped save alabasta!

best friends to lovers anyone?? Lesbian edition >:> 👩‍❤️‍👩 🧡🤍💖🏳️‍🌈

after it’s all said and done, and crocodile is defeated, you two say cya to the straw hats and you help Vivi rebuild her kingdom

somewhere during the time things start looking up as for alabasta’s cleanup, she confesses! Oops spoiler :}

“hey!!..I’ve been looking all over for you 😅”

“Oh hey Vivi! What is it?”

”oh nothing I just, well it’s not nothing…can we talk? Uh- you know..in private?”

”oh yeah sure! Come inside I was just cleaning up heheh, excuse the mess..”

“It’s nothing! Really, it’s fine no need to be so formal…we’re close, right?”

“Yeah :) what is it you wanted to talk about though? Is it something bad I’m nervous 😃”

”Oh! Nononono! Nothing bad nothing bad!-“

*sigh of relief* “hah, that’s good 😅”

*awkward yet adorable giggles come from both you and Vivi*

“well..what I wanted to talk about was…us, as in…who we are”

“Oh no Vivi don’t come out and tell me we’re aliens now we’ve barely finished cleaning up alabasta! 😭😂😂”

”what?? Hey! No! I-I’m trying to be serious here! 🤦‍♀️“

”OH! Oops 😄 go ahead go ahead!”

“I meant who we are as in, as a….relationship! Like- um..we’re friends right? Soo..if we could be……”

“Vivi..you mean..?”

”YEAH! 😭😅 I mean if- if we could be..more, if- if you want if not we can just stay friends-“

”No! I- hahah, I honestly never thought you’d ask, like- literally! I’ve kinda been waiting but you never did so is assumed-“

lots of awkward laughing and explaining of feelings ensue from there 💗(🏳️‍🌈😜)

actually being in a relationship with her includes training, yes training, because you never know what could happen. Just as crocodile happened and no one knew he would. So from now on she wants to be prepared, she refuses to be blindsided again—for the sake of her people!

she’s a cute mix of awkward, kind and a tad bit shy 💗 it’s like, she almost wouldn’t know how to act around you if you weren’t so close, but you are! So that makes things easier :)

she’s highly knowledgeable and I feel she’d have quiet a bit of hobbies. if you like to do similar things she’d love to partake in those activities with you! But if you have different interests, exploring each one as you teach her about them would be fun too! <3

Vivi is a literally princess, which means as her lover you get princess treatment! 😘 (all puns intended) She can afford it after all! Pell and Vivi’s father would adore you! You make Vivi so happy, how can they not?!

she talks about you more often than you know 🤫 “Dad!! Don’t tell her that!- it’s kind of embarrassing you know?!” oops Vivi heard him

well anyway 😊

Vivi is a very caring and protective lover as seen with Nami (when she stayed by her side the whole time she was ill). So of course that’s not any different when it comes to you, it’s highly likely Vivi knows first aid so if you get a minor injury? Be more careful!! 🩹❤️‍🩹💋 A major injury?! Hurry! Rush her to the royal hospital! Quickly! Giver her the best treatment! It’s okay, relax, she’s here 💖

Vivi will be with you through thick and thin and her loyalty is unwavering. She may not be the strongest banana in the bunch but she’ll certainly defend you with all she has if it comes down to it! 😤💪

Also!!! Can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this yet!!- Karoo!!!! Karoo loves you <33 Vivi thinks your bond is adorable, especially how Karoo always lets you ride on him :} you bring him snacks and drinks and he runs to you each time. If your tired of walking he’ll carry you without complaints as well so that’s a perk!

I feel the other spot billed ducks would love you as well! Karoo probably tells them how great you are 🤗 You might even like one of them enough to make them your duck! (I would, they seem cooler than a freezer 😎👍)

Okayyy~ lovely readers, followers and anyone new here..!

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons!!~

[post-maester]

I had a fucking wonderful conversation with a Director who is a trans woman today.

I originally responded to an ad of hers looking for a transfem video editor for a documentary about trans people, but I was several months late. I specifically responded knowing I may not get the gig, but I wanted to work with her on this project that I felt was so important. It was important to me as a person developing a career in film, it was important to me as a trans girl hoping to engage and give to a community I want to be a part of, it was important that a project get made that could help people like me figure out what the fuck is going on with their identities.

