#but at the same time admits that he needs to forgive instead??

[nothinggold13]

Willa: I know it made you glad to see that man all bruised and beaten up. Leo: My heart soared. But what my heart needs is to forgive. Willa: He doesn't deserve it. Leo: I deserve it. You deserve it.

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 3

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce begins to suspect that Damian is hiding something after the two of you finally see each other, and the father-son trust between them is shaken. Tim finally sees your face, and something strange happens. The meeting between siblings was not successful, and to their dismay, Bruce will need to confront Talia face to face once again.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; family discussion; maternal overprotection.

Word count: 3.6k

Note: I'm sincerely sorry if I didn't include someone on the tag list or if I made any mistakes. This part took longer because it's a bit longer.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Forgive me for not offering anything sooner, miss," Alfred said, watching you carefully pick up the hot chocolate he had given to you. He found it curious how you ignored the handle of the mug, instead holding it with both hands, making sure wouldn't spill it.

You diverted your eyes from the brown liquid and looked at the old butler, now knowing his name, licking your lips after the sip to clear the excess drink. "It's okay," you responded, unaware of the chocolate mustache that had formed.

Bruce, still in the room, watched the scene from the side while patiently awaiting Damian. He traced circles with his index finger on the rim of the whiskey glass he had poured for himself, trying to keep control of how much he drank. Bruce would never admit it, but he needed to calm down, and perhaps a bit of moderate alcohol might help. He knew it wasn't appropriate to drink in front of someone as young as you, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was caught looking at you with a suspicious gaze that didn't waver. The room was filled with a palpable discomfort, and you, embarrassed, went back to staring at your own drink again, focused on listening to the crackling of the fireplace.

"Here, take this," Alfred said gently, extending a napkin from the tray. You accepted it and wiped around your mouth, finally realizing you'd made a mess.

Your mother would have scolded you for your lack of manners, you thought to yourself. And, for the thousandth time that night, you worried about how she would react to discovering you weren't in your bed. Maybe she had already noticed and was preparing a furious speech along with your punishment.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" Alfred asked, noticing your quietness as you rested the hot chocolate mug in your lap and started staring into nothing.

You snapped out of your stupor upon hearing the question, fiddling with one of the charms on your bracelet, the "T" specifically, Bruce couldn't help but notice. His mind was in turmoil, much like yours, with a thousand different thoughts arising every second. He felt strangely betrayed, questioning how much more his son hadn't told him—important things like the fact that he had a sister.

"I was just thinking that..." you trailed off, swallowing hard as the nervousness grew. Letting out a shaky sigh and with visible tears forming in your eyes, you continued, "My mom's going to be mad at me."

"And are you afraid of your mother?" Alfred insisted, trying to sound gentle upon seeing your distress.

"It's not quite that," you replied, trying to ease the situation so he wouldn't jump to conclusions.

You weren't exactly afraid of her, but you knew that rummaging through your mother's belongings, stealing a letter, and sneaking out in the middle of the night would disappoint her. You worried about her reaction and, above all, about Damian's reaction. If he was still the same, he certainly wouldn't be happy with the circumstances.

You tried to calm yourself, convincing yourself that you had the right to be angry for the first time in your life, not them, even knowing that your family would see you differently. It was as if you were perpetually a five-year-old in their eyes, always needing to hear lectures about every dangerous step you took.

Even though you and your brother were the same age, he was more responsible, smarter, stronger, destined to be a leader. And it annoyed you so much, but no matter what you said, your mother wouldn't change her mind about your upbringing.

When Damian left, Talia had said he would spend some time in a different place to learn new things and improve himself. For the first few weeks, it was even liberating not having him on your neck all the time, but then you realized it was because of him that you could do simple things like take a walk around the neighborhood alone.

Without Damian at home, your mother had no one to contradict her decisions, and her constant protection began to suffocate you. Then came the longing, and what was supposed to be a few months turned into years, and you never saw him again. You never stopped thinking about him. Every day, every birthday, and every Christmas, you would wait near the entrance of your apartment before going to bed, hoping that he would open the door again.

"Where is your mother?" Bruce suddenly interrupted, feeling Alfred's cautious gaze on him. You hesitated to answer, after all, although Mr. Wayne was a very popular man with a good image, you didn't know him. "I don't intend to harm you, but I need to know to take you back home," he justified, looking directly at your face, but Alfred knew this was Bruce's way of telling him that he wasn't interested in Talia, but rather in ensuring your safety.

"I'm not dumb, I know how to get home by myself," you tried to defend yourself. And though the words might sound arrogant, you said it calmly, not wanting to offend him.

"The point is not that. This is Gotham City, you shouldn't have gone out alone in the middle of the night." Bruce tried to reason with you, and it seemed to have worked because you fell silent.

"You need to trust us, miss," Alfred tried to encourage you to respond, but you remained silent. Bruce turned the glass to take a big sip of his drink and both gave up, not wanting to pressure you further.

The following minutes were silent, interrupted only by the sound of you drinking the hot chocolate in a few sips. Unexpectedly, Titus, Damian's German Shepherd, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He entered the room from the kitchen and stopped by your side to smell the new scent in the house. The relatively gentle dog sniffed around you, appreciating the head pats he received while you were enchanted by the furry animal.

Bruce couldn't help but compare you to his son since he began to analyze you. Damian had his mother's cunning personality and an arrogance that Bruce couldn't deny he had too, but it was more pronounced in Talia. He clearly remembered the first meeting with Damian. The first thing the boy did was make a ridiculous joke about his height, and he never seemed shy when meeting Bruce or the other boys. Also, when he arrived at the mansion, he felt comfortable analyzing every tiny detail of the house, unconcerned if his opinions were unpleasant.

You, on the other hand, although in different circumstances, limited yourself to a small space on the couch, responding only when asked and gladly accepting the kindness of Dick and Alfred. Bruce wondered how Talia could have raised a daughter like you. She and her sister, Nyssa, were sharp women, trained to be natural-born assassins, despite having a traditional father like Ra's. It was hard to believe that you, an apparently ordinary and shy girl, could be her daughter.

"Do you like dogs?" Bruce asked, deciding to stop being grumpy.

"I do, but I think I prefer cats." You continued to stroke Titus's cheeks, who began to want to climb onto your lap. Unfortunately, he was too heavy, and you had to push him back to the floor. The animal seemed to interpret that as a game because he kept trying to climb several times. "Mom gave me one for Christmas last year."

"Titus." Bruce's voice caught the dog's attention, patting his right thigh, calling him to sit on his lap. His gesture, although meant to stop the animal from bothering you, made you a little disappointed that you couldn't pet his soft fur anymore.

"What a coincidence. It seems you and Damian share something in common." Alfred was smiling while talking to you, which was rare for him. "Last Christmas, he also brought us two stray cats. The black one lives with us, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the other one. Curiously, the cat has my name." The butler tried to make a face at you, pretending to be unhappy. A Cheshire smile spread across your face, followed by the most contagious laugh he had ever heard, and he couldn't help but widen his own smile.

"The cat's name is Alfred?" You asked incredulously, seeing him nod positively. "Mine is an orange cat. He's cute but very troublesome; he even scratched one of my ballet shoes." You commented, much more at ease in Mr. Wayne's presence.

"An orange kitten?" Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just like Alfred's.

An orange and a black cat, both mentioned on the same date. Your seemingly trivial confession revealed to both of them that Damian had indeed kept in touch with you. Perhaps not directly, but it showed that he hadn't forgotten your existence and cared enough to have given the other cat to his sister as a gift. Now, because of you, they both finally knew what had happened to the other furball.

"Your brother also raises a cow here on the property." The butler thought it would be of interest to mention the funny fact, given that Damian was too irritable to raise something like a cow. And it seemed to have worked, as you laughed with genuine surprise in your eyes.

Bruce couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh when reminded of the cow, and unlike how he had been so suspicious of you moments ago, he was now more relaxed. He wondered when was the last time he saw Alfred so cheerful with someone new here at the mansion. The butler was a man full of tenderness for the family, but he was difficult to deal with for outsiders, although he always presented himself in a polite manner.

But the pleasant moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of voices coming from the top of the stairs, making Bruce and Alfred frown. Both stood up to see better what was happening and saw Damian pushing and shouting at his three brothers while struggling to descend the steps without being hindered by them.

Jason saw that Bruce and Alfred had already noticed them, failing to prevent the boy from confronting you three, and let go of his arm. Dick and Tim followed suit, defeated. The events of the night were revealed to him by his brothers, who told him everything from you being here to the fact that you had had some sort of contact with Strange. Damian went berserk at the last part and stormed out of the room in a flash.

Seeing his son in the Robin uniform, Bruce thought of reprimanding him, knowing he had gone on patrol alone again, but decided that was a matter for later.

"Damian," Bruce called out, calming him down a bit from his excitement. "We have a visitor." There was no view of the stairs from the living room, so you couldn't grasp that Bruce was calling Robin by your brother's name.

Damian descended the steps slowly, as if it were a very difficult task for him, and then finally looked at you, then at Bruce, and back at you, completely ignoring anyone else. He took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Dick had told him that his father didn't know anything about you being his daughter, but he was sure this secret wouldn't last much longer. And honestly, he preferred that both of you knew the truth, even knowing that his mother wouldn't be happy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You slowly got up from the couch, gripping the hot chocolate mug tightly. The truth was, Damian hadn't realized he was still dressed as Robin, and that's why you didn't recognize him. You stood there, paralyzed, not understanding why he was in Bruce Wayne's house, and why would he talk to you? Or maybe this was some kind of joke, and you still hadn't figured it out.

Damian was silent for a moment, his expression serious. "You were supposed to stay with Mom. It's not safe for you here."

"Master Damian," Alfred spoke, signaling to the mask on his face. Damian quickly tore it off, feeling stupid for forgetting about it.

You almost let the mug slip when you saw him. Your brother had grown a lot since he was ten. His face was thinner, more defined, and his eyes smaller, plus his voice was deeper. That's why you didn't recognize him at first. Before, you would have known who he was just by the sound of his voice, but it wasn't the same anymore.

You were happy and surprised at the same time. That moment was shocking, and the bitterness you felt a while ago was forgotten. Your anger at discovering Damian ignored you for two years for the people in this house didn't cross your mind now, too busy trying to memorize each of his new features. The superhero world wasn't new, after all, but how could your brother be Robin? And if he was Robin, did he know Batman?

"I wanted to see you," you replied, your voice trembling. "I missed you."

Damian sighed, approaching. He wanted to argue but fought against it, knowing the last thing he should do was yell at you after so long. "I missed you too, but you shouldn't be here, S/n. Things are complicated here." He responded tensely, calculating his words and trying to find a way to get you away from Bruce as quickly as possible before something slipped.

Bruce watched your interaction, unsure of what to do. He didn't understand the depth of your relationship, wondering if he should intervene or let you talk alone. It seemed too personal to discuss in front of so many eyes.

In a brief exchange of glances with Dick, in a kind of silent conversation, Bruce signaled for him and the others to leave.

Understanding as always, Dick nodded, indicating they should leave but not before approaching Bruce with something. "Bruce, promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a clearer state of mind," he asked in a whisper, placing a piece of paper in Bruce's hand, careful to put the written part facing his palm. Dick rarely asked for promises, so Bruce reluctantly agreed.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a clue about Hugo Strange," was the simplest response he could give. "But let's leave that for another time," Dick emphasized, looking at you and Damian, who, to their surprise, were watching them.

"Let's go. This is no longer our business," Dick tried to pull Jason and Tim along, but Tim was stubborn:

"Did you give it to him?" Tim said just loud enough for Dick to hear.

"Yes, Tim," he replied, not wanting to give him more room to argue, going up the stairs two steps at a time, followed by Jason who climbed more calmly, holding onto the railing. Tim gave one last look at Bruce, then at Damian, Alfred, and then you, who was now watching the three. You already knew Dick, but the other two figures aroused your curiosity. How many more people live in the mansion?

The boy you didn't know was called Tim started staring at you with an intrigued expression. He hadn't managed to see your face closely before, but now, looking calmly, he couldn't avoid noticing how familiar you seemed. He felt he had seen you somewhere, but where? You examined him with the same perplexity, and for a moment he parted his lips to say something, maybe to ask if he knew you, but Bruce's voice made him jump:

"Tim, you should go to bed, just like your brothers." He asked in a gentle tone.

"Sorry, Bruce." He responded quickly, going up the stairs in same style as Jason.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Damian took advantage of the fact that the three had left and angrily threw it in your face, but trying to disguise it at all costs to avoid sounding too harsh. His eyes were frantic, looking at every part of your face.

He wasn't sentimental, and he refused to go through the humiliation of showing any weakness at seeing your grown-up figure, even if it caused him heartache. "Why did you disappear like that? Mom's been worried for hours."

"I already told you. I wanted to see you." Your voice rose a bit, desperately trying to justify yourself. You wanted so much to hug him but felt too embarrassed to do so, finally realizing that the intimacy you had before no longer existed. It was as if he were a stranger.

"Let's go. I'll take you back." He grabbed your wrist, wanting to disappear from his father's sight at all costs, but you pulled away, surprising him.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" You asked indignantly, trying to swallow the sob due to your wounded pride. The warmth in your heart rose to your head, finally feeling that old anger again. "I haven't seen you in years, and the first thing you do is want to keep me away again!" You were distressed, feeling rejected.

"Maybe it's because you only cause problems!" He exploded.

"I had forgotten how irritating you are!" You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to push him back as you did in childhood arguments. Back then, you two were equal in strength, but now Damian was becoming a man, and he barely moved.

You didn't notice when you dropped the mug on the floor, which luckily didn't break as the impact was cushioned by the rug. But the little liquid left had spilled and stained it, and seeing Alfred pick it up to clean made you feel awful. You should have done it, but he stopped you when you made a move to bend down, saying it was okay. Alfred felt he shouldn't participate in this conversation and used the mug situation as an excuse to go to the kitchen.

"Stop." Bruce intervened between you two, separating both and giving his son a challenging look. He knew this kind of attitude was typical of him, but seeing how loyal and obedient Damian was to Talia, he thought he would at least show some sympathy to his sister. "S/n, why don't you go sleep a bit? It's late, it would be good to rest." He offered as a truce and also as a way to interrupt your meeting, seeing how bad it was going.

"Do you realize the danger she got into? Talking to strangers, no less." Damian spoke again, his voice dangerously calm, ignoring Bruce. "Do you have any idea who that guy was, S/n? Do you have any idea?!" His voice began to rise a few octaves.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, recalling the man who had helped you on the street. At that moment, he seemed like a good person, but the way your brother was talking, apparently he wasn't. "How many times do we need to tell you not to talk to strangers? Not to leave the house without telling anyone? It's always been like this since we were kids, you never change!"

You had no reaction. That single tear had turned into two, then into several others, as you shrank into your own shame. You felt ridiculous for coming here because of him.

"Damian, who are you talking about?" Bruce held him by the shoulders to stop him from continuing to spew anger at you. His voice was much deeper than the boy's, and although it didn't intimidate him, it was enough to make him look at him at least.

"Hugo Strange, Dad! Damn Hugo Strange!" Damian lost control of his own mouth, speaking without thinking and not realizing the slip he had just made. "Because she's too stupid to have the slightest notion about anything!"

"Hugo Strange?" Mr. Wayne asked out loud. You knew exactly who Strange was, just as you knew other villains, although you might not recognize them by appearance. But that didn't matter to you now, as you spoke right after:

"Why did you call him Dad?" You looked your brother in the eyes, expecting some kind of explanation, not noticing how his body hairs stood on end.

Suddenly, a realization hit you. This was his new family now, and this man was his father. That venomous jealousy returned once more, and you didn't know if it was because Damian now had someone to call 'Dad' or because it meant how close he had become to these people. Damian swallowed hard, sweating and standing still like a statue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You apologized, deciding to completely ignore Damian from now on.

"No need to apologize." Bruce felt uneasy, and like you, he drew a wrong interpretation from it. He thought Damian hadn't told his sister who his real father was, which was possible considering he also hadn't told her he moved in with him. The fact that you two were twins was also still unknown to Bruce. The most logical idea, though not spoken or thought, was that you were Talia's daughter with another man. "I'll ask Alfred to show you a room."

You looked one last time at Damian before disappearing into some wing of the mansion. It hurt to see him watching you leave without even saying goodbye. A 'good night' would have been hopeful, even though you hated him now.

"Come, miss." You felt Alfred's hands on your back, guiding you. "I'll show you the guest room," he explained, and you looked back, seeing Bruce watching the two of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you said, trying to sound as grateful as possible, while wrapping one arm around Alfred's waist affectionately. Bruce gave you a slight smile, uncrossing his arms to wave goodbye, which you returned with your free hand.

"You and I now have a lot to talk about." Bruce's aura had become cold again. The trust he had built with Damian wasn't broken, but it definitely had a crack.

"Mom is coming," he said in a low voice "I called her as soon as Dick started told me everything," he confessed, knowing Bruce would be furious, watching him run a hand through his hair to relieve the tension.

Following his example, Damian also sat in one of the armchairs in the room, analyzing his father's movements. Whenever Talia and Bruce were in the same room, even if they didn't do it openly, they fought for some kind of dominance.

Bruce made a move to take out the card Dick had given him to see its contents and maybe pass the time while the second storm of the night was yet to come. The first had been you, of course. He ran his fingers along one of the edges of the card, without taking it completely out of his pocket, and then remembered his son's words:

'Promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a moment of clarity.'

The last thing Bruce had now was clarity. So he sighed heavily and pushed it back into his pocket, staring at the boy beside him. "Why do I feel like your sister should be a secret, Damian?"

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Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

-

You watch him like a hawk after that. 

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat. 

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns. 

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace. 

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day. 

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will. 

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much. 

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on. 

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up. 

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant. 

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it. 

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing. 

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him. 

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance. 

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice. 

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond. 

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead. 

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since. 

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation. 

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding. 

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.” 

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts. 

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners. 

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl. 

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes. 

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle. 

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place. 

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit. 

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her. 

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it. 

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird. 

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl. 

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing. 

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would. 

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth. 

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question. 

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine. 

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter. 

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time. 

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth. 

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles. 

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more. 

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair. 

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh. 

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath. 

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day. 

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers. 

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks. 

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon. 

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering. 

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come. 

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe. 

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded. 

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain 

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling. 

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

[merthosus]

Damn Brisket Five...

Summary: You stumble into a deli filled with multiple versions of Five, including one called Brisket Five, who urges you to choose a fresh start with him instead of forgiving your unfaithful Five. Both versions of Five plead for your affection, leaving you torn between the past and the possibility of something new. You're faced with a decision: forgive your Five or embrace a different path with Brisket Five.

Here a sexy poster from Five I fell in love with! With every purchase you automatically support me :) https://amzn.to/3yGK6Fm

"Can I keep her?"

The first time you put a foot up the train-station stairs, your heart was racing. It felt like you were paralyzed as you tried to read the instructions of the railways. Trying to decipher the Minecraft enchantment language you would have found easier. The different colors, which should make it better to understand wasn't helping you either. So your impatient self, thought it was a good idea to just get into one of the trains.

"No risk no story", you always told yourself, but now standing in uncountable of different train stations, you needed to admit to yourself, that this was the worst proverb you could've used in your situation. After clutching yourself on one of the train rods, you watched yourself leaving the station you were. Looking at the display boards didn't help you either to locate your current position.

It feels like a fever dream, every station looks the same, every train looks the same, every fucking thing is identical to the other. White tiles, dirty walls and brightly colored train cards. After your first encounter with a cockroach you stumbled back into the train and made some involuntary pull-ups as that thing was following you. After getting into the fourteenth train you stopped to count. Every train station was empty, no Five in sight.

Instead every time you set foot at a station you were welcomed with mind rotting flickering light and the screeching sound of brakes, which belonged to the train you just got out. Suddently you asked yourself if someone was steering the train, but your fear of see something you didn't want, kept you from it. An hour and twenty minutes after (yes you counted), you had enough. You liked Five, everybody except him saw that, but being trapped in an infinitive translation was too much, even for you.

"One last time", you promised yourself as you waited the doors to open. Suddently Five walked by. You couldn't believe your eyes and hammered onto the glass. As the door opens you squeeze yourself through them and run after him. As he saw you he suddently began to run and vanish behind a corner. "FIVE!!", you screamed madly. All of that searching only to get rewarded from him running away?

You came to a halt as bright led lights blinded your eyes. "Max's Delicatessen", you read. You no longer think and open the door, a loud bell announced your entry. The first thing you saw was Five. And Five and Five and another Five. Your mouth fell open. Three of them surrounded the one you chased, he was standing with the back turned. "Guys you will never believe what I just saw!!", he exclaimed to the others. All of the three stared at me, as the others did too. "Guess we will Five, don't worry", one of the three said.