So I waited for a response. Eventually one came. We set up a meeting for this afternoon, and the conversation we had was euphoric. I was so anxious and in my own head about the whole thing, but when it came time to talk, I felt like I was unapologetically myself while talking to her. I didn't need to mask, or change how I behaved for her. I just was. It felt wonderful. I've never had that with another person before, I think.

We talked about film work, trans experience, and MOTHERFUCKING TTRPGs!!!!!!!!! She called me "girl" in conversation and that was butterflies in my tummy. When I mentioned I was only 3 months on HRT she unashamedly and excitedly exclaimed that my chest was going to start hurting soon, and that lack of timidity about the subject was so fucking refreshing.

She mentioned how she enjoyed taking on the role of teaching younger trans people and being motherly. I added that my friends say that I'm the same way, but that I don't really have someone to be that way for me. It was a strange feeling to realize mid-conversation that I may need something like that at all. I never felt like I wanted a motherly force in my life, but maybe as I find myself in femininity that's something I need. My husband can only do so much to help me, and he's not exactly the posterchild for this sort of thing.

Nearing the end of our conversation, she told me to keep in touch and ask any questions if I need. But then she mentioned that we could go to get our nails done together sometime soon (I'd mentioned my experience with hand/nail dysphoria from a few days ago). I shut down. I stared at my screen through to her silently for a moment. I then stuttered, trying to answer. She asked if I was okay and if she overstepped any boundaries. I admitted that I needed a moment to restart my brain. Then I explained that I don't have any feminine friends to do "girl stuff" with. I've never been able to before. The idea excited me beyond belief. I said yes emphatically. I almost started crying a little, to be completely honest.

We said goodbye, and I closed the call.

Im doing a little tiny cry now, I feel so fucking good. I feel so proud of myself for trying for this and sticking with it. Proud of myself for not canceling because of my anxiety. Proud of myself for allowing me to be me unapologetically with absolutely no fabrication for the pleasure or comfort of another person.

Writing this now in bed. No other plans until later tonight. That call took a lot of my energy. Time to rest.

Night night💜

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 15

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy spends time with Jake's family and Jake tries his best to get back to her.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Helen came over first thing in the morning, helping mama and I cook biscuits and gravy from scratch. She brought a scrapbook with pictures of her, Caroline, and Jake as kids and sat with me in the living room, flipping through them.

“Thank you for not telling him,” Helen squeezed my hand. “It’s got to be hard not being honest with him.” 

“Penny, she’s engaged to their squad leader Maverick, said they probably won't get any phone time. Maybe five minutes the whole deployment so hopefully, he’ll be back before I get put in the position of lying to him.” Helen squeezed my hand again, 

“We’ve been worrying ourselves sick on how to tell him, pops wanted to tell him right away but we were all just so…”

“Worried, I get it,” I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles. “But the second he gets back from his mission, I’m telling him and no one is going to stop me.” 

“You’re practically married already,” Helen teased. “I would be the same way if it was my husband.” I sighed, resting my head on her shoulder,

“You all seem really sure that Jake and I are going to get married.” Helen laughed, squeezing my hand.

“Well, it’s more like hoping but you have to see it from our perspective.” I turned to face Helen head on, her eyes were soft and unguarded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Jake’s never been serious about a girl before, he never even brought a girl home during high school and those girls already knew us.” 

“Seriously?” I shook my head, laughing softly, “I mean, if there was anyone I would have wanted my parents to meet it would have been Jake. No, don’t make a sad face,” 

“This isn’t my sad face,” Helen scrunched her nose.

“It is your sad face, it’s Jake’s sad face too.” Helen broke first and it felt good to be laughing alongside her, like I wasn’t alone in this situation. “Come on, I think it’s time I teach you how to bake my M&M cookies.” 

Helen had to head out after the cookies were finished and I made up a plate with two of them, humming my way down the hallway to the small office pops had been holed up in all day. 

“Pops?” I knocked on the door softly, opening it when I heard him welcome me in. “I brought you some cookies, I know you don’t have an appetite right now but I have your son’s assurance that you’re a man with a sweet tooth.” 

“Is that right?” He chuckled, his frail frame shaking. “When I smelled them, I was hoping there would be some for me.” 

“I’ll give mama my recipe if you like them,” I laid the plate down on the desk, rubbing his shoulder. “If you like lasagna, I can also make that for dinner one night.” Pops smiled up at me and I could see the man Jake would grow up to be in his eyes and it made my insides go all gooey, thinking about running my fingers through Jake’s hair when it was gray like pop’s. 