Even though your wettest dream just came true you didn't know if you liked what you just saw. At least fifteen Five's looked at you, inspecting every move you do. "This is a dream right?", you ask out loud. A few of the Fives smiled. "It's not", you heard a voice in the back. A different looking Five came out of the back, he wore an apron and a white shirt. "Your Five already said that you would eventually show up. You know he Is one of the asshole ones", he says. You still were very confused as he comes to you.

"What the hell is going on here?", you asked. You thought that you already saw the most fucked up shit but this was a different level of fucked up. You heard a few Fives in the back mumbling. "Why is she here? Did her Five lost her?", one asked. As the five with the apron looked into my kind of intimidated eyes, he turned around. "Listen to me dipshits! Continue doing whatever you were doing! I am gonna explain it to her", he said. Most of the Fives listened to him.

Making a documentary about them would certainly be entertaining, I wonder which five had to be the herd leader of the group. "Why do you get her?!", the drunkly looking Five in the back screamed. "SHUT UP DRUNK FIVE!", everyone screamed at the same time. "I am brisket Five by the way", Five exclaimed as he turned back to you. You took his hand and shared it. "I am Y/n", you introduce yourself.

Brisket Five smiled. "I know sweetheart", he said, while guiding you to one of the tables. You began to get red so you tried to hide your face to him, by putting your hands on your cheeks as you sit down on the table. Brisket Five took the seat infront of you and just looked at you, you could read some pity in his eyes. "So... Your Five told me that you were gonna search for him", he began to speak. "Yes! Do you know where he is?", you asked curious, still wanting to find him. Brisket Five took your hand, Butterflys forming into your stomach.

"I hate being the Five who tells you this", he begins as he suddently let go of your hand as drunk Five bumped against the table. The sound of his flask fall against the hard wood made you flinch. "He fucked Lila!", he said slumber. As his last word fell, your heart arches. All the searching was only to find out that he fucked with Lila? "Have you ever heard about sensitivity?", Brisket Five asked him. "Look she's gonna be sad anyway, why being sensitive?", he asked.

"Do you have some baskets in the back", he looks at him, while getting into the kitchen and argue with another employee Five. "You have no idea how much I hate this guy", he tells you, but as soon as he looked into your eyes again he stopped talking. "Look we are all different variants from him. Everyone in here is coming out of a different timeline, everyone tried to fight the apocalypse and everyone horrible failed", he explained to you.

"And every one of these Fives lost their Y/n. You are the first one that got lost in here. So don't mind the reactions from one of them here", he sightly looks into the direction of drink Five. "Their Y/N?", you ask bewildered. A few Fives laugh at the table beside us, they were currently eavesdropping on our conversation. "Your Five is the only Five out of the 23 quadrillions, that didn't had the balls to ask you out. You know your Five is popular by the name scaredy-cat Five. Moste of us don't like him", he says.

You can't help yourself but laugh. "You know if he asked you out before he stepped into this fucked up train it would have never happened. I am sorry that you are the first and hopefully also the least Y/n that has to go through that", he says, while looking down onto the table.

Brisket Five notices the change in your expression. He leans forward and takes your hand again, this time with more firmness and urgency. "Listen," he says softly, "I know it hurts, but maybe this is a chance for something different. Your Five… he’s messed up, and sure, we all have our flaws. But you don’t have to be tied to his mistakes. You deserve someone who sees you, who’s not afraid to fight for you, someone who’s willing to be there without making excuses. I could be that person, Y/N."

Just as you gather the courage to respond, the door to the deli opens again. Another Five walks in, but this one is different. His clothes are disheveled, his eyes look tired and worn. It's your Five. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. For a moment, time seems to stand still. The other Fives in the room fall silent, glancing between you and your Five with curiosity. Your heart races as you look at him. "Y/N..." he begins, but you cut him off before he can continue. "Why?" you ask, your voice calm but cutting.

"Why did you do this Five?" Five looks you straight in the eye, and you see a depth of regret and despair in him that you’ve never seen before. "I made a mistake," he finally says, his voice almost breaking. "I thought I could control everything, that I had it all under control. But I was wrong. Lila... that was a mistake, a moment of weakness. But you... you were never a mistake." Brisket Five leans in, his gaze never leaving yours.

"But Y/N, think about it. Do you really want to stay in this cycle of hurt and apologies? I know I can’t erase what he did, but I can promise you something better. We don’t have to repeat his mistakes. We can start fresh, build something real, without all the baggage." Your Five looks between you and Brisket Five, a mix of panic and realization dawning on his face. "Y/N, please… I know I’ve messed up, but don’t let that push you away. I can make this right," he pleads, but his voice lacks the certainty it once held.

The room is filled with tension as both Fives wait for your response. Brisket Five’s hand tightens around yours, a silent promise of something new, something different. Everything now depends on you. You have the choice to forgive your Five and try again, or you can take Brisket Five’s offer and explore what could be a less complicated, more honest relationship. Maybe you’re wondering if you’re ready to continue with a man who made such mistakes, or if you should embrace the chance for something new with someone who’s already shown he’s willing to fight for you. You take a deep breath as you make the decision in your heart.

Let's be real who would you choose?

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After weeks of looking forward to a quiet day with you and Rose, Bradley almost messes up his own Father's Day celebration. He's lucky you're quick to forgive him. Every day with his daughter is a collection of moments he wants to commit to memory. Every day with you makes him fall more in love.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, blowjob, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Do you have any big plans for Sunday? For Bradley's first Father's Day?"

You looked up from your computer when you realized Cat was talking to you. Truthfully, you did have plans, but they weren't big at all. Your husband just kept telling you that all he wanted was to spend the day with just the three of you.

"Isn't it kind of Jake's first Father's Day, too?" you countered with a grin. When Cat sputtered instead of actually answering, you felt like you'd won this wrong of proverbial chess against a master. "It's okay... you don't have to admit it out loud, but I just know Jake is exceeding all of your expectations."

She dropped down into the seat next to you and leaned in like she was afraid someone else might be listening. "He took Jer to the park with Bradley and Rose the other evening."

"I know," you replied with a laugh. "I needed to clean my house, so I kicked Bradley out and told him to call his bestie, Jake."

Cat looked a little panicked now. "No, you don't understand. I can trust him to take care of Jeremiah."

"Yeah... that's good, right?"

"I don't know!" she hissed. "When I moved to California, it was my intention to never ever get involved with a man again. Just me and Jer. And then when he went away to college, I was going to start collecting exotic pets or something."

You tried not to laugh. "Yeah, Jake kind of ruined that agenda for you, huh?" She buried her face in her hands, and to your surprise, she started crying. You glanced around the lab, but Macy wasn't paying any attention as you put your arm around Cat's shoulders. You were very confused as you whispered, "Are you okay?"

Cat's dark eyes were wet with tears as she met your gaze while somehow shaking her head and nodding at the same time. Her voice was raspy and uneven as she said, "He bought an engagement ring."

"Jake proposed?" you gasped, ready to jump out of your seat. You knew for a fact he wanted to, but he kept saying he didn't think the time was exactly right yet. 

"No. I found the ring. He's terrible at hiding things."

You sat quietly for a minute while she worked at getting herself under control, but then more questions started to formulate in your mind. "I know this isn't where you saw yourself, Cat. I know trusting Jake after leaving your ex is something you've struggled with, but if you love him, then what's holding you back?"

Her fingertips were pressed to her lips, and her hand was shaking. You weren't sure she had even heard your question as she stared off into space and said, "I can't even accurately describe it, because it was so pretty. The diamond was huge. Absolutely enormous. Obviously expensive." She paused and pulled away from you, opening her computer like she didn't just let herself fall apart on your shoulder. "And I have nothing to offer except a child that isn't biologically his and a crippling amount of debt that I'll probably never see the end of." When you opened your mouth to respond, she slammed her computer shut again and said, "And now I'm late to meet with Bickel," before rushing out of the lab.

You stared at the door for a few seconds before you took your phone out and started to draft up a text for Cat. You didn't see her again for the rest of the day, and you didn't send the text until you got home with Bradley and Rose. But you meant every word of it.

You're tenacious and strong, and that's worth a lot more than money. You're the kind of person someone would want to buy a big diamond for.

------------------------------

"Why is everything so expensive?" Bradley muttered to himself. "Holy hell."

He was trying to plan out the few days he would have alone with you when your parents came out again for Independence Day. Going back to the oceanfront boutique hotel in La Jolla where you and he had celebrated his birthday two years ago was going to cost a fortune over the holiday.

"Rose isn't going to need money for college anyway," he mused, shrugging at his phone before charging the room to his credit card for three nights. His daughter was going to be a genius. She was already so strong, trying her best to roll over and getting better at holding her head up without support. Suddenly he needed to see her.

Bradley tossed his phone aside and headed for the nursery where you were feeding Rose in the glider chair. When you looked up at him expectantly, he said, "I missed you."

Your gaze was soft as he sat down on the floor next to your feet. "We were with you ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago? No wonder I was getting so lonely," he whispered, reaching out to run his finger along the back of Rose's hand. "Hey, Nugget."

She paused, lips pursed, before she continued eating. It was unreal how adorable she was. Bradley could look at his daughter all day long and never grow tired. He could look at your tits dripping milk all day long, too.

"Let me burp her," he said, making grabby hands as soon as she started to slow down. "It's my favorite."

You handed Rose, who was already dressed in her sleeper, to him, kissing him on the cheek as you stood. "Should I just keep these out for you?" The way you gestured at your breasts left a smile on his face.

"Please. I would very much enjoy it if you did."

You stretched your arms over your head and said, "I'll meet you either in the shower or in bed." Then you were gone, and he was excited to burp the baby and then do whatever you let him do to you.

"Let's see if we can get a nice, big burp out of you so you'll sleep for a few hours," he muttered, pulling one of the many storybooks down from the shelf from his spot on the floor. He'd read every book in the room to her multiple times already, and he couldn't wait until she started to have favorites. Tonight he read about a dragon while he patted and rubbed her back, pausing every page or two to kiss her soft cheek.

She was yawning by the last page of the book, and she did indeed burp for him. When he set her gently in her crib, Bradley whispered, "I can't believe I get to be your dad." He stood there, leaning on the side of the crib until he was certain she was asleep, then he headed for his own bedroom, unzipping his pants along the way.

Bradley found you naked in bed, fresh from the shower and rubbing lotion all over your legs. It was such a mundane yet intimate thing for him to watch, and you didn't realize he was in the doorway yet. "Get in bed," you told Tramp, nodding toward the fluffy mat he slept on next to the bathroom door. "You can't play with Rosie any more tonight. I'm sorry, but she needs to go to sleep after Daddy finishes reading to her."

"I'm finished reading to her."

Your gaze met his as your palms went gliding up your thighs, and you smiled a little shyly at him. Then you reached for the sheet like you were going to try to cover yourself, and he headed for the bed.

"Please don't, Baby Girl," he whispered. "I was really enjoying that view."

You paused and let your eyes drift down his body. "Get undressed and come here."

He did not need you to ask him twice. Bradley yanked his jeans off and tossed them aside followed by his tee shirt and his boxer briefs. You giggled when he climbed into bed in just his socks and hovered above you like he was going to do push ups with his hands planted next to your shoulders.

When he lowered himself down to give you a kiss, you raked your fingers through his hair. He knew there was no hiding how hard he was getting, so he didn't bother. He just pressed himself against you while you licked his bottom lip.

"You're really horny, Roo," you murmured, and he simply nodded. You let one hand drift down along his scarred cheek, and then you were touching your tits. 

He was salivating immediately. He could practically smell you. White beads of your milk formed on your nipples as you gently squeezed yourself, and he whimpered your name. His cock was tapping against your thigh in excitement as he lowered himself down to kiss your lips again.

"It's okay," you whispered. "I know you want to. Go ahead."

Bradley sighed and came to rest on his elbows, letting his mouth meet your nipples.

-------------------------------

You spent all day Saturday running to three different grocery stores to buy ingredients for Bradley's Father's Day picnic lunch. It cost a small fortune to get everything you needed to make chicken salad sandwiches on homemade bread, a charcuterie board, fruit salad, and brownies. Your plan was to get up very early on Sunday to start making everything, but now Bradley's words made you feel like you were going to cry.

"I'm playing golf in the morning."

He was so nonchalant about it, you thought perhaps he was joking at first. But his expression showed a tiny bit of alarm and remorse, and you knew he was actually ditching you and Rose on Father's Day.

When you spoke, you hated how small your voice sounded. "You said all you wanted was a day with just the three of us."

"I do!" he insisted, reaching for you and pulling you close. "That's all I want. I promise I'll be home by lunchtime."

With that, you excused yourself to go to bed. You didn't bother to set an alarm, because what was the point? Rose would wake you up when she started crying her lungs out to eat, and Bradley would already be gone with Jake, Javy and Reuben. Honestly, you would have thought Jake would want to be home with Cat and Jer, and now you were mad at him, too. You thought about texting him but turned your phone screen side down on your nightstand and tossed your glasses aside instead.

A few minutes later, Bradley climbed in bed as well, and you could feel him trying to coax you closer. "I love you," he whispered, but you stayed curled up in a ball until you fell asleep.

Sure enough, he was gone when you woke up. You didn't even bother changing out of your pajamas to feed Rose. Your plans to wear a cute sundress seemed pointless now as you tried to appease your cranky daughter while you made chicken salad and baked a small loaf of bread.

"You'd probably calm down if your dad were here," you mused, handing her toy after toy only for her to push them all away. Finally Tramp had mercy on you and plopped down next to her on her play mat for a few minutes.

Of course the picnic foods looked absolutely perfect, and you struggled to get Rose burped and down for a late morning nap. "I swear you don't act like this for him," you groaned, fighting the urge to start crying. You'd been feeling better over the past few weeks. Your body was becoming more your own again, even though you were still sharing it with your daughter. The birth control and the healing time were certainly helping, but right now, you and Rose came in second place to a round of golf. On Father's Day.

She spit up all over you before she fell asleep, forcing you to change into your dress anyway. The wrapped present on the coffee table along with the homemade card were enough to make you set a timer for noon. If he wasn't back, you were going to eat the meal yourself. Your stomach was already growling.

But Bradley came through the door at 11:58 wearing gym shorts and a tank top with his aviators low on his nose. "Sweetheart," he said, sounding a little bit out of breath as he headed your way. "You look pretty."

Did he think you were stupid? You got up from the couch and turned off the timer. "Where were you, Bradley? Because you weren't playing golf dressed like that."

His cheeks flushed pink at the same time you noticed something wrapped around his right bicep. When he held his arm out to his side, you gasped.

"Why didn't you just tell me that's where you were going?" you whispered, tears burning your eyes. You felt frustrated and embarrassed that you got upset in the first place.

"I wanted to surprise you," he murmured, wrapping his left arm around your waist. "I've been waiting to do this since you told me you were pregnant." You buried your face against his chest and let yourself cry. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said I was golfing. I panicked when they called me back and said they could fit me in this morning. I just really wanted to get my second paper plane as soon as possible."

He held you tight with both arms wrapped around you. "You said you just wanted a day with your girls, and I planned a picnic and got you a present, and then you said you wanted to fucking play golf," you sobbed. "Next time just tell me you're getting another tattoo, okay? Because now when you say you're going golfing, I'm going to think you're getting another one anyway."

"Hey," Bradley rasped, tilting your chin so you were looking up at him. "I'm spending the rest of today with my girls. That really is all I wanted to do today. I'm sorry I lied to you. I feel terrible about it now." His brown eyes were sincere which made you feel a lot better, and now you weren't mad at Jake anymore.

"Can I see it?" you whispered, and he immediately started to unwrap his arm. Right there next to the large paper airplane that had Baby Girl written across it was a smaller one that said Rose in the same script. "God, Roo. It's perfect."

"Just like my girls."

----------------------------

Okay, so he came within an inch of completely fucking things up on Father's Day. It wasn't like he planned it that way. He wasn't even sure why he said he was going to play golf. None of his friends would even make a tee time on Father's Day and include him. Or Jake for that matter. Plus, Bradley was fucking terrible at lying. He felt apprehensive the entire time he was getting the tattoo done.

It didn't even really matter if you knew about it ahead of time, but he wanted it to be a surprise declaration of his love for his family. Instead he made you stress out and cry, because of course you had a whole fucking day planned. You loved him that much.

He was right there with you and Rose for the rest of the afternoon. He changed her diapers and helped you pack up the food along with a bottle of pink champagne that was tucked way back behind everything else in the refrigerator. He carried everything out to the Bronco and got both of you buckled in. Then he started driving where you told him to.

"Are we going to our wedding venue?" he asked after a few minutes, and you started laughing.

"Is that what we're calling the parking lot?"

"Sweetheart. That's our wedding venue." Rose hadn't been to that beach yet, and now he was excited. So excited. "Rosie, we're going to show you where Mommy first kissed me and fell so in love that she's incapable of being mad at me even though I didn't tell her I was going to get tattooed this morning."

Now you were laughing harder, and you turned his playlist up a little louder, and the sun felt a little brighter. When he pulled into the parking lot, he backed into the spot where you became his wife, and then he strapped Rose into her baby carrier against his chest.

Bradley watched you pull Rosie's little sun hat out of the diaper bag, and you kissed her nose before putting it on her head. "Don't want you to get too much sun." Then you led the way down the rocky path to the sand below where you spread out a beach blanket. You tugged Bradley's hand until he was on his knees, and then you kissed his nose as well. "Don't want you getting too much sun either."

When he remembered the sunburn he got the day of Mickey's birthday kegger, he shuddered, but you were already squeezing some sunblock onto your hands and smoothing it along his face. You smiled when you got some in his mustache, and Bradley leaned closer to kiss you, and then he didn't want to stop. You ended up on your back on the blanket with sunblock on your nose while Bradley cradled Rose's head.

"Happy first Father's Day," you whispered, running your fingers up inside his sleeve to touch the wrapping around his bicep. "Rose is lucky you're her daddy."

The lunch you made was absolutely perfect. Bradley couldn't remember ever having homemade bread before, and he ate two sandwiches in a row. You and he drank the champagne from the bottle on the blanket before walking down to the water. Your tipsy giggles as he dipped Rose's toes in the water made him smile.

"She hates it!" you cackled when Rose pulled her legs up and wailed. Bradley lowered her down again when the next wave came in, and she pulled her feet away from the water once again.

"Aww, Daddy's sorry," he said, lifting her up and flying her around in the air like a plane to get her to calm down. "I'll take you to Virginia Beach where the water is warmer," he promised. "And we can go to the cemetery and visit Grampy Goose and Grandma Carole. How does that sound?"

His daughter looked much happier at the prospect of warmer water and more time with grandparents. Even though Bradley was here with his family, he couldn't help but think about everything he missed out on. Everything he was still missing out on. 

He never had a dad to fly him around or dip his toes in the water, at least not that he could remember. All he could recall were glimpses of laughter and being lifted out of his crib. He could almost hear a voice, but he wasn't sure if it was even Nick's or if his memory was playing a trick on him.

Bradley held onto Rose a little tighter as you let your head rest on his shoulder. Your voice was soft, barely loud enough for him to hear you over the waves. "I wish I could have met them. I wish they were here to see you with Rose."

He knew one thing for a fact. "They would have loved this little Nugget."

----------------------------

Quite effortlessly, Bradley led you back up the rocks while he carried Rose and all the gear. As soon as the sun started to set, the wind picked up and the air got chilly. Even though you nursed Rose, you knew she was going to need to eat again so she could fall asleep.

"Oh, you still have to unwrap your present," you told Bradley when you got home and walked past the living room table.

"Right now?" he asked with a smirk.

"If you want to."

He started to take your shirt off, and you ducked out of his grasp with a laugh. "Not me!"

"I don't want anything else though," he rasped, still reaching for you, but you pushed him toward Rose on her play mat instead.

"She needs a quick bath while you open your present, and then I'll give you a blowjob after she's in her crib."

"Hell yes," Bradley muttered, scooping up the baby and the wrapped gift and heading for the bathroom. You filled up Rosie's little tub, and he set her down in the water then started unwrapping the present but keeping his attention mostly on his daughter. 

"Do you like it?" you asked over your shoulder, and then he realized he was holding a book. A book about him and you and Rose and Tramp.

Bradley flipped through the pages, staring in awe at the cartoon versions of his family. Each of you had been drawn as a superhero, and even the sketched version of Tramp was wearing a little red cape.

"This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. How did you get this?"

"I had it made," you told him. "I sent photos of all of us to a local artist, and she created the book for you."

"Damn," he whispered, tears in his eyes as he looked at each page again. "I'm such a sappy mess now, I swear." Then he sat down on the floor next to you while you rinsed the sand from Rose's tiny feet and started to read the book out loud. "Once upon a time, the Super Bradshaw Family was just about to eat dinner when Super Dad Bradley's phone rang. The city of San Diego needed help, and there was nobody better to turn to."