“You don’t have to, sweetheart. You’re a guest here,” I shook my head,

“I like feeding others. Plus, cooking will help me keep my mind off of everything.” 

“I’m real sorry you had to be put in the middle of all this,” He ran a hand over his face, “We should have told him when this whole mess started again but the timing never seemed right according to my girls.” Pops sighed, “I regret it now, meeting you, I know you would have helped him through it.” 

“There’s no need to second guess it, Pops. If he makes it here in time, we’ll all help him through it. If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure he’s taken care of and we’re all going to be here for you.” I rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, “Eat your cookies, I’ll go talk to mama about when I can make that lasagna.” 

It took two days to convince mama to let me cook dinner for the family and she insisted on helping me every step of the way. She shooed me out of the kitchen when the dish went into the oven, banishing me before I could get a head start of the dishes. When pops found me wandering the halls, looking at the plethora of pictures hanging on the walls. 

“Smells good out there, she kick you out?” 

“I tried to start the dishes,” I laughed, sipping on the wine mama had pushed into my hand. “Care to give me a tour of these photos?” 

“It would be my pleasure,” He offered his arm and I took it, letting him lean on me as we walked down the hall. Pops stopped at each photo, telling the story behind each one. The day that  Caroline won the state science fair, the first time Helen rode barrels, and Jake’s Eagle Scout ceremony. The Seresin family history was lined up on the walls, neatly hung and perfectly dusted.

“Oh my goodness, they look so beautiful,” I gasped, spotting the photos of each of the girls on their wedding days, being walked down the aisle by pops. He pulled me to a stop in front of them, a ghost of a smile on his pale face.

“I walked my other two girls down the aisle on their big days,” Pops squeezed my arm. “And if you’ll do me the honor, I’d like to do the same for you. Then I’ll hang your picture on this wall too.” 

“Are you sure?” I wiped at the tears that had spilled down my cheeks, feeling a mixture of elation and sadness, once again reminded that my dad wouldn’t be there to walk me down the aisle himself. 

“I’m sure,” He kissed my temple. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride, just like my other girls.” 

X

The last thing I wanted to do after getting back to base was to sit on a flight to Texas but it was the only way to get to Daisy, so I bought a ticket in the Uber to the airport. Rooster had taken my gear back to base for me and I knew I still smelt of jet fuel and sweat but I didn’t want to wait, all I could think about was getting to Daisy. 

“You look excited, Lieutenant,” The older woman at the desk smiled as she printed my ticket. “Going to meet someone special?” 

“My girl’s waiting for me in Texas,” I was grinning like an idiot, “Can’t wait to see her.” 

“Well, have a fun trip then,” She passed back my military ID and ticket, pointing me towards the terminal I needed to be in. I just couldn’t knock the smile off of my face, even as I passed through TSA. I decided against giving anyone a heads up that I was on my way, wanting to surprise them instead. 

I waited patiently, tapping on my knee until boarding, listened to the flight attendants give the safety briefing, and then closed my eyes. After a few minutes there was an announcement that we were waiting for one final safety measure to be checked off but it didn’t bother me. I was on the plane and just a few minutes away from being in the air. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot. I’m sorry to say that this flight has been canceled due to the flight crew reaching their maximum allowed hours. When we pull back to the gate, please make your way to the help desk to rebook your flight.” The plane erupted in angry shouts and groans. I ran a hand down my face, what the hell was I going to do now?

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove

[thebibutterflyao3]

“Coffee Shop”

@pandalilymicrofics - 1260 words

Pandora didn’t even like coffee, so it was rather difficult to explain to her friends why she returned to this specific coffee shop at 7:15 on the dot, two mornings a week, every week. Especially considering she spent an absurd amount of money on a cup of tea every Monday and Friday, only to abandon it half-finished.

They were even further confused when she brought a book or magazine along with her, just to summarily ignore it. Her standard excuses were, “I’m admiring the scenery” or “It’s just a guilty pleasure.”

I doubt they believe me, but what am I supposed to say? I’m obsessed with a mum?

It started innocently enough. A month ago, Pandora spotted a curvy redhead with an impossibly cute toddler on her hip walking into this shop. She followed curiously, intending to say “hello” and possibly ask for her number. Except, she didn’t.

After showing up at this same time every day over the next week, she determined the redhead’s schedule. Internally, Pandora acknowledged it was slightly unhinged behaviour. She could have approached any one of those days, but couldn’t bring herself to interrupt their adorable mummy/son dates.

Then, he showed up.

Pandora sat in her usual seat, fuming. She hadn’t even tasted her lavender and cinnamon concoction yet. Instead, she assuaged her disappointment with a pastry.

Although the redhead didn’t wear a ring, she should have assumed she was seeing someone already. No one as pretty as her stayed single for long. Her only consolation was in how much the little boy favoured him, he had to be the toddler’s dad. She hadn’t missed her chance then, there wasn’t one.

“Panda? What’s wrong?” Dorcas asked, sliding into the booth next to her and slipping her arm around Pandora’s shoulders.

Pandora forced a smile, then dropped it when Dorcas stared back at her. “All the pretty girls are either taken, straight, or both.”

“Preaching to the choir, doll. Who are we glaring at?”

“See the redhead?” Pandora asked, nodding subtly. “She comes in here twice a week at the same time, so I do too. I was working up the courage to ask for her number, but…well.”

Dorcas eyed the couple thoughtfully, then shrugged. “No rings. Maybe they’re exes?”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Cas.”

“Do you want me to scope them out?” she offered.

Pandora turned to face Dorcas fully with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you mad? No, I don’t want you to annoy a perfectly normal—”

The front door of the coffee shop slammed shut, cutting Pandora off. Suddenly, Dorcas laughed as if she’d said something hysterically funny. Startled, Pandora didn’t even get a word out before a blonde mullet in combat boots stomped over to their table.

“What the fuck, Cas?” the woman hissed. She kicked the leg of a chair and when it popped out from the table, she flipped it around and sat on it backwards. Prooping her arms on the chair’s back, she glared at Dorcas, then Pandora. “Who are you?”

Dorcas smirked. “This is Pandora.”

When she didn’t introduce the woman, Pandora rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I didn’t catch your name?”

“Hey Marlene, what’s up?” a deep voice asked. It was him.

Marlene ignored Pandoras hand and scowled up at him. “I don’t need your help, James. I’m perfectly capable of confronting my girlfriend without back-up.”

“G-Girlfriend?” Pandora choked out. She swatted Dorcas’s hip when she regained control of herself. “You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend!”

“That’s because I don’t. McKinnon here is just a clinger. The one-off that won’t leave.”

“One-off? We’ve been on three dates! In lesbian land, we’re practically engaged.” Marlene pounded a fist on the table in protest, upsetting Pandora's cup and spilling it on the floor. “Oh shite! I’ll buy you another one.”

“Nice one, Marls.” James tossed serviettes at the spill and started cleaning it up. “I’m James, by the way. Her—”

“My future step-son,” Marlene snarked.

James sighed. “Don’t ask.”

Pandora exchanged curious glances with Dorcas, then shrugged. “Alright then.”

Marlene opened her mouth to speak and was promptly interrupted by James. He plopped on the seat beside Pandora and asked, “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?”

“I’ll be real quick. Just need to text someone,” James insisted. “I’ll give it right back.”

Pandora reluctantly unlocked the phone and handed it to him. “Fine.”

He held it for all of thirty seconds before giving it back. “Thanks!”

She glanced at her texts, but didn’t see any new messages sent to unknown numbers. Before she could ask, a cup was held out in front of her face. Attached to that cup was a small child with an eerily familiar grin, and by extension, his mother.

“Oh, thank you,” Pandora said, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

The redhead smiled when she accepted the cup, and Pandora’s heart pounded in her chest. Everything else faded away, as though they existed in a space and time all their own. She’d seen that smile from afar, but up close, it was radiant! A sparkling jewel amidst a pile of stones.

“Lavender chai tea with cinnamon, right?” the woman asked.

“Yes! How did you know?”

“You order the same thing every time you come in.” Her freckled face was even prettier with a slight blush. She adjusted her son on her hip and ruffled his unruly curls. “I’m Lily, by the way, and this is Harry. I noticed your drink hadn’t been replaced after Marlene’s tantrum.”

“I’m Pandora. Nice to—”

Dorcas snorted a laugh. “Tantrum is right. She thinks if she pouts prettily enough, I’ll give in.”

“That’s because you do,” Pandora deadpanned.

Marlene rolled her eyes, but was once again interrupted before she could speak. A blur of dark hair rushed into the shop at a full sprint, nearly colliding with Lily and Harry. Pandora flinched, but James lunged forward and caught him. It wasn’t until he settled back into the booth with Regulus in his lap that she registered who it was.

“Reg?” Dorcas said.

Regulus scowled. “Don’t look so surprised. You just texted me, Panda.”