The story was fun, and the drawings were silly, and he just knew Rose would probably adore this book when she got a little bit older. And he was so lucky he had a wife who did things like turn him into a cartoon superhero for Father's Day and make him a four course picnic lunch.

He also had a wife who dropped to her knees as soon as they were alone. You looked up at him as you pulled his shorts and underwear down to his thighs, kissing his cock as you whispered, "There's my Super Daddy Bradley."

He grinned as he pulled his shirt off as well, enjoying how pretty you looked below his flat abs with your hand cupping his balls. "You absolutely own me, Baby Girl. I'm a fucking wreck for you. I'm all tattooed for my girls now. If you want me to be your Super Daddy, you know I will be."

You licked your lips and parted them, and then Bradley was in heaven.

---------------------------------

I need Jer to have a dad. I need it in my bones. I also need Bradley to have a sensational 38th birthday before he packs his bags and goes to La Jolla with his wife for three days in bed. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[maidragoste]

VI. Fury

Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader

Series masterlist

Part 6 of this

I still can't believe writing more than 5000 words, there were times when I thought this would never come to light and it frustrated me so please give it a lot of love and let me know what you think of this chapter 🥰💖💖

As always comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading 💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

When the Queen was informed that Harwin had been seen leaving your chambers in the middle of the night she felt her heart skip a beat. She was afraid that for some reason you had decided to forgive your husband for his indiscretions with the princess and give your marriage another chance.

When it was time for lunch that Alicent, Larys, and you had, there was no need for the Queen or Larys to ask you about your husband's sudden visit because you told them yourself. Harwin offered to help the twins put to sleep and you accepted because you were tired Alicent instantly offered to hire more maidens to take care of the children at night so you could rest but you refused saying that you didn't want other women to take care of your children. While you were saying that Alicent couldn't help but notice that you were looking askance at Larys as if you were expecting a reaction from him but she thought it must have been her imagination because when Larys changed the subject you didn't seem disappointed or upset. Unfortunately, the Queen's worries did not disappear throughout the meal so when you left to go spend time with your sister and mother she shared them with Larys.

"I'm afraid that he will once again occupy a place in her heart," the woman admitted, clasping her hands under the table. "What happens if he convinces her to give him another chance? What if she leaves us?" As she spoke, she took off part of the cuticle of the thumb. If her father was watching her he would be scolding her. She knew it was a horrible habit but the anxiety she felt at the thought of losing you was too great. Alicent wouldn't know how to live alone as your friend again, not now that she had tasted what true love was. No one cared about her like you do.

"You heard her, she only let him stay because of the children" the man reminded her as he poured them both more wine "She will never forgive him" he declared and the Queen was envious of his trust. Larys must have noticed that her concern was great because she added "Besides, she will never leave us, especially you. She always seems to want to kill Criston Cole for daring to breathe the same air as you."

Alicent hurriedly brought the wine glass closer to her mouth to hide her smile. Larys' statement had to upset her, after all, Criston Cole is one of the few people she trusts and she should be upset that you want to hurt him, but instead, she managed to calm her down a little.

But Alicent's worries soon grew worse as the days went by because Harwin kept coming to your chambers and the worst thing was that now the two of you with the twins were walking around the castle together. At first, Larys wasn't worried that Harwin would spend time in your chambers after all you made it clear that you were only using him to babysit the twins. But now Larys felt sick every time he saw the four of them together at court. They seemed like a happy family. Aethan shouldn't look so comfortable tied against Harwin's chest with one of the special clothes your mother had ordered for you from Essos, and you shouldn't look so calm when Harwin's hand is on your back while you hold Alyn. You should move away every time his brother kisses your forehead but you don't. You're never the one to initiate the physical contact but Larys still doesn't like it, he's not sure if you're really not pulling away because you don't want to make a scene or because you're bonding with Harwin now that he's spending so much time in your chambers.

One day Larys reaches his limit. You, Alicent, and Larys are eating together again but the man instead of joining the conversation you two are having is too busy thinking about the image of Harwin with his hand on your back again while you were both talking to some Lord and how later his brother left the conversation but not without kissing you on the cheek before leaving.

"Why do you let Harwin spend so much time with you?" he suddenly interrupts your conversation with Alicent. She looks at him surprised but at the same time seems grateful for him to dare to question your closeness with Harwin since she would never do it for fear of upsetting you.

"I told you he's just helping me with the twins," you replied, frowning at his rude interruption.

"You shouldn't be depending so much on Harwin to take care of your own children."

"Larys" Alicent's intention was a reprimand but he could detect the nerves in her voice and her eyes.

Larys knew he said the wrong thing when he saw how your eyes seemed to spark and how you abruptly dropped the cutlery.

"Our" you corrected him. "And maybe I wouldn't be depending on Harwin so much if you took charge" you spat every word like it was poison.

"We should take a moment of silence before saying something that we regret," the queen proposed in an attempt to calm the waters as she tried to take your hand but you pushed her away and barely looked at her.

"It's not fair. We both knew that when you got pregnant the child couldn't know the truth" Larys said, appearing calm, not wanting to let you see that your words bothered him.

"Of course, they won't grow up knowing the truth but you're not even trying to help me" you crossed your arms. "Even Daemon and Rhaenyra seem more interested in them than you," the bitterness in your voice was clear.

And the only reason for that was because they both wanted to fuck you but Larys wouldn't tell you that because it would only make your anger worse so instead he told you the reason for his distance.

"I stay away to avoid making people suspicious"

Not wanting the court to suspect him of being the father of your children was not the only reason for his distance. The truth is that Larys had no idea what to do with the twins. He saw the immense love you had for children. Not just you, your parents and your siblings too. Everyone seemed to love Alyn and Aethan from the minute they saw them but he didn't. Of course, he was worried about their safety the second you announced to Harwin and Lyonel that he was the father. He didn't want anything bad to happen to them but he wouldn't say that he loves them and he's sure they don't either, especially Aethan because the few times he carried them, they became instantly agitated and cried demanding to come back to you. Their crying made his head hurt and he's sure it made your head hurt too so he stayed away thinking it would save both of you the stress of hearing the children scream.

"People think you're their fucking uncle, no one will suspect that you spend time together. You're family." It was obvious that you were dissatisfied with his defense by the exasperation in your voice. "And don't tell me that you're afraid that someone will realize the truth because Aethan has the same eye color as you because months went by and no one said anything. So stop being paranoid and spend time with your children" You got up from the table "I'm sorry, my queen, but I lost my appetite and I have to continue with my duties"

Neither Alicent nor Larys had any doubt that you were angry but you confirmed it when you left without even giving them both a measly kiss goodbye.

"You have to fix it," Alicent ordered, looking at him furiously. "If we lose her because of you..."

"That's not going to happen," the man interrupted, throwing his napkin at the table angrily. "I'll fix it."

Of course, after that argument, Larys couldn't allow you to get even closer to Harwin so that same afternoon he sent you a message through one of your maids. He asked you not to allow his brother to come to your chambers tonight because he was thinking of coming to see you. In the middle of the night, Larys entered through the secret passage that had your chambers hidden behind one of the paintings. A snort left your mouth when you saw him appear with a small bouquet.

"If you think I'll forgive you because you brought me flowers, you're wrong," you warned him but your anger shouldn't have been so great because you didn't leave his side when he sat next to you on the bed, in the middle were the twins lying awake. Face up they seemed entertained trying to turn around on their own. Larys was relieved that neither of them burst into tears when they saw it.

"I'm not stupid to think that, I know your character.," he said and extended the bouquet to you waiting for you to take it, you looked at it doubting whether to take it or not "It see like someone wanted it more than you" he commented when you saw Alyn stretch out her small hand as if he wanted to touch one of the flowers. "Do you mind sharing?" you shook your head and couldn't help but smile when you saw him remove a flower from the bouquet to give it to Alyn. You hurriedly pulled another flower from the bouquet and gave it to Aethan before he got jealous. "I will get better at this parenting thing. I will come at night and help you take care of them" he wanted to see your reaction but his attention went to Aethan when he saw him put one of the petals in his mouth so he moved the flower away from the baby making him squeal. Not wanting Aethan to start crying, he gave him the flower again but he had to take it away because he put the petal in his mouth again.

"Why does he want to eat it?"

You laughed as you saw the frustration on Larys's face because every time he gave the flower to Aethan he kept wanting to eat it and then squealed when Larys pushed the flower away. But he wasn't a squealer like when he was about to throw a tantrum, it was one of the ones he did when he played with you or your brothers.

Alyn must have also thought his father was making a funny face because he joined in with your laughter.

"I'm sure that at first the color of the flower caught his attention, but now he just thinks that he's playing with you," you reassure him. "Larys, I want actions, not just empty words. I want you to be there for us," you asked, returning to what your lover had said before.

And Larys showed that he was serious. He started coming to your chambers in the middle of the night to help you with the children. You noticed that at first, he seemed to struggle when they cried but after you taught him that skin-to-skin contact helped calm them down and told him that talking to babies helped too, Larys seemed to handle it well, although the first few times you had to stop yourself from laughing at how uncomfortable and lost the man looked because he had no idea what to talk to babies about. You had to tell him to stop thinking about it so much and just talk. Larys didn't make silly voices like Laena, Laenor, or Harwin but Alyn didn't seem to mind because he happily responded to his father with babbling. It didn't take long for Aethan to join in as well because she didn't want to be left out of the "talk."

You will never forget Larys' smile when for the first time he was greeted by Alyn's excited screams as soon as he saw his father enter your chambers. You feel happy with all this development, not only that but Larys also starts to join you during the day, of course not every day, but sometimes he happens once at the nursery with you or they meet by "chance" with you in the gardens and show the twins the flowers together. Even Princess Helaena joins you a couple of times but she soon loses interest in the flowers and entertains herself with the bugs she finds on the ground. At those times Larys and you have to make sure the twins don't try to put any insects in their mouths.

Everything seems to be fine again...Except for Harwin, who feels displaced when you no longer allow him to spend the nights in your chambers and starts seeing you and Larys together during the day. Harwin knows that he should be happy with the fact that you no longer seem to hate him and with the rapprochement that the two of you had during the time that he helped you with the twins. You don't seem angry when you meet him at nursery, nor do you reject him when during the day he insists on spending time with you and the twins. You don't even yell at him when he proposes that Jacaerys join the four of you. He should settle for that but he can't. He just wants to get your love back.

You should not have been surprised when one of your maids came to inform you that your husband was in the princess's chambers. You didn't expect that now that you could stand his presence and have the occasional civil conversation with him, he would magically forget about Rhaenyra. You weren't stupid, you knew he was still seeing her but you hoped he would at least have a little respect for you. You couldn't believe he dared to be in Rhaenyra's chambers while she gave birth. People were already talking about you three but this would only make it worse. You didn't think they could dare to humiliate you any further, at least at the birth of Jacaerys, Harwin hadn't dared to do this.

Fury took over your body. You ignored your maid's calls as you strode out of your chambers.

You felt the blood in your body heat up, noticing that you were getting closer to your destination. You couldn't stop thinking about your hands around Harwin's neck. You wanted to kill him. But you couldn't do it. If you kill your husband you will not go unpunished and you will suffer some punishment, your death, or your exile, and the last thing you want is to leave Alicent and Larys. So you'd have to settle for making a scene.

If Rhaenyra and Harwin wanted attention then you would make a damn spectacle. Tomorrow there wouldn't be a single person who wouldn't talk about you three.

When you finally reached your destination you abruptly opened the doors making as much noise as possible. You entered, leaving the doors open with the intention that anyone who passed by could hear you. You found Rhaenyra lying on her bed with Harwin kneeling next to her and holding her hand.

All eyes were on you, Laenor looking at you with fear, the midwives tensed while the princess and your husband looked at you with pure surprise. For a moment Rhaenyra thought that you would be at her side and accompany her while she gave birth.

“I tried to get him away from her,” Laenor said quickly, from the corner, seeing the fury in your eyes not wanting to be on the receiving end of it. Not when he had struggled to obtain your forgiveness.

You ignored your brother and headed straight for Harwin. One of Rhaenyra's handmaidens thought you would try to hurt the princess so she tried to stop you by standing in front of you. You barely bothered to look at her before pushing her in Laenor's direction. Your brother, as you expected, caught her before she could fall to the floor. The screams of the other maids irritated you even more. You hadn't even put all your strength into the push, of course, they had to be just as dramatic as Rhaenyra.

“What are you doing here?” with every second that Harwin passed in silence you felt your fury grow even more, the worst thing was that he didn't seem to have any intention of separating himself from the princess because he was still holding her hand. “Why does a sworn shield need to be here? “You questioned but again you didn't get any response causing you to lose what little control you had “You can't protect her from the birthing bed, you idiot! You shouldn't be here! Do you understand how humiliating it is for me, for my children, that you are here?!” As you spoke, you raised your voice more and more to the point that you ended up shouting, you were sure that at least your complaint had been heard by anyone who was there. will be found in the hallways. You were sure that from today the court would be sure that Harwin was the father of Rhaenyra's children.

You saw Rhaenyra flinch, you didn't know if it was because of your screams or because she was having a contraction. You didn't care anyway, she did this to herself you thought. If she were smarter she would not have gotten pregnant by your husband again and much less would she have allowed him to accompany her during her birth.

“She needs me,” said Harwin, looking at you with pleading eyes, hoping you would understand, you should, you know Rhaenyra and you know that she is afraid of childbirth after everything her mother suffered.

“Harwin, we're leaving,” you demanded.

Harwin loves you but he loves Rhaenyra too so he couldn't leave her alone right now, not when she knew she was scared and needed him.

“No,” he said painfully, knowing that the little process he had done between the two of you would be forgotten. Now you would get angry but then he would work hard to win you over again.

Your dragon blood or your Baratheon blood had to have taken over your body because suddenly your hands were on your husband's scalp. Years ago you had caressed his curls tenderly but now you found yourself pulling him with all your strength, if he wasn't willing to get out then you were willing to drag him. You would embarrass him in front of the maids and anyone in the hall.

Harwin quickly let go of Rhaenyra's hand to prevent you from ending up dragging her with him. The princess didn't know what to do as she watched in shock as Laenor grabbed you by the waist and tried to pull you away from Harwin, but you didn't give in, your hands seemed to be clinging to him. All Rhaenyra could do was shake her head as one of her handmaidens approached the door ready to call the guards and silence the rest. The last thing she wanted was to get you in trouble.

“Please, sister, let go. Please,” Laenor asked desperately. He feared that at any moment a guard would walk in and you would end up having an audience with the king for disturbing the princess in the middle of her birth and attacking her sworn shield. The worst thing is that he saw you capable in your state of the fury of telling Viserys to rot for pretending not to know what was happening right under his nose, how his grandson was a bastard: "It's not worth getting in trouble for them. Please release him. If the king and queen find out about this…

He stopped talking when he watched you loosen your grip on Harwin carelessly causing his head to hit the floor. Laenor couldn't help but grimace at the noise. He had to have pushed you away instantly because you once again grabbed Harwin by the hair, lifting his head and then slamming it back onto the floor. This time when you let go, Laenor took the opportunity to lift you up and left Rhaenyra's chambers with you on his shoulder while you shouted curses in Valyrian.

They hadn't even reached the end of the hallway when Laenor stopped, a few seconds passed before he put you down. But you understood his reaction when you saw his father standing in front of you. He was looking at you angrily and again you felt like you were a little girl getting into trouble running away from your babysitters. Laenor must have felt your anguish because he took your hand and intertwined your fingers like he used to do when you were children and you were both scolded, not only that but he put his body in front of yours.

"Did you expect me to stand by and do nothing while they humiliated me?" you questioned your father once he finished scolding you and Laenor. During all of Corlys's talk, your brother didn't let go of your hand and you loved him more than ever for it. He could have avoided witnessing this, he could have left you alone but he didn't. Your brother wasn't to blame for your attitude but he was still scolded for not being firm enough to stop you before making a scene. You were sure that if Laenor had excused himself, your father wouldn't have bothered to scold him later.

"You humiliated yourself," he declared. It didn't matter that he had been ranting for what felt like hours he was still angry.

His words were like a slap. Unconsciously you tried to make yourself smaller in your seat as you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. He is your father, he should be on your side, he should be furious with Rhaenyra and Harwin, not you. He should be shouting and defending your honor. But instead, he's yelling at you.

You remained silent without knowing how to respond, feeling small, pathetic, and humiliated under your father's gaze. Not being able to take it anymore you lowered your head looking at your lap. You didn't like feeling like this, you hated it.

You loved your mom. It was a silly and childish thought but if she were here you believed she would take your side. She may not agree with your actions but she would never make you feel this way.

"Tomorrow the whole court will be talking about how you lost your mind, entering the princess's rooms and beating your husband," your father said making you feel worse. You had wanted to make a scene to get people talking but you thought it would be to your benefit, you thought the court would side with the poor faithful wife but maybe your father was right, maybe in the end you would be the one who would end up badly. Perhaps Rhaenyra and Harwin would not be the ones to make the Velaryons the laughingstock of the court but you. The pain in your throat worsened at that thought. "What if this reaches the king's ears?"

"That will not happen, Father," you were surprised by the firmness in your brother's voice. "Despite the distance between my sister and Rhaenyra. The princess still has great esteem for her and does not want to get her into trouble with the king. If Viserys decided to act and punish my sister that would only encourage people to talk more about the true paternity of Rhaenyra's children" he said as he gave your hand a squeeze hoping to get you out of whatever was scheming in your head knowing that it wouldn't. It must have been nothing good."Besides, I doubt people will think my sister is crazy. "The court will side with her after all it is normal to see a woman hurt by her husband's cheating."

"A maester had to see Harwin," Corlys reminded them with a frown.

"An accident. One of the maids dropped hot water and the idiot slipped and hit his head. It's his fault for being in the delivery bed when he shouldn't be" You couldn't help but laugh at the easy lie your brother made up. You wouldn't be surprised if there were people who believed her. Laenor turned to look at you with a smile, feeling satisfied to see that you were settling back down normally in your chair instead of trying to hide. "The only thing my sister did was go yell at her stupid husband for daring to snub her like that."

Before Corlys could say what he thought about it there was a knock on the door. After your father gave permission to enter a maid reported that Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son named Lucerys and that the three of you could now go and meet him.

"Come on Laenor, we have to meet the future lord of Driftmark," the Lord said once the maid left.

The fury you felt when you heard those words made you forget any feeling of smallness that your father caused you. You could allow your father many things but not this. You weren't going to stay silent while he took away your son's birthright and gave it to Rhaenyra's bastard. You knew that your father was an ambitious man and wanted to go down in history—that's why he had pushed you to spend time with Viserys as soon as Queen Aemma died and when you didn't become queen he made Laenor marry Rhaenyra even though he knew his preferences—but you never thought he would be able to deliver the legacy of your ancestors as if nothing had happened. It was insulting. This was outrageous.

When you least expected it, your father always found a new way to disappoint you.

"You can't be serious," you said, standing up abruptly from your chair while resting your hands on the desk.

"Please don't start again," your father said as if he was treating you like a tantrum child making your fury only grow even more. You could feel your blood heat up.

"He can't be Driftmark's heir," you said, emphasizing each word to get it into his head.

"He is the son of Laenor. It is his birthright"

"He is my son in name only," Laenor reminded him. He loved Jacaerys and was sure he would soon love Lucerys too, but he still knew he couldn't give any of them Driftmark. It would be an insult to Laena, to you, to his uncles and cousins.

“And why is that?” Corlys accused him. He didn't need to say any more words, the three of them knew that he blamed the lack of legitimate children on Laenor's preferences. You would think that after years your father would have accepted it by now.

“Driftmark belongs to Aethan,” you said, watching as Laenor clenched her hands into fists clearly frustrated, putting her attention back on you “He was born before Lucerys, it is his birthright” You tried hard not to raise your voice thinking that if You looked calm and confident. Your father could listen to you for once.

“You know perfectly well that the line of succession follows the lineage of Laenor.”

“That's the point,” you exclaimed. “Lucerys has no Velaryon blood and no offense to Laenor, but we all know you will never have descendants. "You turned when you saw your brother but he didn't look offended by your words so you turned your attention to your father "If Laenor doesn't have children then the line that follows is Laena's but she still doesn't have children so until that happens follow my line. Alyn was born first so he will have Harrenhall but Driftmark belongs to Aethan.”

“Lucerys will inherit Driftmark after Laenor,” your father stated as if he hadn't heard anything you said.

“He doesn't have Velaryon blood!” you argued, losing your patience, a part of you wanted to throw yourself at the desk and beat your father to the point of exhaustion. Maybe this way he would come to his senses.

“History does not remember blood, it remembers names”

Again he was looking at you like you were a little girl, like you were stupid and couldn't understand what she was talking about. But you understood, he was always going to care more about his ambition than his family. This time you did not hide from his gaze but instead took refuge in your fury.