Pandora pulled out her phone and checked. Sure enough, James had texted Regulus from her phone. Your not-so-secret boyfriend is at the coffee shop with his ex.

“Ah, that’s why you borrowed my phone,” she said, shaking her head.

“That was you?!” he huffed incredulously, swatting James’s shoulder.

James buried his grin in Regulus’s hair. “I missed you. Besides, your friend was staring daggers into the back of my head.”

Pandora turned to defend herself, but Lily was gone. Her heart sank in her chest. I lost my chance.

“Why?” Regulus asked.

“She has a crush on Lily,” Dorcas answered.

James chuckled, then reached out to turn Pandora’s cup around. “That’s convenient.”

Written in loopy cursive were four words, “Same time next week?,” followed by a phone number. Lily asked her on a coffee date! Pandora quickly added the number to her phone and texted, Yes! I’d love to have coffee with you and Harry.

“Wait, so you’re not—” Marlene said, sitting up straight.

“No, she’s a friend. You threw a fit for no reason,” Dorcas taunted, looking awfully pleased with herself as Marlene all but crawled in her lap. “Jealous twat.”

Boxed in by the couples on either side of her, Pandora focused on her phone as three little dots danced across the scene. When the response came through, she nearly melted on the spot.

We can’t wait. xx

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 6)

Read on AO3

Precious readers,

Thank you so much for the encouragement and support. I have really leaned on it lately. This nausea is kicking my ass. Maybe that’s why this chapter is a veritable angst-fest. You’ve been warned. As always, I promise that things will get sweet and sappy and dopey and MSR-lovefest soon enough.

And just a reminder that things are not always as they seem. I had some readers feeling quite anxious that this was turning into a Fowley-Mulder romance, and it really, really isn’t. In fact, the idea makes me want to vomit (I mean, everything does these days, but still). None of my stories are Fowley-Mulder. They just seem like they are (to Scully).

tw/cw: pregnancy update below

Also, in personal news . . . I found out I'm having a BOY! As a girl mom, I am shocked to my core, even though there was a 50-50 chance of it being a boy. Boy mamas of the world, teach me your ways!!!!! (also, I fully believe gender is a construct and a spectrum and all that :) but right now, there is a tiny alien inside me with XY chromosomes, and it is wild)

tagging @today-in-fic

Breathless, Scully twists around, her eyes meeting Diana’s. She glances around the motel parking lot and sees no sign of Mulder’s car.

“He went to the police station,” Diana offers, a knowing smile rising to her perfectly-painted lips.

Scully nods indifferently, then moves to her car, unlocking the door and tossing her go-bag in the passenger seat. She’s about to slip into the driver’s seat when Diana catches her elbow. 

“Are you not checking into the motel?” Diana asks, her brow furrowing in mock confusion.

Scully considers it. There’s no way she’s sticking around today, not after all the damning evidence pointing to a dalliance between Mulder and Diana. Sure, Mulder might get a little pissy if she skips town, but he’s a big boy. Plus, by the looks of things, Diana will be there to comfort him.

“I have something urgent I have to return to tonight,” Scully replies primly.

Diana’s eyebrows tick up with faux interest. “Another case?”

Scully shrugs, hoping it’s enough to throw the woman off her scent.

Diana steps in closer, a girlish smile growing on her face. Her voice lowers conspiratorially. “Or do you have someone to get home to, Agent Scully? Someone I don’t know about?”

Scully blinks. Someone you don’t know about? You know nothing about me, you witch. This isn’t a high school sleepover where we gossip about boys we like.

She tries to settle her features, reminding herself that Diana is trying to bait her on purpose. “I have an engagement tomorrow that I can’t miss,” she deflects.

“So coy,” Diana replies, grinning. “Come on, Dana, you can tell me. Woman-to-woman. Who’s the lucky man?”

Scully glances at her car, wondering how rude it would be if she simply jumped in and drove away mid-conversation. Before she can formulate a response, however, Diana is already chiming in.

“Fox would be interested to know as well, I’m sure,” she continues. Scully’s head whips around at the mention of her partner’s name, and she knows her reaction is an error when Diana’s eyes gleam. “Last night, I convinced him to tell me more about your adventures together. A five-year partnership? That’s one for the books.” The woman steps closer, her perfume reeking of disdain and deception. “It has taken some special encouragement on my part for Fox to really start opening up to me, though. All men are the same in that way, you know. You give them what they desire, and they’ll give you just about anything in return.”

Before she can stop her body’s involuntary response, Scully’s lips part in surprise. Automatically, she clenches her hands behind her back, trying to prevent them from shaking.

“Something the matter?” Diana asks, smiling innocently.

Unable to trust her own voice, Scully shakes her head and slips down into the driver’s seat, something she’s realizing she should have done as soon as she spotted Diana. Before she can close the door, though, Diana slides into the empty space and holds it open, leaning down to meet Scully’s gaze. Scully keeps her eyes trained on the dashboard, certain that if she looks just slightly to her left, she’ll get a full-on view of that envious cleavage.

“I hope I didn’t say anything offensive, Dana. I suppose it’s a bit awkward to hear about your partner in that way. I know you two are practically siblings. Fox thinks of you as a little sister of sorts.” Diana’s hand slides casually onto her shoulder and Scully grits her teeth. “But surely you know that he and I—that we’ve been on the more intimate side as of late.”

I won’t react, I won’t react, she promises herself, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. But images assault her mind, dozens at a time. She thinks about the way Mulder looks when he’s coming, how his eyes seem to darken and his eyebrows pinch together, almost as if he’s in pain. And then there’s the release, and the joy and satisfaction rippling over his features so gloriously, it makes her feel like a queen. Traitorously, her mind flips the image on its head, inserting Diana where she herself normally is. Bile rises in her throat.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Diana continues with a squeeze to the shoulder. “We agreed to be friends with benefits, but I can see he wants more. You don’t take a woman out for dinner and drinks every time you sleep with her if you don’t want something more.” She clicks her tongue. “But that’s just Fox. He’ll always be ruled by those pesky emotions.”

She’s lying, the voice inside her head screams, but Diana’s words drown out all logic.

Tears start to build on her lower lashes and with trembling hands, Scully forces the key into the ignition, revving the car.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she mutters, and with a graceful smile, Diana slips out of the door.

“Thanks for the chat, Dana,” she says slyly. “It’s so good to talk woman-to-woman.”

Without even a sideways glance, Scully reaches forward and slams the door shut.

**

She drives to the office. It is only midday, and although her morning has been as horrible as they come, she can’t seem to shirk the sense of duty calling her back to work. At her desk, she tries to ignore the blinking red light on her answering machine, and when her desk phone rings, she is highly tempted to ignore the call. But she is a professional, and this is her work phone, and she cannot risk missing a call from A.D. Kersh. The moment she picks up the receiver, though, she knows she’s made a mistake.

“What the hell, Scully?” Mulder demands. “Did you really just up and leave me?”

She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, pausing to collect the storm of emotions brewing inside. “I had something to get back to here in town.”

Mulder pauses. “So that’s it? You’re done today?”

“I see no reason to expense the FBI for any more motel rooms,” she responds reasonably.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?”

She clacks her fingernails on the desktop. “I’m a bit preoccupied here,” she lies.

He scoffs. “No, you’re not. I know what you’re doing, Scully. I’ve been doing it for weeks. You’re sorting through bullshit requests from Kersh. None of that is as important as what we’re working on.”

“You have a partner, Mulder,” she reminds him curtly. “You have no need for me.”

“I need a pathologist, for Christ’s sake—”

“Get another one, then. I told you, I’m too busy.”  

“No, I need—I need—” He curses. “So you’re just refusing to help us out, is that right? You’re denying another agent’s request for help, Agent Scully?”  

“You’re no longer my department head, Agent Mulder,” she reminds him darkly. “You can’t make me.”

He barks an angry laugh. “No one could ever make you do anything. Much less me.”

“Are you finished, Mulder?” she grumbles irritably. “Because I told you I’m busy—”

The phone abruptly goes dead. She stares at the receiver in surprise, momentarily stunned. Swallowing past the hard knot of pain rising in her throat, she gently places the phone back in its cradle, and then as if on autopilot, turns to her computer and begins to work.

**

Scully stays at the office far longer than she intended, but it feels good to put her head down and concentrate on something other than her personal problems. By the time she looks up from her desk, most of the bull pen is empty, and since she worked through rush hour, traffic isn’t even half-bad.

She steps into her apartment with a sigh of relief, tossing her keys and weapon onto a side table and gingerly stepping out of her boots. She’s headed straight for the bathtub when a tall figure rises from the couch. With a yelp, she lunges for her weapon, finger tightening quickly around the trigger, only to loosen when she realizes it’s just Mulder.

Slamming her gun onto the table, she fixes him with a furious look. “What the living hell, Mulder?” she shouts.