Nightwing shouted angrily from the Dragon's Pit.

Slapped.

Your father looked at you in shock. You didn't feel guilt or regret, in fact, you felt satisfaction. You hoped the mark of your hand would remain on his face. You weren't going to apologize, he deserved it for choosing Rhaenyra and his bastard over you and your son, his own blood.

Laenor was the first to react, taking your arm and pulling you back and then standing in front of you, ready to protect you in case his father tried to do something to you. But you weren't afraid. Your father had never hit you before and you didn't think he would start doing it now, not when you were already a grown woman, not when you could still hear the furious screams of your dragon, not when you both knew that if he dared to touch you your mother wouldn't hesitate to feed him to Meleys

“Get her out of here,” Corlys ordered, regaining his patriarchal composure.

You broke free from your brother's grip. You didn't need an escort. You could go alone but you had one last thing to say. You expected this to torment him.

“You will be the one to ruin our name, you will make us a laughing stock if you leave that child as heir.”

Of course, your fury can't last forever. That's why when Larys entered through the secret passageway that your room had, he found you curled up in bed.

"Are you angry?" You turn your back on him as you feel him lift the sheets to get into the bed next to you.

Your voice was weak and unsure like you were afraid to know his answer. And Larys didn't like it.

"Just for not being able to see how you hit my brother" he replied and you wanted to laugh but it came out more like a sob making the look in Larys' eyes soften. If it was someone else they would find it annoying or feel uncomfortable but you are the exception. He just wanted to make your pain go away. "What happened?" he asked, ready to listen to you complain about Harwin and Rhaenyra.

"My father wants Lucerys Velaryon to be heir to Driftmark instead of Aethan" You turned around and dared to sneak into your lover's chest now that you knew he wasn't upset with you.

You took Larys by surprise because he didn't expect that to be the reason for your discomfort.

"That's not going to happen," he assured you as he gave you comforting strokes on your back. "Not many children make it to the age of two. Even if they do, they can always have an accident during their childhood. And if that doesn't happen, then we'll take care of Lucerys."

You should be horrified by what Larys just said and its implications. You should be scared at how calm he seems at the idea of murdering his own nephew but instead, you feel more in love with him. It's twisted but his words gave you comfort, knowing that you weren't alone in this, that you had someone on your side who was willing to do something so heinous just for you and so that your child would have his birthright. You and Larys must be crazy thinking about the death of a newlyborn baby. You're probably not as good a person as you thought and you don't know how to feel about it. You send a silent prayer to the gods and apologize for your thoughts because that's what a good person would do. You convince yourself that your fury is still poisoning your head and that's why you think of Lucerys dead. Your usual self would never think of that. How would you wish for the death of an innocent baby?

"We won't do anything," you say but both you and Larys can notice the lack of determination in your decision. But he's smart enough not to highlight it, it would only worsen your mood. "It's not Lucerys' fault that my father chose Rhaenyra over me," your voice breaks at the end and it seems like you're about to cry again.

"He didn't choose her, he chose the power he thinks she possesses," he said in an attempt to make you feel better.

"I'm sorry that your father disappointed you," he gently wiped your tears with his thumb. "But you don't need it. You have your siblings, and your mother and you have me. I'm always on your side."

At his last statement, you felt your heart warm up along with a sudden huge need to kiss him. So you obeyed your desire and leaned towards him and then captured his lips. You kissed him again and again, you tasted his lips as if it were the most exquisite wine you had ever tasted, but the thirst you felt for him did not seem to disappear.

"Be good and make me forget about today" you asked with heavy breathing.

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hotd masterlist

[joicecubes]

this started as a twitter post but it got way too long

i feel. INSANE. ABOUT FIDDLESTAN YOU GUYS. i’ll admit i didn’t get it at first, like the original concept seems kinda bonkers, they never interact! what a silly rarepair! BUT NO. I SAW A SINGLE PIECE OF FANART AND IT WAS OVER FOR ME. IM HOOKED. im sorry i need to talk about them

my favorite set-up for fiddlestan, and the one i see most people going with, is the idea that fiddleford comes back to ford’s house after ford’s already been sucked through the portal, so he finds stan instead. and thats like such perfect/devastating (depending on how you look at it) timing because their wounds from ford are both so raw.

i feel like this is gonna get long so. gay rambling under the cut

on the one hand, they get from each other what they never got from ford. or at least, what they lost from ford. fiddleford wants love, he wants his unwavering devotion to ford to be reciprocated. and stan, being such a deeply lonely person, can give him that! what he wants is companionship. he wants a friend, like what he had in his brother. he wants forgiveness. and god, fiddleford is one of the kindest, most forgiving characters in the show. if anyone will see where stan is coming from, if anyone can extend forgiveness and understanding where ford fell flat, it’s fiddleford.

and while this exemplifies just how deeply they would need each other in this scenario, when you think about how tightly they both clung to ford, there presents a very real possibility that one or both of them would feel like ford’s replacement.

stan is ford’s twin. people have played with the idea that fiddleford would see a lot ford in stan, even though they may not be very similar in demeanor. they look the same. and deep down, they do have similarities. alex hirsch said in a dvd commentary that there is more of ford in stan than he even realizes, and fiddleford would probably see that. not to mention just how deeply he would miss him.

and when stan has always felt like a worse version of ford, you can imagine he might feel like a stand-in, especially as him and fiddleford get closer. fiddleford, whether he means to or not, would definitely see his best friend in stan. he has his face for god’s sake!! and would stan just accept it? would he be upset to be seen in this light, to act as a replacement, or would he accept that he’ll always be second to ford? either way is just. DEVASTATING. for fiddleford to unintentionally confirm all of stan’s deepest fears and insecurities…

and then there’s what fiddleford is to stan. while i don’t think fiddleford would feel as deeply a replacement as stan does, he IS a big fucking nerd. and stan probably begged him for help getting ford back when he found out that fiddleford is not only a scientist, but worked on the portal in the first place. and he of course wants ford back too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if fiddleford ends up feeling like stan only keeps him around for that purpose and that purpose alone. to learn more about ford, to live vicariously through him as ford’s best friend. because stan is desperate to know more about him, to satiate this need, this wound of missing his brother for over a decade.

god and all the little things too… fiddleford being riddled with anxiety and stan being able to ground him, to knock some much-needed sense into him the next time he wants to pick up that memory gun. stan struggling to take care of himself, to see his own self worth, and fiddleford being there to make sure he eats enough food, reminds him to shower, helps wash or cut his unkempt hair. falling asleep holding each other, because they need that comfort, that warmth, that heartbeat, to feel okay enough to rest.

ugh you could do sooo much with these bitches it drives me up the wall. i feel so unwell just thinking about them. i could yap even more but i’ll keep that for another post

[loveundrwrld]

yan bully (past) x gn reader

kinda angsty, wanted to do something different with the concept of a yan bully. do make sure to heed the content warnings on this one as this is a little more dark/potentially triggering than what i typically post.

(cws: bullying, trauma from said bullying, implied childhood trauma, stalking, yandere is kinda self-destructive(?) for lack of a better word, general yandere shenanigans)

- yandere bully who taunted and tormented you in childhood . . . though, he doesn't initially remember it that way

- when it started, he was just ‘playing’ with you. and as time went on, he started to unconsciously project his complicated feelings onto you. just ‘pranks’ and ‘playing around’ to release some of his stress. and when his friends join in, he sees nothing wrong with it.

- your reactions are funny- and he wants to share that with his friends. why would that be wrong?

- he’s been treated the same way- and to him, he thinks he ‘turned out just fine.’ so it’s ok, isn’t it?

- after all, when you try to get teachers involved . . . they don’t think it’s an issue either. just kids playing around. so why should he feel bad?

- the reader, after a while of being bullied nearly daily, becomes apathetic to it. this irritates him. he wants to be in the forefront of your mind, for better or for worse . . . though, he doesn’t quite know why.

- he becomes more focused after that, more obsessive. he doesn’t really let his friends tease you as much anymore- though, that mercy is short-lived as he solely focuses on you instead.

- after a bit, you graduate from school and go to college, seemingly now only focused on your studies. you don’t reach out to him, or any of his friends for that matter. from what he hears about you, you aren’t interested in getting in touch with anyone from your old school at all.

- this agitates him. he needs, he realizes, to be in your life somehow. perhaps he was a little too mean, he realizes, but surely you’ve gotten over it, right?

- he begins to stalk you, trying to figure out more about what you’re like now, needing to see more about you. he sees, with a sinking pit in his stomach of realization, how paranoid you are now. how scared you are of new people, how jumpy you are when other people surprise you. how resistant you are to make new friends.

- at first he’s in denial. it couldn’t have been him who made you that way, could it? something must have happened.

- but he realizes, over time, that how he treated you was very wrong. he thinks now about treating you like the way he once did . . . and he feels sick. how could he have taken his anger out, on someone like you?

- but despite that, he finds that he absolutely needs to know everything about you now. he can’t let you out of his sight, he has a desperate hunger to see everything he can about you.

- eventually he starts trying to contact you . . . to let you know just how sorry he is. he’ll make it known to you how much he desires your forgiveness, how much of a painful need it is for him. how much he’s changed, and how much he regrets hurting you.

- he lets you know that, if you what you want is revenge? he’s perfectly happy doing anything you want to any of his former “friends.” he can help you . . . and even help you hurt him, if that’s what you want. just so long as he can see you.

- you ignore his letters, dumping them in the trash without reading them. and a part of himself that he doesn’t want to admit still exists . . . is angry. can’t you see how much he needs your forgiveness now?

- despite knowing better, and knowing he’s only going further towards upsetting you once again . . . he still needs to see you, to write to you.

- he just can’t live without you.

[kingconia]

Hello I js read ur MC who takes inspriration from the protag of their stories and if you're still taking requests, is it possible to do a part 2 for it?

A/N: You are welcome. I pondered a little about the continuation of this concept, and figured out that Leona & Vil had the most potential for the second part, since I left a cliffhanger in their stories. Others seemed quite cliche or obvious—Riddle has a crush, he can easily deal with, and same goes for Malleus, Azul & Idia. I hope, you don't mind.

The first part can be found here. Obviously, read it first for the context.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR & VIL SCHOENHEIT WITH THE READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST OF THEIR STORIES.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona is bad at admitting aloud that he made a mistake, but it doesn't necessarily mean he has no realisation of it. He knows, he hurt you. That is obvious;

— He starts paying more attention to you in the school, since he hasn't figured out how to fix your relationship yet. And that is when he notices that... You are actually not as cheerful as he remembered you to be? Most of the time, you sit away from other students of Savanaclaw?

— When he asks Ruggie about that, he shrugs. He tells Leona that you were always like this, and they even call you ”the sombre heir” among themselves, since you are not quite fun to have around. Leona is surprised. You were so different with him...

— In the end, Leona simply decides to speak with you honestly. He has this feeling that you will accept him either way. You always did before. But, oh, seems like he is not on your good side anymore, isn't he?

•

”Oi, kittie, watcha doin'?” Leona plops in front of you, putting his elbows on the table.

He is nervous, he will not lie about. It is the first time he feels such an overcoming anxiety before someone alive, and that is strange. It is just you, after all. Right?

”Dunno,” you answer slowly, putting a slice of meat in your mouth. ”Thinking about my family, who died so yours could take our throne away. You, Leona?”

Well, you definitely are not planning to forgive him so easily.

Leona shifts uncomfortably as he tries to catch your gaze. Without a luck.

”I accept my fault,” he murmurs quietly, hardly audible. ”And if anything, I understand your pain. I, too—”

A sudden laugh from your lips makes him stop in the tracks. As you wipe your mouth with the napkin, you smile suddenly. And when you raise your eyes on him, Leona almost flinches. Because there is nothing kind or gentle in these orbs now. Instead, they are cold. They are cold, and at the same time, they are awfully mad.

”What would you know about it, golden boy?” Your voice shift in a condescending tone as you shake your head slightly. ”Kings like your brother, Leona, they have honour. And princes like you or your little nephew have a bravery and heart. But people like me, Leona, the fallen ones, we only have rage. So, excuse me, but I don't think we are at the same page, kittie.”

You are hissing your last words, hand coming to grab Leona by his chin, tip of claws scratching his skin. He wants to back away, he intends too, but he is suddenly strangely fascinated by you. Intimidated, even.

”If you want to apologise, Leona, then do it properly. With falling on your knees, at least,” your fangs flash in a carnivorous smirk. ”And until then, have your dreams. Sweet or not—we will see in which mood I am going to be today.”

Leona gulps as he watches you leaving, eyes fixated on your back.

Perhaps you ignored his existence until now, willing to forget his rudeness. But now, it seemed, he lost the last pieces of your mercy.

...And he needs to figure out how to have your forgiveness really quick.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is not surprised when headmaster warns him, that someone from his dorm attempts to take away his housewarden title. He already knows who it is, and he is not surprised to see your face, when he enters the main hall;

— He had a bad week already: his hair products worked awfully, your number of followers outnumbered his own, and Neige practically took the role that was his in the very last moment. It is only logical that in the same week you attempt to take his title;

— And, of course, you succeed. The poison you created can be only worth of the Pomefiore housewarden, and no one can deny that. Even Vil. In fact, he always acknowledged your brains and wilt, so of anything, he feels it is fair win;

— What makes him stop frozen, though, is the person you want to see as your vice. Originally, Vil thought that you will take Rook—he is quite aware of his attraction towards you—but then... You chose him? Why? Why would you do that?

•

”Well,” Vil says, when the two of your are left in the room alone, and there is no need to act as you were friends anymore. ”What else are you planning to do with me? You are the housewarden—you won. Why making me your vice?”

You turn on your heels to face him, a big and shiny smile plastered on your face as you step closer to him.

”Don't be so mean, Vil-sama. Why do you act as if I hate you? I don't,” you put yours hands on chair handles he is sitting at, invading his personal space gracefully. ”I cannot hate a person, who helped me to understand what my signature spell is.”

Vil furrows, pressing his back to the chair more firmly, not trusting you coming close to him. Yet, it hardly changes anything—the tips of your noses are practically touching.

”I apologise, but I cannot recall such a thing.”

He had never helped you with anything in your life. Now, Vil is ashamed that he didn't.

He remembers your first day in the dorm. How you clinged to his side, with stars shining in your eyes, asking him about this and that. How you attempted to befriend him. How you only originally started to speak with Rook to understand him better.

Vil failed the little student of his.

And the person in front of him didn't want his acceptance now.

”How come?” Your hands are suddenly on his head, fingers wrapped around his favourite diadem, taking it off slowly. ”After all, you were the first beast I spoke with.”

He flinches, and you carefully kiss him on the cheek before putting the diadem on your own hair. It looks nice.

Vil hates that.

”I miss the kid you were,” he murmurs against his best judgement.

You hum.

”Bear the monster you created, instead.”

You left him on the vice position so it could be a remind for his mistake. For his cruelty. For his arrogance. He realises it now. You don't need to do anything special to hurt him, if he does it to himself, working under your command on the daily basis, seeing you shine, when he burns out.

You are beautiful, Vil accepts that. Your revenge is a charming one, too.

”I heard Neige got that role?” You ask suddenly, when he reaches doors, unwilling to turn back. ”Such a shame. Something must happened.”

He grits his teeth.

Vil hates himself for making you like this. Yet, he can't help but feel proud. Whatever he created you as—you would take what is yours, with blood and sweat. He can admire that about you. And deep inside, Vil thinks you do that, too. Deep inside you enjoy it as much as you hate it.

”Yes. Something.”

After all, there is truly nothing Vil can do, but accept his defeat.

The king is dead. Long life to you.

A/N: Based on protagonists or not—they had some darkness in theirselves as well; just as Simba was quite ruthless, when the situation required of it, in many interpretations of the tale, Snow-white learned how to be cruel, too. I think it is enamoring how these said protagonists can be just as their villains, especially if they were growing up around them in one way or another.

[spidybaby]

Dull shine part 2 pleeeeease 😫❤️ ur srsly talented!!!

Dull Shine | Part Two

Summary: An advice and looking into the mirror makes Kylian understand why you left.

Warnings: cursing, depression topic, money issues.

A/N: It's meeee hiiii, I'm the problem it's ME. Sorry about taking so much time, I was solving some personal things, and now I'm freeeee 😫✨️ love you all so much ❤️

Also, heads-up, this is short because I think it's all it needs, not a full part two, more like a compliment that seals the deal 😀❤️

Part one

One day left.

That's what Kylian told himself when he woke up.

One day left for you to come back.

He can't deny that he wasn't the most excited person in the room the next day at practice. Everybody noticed, it was like everybody knew what happened that night.

But not at Luis Enrique's home. At his own, when he told you to move on from the problem he created.

When he ignored you, back turned to you. When you needed him the most. Every time he thinks about it, his heart sinks. It's a weight he's not able to lift.

His mother was the first to notice your absence. He walked into his home with something for you and you weren't there.

The first excuse. "She's working late."

Then it was Ethan. He called you to go to the movies and have a fun night. Wanting to see you after being busy with the team.

The second excuse. "She's sick, have a cold."

They both believed his words. Thinking you were being taken care of by him. But when the excuses kept coming. It wasn't normal anymore.

"Just be honest, we are your family." Fayza says. Sitting next to him. "Tell us what happened."

He sighs, ready to finally disclose his feelings. "She left a week and a half ago." He confess. Hands covering his face. "We had a fight, I said some things just days before, and she wasn't at the right mental place to deal with everything."

They didn't understood. How?

"What do you mean she left?" Ethan asks, standing up from his seat. "She left just like that? You let her leave just like that?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Kylian fights back. "She had her things packed, her ticket purchased and I thought that was the best thing. Don't you think this hurts me?"

"I can't believe you, Kylian. You lie to us, instead of admit that you fucked up. You lie straight to our faces."

"I was hurt, Y/n left, I was scared of facing that."

Fayza is silent, processing the information while her sons yell at each other.

"Enough, Ethan, sit down." She orders. "Kylian, you two broke up?"

He shakes his head no. "She just needed time. We were just not working together in understanding each others probl-"

"More like you weren't." Ethan interrupts. "Because all I hear is me, me, me. But you don't really think that same thinking got you where you are?"

He didn't fight back.

He knows his little brother is right.

"When will she be back?" His mother asks, worried expression.

"In a few days."

And those few days turned into just a few hours.

To be honest with himself, he was stressed. You were going to be back in Paris, but we're you going to be back with him?

Will the break become a breakup?

He was overthinking. That was not good.

Hakimi felt bad. He knew you better. When he heard what Kylian told him about you leaving, about Pamela belittling you, he checked his cameras.

The good thing about having money is that you can afford a very good quality security system. He heard how Pamela attacked you first. You then answered back, but you weren't going to let yourself get insulted.

He apologized to you over text. Asking you to forgive him and tell you how much guilt he feels about this whole situation.

When you read the texts, you felt weird. It wasn't his fault, or even Pamela's.

Everything was a mix of frustration, sadness and low self-respect you had for yourself.

You defend yourself from Pamela, but who was going to defend you from yourself?

You were the one belittling yourself.

Were you enough? You are.

But were you feeling enough? No.

Were you happy with Kylian?

And that question burned your mind for days.

You loved Kylian, he was your rock and you were his rock. You passed some critical times, but nothing like this.

Because he was there for you when you needed him the most, he was there when you lost someone, he was there when you felt homesick, he was there at you happiest.

But you didn't allow him to he at your lowest.

You notice how he was going out more, but he always asked you to come with him. Begged you to leave the house and accompany him.

You notice how he never heard you talk. But you barely even made conversation. You let him speak. When it was your turn, you only said, "I had a good day."

He had to fulfill the quietness with words.

Your mother asked you to think about therapy. Maybe there was something you needed that she or anyone couldn't understand. Something only you could.

And you did. You went to therapy while you were there. Every two days.

It was just the beginning, but it helped you understand that you had more than just a relationship problem. In fact, the relationship problem came from this.

Being blue is normal. We all feel like that.

But when you don't treat it, it can be rough. And you were doing that now, understanding that you needed help. Help that a trip home won't give you. Help that a fight with your friends new girlfriend won't give you.

But help that your lover can give you. He can be the hand to hold during this.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, I know now what I need to do." You say, hugging your friend.

You felt nervous about coming back.

Would he be okay with that?

Did he realize he didn't need you anymore?

If only you knew how anxious he is at Paris. Watching the time every five minutes to see if your arrival time is coming closer.

He prepared your favorite meal. Got your favorite dessert, your favorite drink and even prepare everything for a bubble bath.

He needed you to know how much he appreciates you, how important you are for him.

You were nervous too, your leg bouncing and bitting your nails. You brought him a gift from your home. Something he asked you a long time ago, and you never got due to not being able to travel back home.

You asked for an Uber. Not wanting his chauffeur to pick you or him to get out in the coldness of Paris.

The whole drive was painful. You were overthinking.

Both of you were.

"Would she be back to stay?"

"Is this going to end?"

"What if he doesn't want me back?"

"What if this is the end?"

"Madame, we are here." The Uber called your attention once your things were next to you on the street.

"Merci beaucoup." You say, paying him and telling him that you will take it from here.

You open the gate with your control. The sound of it interrupting the calm of the evening.

When he heard the sound, his heart stopped for a second. He was about to throw up from nerves.

The giggle of the keys makes him stop, he feels like throwing up. He took a sip of water before looking at himself on his phone camera, checking if he looked presentable.

The smell of food hits you as soon as you walk inside. Leaving your suitcase by the stairs and slowly walking inside trying to find him.

His back welcomes you, he's focused on his phone to notice you walking into the kitchen. The table was ready, your favorite food ready to be served.

"Kyks?"

He turns quickly, smiling at you with soft eyes. He walks with open arms to you. You lock your arms behind his back, feeling his kisses on your face.

"Mon amour." He kiss your forehead. "How was your flight? Did you even sleep? Are you hungry? I made your favorite meal and I was waiting f-"

You interrupted him by kissing his lips, and all the worries from both of you are out the door. You know he's not mad, and he knows you still love him.

"It was good. Thank you for updating my seat." You answer his questions. "I did sleep, almost all the flight, and I'm very hungry. Thank you for cooking. I can't wait to try it."

He kiss you on the lips, smiling into the kiss. His safe space is back with him. There is nothing better right now.

He pulls you to the chairs, serving you the food and drink. You can tell he was happy. He looked fresh.

You eat in silence. The peace of it is different than before. There was no more weird silence that a video or keyboard sound filled.

"Thank you, I really appreciate this."

He nods, waiting for the right time to talk about all the things that need to be talked about. He lays his head on your shoulder. Kissing your neck.

You feel the same. You want to jump and talk about everything to end the topic and move on. But that was not the way.

However, procrastinating the conversation wasn't the way either. "Let's talk. The faster, the better." You smile.

"Impatient much?" He jokes. Standing up and taking the plates to the sink. "Let's go to the living room?"

You nod, standing up and grabbing his hand, directing him to the big fluffy couch you both love.

"I want to start." He says as soon as his body falls into the cushion.

"Okay, lovie." You smile.

He thinks for a second, how can he ask what he needs to ask? He knows that no matter what, it will hit.

"Why weren't you honest about you having money issues?"

Your expression didn't change. You knew he knew. Celine asked you to pick your check a few days after you asked her you were taking a few days off to rest your mind.

You asked Kylian to pick it up, and Celine gave him a piece of her mind. She felt bad about doing it and called you a few hours later.

She told him that he was an asshole if he couldn't even tell that you were having issues not only with your peace of mind but with how much you worked and felt bad about never been able to match the lifestyle he was.

"I don't have money issues, Ky." You say, low but enough for him to hear. "What I had was the concept that I needed to have a certain amount of money to be enough for you. Leading to me working extra and feeling less than everybody who was around and could give themselves the benefit of spending what I earned in a nightclub."

He nods, understanding. "You know that I'm not like that, right?"

"I do. You always supported me in any way you could. And I'm grateful for you. I just felt so out of place." You sigh. "And every girl who got close to your friends always asked me about your ex, how she was this way and this way. I felt like competing."

He can feel his heart sinks. He never wanted you to compare yourself to the girls he dated. There was a reason why he was done with those relationships.

"You are so smart." He says, hand caressing your cheek. "You have no idea how much I ever wanted to end with someone like you. Not only beautiful but a very strong woman who doesn't need other peoples opinions and who can shine on her own."

You can feel your eyes watering. You never thought that his words were something you needed, but you did.

"My ex-girlfriends are just that. Exes. You are my present and my future." He kiss your cheek. "And I want you to know that no amount of money or any girl who I ever got anything with is going to take the place you have in my heart. You are the one."

Your lips found his, you can't think of any future plans or anything that didn't include him. You know he was your one, and knowing you are his one is heartwarming.

"I'm sorry, I know I was acting like a bitch. I think I felt way too comfortable, and I was so wrong for not noticing that you weren't you. I promise I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Thank you for that." You smile. "I'm sorry too, I was overwhelmed with all the thoughts in my mind. I think I let the worst of it hit me and never paint mind to it."

"It's okay." He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it. "You have me, and I'm going to be with you every step of the way."

The warmth in your heart is hard to describe. You are sure he will be with you no matter what. The same way you were for him when he needed you.

You hug him, falling into his embrace. His hands caressing your body while he left sweet words in your ear.

"We are going to be okay because we have each other." He kiss your lips and your head. "Tu m’as et je t’ai. Je t’aime, tu es mon monde." He humms.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Distraction (Annatar/Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Annatar blinds you to the invasion of Eregion by giving you a taste of what you desire

Warnings: reader is manhandled and kissed on the lips and neck while under heavy mind control, having false feelings put into her head, basically no romance in sight, just Sauron being his dark creepy self

Sighing deeply, you strike out yet another flawed design for one of the Nine Rings of Men. It’s too similar to one Lord Celebrimbor has already rejected, but your mind seems to have been drained of all original thought after days on end of tireless labour.

At the very least, you have retired to your own study, away from Lord Celebrimbor’s sour mood. He has grown strange of late, distant at best and ill-tempered at worst. You doubt you would have been able to go on toiling as you do if it weren’t for the Lord of Gifts to lift your spirits with his words of encouragement, kind gaze and—on occasion—his soothing touch. He has a way of cradling your hand in his with such gentleness and warmth that it feels like a balm on your calloused skin, making any amount of strenuous work well worth the sacrifice.

You cannot deny, however much you would like to, that you have begun to harbor some measure of infatuation towards him. You try to put it out of your mind most of the time, but you must admit how much it motivates you in your work—the desire to fulfil his desire, as well as the fear that you might disappoint him.

Now, unfortunately, you feel the latter is a more likely possibility. You hate how utterly uninspired you feel, even though it’s to be expected in your state of exhaustion. You groan, leaning on the desk as you rest your head in your hands when a sound distracts you from your own frustration.

It’s coming from outside, you realize, from within the city. A distant clamour, muffled voices, and a distinct, harsh sound that has you standing from your seat, turning towards the door and—

—and finding yourself nose to nose with Annatar.

“My Lord!” you exclaim, hand flying to your suddenly rampant heart as you stumble backwards, bumping into your worktable. “Forgive me, I—I had not heard you come in.”

“Did you not?” he asks, quite puzzled. “I called your name. I was beginning to fear I had somehow offended you when we last spoke, since you seemed so intent on ignoring me.”

“Oh, no, of course not! I did not mean to—” You shake your head, stumbling on your words. Your cheeks feel as hot as the forge itself. How lost must you have been in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed his presence? “I was quite absorbed in the work, I think,” you admit apologetically. You mean to ask him what he needed of you, but then the same noise from before catches your ear, and you remember why you stood in the first place. “Is that the siege alarm?”

Annatar regards you with a slight furrow in his brow.

“You are tired,” he says softly. “Your senses deceive you.”

That may be true, to an extent. You had failed to hear him earlier, after all. But unless your senses have taken full leave of you, you are certain what you’re hearing is true.

“No, I can hear it,” you insist. “Can’t you?”

You don’t wait for his answer as you walk past him—or at least, you mean to. With a step to the side, he is in your way, causing you to halt in your tracks and blink up at him in surprise instead.

“All is well in the city. Your concern lies here.”

He’s smiling as he says it. The same gentle lift of the lips that you’ve come to consider a sweet reward for your efforts in making the Rings, helping you get through the long days. Now, however, it sends a shiver down your spine. And, for the first time, it is not the pleasant kind.

“Still,” you say carefully, “I am tired, as you said. I wish to go outside—for a moment’s respite, if nothing else.”

You try to step past him. This time, it’s his hand around your wrist that stops you.

“Rest, if you must,” he says, leaning ever so slightly closer, “but do so here. Then, focus on your work, as you are meant to.”

He doesn’t raise his voice, yet the order in it is unmistakeable. And his grip on your wrist is rigid, nothing like the calming touch you’ve known from him so far. You’ve displeased him, that much is clear, and the thought churns in your stomach—but for some reason, your urge to get out demands to be obeyed.

“I shall return to my work,” you press on, “once I come back inside.”

Again, you mean to walk away. You mean to put distance between you, to pull your hand from his.

He won’t let you. The moment you take your first step, his grip tightens and he pulls you back, bringing your hand between your chests and keeping you trapped against your worktable.

“My Lord, please!” you say in disbelief, frantically searching his eyes for any trace of the warmth that was once there. “You are frightening me.”

“You need not be frightened,” he says, a sharp edge to his tone, “so long as you do as I tell you.”

“I—” You stare at him, dumbfounded. You don’t know what’s come over him, but you want no part of it. “Release me at once.”

You try to wrench your hand away from his, but all that does is worsen the pain in your wrist as he keeps it in his iron grip. And yet he looks so eerily calm as he does so, as his other hand suddenly cups your cheek.

“Shh,” he cooes softly, “none of that.” Your heart trembles in your chest, painfully confused as he seems to contemplate you. “I thought you’d have let me in by now,” he muses. “But perhaps I should have done this sooner.”

“Done what—?”

His lips meet yours.

It stops. All of it. The confusion, the alarms—those outside as well as those within you. A wave of calm sweeps through the very core of your being, removing in its wake all traces of distress and leaving nothing but sweet surrender. A sound escapes your throat, something like a yelp that turns into a sigh, and...

How is this happening? What came before? You can’t remember, and you don’t care to. All you know is you have imagined this before, desired it deep within your heart, and that desire is being fulfilled. There’s an ache in your wrist, but the pain is dull and you pay it no mind as he tastes your mouth languidly. Your hands come to rest on his chest, his pulling you to him by the waist. And just as you melt into him, weak with desire, he parts his lips from yours.

“Forgive me,” he says softly as your dazed gaze meets his. “Did you mean to go somewhere?”

Your brow furrows as you try to muster enough coherent thought to speak.

“I... I believe I was coming to find you,” you find yourself murmuring. You don’t quite remember, but the words come as naturally to you as the act of breathing. And they feel true, once you’ve spoken them.

The tiniest smile blooms at the corner of his lips.

“I see,” he says, satisfied. “What did you need from me?”

“I... I needed...”

The answer eludes you. You only know what you need now, and the craving is so great you cannot put it into words.

Sure enough, he knows. His eyes hold a teasing glint, almost mean, as he leans down, pressing his lips to a tender spot beneath your ear before whispering into it, “This, perhaps?” His mouth travels lower still, kissing your neck as you tremble in his arms. “Or this?”

“Annatar,” you breathe out, uncaring of his title. Surely, you are beyond formalities now.

“Yes?” he says, awfully innocent, pulling away to look you in the eye once more. “Name your desire, and you shall have it.”

Your skin sizzles where he has touched it, and the hunger in his eyes leaves you breathless, and you are beyond merely voicing what you desire as you press your lips to his once more. He returns your kiss, matching your greed and swallowing your moan, and you think you might become reduced to ashes if he were to let you go.

It’s painful when he pulls away once more. You find yourself chasing his lips, craning your neck for just one more taste, but he cups your cheek to hold you still.

“Easy,” he says softly, yet the sole word feels like a command. You do settle down, though your heart is still rampant in your chest. He seems pleased by it, and that is enough to hold you still. “Now, I’m afraid there is an urgent matter I must discuss with Lord Celebrimbor. But I shall return to you, and...” he trails off, fixing you with a gaze full of promise which stokes the fire in your belly. “Remain here. Speak to no one. Wait for me. Will you do as I tell you?”

The words hold a strange echo. You can’t place it. You only know what the right answer is.

“Yes,” you agree quietly. And mean it.

“Good.” Annatar smiles, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “That pleases me greatly.”

The praise continues to warm your heart long after he is gone. You’re painfully aware, somehow, that you could never live without that feeling, or without him, again.

So you do as he told you.

[ghcstao3]

(x)

It’s… different, having a teammate held for a genuine interrogation, and not just for some qualifying exercise they’ve all had to participate in.

Soap and Ghost’s fight hadn’t been very fun, for as long as it had lasted. Nothing like their spars where teasing remarks were made around skillful manoeuvres, where at the end of everything they knew what limits could be pushed and what boundaries to respect. Instead it was fought dirty, viciously, and only because Soap knows Ghost was he able to stand his ground at all.

In the end, though, as the targets were detained or killed and the illegal fighting ring shut down—Soap came out victorious, when Ghost had been tranquilized.

The lighting is hardly any better in their makeshift interrogation room, but it’s enough to show Ghost’s withered state since his capture; gaunt cheeks, new scars, hollow stare. He hadn’t come into the arena with a shirt, so he doesn’t have one now—and it hurts Soap to see the outline of his ribs with every haggard breath he takes.

Soap is off in the sidelines as Price pokes and prods his lieutenant for answers—Soap had been deemed too injured to risk getting close, even when Ghost had been restrained. He holds a melting ice pack to a swollen, split lip with the one arm that hadn’t been recently dislocated and reset. He’ll admit that Ghost did a number on him.

He just prays they can get the lieutenant back.

But as the days stretch on, it gets increasingly difficult to hold onto hope. With no information, no signs of breaking, no signs of Simon—he might become a lost cause. And Soap doesn’t think he’s prepared to accept that yet.

Two weeks later, after they’ve moved location and shifted accommodations, Price resigns to finally let Soap help. He’s in much better shape, though the same can hardly be said about Ghost; he barely eats, hasn’t spoken once, and no one on the team is sure he’s really been sleeping.

Soap’s approach is slow. Ghost has already been roused and restrained yet again, perhaps only to be pushed and questioned to no avail like every other time. He barely spares Soap a glance upon his entrance into the room.

Their eyes properly meet for the first time in years when Soap kneels on the ground before Ghost, almost pleading. As if in prayer.

Simon’s eyes were always warm. They were the colour of Simon’s favourite tea, flecked with honey gold when the light hit his irises at just the right angle. Now, his gaze is frigid, his eyes nearly black. It takes everything within Soap not to mourn then and there.

“I’m sorry,” Soap murmurs. “I was supposed to have your six.”

Ghost stares at him with indifference, his attention in a faraway place. Soap misses his lieutenant now more than ever.

“I’d understand if you never forgive me,” Soap continues, itching to reach out and touch, “but I at least need you to come back, yeah? Please, Simon.”

Ghost’s jaw twitches almost imperceptibly.

Against all orders Price had given Soap, and against all training that has Soap’s instincts screaming—he leans his head against Ghost’s knee. He exhales shakily and just… sits like that, for a little while. Ghost doesn’t move, so neither does Soap, and maybe this will be the best thing the sergeant could get ever again, so he relishes.

Soap almost misses the hitch in Ghost’s own breathing, but he certainly doesn’t miss trembling, curious fingers dragging through his mohawk, now nearly overgrown. Soap freezes.

Ghost’s voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper when he speaks, but Soap’s heart is pounding loudly in his chest as he listens anyway.

Quiet, broken, and nearly inaudible, something slips from Ghost’s lips for the first time in two weeks.

“Johnny.”

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

hide the sun - n. mackinnon

summary: there are some things nathan mackinnon can't cope very well with in life. one of them happens to be mia in hospital, and needless to say it's a whirlwind when it comes true. (f!oc!soccer player)

warnings: swearing, details of injury (stitches, concussion, temporary amnesia etc), mentions of vomiting, mentions of anxiety, brief mention of the pandemic, mentions of sports psychologists, mention of painkillers/hospitals/doctors, mentions of routines/small rituals, angst

word count: 13.8k (sheesh)

< a/n: this is for demi (the legend herself) @wyattjohnston as part of the summer fic exchange2k24! i hope you enjoy it! also a massive thank you for organising such a wholesome event in this little community!! >

Nate had lost count on how many times he’d had to dive into the nearest bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach in the last few hours. It seemed like every time he got close to stepping inside the hospital room his brain would play over what happened in his head and he’d relive it all again – as if once wasn’t enough. Only, his imagination was crueller than reality because the outcome would always be…Mia not conscious and talking in the hospital bed.

All is well, he had to keep reminding himself of that or the fine thread holding everything in check would spontaneously snap and he’d be inconsolable.

He’d gone through a lot in his life, but nothing had ever come close to him experiencing this level of fear before. And that in itself was a terrifying notion, because that fear was rooted in someone else’s well being. His happiness and his peace were attached to the woman in the hospital bed, not to himself, and he found that both profoundly moving and disturbing at the same time.

He flushed the toilet once more, stomach muscles aching, and shut his eyes, his head lolling against the wall behind him. 

He was well aware he was being a dick. Perhaps the biggest prick he’d ever been before in his entire life. And he was being all of that to the person he was wholeheartedly, irrevocably, hilariously in love with, too. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself let alone ask for forgiveness from her.

He was still shaking and cold, and every time he shut his eyes that scene was played on repeat: the ball flying through the air, Mia jumping up to head it away but instead getting a sharp elbow to the temple (one Nate could safely say rivalled even Jacob Trouba’s weaponry) and going down cold. Nate knew it was bad just from the way she’d fallen – limbs loose, like a puppeteer had surrendered control of the strings – he’d had enough practice in his own field, and he hadn’t ever anticipated her also being on the receiving end of such a blow before. 

Of course, it had been her teammates first, frantic expressions on their faces as someone waved over the physios, and then the physios had waved over the paramedics and–

Nate inhaled a shuddering breath, a hand kneading away the pain in his chest. He’d never been one to admit he suffered with anxiety before, sure, he got them in bouts occasionally, but he’d never had it on this scale. Yet, another terrifying thing.

And to top all of that off, the guilt flowing through his veins was astronomical. He could feel it crushing his head from inside his skull, squeezing his heart and constricting his lungs and he just wanted to curl up somewhere and sob everything out of his system. Then, and only then would he be able to stomach the thought of seeing her: when he’d comprehended everything.

“Fucking dick, what are you doing?” He groaned into his hands, wiping away unshed tears and taking another shaky breath, this one making his chin wobble.

He was needed, he was painfully aware of that. Painfully. It scorched his insides and his consciousness didn’t hold back the self-belittling remarks in his head, but he couldn’t peel himself up from the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to stand safely on his own legs, and he wasn’t entirely sure his stomach was strong enough just yet.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans, and in an attempt to take it out of his pocket it clattered to the floor, victim to his trembling hands.

He blinked once, twice, three times to clear the blurriness of his eyes, and read over the words on his screen. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the shortness and cryptic tone of the message that had him finding strength from somewhere to haul himself onto his feet, or whether he was just intrinsically waiting for something to get him moving.

All anyone had been told so far was that she was in a stable condition – still unconscious – and that any scans that had been done so far had been as clear as they could be, that being no internal bleeding or haemorrhaging or anything that could have possibly resulted from getting hit in the temple and then bashing your head on the floor. A concussion was inevitable, and even thinking about it, Nate knew it wasn’t going to be a merciful one. 

Nevertheless, he managed to pocket his phone, a damp hand on the wall of the cubicle keeping him steady until he could unlock the door without wanting to immediately dive back in and hide until Mia was given the all-clear. 

He wasn’t even sure he knew what he was doing or where he was going when he was following the overhead signs, but he somehow ended up in the hallway. There were benches in the corridor, settled just outside Mia’s room, and he stopped as he rounded the corner.

There was a crowd of people significantly larger than when he’d initially run away to the toilets, and one quick glance at people’s faces told him they were teammates. It wasn’t the entire team, just a few close friends and the team physio – enough to mean a queue would have to be formed when she wakes up, what with some of her family members already in there.

And if he was being completely honest, Nate wasn’t sure what to expect as he slowly walked towards them. They’d taken up all the seats on the bench and a few people were sitting on the floor against the wall, but no one was talking. In fact, everyone appeared to be looking straight forwards at the same spot on the wall, but there was nothing there.

It was Milly who saw him first. She offered a tight smile and waved at him, and when he got close enough, just about to lower himself down on the floor next to her, she spoke.

“The doctor came out around two minutes ago.” She whispered, and Nate felt all the air in his lungs freeze.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, the sharp pain in his chest rendering him immobile. Of course he wanted to know if she was okay, but what if she wasn’t? That was the question that his mind kept repeating on a loop, and if that was the case then these few seconds he’d use to gather himself meant they’d be the last few seconds where he was ignorant to that piece of information.

He swallowed, unable to look at Milly, and instead turned his attention to the spot on the wall in front of him that everyone else seemed to be focused on.

“She’s awake.”

“Is she oka–” His throat was horrendously dry and his voice was scratchy, but it was Milly’s gentle hand on his forearm that had him shutting up.

“She’s okay.”

Nate nodded, not even noticing Milly had rescinded her touch, and instead inhaled deeply, nodding absent-mindedly.