He scrubs his hands over his bleary face and she realizes he’s been sleeping. “I tried to warn you,” he says with a shrug. “I called your work phone and left a message on your cell. Why are you getting home so late? I’ve been here for hours.”

Gritting her teeth, she shakes her head. “I stopped answering my work calls after a particularly onerous conversation left me with a bad taste in my mouth,” she gripes.

His lips twist into a half-smile. “Must’ve been a helluva chat.”

Ignoring his ill attempts at humor, she makes her way into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water just to give her hands something to do.

“I intended to take a bath,” she tells him when she hears him enter the room behind her.

“Be my guest,” he says magnanimously, “I’ll even scrub your back.” She hears the grin on his face and it cracks something inside her.

“Do you ever stop to think about just how infuriating you are, Mulder?” she snaps, whipping around to face him. “I swear it’s like every interaction we’ve had lately has been one nightmare after the next!”

His face falls, so slightly she almost misses it. But she catches the pain and misunderstanding that flash across his face, and it makes her feel like an ass. Mulder doesn’t know what transpired after she left the graveyard. He doesn’t know she’s in love with him. He doesn’t know she snooped through Diana’s room and found damning evidence of their relationship. He doesn’t know about her conversation with Diana. He has no idea why she’s suddenly so agitated with him.

Shaking her head regretfully, she steps closer. “I’m sorry, Mulder, I didn’t mean that.”

He shrugs apathetically, but she knows she’s wounded him. “Yes, you did. But it’s alright. I’m well- aware of my defects. It’s incredible you’ve put up with me for this long.”

“Oh, stop—”

“No, you’re right, Scully. I’m a pain in the ass to be around. I’m irritating, unlovable—”  

She groans. “Mulder, please don’t turn this into a pity party—”

“Then what is it?” he asks earnestly, stepping closer. They are just inches apart now. “What’s going on? Why are you so angry at me right now?”  

When she hesitates, he grips her hands, squeezing tightly. “Scully, is this about how I hurt you? Will you please tell me what happened that night?” His eyebrows crease in consternation. “It’s practically all I can think about.”

Oh, God, is he still on about that? Her hands burn within his grip. He looks so beautifully, infuriatingly fuckable in his black t-shirt and jeans. End-of-day stubble lines his cheeks, and normally, she’d take that as a subtle cue that he wants to eat her out, because she once admitted to him how good his stubble felt against her thighs. It’s just not fair, she thinks petulantly. It’s not fair that he can play me like a violin.

She shakes her head, tugging her hands out of his and glancing meaningfully at the kitchen clock. “Don’t you have someone you need to get back to tonight?” she asks.

He tilts his head, studying her closely. “I have a case I need to get back to, but I came here to see if you’re alright.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“Diana seemed to think you were upset.”

Her eyes flash to his. “Diana isn’t a reliable source of information.”

That seems to get his attention. He slaps his palm against the countertop. “What is your issue with her? Why can’t you stop pitting yourself against her? It’s not a competition, Scully. She can be a good agent and so can you—”

“I don’t need a lesson in relationships,” she hisses angrily. “But it seems you do.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Ever since she walked back into your life, you’ve—you’ve chosen her.” She flushes red at her admission.

“I’ve chosen her?” he half-laughs, brow crinkling in confusion.

She swallows thickly, ignoring the humiliating sting of tears on her lashes.

“For the past five years,” she says, straightening her spine and lifting her chin, “I have worked tirelessly by your side to support you and bolster you. If I have ever questioned you, it is because I care. Because I want to validate your work and because I want others to see its value too.” She licks her lips nervously. “But for the past few weeks, ever since she arrived on scene, you seem hellbent on believing that I am your enemy!”

“I asked you to come out to the field with us today, didn’t I?”

“Excuse me if it didn’t feel like the kumbaya moment I’m sure you hoped it would be,” she snaps.

“You want to know what’s going on? Diana believes in me,” he says, his eyes clouded with anger. “But when I told the OPR panel about what happened to us in Antarctica, you left me hanging! You failed to corroborate my account.” He leans closer to her, his voice growing harsh. “You want me to think that you believe in me? Try having my back like Diana does—”

“That is not fair,” she hisses. “I have gone to great personal and professional lengths to protect you and defend you—”

“Out of obligation,” he snaps. “Not out of true belief. You don’t believe in my cause.”

“You can’t expect me to follow blindly, Mulder. I am a scientist.” She meets his gaze determinedly. “What the hell happened to what you said to me in the hallway, before I was stung by that bee? Or was that all just a bunch of blabber to keep me from leaving for Utah?”