“She’s been assessed, her memory’s a little bit patchy from the last couple of days but there’s no concern. Her family’s in there now.” She paused, and even out of the corner of his eye he could tell she was clearly hesitant in saying something to him. Everyone seemed to have looked at him like that since the minute he’d walked through the hospital doors, and he was starting to find it rather irritating. It felt awfully similar to impatience, like every time he caught someone looking at him with pity, wanting to say something but ultimately deciding not to (probably because they didn’t know how he’d react), he just wanted to yell – like when you get stuck behind a slow walker and you’re behind schedule in the airport.

He blinked hard, once, twice, before using the heel of his palm to quickly wipe his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed the water welling up until the wall in front of him had become a blurred mess of blocked colours: red, green, blue, white. 

“Are you gonna go in?” Milly asked finally, and he was at least glad she made no comment on his tears.

He shook his head, not entirely trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking or wavering, or a complete breakdown – he’d be lying to himself immensely if he denied that wasn’t on the cards.

“Can’t.” He croaked, pulling his knees up to his chest, as best as he could given his height, “I’m not family, they won’t let me in.”

Milly considered his words for a moment before frowning, “Who won’t let you in?”

“Doctors. I’m not family, so…They don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“That’s shit—”

“They told me to come back in the morning, but I’m not sure I can leave.” He whispered, his hand massaging the tender spot in his chest as he fought another onslaught of watery eyes.

He felt like it might be a bit of an overreaction to cry at the knowledge she was okay, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on anything. It was a combination of stress, worry and fear that just spiralled his emotions out of his own control, like someone else was fiddling with the joystick of a controller somewhere. Yet, even knowing the root of it all, the mere thought of straying more than a corridor away from the door to Mia’s hospital room was…incomprehensibly daunting. 

It almost sent him down another path of panic, he could feel the grips of it begin to claw at his heart rate and the clamminess of his palms again when he even so much as thought about it. 

No, he physically couldn’t bring himself to leave, at least not yet.

He’d at least give it another think when her parents walk out with a real update instead of the formal crap the doctors had spewed him earlier: some vague nonsense about her being stable but unable to tell quite the extent of the damage just yet, and if they knew they certainly couldn’t tell him because he wasn’t her husband. 

If only he’d lied initially. He’d probably think about that for the rest of his life.

Milly hummed, pulling out her phone. If the circumstances had been different Nate probably would have been able to stop himself peeking over at what she was doing, but he was so despondent and distracted in his own head, those horrified replays still flickering on a loop in the back of his mind, that he couldn’t bring himself to be nosey for once.

“That’s not right,” Milly muttered under her breath, scrolling down several pages of text, “They should let you in, you know? There’s no laws against it, it’s just been cracked down on during the Pandemic.”

“Huh?” Nate tilted his head, his nose running slightly. Now that the worst of his tears had gently fizzled away, his eyelids were heavy and his eyes were burning with fatigue. In fact, he could feel the exhaustion settle into his bones, and he knew that in about an hour he could be asleep on the hospital floor, even with those fluorescent lights shining in his face.

“They should let you in.” Milly repeated, pushing herself up and walking over to the nearest desk before Nate could even think about responding.

He kept his mouth shut, watching her talk to the receptionist from afar, not able to hear the exact words over all the hubbub, but getting the general gist of it when Milly half-turned to point at him. He couldn’t help it when his mouth flattened into a straight line and his eyes awkwardly averted themselves…before immediately flicking back over to the conversing pair, slightly afraid he’d miss something yet shaking in his shoes  at the thought of a shaking head of denial.

Milly patted the counter, before wandering back over to the group of them all, teammates sitting up straighter in their chairs and against the wall, eager eyes fixed on their captain, anticipation shimmering in their eyes.

Nate swallowed nervously, his hands still shaking and stomach still rolling. He was sure he looked as pale as he felt, as sickly as he felt. Milly’s avoidance of his stare was unnerving.

“I think I’m gonna go.” Milly came to a standstill in front of Nate, her expression unreadable, and before Nate could even stutter out an urgent ‘why?’, someone down the line beat him to it.

“It’s getting late, and we know she’s okay.” Milly paused, not quite knowing what to say, “I don’t want to overwhelm her, and we’re not gonna see her tonight, anyway.”

Nate blinked, jaw ticking, and when he looked back up, the corridor was nearly deserted. Milly was hovering near him, watching as the last body filed around the corner, shoulders slumped as she disappeared from view, before turning to him, “They said the doctors would be less likely to let anyone in if there was a massive group of people outside the room. I don’t know it’s gonna help your chances now, but…”

Nate felt his jaw drop before he registered what he was doing, quickly clamping it shut with a grateful nod of his head, “Thank you.”

She shrugged, “It’s nothing.”

“You can stay, too, y’know–”

“Oh, no. I appreciate the offer, but if me not being here is the difference between you getting to see her or not, I’d rather not risk it.” She breathed a laugh, “Besides, I’ve got kids waiting for me at home.”

He nodded absently, and Milly had the strangest sense that he wasn’t completely there. He was inside his head, eyes a little bit unfocused as he looked in her general direction; his knee was bouncing, whether he’d noticed that or not she couldn’t tell – but she knew none of that would disappear immediately. At least, not until he’d be granted permission to enter the room and see her for himself.

And for that reason, she chose not to offer any words of comfort – they’d fall on deaf ears. Instead, she did something she’d been working up the courage to ask him for a while now..

“Um, this isn’t the right time to be asking this, I’m well aware, but you wouldn’t happen to know any sports psychologists I could get in touch with, would you?” 

For a harrowing and humiliating moment, Milly thought she’d just have to turn around, that the slight furrow of his brow as he stared relentlessly at that spot on the wall was just because she interrupted a comforting silence, but five seconds passed before she realised he was thinking.

His fingers fumbled with his phone as he removed it from a pocket, and she started, heart hammering in her chest when it slipped in his grip, before he caught it and switched it on.

“I know a few, actually. I have a few numbers if you want me to send them to you?”

She nodded, “Yes please.”

“Do you have a preference as to whether it’s a guy or–”

“No.”

She passed him her phone, watching as he typed in her phone number, still watching when her own phone lit up with three notifications of contacts he’d shared with her. When he passed her own phone back to her his eyes looked less troubled. They’d cleared up, less red than they had been, and he’d clearly been glad for a distraction.

“Thank you.” She breathed, managing a smile, “Hey, you can sit on the bench now everyone’s gone.”

Nate nodded, but made no move to get up. He wasn’t entirely sure why but the thought of sitting on the chairs instead of the floor felt way too real – it’d just solidify the reason that he had a right to sit there because of someone in one of the rooms, and his very bones felt heavier at that thought. 

Milly grinned, “She’ll be fine.” 

He said nothing to that, just gestured half-heartedly at the floor, “It’s cosier here.”

***

Mia had never been so achy and sore without exactly remembering what she’d done to feel those consequences. Everything hurt: her legs, her hips, her arms, her ribs, her head – gosh, her head! It felt like she’d been laid underneath a pneumatic drill and lived to tell the tale. Her nerve endings were on fire, mostly throughout her entire body and the sheer strength of the pain rendered her…well, she was so exhausted she couldn’t really cope with being awake for longer than a minute or so.

Her eyelids would get hot and droopy, and despite how hard she tried to keep herself awake, for her parent’s reassurances, the screaming agony in her head sent her eyes rolling and she succumbed to a brief period of sleep. Still, she didn’t feel a single ounce better having napped at all. If anything, each time she opened her eyes it felt as though the pain magnified for a brief second, like her body forgot it had been pumped with painkillers and she was just experiencing all the pain she possibly could.

That wasn’t even including the odd patches of her memory, though that she learnt through what she’d been told. Apparently this game wasn’t the one they’d won by a landslide – that had in fact been a month ago, yet she could still remember going to the grocery store three days ago and even though she was pretty sure something was missing from the hospital room, she couldn’t quite find the words for it and when she’d rather blearily croaked that concern she’d been thrown a quick ‘don’t think too much right now, honey’.

But she had seen the shared glance between her parents right before she passed out for the umpteenth time.

Needless to say, she did wake up with the answer right at the front of her brain – it felt remarkably like finding a pair of sunglasses you’d forgotten you owned.

“Whe–” Her eyebrows knitted together and she peeled her eyes open to…an empty chair. Followed by an empty room.

She shut her eyes, able to still picture the blank screened-TV on the back wall, the shuttered blinds to the windows on her right and the lone lamp on at the end of the room. She’s never had a concussion before, and with the way she was feeling right now she didn’t have any plans of ever having one again, at least if it was up to her.

She had no idea how Nate functioned. 

Nate. She tried to sit herself up properly in bed, the thing she’d been on the precipice of remembering flashing to the forefront of her mind, but all the motion did was send her stomach rolling, and before she could even think, her hands found the cardboard bowl laid on her lap, like someone had put it there in anticipation of this very moment, and heaved into the bowl. The pressure in her head sent a blinding pain from the temple with the bandage over it, right through her brain to her ear on the other side and all behind her eyes. She almost passed out again right there; she could feel the blood drain from her face and the familiar whooshing feeling as though her consciousness had fallen through her body and into the mattress beneath her. Her vision went black, spotty around the edges, but for some reason she could hear the sound of a door opening and closing, the rushed footsteps that only seemed to get louder and the hushed, reassuring voice in her ear as a warm hand helped lower her back against the pillows.

She knew just from the slight cloud of familiar aftershave that billowed around her exactly who it was. She might not be able to do much, think much or remember much at that moment, but Mia could recognise familiarity. It was like muscle memory, except her brain could decode it easily.

She kept her eyes shut and screwed up, willing the dizziness away – it gripped at the base of her throat and if she could compare the sensation to anything else, it was remarkably similar to how she imagined falling through a dark abyss whilst being unrolled from being tangled in some kind of tape. The scrunching up of her eyes, however, pulled awkwardly at something stuck to her temple; it sent a sharp stab of pain right across her cheekbone and into her hairline, and before she could even register what it was her fingers had found a padded sheet taped across the side of her face.

A band-aid.

Once the dizziness had subsided, she slowly peeled her eyes open, millimetre by millimetre, as if she was afraid something might jump out at her if she ripped them open too quickly.

Nate was sitting looking very awkward in the chair closest to the bed, one of his hands holding the cardboard bowl on Mia’s lap and the other gently tugging her hand away from her bandage. 

She could see there was a brief moment when she looked at him that something had changed, a window shattered somewhere perhaps. He looked like he’d been through the wringer: hair messed up (very uncharacteristic), cheeks somehow even paler than usual, eyes red, hands shaking, and fearful.

She couldn’t say for certain why he felt the latter but she could read it in his face, in his body language. She’d never seen him look so not-okay and put-together before.

In hindsight, it was not only cruel to do what she did next, but given the events of the day and how completely naive she was to other people’s experience of what happened, it most definitely was not the best idea:

“Are you a doctor?” She mumbled blearily. Mia was never really that great at pretending to do anything, whether it was a little white lie or something just to rile someone up, but there wasn’t much pretending about how tired she was or how confused she was in that moment; the blinking and the blank stare were all real, and in Nate’s eyes, borderline apocalyptic.

See, he’d been informed of her condition and spotty memory, but no one could say for certain just what was ‘in’ and what was ‘out’ because there were so many inconsistencies and no one had really wanted to poke around where there were gaps in case it just caused more frustration than hope, so this four word question? Completely believable.

He saw Mia laid in bed, and taking into consideration what he’d previously been told, he figured it made sense. That didn’t mean to say his face didn’t drop further or his stomach didn’t plummet to the floor below or he didn’t feel the familiar twang of bile rising or the world didn’t just flip on its axis.

His entire relationship flashed before his eyes: four years, a dog, a house, two cars, dates, holidays, vacations, inside jokes, and it all crumbled at his feet with a simple question.

He’d run through it in his head, the possibility that she might not remember him quite yet, and it was understandable. He wasn’t mad at all, in fact he was all too willing to take a step back and let her recover in a more familiar environment where he was potentially isolated from her and everything he knew, but that had only been a possibility. Now it was looking like a reality and the only thing he felt was panic. There were alarms blaring in his head, loud protests, screaming, yelling, tears.

And somehow all he could do was blink the tears back and create some space between himself and her bed. Emotionally he wasn’t sure how to proceed but he could physically feel an invisible hand pushing him back against the chair, away from her.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes seemed well up of their own accord, and before he could even excuse himself from the room she spoke again.

“I was just kidding.” 

He blinked, his arms freezing from where he’d gone to push himself out of the chair, and he couldn’t really bring himself to move other than to drag his blurry eyes over to Mia, his jaw clenched and his guard still up just in case she still got it wrong.

He sniffled, inhaling through his nose, and not daring to ask if she was sure. But despite looking as though she’d been hit by a bus: a band-aid stuck right over her temple with stitches hidden underneath the plastic; purple eye bags; slow, lethargic blinking; an empty stare – Mia managed to look guilty. The corners of her mouth were pulled down, and her eyes were wide, almost like she couldn’t quite believe she’d pulled it off herself. 

And if he was being honest, Nate probably would have still had a hard time believing she actually did remember him if it wasn’t for her hand. It wasn’t something specific, but she’d placed it on his knee in a hurry when he’d made to push himself out of the chair, almost as if the prospect of him leaving wasn’t something to be desired. 

She was just as scared as he was.

Nate sniffled once more, allowing himself to settle into the chair and scoot forward again. The tears hadn’t disappeared, nor had the trembling, but his heart had eased up slightly once the realisation that, no, she hadn’t lost her memory of him had sunk in.

Then, and only then, he managed to speak, “You’re such a meanie.” It was more of a broken croak that had to be deciphered than something more intelligible than he would have liked, but after she winced at the volume of his voice already he found himself glad he sounded as broken as he felt.

She tried to smile, but her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord part way through the action, and she sighed, clearly completely drained, before rubbing her closed fist in a circle over her chest.

Sorry.

He shook his head despite the futility of it, and instead took the rather chilly, limp hand still resting on his knee into his grasp, leaning further forward so he was pretty much level with her. He allowed himself to breathe for a second, probably the first time he’d managed to do so since it had happened, and even though the tightness in his test remained, even though he still felt pretty emotional, he could at least look at her – like he’d done so many times in his life already – and know she was okay. 

Up close, he could see the plaster on her temple was darker in the centre and peeling at the edges slightly from where they’d pressed it into her hair, and on the other end he could see where someone – Mia herself – had started to pick at the edge, most likely out of curiosity. There was bruising along her cheekbone, and he knew from when he’d walked into the room in the first place that she had some other bruising on her jaw on the other side of her face from where she’d smacked into the grass.

That wasn’t even mentioning the dislocated shoulder, which, for now, was secured in a sling.

He was almost scared to touch her, not quite sure what would hurt or what wouldn’t, and before he could even deliberate any of that she was blinking again. Awake. She inhaled through her nose, wincing when her shoulder moved fractionally with the effort, and came to slowly. It was as though she was surveying the room for the first time again: her eyes were curious but not wide and she squinted at the light emanating from the little lamp, and Nate had to wait patiently for her to sweep her gaze around to him.

He tried a tight smile, his hands still clutching her free one in a warm embrace, and he could see the cogs benign to turn in her mind as she remembered when he’d come in. She eyed him sceptically, but this time (before his mind could run away from him) she gave him a lazy side-eye of sorts.

He breathed a laugh at the expression on her face, reaching over to smooth some of her hair down. He made sure to be gentle, not pulling on the hair too hard or pressing down on her head – rather just let it float back over to the right side of her parting, watching it fall as he did. He wasn’t quite sure what Mia had been expecting though because when he pulled back a little bit her mouth was pressed into a tight line.

“What?” He breathed a laugh, leaning forward on his palm to flick away more stray strands of hair. It seemed the closer he got the more he noticed that no one had taken particular care in brushing said strays out of her face, because he knew, even from looking at the way her nose kept twitching, that the tickling was intolerable. 

“When can we go home?” 

Nate swallowed, unable to look her in the eye as he shrugged. Nobody had told him anything. Her parents had left and told him as much as they could but they couldn’t say anything apart from the fact that she was okay – in fact, nobody even knew he was in here. His (almost) in-laws had gone to the cafeteria, running on nothing but coffee, and there hadn’t been anyone else really around when Nate heard the tell-tale sounds of…yeah. Needless to say he hadn’t really thought twice about bursting into the room to help her. She wouldn’t have if the situation was reversed, though from experience she did tend to lie to the medical professionals and just say they were married, something that had rather inconveniently slipped his mind in his panic-fueled state.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, if the quietness of his voice could even be considered such a thing. A fairy-whisper, perhaps: delicate, blink and you’ll miss it kind thing, “You’re on stroke watch, sweetheart, I don’t think it’ll be for another day or two.”

Her eyes shut again, and if it wasn’t for the tick in her jaw, Nate would have guessed she’d just fallen unconscious again.

“Are you okay?” He’d said them before he could stop himself. They’d been on the very tip of his tongue all day nearly, and his will had worn so low that he’d just given up and given in.

In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting much of a reply. Mainly because he knew concussions were hell on earth, especially fresh ones as bad as this, but also because she’d been poked, prodded, sewn up, and asked things already. She must be sick of it all, but…he had to know. 

She kept her eyes shut but her free shoulder shrugged as best as it could, “Hurts.” She mouthed.

Nate nodded, resisting the insurmountable urge to squeeze her hand and take all the pain from her, “Tap my hand twice for yes and once for no, ‘kay?” 

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards briefly, and he couldn’t help himself when he dropped a quick kiss on the back of her hand – though he couldn’t say for sure if it was supposed to help her more or help him more. 

Tap-tap.

“Do you need me to do anything? Get anything for you?”

She seemed to think about it for a second before pointing at something on the far end of the room and tapping his palm once.

He frowned. Lamp, no?

“Lamp off?” He thought out loud, pushing himself out of his chair eagerly when she tapped his palm twice again.

The thought of using the torch on his phone didn’t really occur to him when he was blindly trying to make his way back to his seat, and much to Mia’s dark amusement he walked into the end of the bed and tripped over the legs of two chairs on his way back. 

“Anything else?”

Tap.

He waved his hand in the dark near where he guessed her arm to still be held up, and dragged his fingers up her forearm to interlock their hands like before. 

“Is the dark better?”

Tap-tap.

He sighed. It wasn’t because he was fed up – not one of those sighs – or because he was relieved, per se. It almost felt like an instinct or a habit, like when he gets into bed and manages to find a comfy position, or when he steps out onto the ice first thing in the morning when no one else is around. It was a sigh of satisfaction, yet he didn’t feel at all satisfied by anything. Sure, he was happy that he’d adjusted something to Mia’s liking, but there was so much more he wanted to know.

Where did she hurt? How much did it hurt? Did she remember last night? Is she gonna recover in time for the play-offs? 

They weren’t yes or no answers, and the last thing he wanted was to bother her. She needed the peace and quiet and the dark and cold and someone to make sure she wasn’t going to stroke like someone had off-handedly said in the hallway. Nate knew he wasn’t the only person who could give her that, but he was glad it was him sitting there holding her hand and listening intently to the sound of her breathing and the rustling of her pillow.

It sounds crazy, he knows that, but he was horrified. Less than fifteen minutes ago he was so sure something life-changing had happened that meant he wouldn’t be allowed here. He knew head injuries were unpredictable, and he knew he should be somewhat irritated for the stunt she pulled earlier, asking if he was a doctor, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be so. That one interaction had alleviated the worries and concerns he’d had – the ones that were driving him to the brink of panic attacks pretty much – more than any words anyone had spoken to him over the entirety of the night so far.

It meant Mia was still Mia, and even though she might have changed, she was still the same person. And he was going to sit with her in the dark, holding her hand, pretending he was now okay, for as long as he was allowed–

“Are you okay?”

Even in the dark his eyes turned to look at where they knew she was. He was speechless for a few seconds having thought she was asleep and stuck so far in his own head that he hadn’t even considered the alternative.

He just hummed, which earned him a meaningful tap on the palm.

No.

“It was just scary for a minute, but I’m okay now.” Then he shook his head, almost-scoffing, “I should be asking you that.”

There was a half-hearted sigh, “Been better.”

***

Mia was sick and tired of the injuries after two days at home, bed-bound by a rather strict blonde that had a penchant for frowning and putting his hands on his hips when she suggested getting up and moving around. In all fairness, she could see where he was coming from, but in her defence she needed to know she was capable of a quick lap around the house, headaches and shoulder pains be damned. 

To have gone from training numerous hours per week – per day, in fact – to suddenly not being able to cope with being in a sunlit house in a room that wasn’t the bathroom or the bedroom. She was going stir crazy, and boredom was going to be her demise, she knew it. She could feel it atrophying her soul already and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take being holed up in bed, not allowed to use screens or read or think.

Doctor’s orders. 

Although, having said all of that, Mia did find herself waking up from a nap she didn’t remember succumbing to most of the time. She must have slept on and off all day for two days, but it felt like she’d not even shut her eyes for an entire week. And the pain, oh, the pain.