He steps back, his eyes shuttering like curtains over a window. “I don’t remember what I said.”

Her cheeks flame, fire and blood rushing to her pale skin. But you saved me, he had said. Your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me.

She meets his gaze and there is an unasked and unanswered question between them. Do you remember that you tried to kiss me? That we were walking a very fine line between friends-with-benefits and actual lovers? Or are you pretending to have forgotten that as well?

He blinks, looking away. She dips her head, heart pounding, tears pooling, cheeks pinking. “I have been made a fool many times in the past few weeks,” she says quietly. “But I will not make a fool of myself today. If you refuse to acknowledge the value I have added to the X-Files and to your work, then that is your choice. But it makes a mockery of our time together.” She looks up and finds him staring at his shoes.

Slowly, she reaches out and brushes her hand with his. It is a last-ditch effort to remind him of the sacred thing between them, of their bond.

“What happened that’s made you feel this way about me? Is this all about Antarctica and—and that OPR panel? Is there something more?” She links her fingers around his palm.

He pushes her away abruptly, shaking his hand like she’s burned it. “Don’t try that,” he snaps.

Her eyes widen. “Try what?” 

He scowls disapprovingly. “Now isn’t the time for—you know.” He gestures between their two bodies and shock slices through her spine.

Affronted, she takes a step back. “Now isn’t the time for what?” she breathes darkly. “Do you really think I’m coming onto you right now?”

He fixes her with a knowing look and her lips part indignantly. How dare he. Sweat breaks out against her neck and she feels the words rushing to her lips, too fast to contain.

“You asked how you hurt me, Mulder,” she says ruthlessly, and when he blanches, she knows she’s hit the right nerve. She takes a step closer, feeling herself growing more and more powerful. “You fucked me after our office burned down, but you didn’t even try to make it good for me. You were so rough and so impatient with me that I bled that night and the next day.” He turns very, very still, and a sick, twisted joy rises up inside her. She lowers her voice. “All this time, I knew you were just using me for stress relief, but that night, it seemed strangely like a hate fuck. Is that what it was, Mulder? Do you hate me so much now that you couldn’t even look me in the eyes that night, but instead had to turn me around so you could useme as roughly as you wanted?”  

He has turned as pale as a ghost, all color drained from his face.

She knows that when she agreed to a relationship with him, she made a serious error in judgment. For her, their intimate moments have been separate and apart from their work. Having sex with Mulder happened outside of their roles as federal agents. Their lovemaking was a physical expression of a lust and affection that had been simmering and growing and building for years between a man and a woman. Or at least, that’s what she thought.

“I know why you did it,” she adds, her power building and cresting. In the back of her mind, she knows she should stop, but she can’t help herself. The words are flowing out of her like water rushing past a broken dam, and it feels too good. “You were never having sex with me, with Dana Scully. You were always just fucking around with Agent Scully, your coworker. And as soon as Agent Scully started to disagree with you, when Agent Scully began to stand in contrast to an old friend with a far more open mind, the jig was up. Agent Scully represented disbelief and skepticism. Diana Fowley was certainty and reassurance. I should have realized that the work and the sex would be inextricable for you. If Agent Scully isn’t fully on board with your beliefs, then you can’t bring yourself to intimacy with her.” She swallows hard, steadying herself for the final blow. “So, imagine my relief when I found out that you have Diana now to satisfy that particular need.”

He seems struck dumb, so she speaks for him. Pushing past him to her front door, she swings it open, ignoring the way her entire body trembles with rage.

“In case it wasn’t already clear, consider yourself released from any further arrangement with me, or whatever sense of obligation made you come here two nights ago. This thing between us is done.” When he doesn’t move, she points at the door. “Leave, Mulder.”

As if on autopilot, he steps forward, moving towards the doorway like a dead man walking. He pauses on the threshold and she refuses to meet his eyes. She hears him swallow and squeezes shut her eyes when his hand comes to rest against her bicep.

He stays there for a long moment, his breathing quiet but erratic, and after a time, she wonders if she’s going to need to physically remove him from her apartment. But then he squeezes her arm, so lightly that anyone else might have missed it, and bends his head until his hair brushes her own.

“I am . . . so sorry that I hurt you,” he whispers brokenly. His hand slides off her arm and she waits until he is completely out of her presence before letting the door fall shut.

And when she is finally alone, she crumples to the ground and cries.