Her shoulder ached each time she so much as tensed something, though that was the least of it: the dislocation hadn’t been too ugly – quickly put back in, no soft-tissue damage. Didn’t stop it hurting, though. The biggest issue, Mia couldn’t quite get a hold of. She couldn’t decipher what was the concussion, what was the temple laceration or what was the bump on the head from the ground. Somewhere along the lines, all the pain blurred into one and it just felt like her head was splitting open from the inside.

The door creaked open gently, firstly with a soft pop, like the familiar noise of when Barney would push it open with his muzzle and the handle would click out of its place, before a familiar soft pat-pat of paws could be heard vaguely padding across the carpet. It if wasn’t for Nate’s strict rule-abiding of orders (he did right, to be honest), the sound of Barney preparing himself to jump onto the bed wouldn’t have been heard. In fact, if it wasn’t for the noise of the door clicking open, Mia probably wouldn’t have blinked awake again. 

It was dark outside, the lights from the garden shining through under the blackout blinds. It wasn’t bright enough to trigger anymore headaches or a potential migraine, what with the bouncing agony from her bruises and bumps doing enough already, but it was enough to cast a sliver of dull light across the bedspread.

Mia reached out blindly, patting the duvet next to her, already anticipating the soft bark of acknowledgement before the toffee spaniel had made his way into her personal space, his nose pressed against her thigh as he laid out right next to her. She ran a loving hand through his fur.

Nate hadn’t let Barney in the room without him watching, mostly because he was a little unsure as to whether the newly-trained dog would adhere to the ‘calm’ rule he’d hoped to implement somehow, and Mia had commented on it, a quick ‘he’s a dog, they have senses for this kind of thing’, and all Nate did was sigh and watch on with a worried gaze. Needless to say, Barney hadn’t barked in her face excitedly or run across the bed or unintentionally nudged anything he shouldn’t have done, and Mia couldn’t quite tell if he was in the room now because Nate had let him upstairs or if it was just a happy accident.

Barney sniffed, and Mia paused, holding her breath in the darkness. At the same time, Barney’s ears flopped and the steps creaked, before an unmissable hiss of, “Barney?” could be heard from further down the hallway.

She felt her eyes shut again, sleep begging to reach out and pull her under again – it was the dog, he was just so warm and cuddly she was practically being lulled back to sleep with his rhythmic breathing – but she resisted, instead focusing on the hand woven into his fur until Nate inevitably noticed the crack in the door.

He didn’t say anything when he opened the door even further, didn’t say anything when he crept around to his side of the bed before pulling himself onto the mattress, the covers dipping with his weight. Barney looked up at him, and Mia felt rather than saw his hand also go to pet the dog between them.

She lifted her hand, before briefly ticking his arm to let him know she was awake, and cracked her eyes open. 

He was in his pyjamas, clearly already having showered. He’d taken to using the spare bathroom instead of the en-suite, completely adamant on not wanting to disturb Mia even though she’d told him she wouldn’t mind, and Mia knew, probably better than most people, that it was difficult to change Nate’s mind when he’d already decided what he was gonna do. 

“Did Barney wake you up?” He whispered, pushing himself further into the bedding. Mia could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could smell the shower gel and shampoo he liked. He’d literally just gotten out of the shower.

If she had more energy she would have turned to look at him: there was something about post-shower Nathan MacKinnon that Mia found downright irresistible. In four years, she still hadn’t managed to figure out what it was, but it definitely had something to do with the flushed cheeks,  damp hair and untamed curls. 

As much as he tried to tidy it with gel, Nate couldn’t escape the fact that his hair could be wild, and in the last couple of years it had only gotten worse.

“No, I was already awake.” She whispered, the force of trying to talk still putting more pressure on her bumps and cuts. Whenever she spoke out loud it felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head and her ears were going to bleed. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world.

She turned her head in his direction, just able to make out the silhouette of his side profile: crooked nose, damp Prince hair, philtrum, mouth, chin. She couldn’t turn her head too much to the side, the lump around the back of her head making getting comfy even against a pillow difficult, yet the slight movement, slight rustle of the sheets had him almost instantly turning towards her. That was something she’d noticed that had changed: he seemed to jump at anything she did, whether it be to reach a hand out to grab her water bottle or simply turn to look at him.

She could imagine the wide eyed gaze as he scanned her face for signs of pain until he relaxed when he realised that all it was was shuffling. The alarm bells were still ringing.

There was a brief pause, and Mia took her hand out of Barney’s fur to poke Nate in the ribs. He jumped at the contact, still unused to the darkness, and grabbed her hand to stop her doing it again, breathing a soft, amused laugh, “Liar.”

“I was gonna wake up soon anyway.” 

“You hungry?” 

“Yeah.”

Mia felt herself relax under his touch, his fingers playing with hers, finding their way in the dark across the back of her hands right around to her palms before straightening her fingers and placing a delicate yet hurried kiss to the back of her hand. She didn’t even have enough time to query exactly what it was he was about to do before he’d pushed himself up off the bed, Barney sitting attentively, and placed his hands on his hips leisurely. 

“You want anything specific?” Nate asked, absent-mindedly placing his leg on the bed to stretch out his hamstring. 

“What did you have?”

“Chicken and chorizo pasta.”

“Can I have some of that, please? It sounds so good right now.”

There was a muffled sound, crossed between a sarcastic scoff and a snort of laughter, “No. You absolutely cannot have it right now–”

“No–”

“Yeah, we’re gonna do your dressing first. C’mon.”

Mia groaned, pulling the duvet back up to her chin to give her some protection before Nate would undoubtedly just rip it off her and pick her up, like he had the past four times he’d changed her dressing. The first time she did it there was little resistance from her end, mostly because she had no idea that cleaning the wound was going to be that nauseating, but also because she literally couldn’t be bothered trying to resist a hockey player that boarded men twice her size on a regular basis. 

Now, though? Not only did she despise the entire process, but she couldn’t deny the fact that being difficult was rather amusing for her – mostly because of how Nate handled it, because he handles it. She’s never heard him talk so much yet so calmly all whilst trying to scoop her up without simultaneously accidentally hurting her.

“-five seconds and it’ll be done until tomorrow, and if you think about it–”  he made his way around to Mia’s side of the bed and she felt her face screw up in dread almost automatically when he began trying to tug at the duvet she’d gripped as tightly as she could, “-if you really think about it, the food is kind of like a reward, and it’s better to get it done now rather than spend the next, like, forty minutes worrying about it–” he sighed, cutting himself off and staring at the scene in front of him. Mia knew him well enough to know stillness and silence meant he was thinking.

“What are you–Put me down.” Mia watched as Barney scurried off the bed, the duvet disappearing under him as Nate managed to force his arms underneath her body to lift her up, duvet and all. 

“Never.” He breathed in her ear before laughing like a Disney villain, managing to somehow look down at his feet to make sure he didn’t trip and cause another trip to the ER, and no matter how much she moaned and groaned, Nate didn’t put her down until he’d made it to the bathroom and placed her ever-so-gently on top of the lid of the toilet.

It was cold against the plastic, much colder than the sanctuary of the bed with a dog cuddled up to her side, and Mia shivered in her shorts and t-shirt, goosebumps arising on her skin – something that didn’t exactly go unnoticed by Nate. He took one look at her shivering and opened the bathroom blinds to let in some dull, natural light before turning around and grabbing a sweatshirt from the pile of clothes on the floor he hadn’t had chance to tidy away, what with the hustle and bustle of trying to look after everyone (not that he minded; in fact, Nate loved looking after Mia, even though he’d never voice it, but the circumstances surrounding the situation were a little too shitty for his liking), and tossed it to her.

What he really wanted to do was tell her to lift her arms over her head, but he knew coddling someone who already hated people doing things for them would only make the irritation worse, and instead reached for the basket of supplies he’d been given from the hospital, along with the set of instructions and the bowl for Mia as a ‘just in case’...the last thing anyone wanted, including Barney, was a repeat of the first time he’d done this. 

He could still picture it so clearly in his head.

When he turned back around, trying to read the pamphlet by moonlight and garden-light, Mia had her eyes closed and was running her fingers through her hair, wincing each time she accidentally pulled a knot. 

He couldn’t help watching her for a moment, almost mesmerised that someone could power through that amount of pain administered by themselves. Gosh, he loved her to smithereens.

“You ready?” He propped himself on the edge of the bathtub, back hunched over slightly to get himself eye-level with the plaster stuck to her temple. It was thick, most likely incredibly uncomfortable, and half-stuck in her hair. It was the only way the stitches into her hairline would be protected when she was laid down, or doing anything, really.

She nodded, and he kept his eyes fixated on her side profile, eager to drink in any possible changes in her expression that meant she was uncomfortable with anything he did. Sometimes it was a miniscule scrunch of her brows, other times it was an involuntary wince displayed by her mouth. He’d noticed her breathing changed when she was in pain too, which was a rather odd thing to come to recognise – watching someone you cared about hurt was one thing, but to watch them be in pain so constantly that you can recognise the little things? It was strange.

“I’m so hungry.” Was all she said, scooping her hair to the other side as he leant forwards to start to pick at one of the edges. It didn’t take much. He wasn’t even sure if Mia was aware she was doing it, but there was one edge right above her cheekbone that had been so obviously picked at that all he really had to do was grab onto the corner and slowly and cautiously pull. He kept one palm on the side of her head at all times, ensuring her hair remained out of the stickiness, his eyes darting from what he was doing to her face every few seconds.

Once he’d removed the plaster completely he folded it in half, balancing it on the side of the bath before doing something he’d not been able to do yet: dampen a clean washcloth with water, and gently dab the stitches. 

Mia’s face contorted almost immediately, the corners of her eyes crinkled and her mouth pulled up at the corners in a grimace, but she held still, keeping her gaze level and forward, hands clutching the bowl on her lap.

“Let me know if you want me to take a break or if I’m pressing too hard, okay?” Nate murmured softly, still dabbing at the wound.

He was never really one to be able to stomach the sight of wounds – at games he didn’t really have a choice, but at least then he could avert his eyes when he saw something that made his stomach turn and his head spin. This time was a little bit different, in fact, this entire situation was completely different because it was one thing thinking about it and another thing doing it for Mia. He had to do this, partly because he wasn’t about to let Mia do it herself, but mostly because he didn’t trust anyone else not to press too hard or to take as much care in the job as he did. It wasn’t a lot, but he made sure he did it right and softly.

It was the absolute least he could do after sneaking away for an hour here and there to practise. Mel Landeskog had offered to come over and keep watch when he wasn’t there, and the entire time he was gone he’d been anxiously checking his phone a hundred times a minute, waiting for a heart-stopping message to come through, and he hadn't managed to tear himself away again. The guilt was one thing, but the anxiety just ate him up from the inside. 

Tomorrow he decided he’d just work out in the bedroom – at least it’d give Mia something to watch when the TV was off-limits. 

“You’re doing great.” Mia sighed, peeling open the eye closest to him and shooting an amused glance in his direction. She was exhausted, but she still managed to find the effort bother to ease his concerns, “I think tomorrow…” She trailed off, silently hissing when Nate dabbed the laceration once more.

“Sorry.” He cringed, putting the washcloth down.

“It’s fine. Tomorrow I wanna move downstairs.” She got out, relaxing once she’d taken note of the put away cloth, and turned her body towards him.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with his face but it was clearly something that warranted Mia to start spouting words so quickly he wasn’t entirely sure she was able to do with that bad of a concussion, “The curtains in the front room can stay shut but I kind of want to slowly let myself get used to some light again, and I won’t watch TV or anything.” 

He swallowed, going to pick up the dry washcloth, “What’s wrong with staying in bed?”

She rolled her eyes, “It’s shit, I feel like I’m missing out on what’s going on.”

Nate tilted his head curiously, “Nothing’s going on, though. Are you trying to tell me you’ve got FOMO from staying in the bedroom?”

“Yeah. I feel like our living room is, like, the life of this house. Everything happens downstairs.” She reasoned, returning back to her usual position when he raised the washcloth.

“Everything, huh?” He breathed, slowly wiping away the beads of water on her stitches, and those that had escaped and ran down to her jaw, “Guess that means you’ll have to camp out on the couch then. Can't have you miss anything, can we?”

Mia rolled her eyes, and Nate smirked to himself, pleased that she was clearly well enough to tolerate a bit of humour. It was the most alive she’d looked since it happened: she had more colour in her cheeks, something he’d even noticed through the constant darkness; her awake periods were longer than her asleep periods, and she was speaking more. Granted, that was an improvement from that very morning, but she was getting better at a quicker rate than he’d anticipated. Every hour seemed to ease the tightness in his chest, at least until he remembered–

Yep. There it is. The painful twinge of guilt that always seemed to strike him when he least expected it.

He swallowed anxiously, suddenly aware of a breeze against his torso and the faint tugging of his cotton shirt. The distance from where he was sitting on the edge of the bath to the toilet seat where Mia was sitting wasn’t a large one by any means, but it was still tricky enough for him to sit on the very edge to ensure he wasn’t stretching – it was why he had to look down at the culprit, half-expecting it to be Barney slobbering everywhere, and was pleasantly surprised to find a familiar hand trying to get his attention.

He pulled his own hand away from Mia’s head, placing the cloth on the side of the bath once he was satisfied the stitches were dry again before turning back to Mia to give her his full attention. She hadn’t bothered to turn her head, but was instead looking at him out of the corner of her eye, brow narrowed and a slightly suspicious look on her face.

“What?” He asked, automatically wiping at his cheek, expecting a streak of dirt to follow on his palm. Nothing.

Mia just blinked, “Are you okay? You kind of spaced out for a bit then.”

“Spaced out?” He echoed, shaking his head. 

Mia hummed, something subtly changing in her expression, “Away with the fairies.”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He raised his brows before letting them drop. He wondered briefly if she was buying his ‘chill’ persona at that moment, hidden in the dark with no real way of knowing what face he was pulling. His back was to the light so he knew he was mostly shrouded in darkness – protected from an observant eye.

The same observant eye that clearly didn’t let up, no matter how splotchy her memory or how much pain she was in, because he heard her tilt her head at him, he heard her brain call him a ‘liar’ and he heard her breathe an internal sigh.

“I’m fine.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. The action felt pathetic, like something a stroppy teenager might do after getting scolded. 

Her silence said everything and nothing at the same time.

“I am. I guess I’m just coming to terms with the fact that this is how awful you must feel when I’m in your position after a game.” He mumbled it, but Mia still managed to pick his words out pretty easily – as well as the blatant pretence he immediately then displayed when he turned his attention purposefully to the basket at his feet, bending to pick up a tub of vaseline before taking the lid off and washing his hands once more.

She knew enough to know that when he acted nonchalant after admitting something was bothering him, no matter how little a thing it might seem, that sometimes he just needed that extra little dose of reassurance.

“At least you can understand why I banned you from getting head injuries, then.” She answered, turning herself so she was facing forwards once more, allowing him access to the stitches.

Nate paused, an uncertain ‘meh’ falling out of his mouth, which earned him an incredibly sharp look, “I mean I can, but now I could probably guess you get why I can’t promise you anything because most of these head injuries come from other people.” He was met with silence but he could feel the irritation practically emanating off Mia. Whenever he was right in situations where they’d had small disagreements here and there, usually about some pedantic aspect like this one, she always went dead-silent when he brought up something true. It wasn’t necessarily that she hadn’t thought of it, because the chances were that she had and it was that thing that drove her crazy, but it was knowing what she was asking was completely out of anyone’s control.

“Oh, and for the record,” Nate started, carefully spreading the vaseline against her skin and fighting the uncomfortable tingling in his toes when he ran his finger over the stitches, “I’m also banning you from getting head injuries.”

“I can try.”

He grinned, “‘S all I ask.”

“Me too.”

***

Mia wasn’t sure how long he’d been doing his little…routine. 

Every time he left a room she was in, whether it was to go to another room to pick something up and bring it back or to leave the house entirely, he’d started doing some odd things. First he’d watch her – this, she noticed him doing out of the corner of her eye – like he was giving her a once-over with a pair of X-Ray goggles, no matter how far away from her he was. Then, he’d pretend to look for something, a tissue, maybe, that just happened to be within a five foot radius of where she was sitting, and he used that ploy as an excuse to ‘walk by’ and plant a very quick kiss on the top of her head.

It might not seem odd to anyone else, but it was odd to Mia, mostly because Nate was never really the type to do stuff like that, much less when he was simply leaving the room. He might have done it if she was busy with something and he was off to the gym for an hour or two, but never for simple things. He just wasn’t that type of person.

At first she’d thought nothing of it. Maybe he just liked having her downstairs instead of shut up in the bedroom in the dark all day? That was certainly plausible. 

But then each time he did it, the action seemed to become more noticeable. Like when you hear something irritating in the background – a bird or a screechy voice – and then when you try to block it out your ears seem completely intent on honing in on that one singular thing until it becomes so glaringly obvious and unignorable that you just can’t stand it anymore. The only difference was that Mia could tolerate it, she could definitely tolerate it, in fact she welcomed it. Not only was it a rare and casual display of affection, but it was rare that they’d both be off work for this length of time and be in the house together. 

It was usually an impossible juggle of calendars and flights.

Then, because she’d noticed his little routine, she waited for it. There were a couple of times where he’d carried it out before he even announced he was leaving, a couple of times where he said where he was going first, and then – most interestingly – there were several occasions where he’d stepped out of the room, not said anything, frozen a step out of the doorway and come striding back in with intent and purpose before kissing her on the mouth or cheek depending on what she was doing. It was like he physically couldn’t stomach the thought of not completing his ritual.

It was remarkably similar to his behaviour on game days: he had a minute by minute schedule and order to do things so deeply ingrained in his mind that completing one thing slightly differently would throw everything off completely. He’d obsess over one thing and he wouldn’t be able to focus properly until he’d done it ‘right’, or he’d take it as a sign something bad was going to happen. 

One time he’d almost burnt the chicken in the oven and managed to assume that because he’d eaten burnt chicken (Mia had argued that it was charred nicely – properly done) that his pregame coffee wouldn’t have the same effect and he’d accidentally let his bowels go on the ice, and he’d be worrying about it for the entire game.

There was also the habit he’d taken to performing on Mia’s matchdays, at least when he was there to do it. He’d wake up around the same time Mia did and he insisted on filling her water bottle ready to go and he insisted on seeing her out the door (a kiss accompanied with a rather humorous but altogether fond, “kill ‘em”). If she was being completely honest, Mia found more familiarity in his behaviour this time around with her pre-game thing.

“Alright, come on.” It was Nate’s voice as he threw his car keys up and down, the metal jangling as he somehow materialised right in front of Mia, holding a hand out for her to grab. 

She paused, staring for a moment before following his arm to his face, raising a confused eyebrow. 

Come on? Come on where? As far as she was aware they didn’t have any plans, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to have plans considering her brain detested any kind of light brighter than a golden, dim one you might find in a lamp – and that wasn’t even mentioning noise. Anything louder than Barney’s huffing was a no-go if she wanted to have a headache-free day, and that very much included talking.

Nate had never been so quiet around her before, and she couldn’t deny the fact that it was amusing to watch him go to talk before remembering he had to whisper. He’d open his mouth and make a noise, the first sound in a word, and immediately clamp his mouth shut and hunch his shoulders, almost wincing for Mia. 

“Hospital.” Nate murmured softly, splaying his palm to encourage her to take it, and Mia’s mind went blank.

It must have showed on her face because Nate swallowed, the smile on his face diminishing, a rather helpless, “Remember? Your stitches are getting taken out today.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Mia blinked, the lie shockingly falling out of her mouth before she could catch it, “And today is…”

“Wednesday.” Whatever trace of a smile was left on his face that hadn’t already been wiped was completely gone, replaced by concerned brows and a flat line of a mouth.

“Yeah.” Mia didn’t say anything else, mostly out of fear of stressing him out even more, but partly because she wasn’t sure what else could be said.

She reached for his waiting hand, the warmth from his skin seeping into hers, and it was only as she’d stood up – perhaps a little too quickly because the blood rushed to her head – that she could recognise the look on his face was a little more familiar. He was still getting used to the usual worries of watching someone else heal.

“Confusion and brain fog is pretty normal, y’know?” He framed it like a question, but they both knew he was reassuring the little voice in both their heads that screamed something deeper was clearly wrong. Mia just nodded, accepting the baseball cap, eye mask and sunshades he’d just handed her, trying her best not to wobble when he ever-so-carefully tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

There was something about his close proximity that she’d had to endure within the last few days that subtly changed something for her – maybe it was the vulnerability of this entire ordeal; she’d reached a new level of Nate having to look after her considering the fact that she was almost fully dependent on him. In her eyes a switch had been flicked somewhere, and their relationship had just rocketed upwards in intensity. Every little glance he’d snuck at her, even if it was just to check to see if she was okay, and every little thoughtful gesture he’d carried out, all combined with the closer proximity and steady, reassuring hand made her feel a little woozy in a completely different way.

It was why she hurriedly put the cap on so she wouldn’t have to look at him, because she knew what those damned pale blue eyes were doing, and also why she didn’t bother asking about the eye mask, although the use of that became abundantly clear when she climbed into the car.

He wanted to hide the sun for her.

***

“What about your memory? Has any of that changed for you yet, or do you still have those same holes we identified earlier?” 

Mia winced, taking the hand offered to her and squeezed, determined not to look like she was in too much pain. The doctor that was removing her stitches was doing an alright job (she thought at least, she couldn’t say she was an expert), but there was something almost nauseating about the tugging she could feel on the side of her head, especially with how sore and tender her temple already was. 

And the questions weren’t helping, not at all. 

She inhaled through her nose, fighting to keep her voice even, “Some of it’s changed, I guess.” Nate squeezed back three times, “I can remember more of that morning and the lead up days, but I still have moments where I…it’s brain fog, I guess.”

“Oh, yes,” the doctor voiced, and the lack of shock and concern in their voice almost had Mia raising a celebratory fist, “that’s understandable and expected, just as long as it wasn’t anything too important or too obvious?”

“No, I just forgot what day it was.”

The doctor let out a low chuckle, “I think we’ve all been there. There’s nothing like showing up for work on your off-day because you’d been so busy you forgot to check the date. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“Tell me about it.” Mia muttered under her breath, almost deaf to the low laughs from both sides of her as she kept her eyes screwed shut. The blinds in the room were all open, and to top that off the doctor had one of those head torches on, the light glaring even through her closed eyelids. It kept bouncing around her vision as they moved their head, presumably to look at the tray to their right and then to look back at Mia’s head and so on, and she could feel the familiar niggle of something start to prick at the back of her head.

“Okay, stitches are out. Just one moment and I’ll shut the blinds for you.” She felt her own shoulders deflate of their own accord, the tension quite literally seeping out of her once she heard the wheel of the office chair followed by the pair of footsteps walking towards the windows.

It was only when the room appeared to be enveloped in darkness that she opened her eyes. Nate had the stitch-care pamphlet in his hand again, a pen in the pocket of his shirt, and even as the doctor was explaining the next steps for care he wasn’t opting to write much down. Mia half suspected he’d already done extensive research and memorised the care leaflets anyway, but he was always gonna be drinking in information from someone more qualified than what his laptop told him.

The grip he had on her hand had loosened, and the more she looked at him, Mia could see that it was his shoulders that seemed to be tense. It almost looked as though her uncomfortability had been passed directly to him because he was sitting pinstraight in the chair pulled up and he looked so dead serious Mia felt the urge to poke him in the ribs. Let him know he needed to chill a bit more.

It wasn’t anything the doctor was saying, in fact, it couldn’t have been anything the doctor was saying because that body language and that stern, rather timid look on his face didn’t let up, not even three hours later when Mia had curled up on the couch and Nate had taken residence wedged at the other end with a bowl of food – Mia’s to be precise. He’d given her too much and she couldn’t finish it without thinking it was all gonna come back up later, so he’d hoovered up the last of it.

He still looked on edge about something.

So she poked him with her foot, toes meeting a solid thigh.

He chewed, the muscles in his jaw working as his neck snapped to look at her. There was a slight crack in his demeanour then, that brief moment where he thought she was getting his attention for the worst kind of reason, but it had dissolved before she could dwell on it too much.

“Why are you being weird?” She asked, tilting her head and faking an overly suspicious glance that had him freezing right where he was.

His eyes darted across her face, seemingly searching for something to grab on to, but when he came up with nothing he finished his mouthful and shook his head, fiercely denying her accusation.

“I’m not being weird.” He mumbled, a crease between his brows.

Mia pulled a face, “You’re being so weird.”

“How am I being weird?”

Mia gaped, eyes darting to his bowl when his hand trembled and his fork clinked against the porcelain. That one little weakness was enough proof because he blinked at his hand before almost comically turning towards Mia, his cheeks a little red.

“That for one.” Mia pointed out, “And that thing you do when you leave the room, what’s that about? And you were being super weird at the doctor's appointment the other day.”

He huffed a laugh, still staring at her incredulously, “Aren’t you chatty today?”

“I feel so much better.”

“Can tell, you haven’t shut up.”

“I’ve got, like, two weeks of talking to get out of my system, don’t I?” She paused, taking a breath, “Even so, you haven’t answered my question.” Another foot poke.

He hesitated, before ultimately deciding to put his bowl on the coffee table in front of them. Mia watched every move carefully, a hint of foreboding settling in her bones as he reached over to mute the TV. She thought breaching the topic of Nate’s weirdness wouldn’t bring this level of wracked nerves, or this unreached height of seriousness – there wasn’t anything she was aware of that warranted him to do all of those things and then also turn to face her.

“Okay, so, you know how you couldn’t remember stuff after the head injuries, and then you said you could remember stuff at the hospital?” 

Mia nodded, cemented in her spot, unable to say anything.

“How much do you remember of the night before?” 

Mia had seen movies like this: whenever a character asked a question of that gravity with that grave, worried expression on their face, there was always a catastrophic confession coming next.

The difference between those kinds of movie scenes and this one was that Mia remembered the night before. And none of what she remembered would require this level of…solemnity. At all. Absolutely none of it.

She came home from work, they both talked about their days, a movie with dinner, then bedtime. Nothing spectacular.

“Everything.” She said, and this time it was her turn to frown, “Why?”

Nate inhaled, scratching his chin unsurely, before looking her straight in the eye, and with a completely flat voice spat out – with conviction – “I think we’re fighting.”

Mia waited for a moment, just the one, thinking maybe he’d say he was joking or he’d take it back, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to, she laughed.

He had to be joking.

And the fact that he let out a few breaths of laughter himself made her think that he was, but all of that came to a grinding halt when he shut up and instead patted her shin sympathetically, no trace of amusement on his face whatsoever. 

“I’m being serious, sweetheart.”

Mia sighed, the aching in her head returning. The headaches from the concussion had started to subside lately, and the stitches on her temple were healing nicely, it was just the bump that still ached from time to time, from where she’d fallen on the ground. The lump was still there, it was a bit more stubborn than her shoulder and everything else.

“You think we’re fighting or you know?”

He shrugged, “You told me about LA and we–we fought.”

“About LA?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“How do you remember it?”

***

“What did you say?”

Nate froze, the blood in his body going cold at what Mia had just said, and so offhandedly, too. Like it wasn’t this big thing that could change things. Mia had her back to him, licking some honey sauce off a finger before putting on the oven gloves and placing the tray in the oven.

“I told them I’d think about it but I’m gonna say no.” Mia practically rolled her eyes.

In what world would she have said yes? Really. She couldn’t even begin to picture a new life in LA, and for that the answer she’d given them on the phone then and there was a sure ‘no’. She knew without even having to talk to anyone else or think too much about it to know what she was going to do. It had really been that easy.

And, rather naively, Mia had assumed Nate would also have known that.

Only, when she spun on her heel after shutting the oven door, Nate had a strange look on his face: he’d come from a full day of training in the gym so naturally he looked a little haggard anyway – pink cheeks, tired eyes – but that didn’t explain the deep furrow between his brows or the fractional tilt of his head or the unpursed mouth. No, that all equated to confusion, Mia had seen him wear that exact face before. And in this case, his confusion pertained to that of her own loyalty. 

He breathed a short laugh, a ‘huh’, and Mia put one hand on her hip, raising a brow.

“Why?” His voice was tentative, but there was a hint of curiosity that Mia dreaded to wonder the cause of.

“Does it matter?” She heard her voice waver, pitch higher and her metaphorical hackles raise in defence. 

She’d never felt that before with Nate.

He shrugged, moving to sit on an island stool, hands clasped together in front of him, forearms pressed against the marble. His hair looked blonder in the harsh lighting, almost blinding, and when he looked up to speak Mia had to avert her eyes, “Not necessarily,” there was a ‘but’ coming, Mia could sense it, “but what were the conditions?”

Mia shrugged, “Three years to start and a bit more money.”

“How much more?”

Mia felt her eyes widen, “Not a lot. Why are you so interested in this?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend and I love you and I want to know where your head’s at.” He blurted it all out after one miniscule moment of hesitation, it couldn’t have been more than half a second, and if it weren’t for the way his hands fell flat against the marble in a display of clear honesty, Mia might have thought he had an ulterior motive.

His contract only had one season left, too. It was a pretty damn odd time for two athletes in Colorado, especially when both of their futures were kind of up in the air. It went without saying that Nate wanted to stay and Mia wanted to stay, but there was also that incredibly slim chance that neither of them did, and they were both a little too afraid to even broach the subject of what would happen if someone got to stay and the other didn’t.

And whether she realised it or not, the ‘can I think about it?’ that had fallen from her mouth when she’d first gotten the LA call – even despite knowing the answer already – had been because of that. She needed a contingency, she needed to go to Colorado with proof that she was wanted elsewhere if she wanted to fight to stay.

And if it weren’t for his hands then, Mia would have stayed at her own side of the counter. Instead, she made her way around to him, pulled her own stool out next to his and twisted her body so she was facing him, her knees knocking gently against the side of his thigh.

“I want to stay in Colorado. I love it here, I have my family, I have my friends, teammates, a dog, you. I have an entire life and the last thing I’d want is to leave it all behind for more money in LA. We’re not exactly short of it in the first place, and it’s not my priority.” She said, as firmly and as gently as she could muster. There was a lull, Nate looking at her carefully, chewing the inside of his lip.

His eyes were darting across the planes of her face as though he was searching for hints of something he’d never find. It was only when she stuck her tongue out at him that he leant on his elbow, his head pointed in her direction.

“And your priority is…”

“Me, I guess. I want to be happy.”

He nodded, “And you’re happy here?”

Mia smiled, “I’m happy here. In Colorado. In this house. In this kitchen. On this chair. With you.” 

It was almost as though the smile on his own face was there without ever really being known to him; the corners of his mouth were turned down but his face was smiling, as though the blush on his cheeks had frozen the rest of him.

“With me?”

“I’m surprised too.” 

***

“Yeah, and then you didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night and you left without saying goodbye and the next time I see you you’re on a hospital bed.” He threw his arms up in a questioning manner, a deeply confused half-smile, half-scowl as Mia recoiled, having severe difficulty in trying to understand his perspective.

“I didn’t ignore you, okay? We were watching a movie and I was tired.” 

Nate spluttered, briefly turning away before turning back to face Mia, who was now grinning like she knew something he didn’t, “What about in the morning?”

“Easy explanation.” Mia shrugged, “I told Iona about the LA offer and she called me at six in the morning to get me into the office to finalise contract terms with Colorado.”

Nate opened his mouth, about to say something before he stopped. He was about to ask why he wasn’t woken up, but at that exact moment his brain seemed to digest the latter half of what was said.

Finalise contract terms with Colorado.

And then he was talking without his brain really knowing what he was saying, “Wait, you finalised a contract with Colorado?”

Mia nodded, “Yeah. It’s pretty much the same deal as what LA offered.”

“How similar?”

Mia raised a mischievous brow, and Nate knew what was going to be said next was about to blow his mind. When she looked at him like that, something was gonna happen, and he felt his heart quicken for an entirely different reason than what he’d become used to lately – anticipation. The good kind.

“Five years and a little bit more per annum than what LA offered.”

He blinked. Heart beat six times before he found the breath in his lungs and the voice in his throat, “Five years?” His voice wavered completely against his will, it came out all breathy and mushy, and he wasn’t in control of his own bodily reactions to the load of relief that had cleared itself from his shoulders, not even when he felt his eyes begin to prick with emotion again.

Mia’s smile diminished at his reaction, it didn’t disappear, but the edges were a little softer, more understanding, perhaps. She’d been through a lot lately: hospital appointments, days in bed in pain, meetings with her people, recovery plans, and the one thing she’d been able to rely on this entire time was the big softie sitting right in front of her, getting uncharacteristically emotional at the prospect of her signing on for another five years.

And Mia knew how his mind worked. He’d probably been preparing himself for some part of his life to change, whether it be him moving out of state or Mia moving out of state – so much so that he probably hadn’t been able to let himself even think about both of them staying. There had been a countdown in his head for months.

“Yeah.” She answered, reaching out to grab his forearm. Somewhere in the midst of the clarification conversation he’d turned to sit straight, limbs locked against his torso and hands placed neatly in his lap. She pulled the nearest forearm over to her, using as much of her strength as she could possibly muster, listening to the aching of her shoulder and patting him to get the message across, and he turned his head to look at her again, a watery smile on his face as he lifted his shoulder up and tugged her into his side.

“I’m proud of you, y’know?” He pressed his forehead to the corner of hers, incredibly mindful of any soreness that he knew to still persist, and slumped against the cushions of the couch so he was more laid, legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him.

Mia rolled her eyes fondly, comfortably adjusting herself in his embrace. Even with a short sleeved t-shirt he was warm – kind of like a massive human teddy bear. Always a great hugger, something she’d actually missed the last couple of weeks, “I haven't signed the contract yet, I was a bit preoccupied after the match.”

She felt him pull away, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes had cleared, that familiar bright blue almost dazzling in the light, and he wore an expression of chagrin, “Hey, I know we talked about it earlier, but you’re really not allowed to get a head concussion again, ever. That shit’s way too scary.”

Mia just levelled him with a knowing expression and he read it easily, muttering a heartfelt, “Congratulations, honey. You’re stuck with me for another five years.”

[stairain]

Mommy's Boyfriend.

While dropping off your son at school, the last thing you expect is your ex-boyfriend Mr.Reid to be his teacher.

Warnings: Soft Dom Spencer, Mother reader, Your child is unnamed don't think too much about it, make-up sex, cunnilingus, begging, gentle-ish sex, doggy style, light choking, cream pie, he loves you too much. 

WC: 7.1K 

It was the first day of school, and you were dropping your son off, walking through the hallway and holding the little boy's hand. As you passed through various rooms, you smiled at passing teachers and students. When you finally make it to your son's classroom, you kneel down and kiss his forehead before saying a few encouraging words to him, patting his back before urging him into the room.

"I'll see you in a few hours, love.."

You say to him as he walks away from you. When you stand up, you're not at all expecting Spencer to be standing there behind you. The two of you had broken up just before summer started, and although you knew he was a teacher, you were really hoping you didn't see him today.

What are the chances he’s your son's teacher? Apparently very high ones.

You give him a forced polite smile before trying to walk away from him as quickly as you could.

As Spencer watches you go, he’s hit with a wave of shame, guilt, and disgust. He should never have let things end the way he had. He should’ve tried to fix things but, instead, he had just given up. It was something he would never forgive himself for. He decides that he’s not going to let you go without at least knowing that he regrets his actions. He walks after you.

"Hey."

You hear him, and the clicking of your heels against the floor speeds up as you try to get away from him as fast as possible.

"Wait.." He says in a calm, firm, serious voice with a hint of a pleading tone. He picks up his pace and is quickly closing the distance between you two. When he moves closer to you, he reaches a hand out to plant on your shoulder, trying to stop you. 

When you shrug off his hand, he purses his lips and quickly runs in front of you, so you're forced to stop. You blink at the quick movement and look up at him with eyes full of undercover malice. Pushing your tongue into your cheek in annoyance, you quietly snap at him, so as to not attract a crowd.

"Can I help you?"

Spencer looks at you with eyes that are full of regret, sadness, shame, and longing. He takes a small step closer to you. You can see that he’s upset, but most of the emotions he is feeling are negative ones directed at himself. He looks like he wants to hug you and cry at the same time, but he is restraining himself, far too scared to make you even angrier at him. Even in all of his sadness and regret there is still a little bit of love in his eyes, and it looks like he’s about to cry.

You bite your lips as the look in his eyes still never ceases to make you melt. With a small shake of your head, you speak.

"Listen, it's been great seeing you, but I just came to drop off my kid, alright?" You push past him and start walking towards the front doors, not wanting to be around him any longer than you already have.

Spencer reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make it to the door. He looks at you with pleading eyes, still full of the same negative self-loathing emotions, but there’s a glint of hope and love in them.

"Wait–please." He says, his tone now urgent. "I just need two minutes of your time; to explain."

You take a deep breath and look down at your watch before you look back at him. "Don't you have a job to do?"

Spencer takes a deep breath and his eyes narrow before his expression softens again. "Yes, I do," he says.

"But, I'll go to work every day for the rest of my life. Please, just two minutes of your time." He looks desperate and pleading but, if you refuse again, he seems like he’ll let you go.

It hurts you to admit it, but his words make your heart swell. If there was one thing he was always good at doing, it was putting you first. But ironically, that's what got the two of you here in the first place. With wavering eyes, you look around before sighing, and agreeing.

"Two minutes." 

A huge wave of relief washes over Spencer and he can't help but smile a little bit. He walks you to a quiet place to talk. Once you are out of earshot of everyone around he looks at you with regretful eyes, and his voice begins to crack a bit.

"I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you and I am so sorry for the way I treated you. I was too caught up in my work and didn't give our relationship the attention it needed and I regret it every day. Please, forgive me."

You shake your head and look down at anywhere but him, because you know the second your gaze locks with those puppy-dog eyes you've always adored, all of your progress of "getting over him" in the past few months would go to waste in a heartbeat.

"I-I don't know, Spence.."

You hadn't even noticed the way you referred to him as his nickname you always used to call him, too caught up in your emotions to acknowledge it now.

"Please," His voice sounds desperate, like he might break down any moment now.

"I would do anything to fix what I have done. Please, just give me one more chance. I will never take you or our relationship for granted again. I love you."

As those last few words escape his lips his voice breaks and he looks like he might just get down on both knees and beg you. He looks completely ready and willing to show you, not just tell you, how sorry he is and that he can and will make things right.

Raising your chin a little to look at him through teary lashes, you run your thumb along your waterline. With a heavy sigh, you finally find the courage to look him in the eyes.

"You have a class to teach, Spencer. I'm sorry."

"I'll call in sick. I'd walk away from my job in an instant if it meant I got you back."

His voice is desperate as it breaks again and tears well up in his eyes.

"Please, love. Just give me a chance."

He looks heartbroken, and this is probably the most emotional, intense, and passionate he has ever been about his love for you and it's hard for you to resist. You’re sure you'll be making a mistake by saying no, but at the same time, you feel you’ll be making an even bigger mistake by saying yes.

You almost laugh at his words, but you stop yourself before you do. If you laughed in his face right now, you know he'd absolutely be crushed. With a sad smile, you sniff. 

"Don't do that, Spencer."

With one last look at your watch, you barely think about the next words that leave your mouth. You were just saying whatever he wanted to hear, you couldn't help it. Even after everything, you just wanted to please him.

"Listen, I- School ends at three, right? When I come to pick him up, we can talk more, okay?" 

Spencer is absolutely thrilled by how things just went. He fully expected you to just walk out on him, and he wouldn’t even blame you. He tries to hide the happiness on his face but he's unable to prevent himself from letting a small smile creep onto his lips. He nods his head in agreement.

"Three o'clock," He says in a calming, but still emotional, voice. "I'll be right here." He looks over you for a second before he turns and walks away, still clearly full of hope and optimism.

And you're left in the room by yourself and your thoughts as he walks out. You know this is a mistake, and you should've just ignored him and went on with your life, but it was too late now. In a battle with your heart and your head, you think you're going to let your heart win.

As the day passes, you're running errands and doing some work of your own, but your mind is somewhere else. 

It's only two thirty, you've got another half hour until you see him again, and you feel your nerves race through your body. As you sit in your car in silence, the sound of your heart pounding in your chest rings in your ears, and it taunts you.

You can't help but feel excited as you think about finally getting the chance to talk to him and try to work things out despite knowing full well that this is a bad idea. Part of you still wants to run, but the idea of having him in your life again feels like a dream come true and it’s hard to resist that kind of temptation when it is just within your grasp.

At three o'clock Spencer is waiting at the school, just as he promised, hoping you won't change your mind.

Taking a deep breath and shaking out your hands, you get out of the car and begin to walk towards the entrance of the school. All of the other children and parents were walking back to their own cars, and you remember then that your son had after-school sports, and he wouldn't be going home with you now.

At least it gave you and Spencer more time to speak. As you walk closer to him, the pounding of your pulse fills all of your senses, and you force a polite smile on your face.

As you approach him he smiles and hugs you. His arms are warm and comforting, and just having him hold you again makes you feel better. You can tell he is nervous too, you can see it in the way his eyes are darting around and how he keeps fidgeting his hands. You can also tell that he’s trying to keep his composure and has the same polite smile you do. He's trying to act like things are normal and like he isn't just dying of impatience for when you two can go somewhere to have a serious conversation.

With a small push to his chest, you break the hug with an awkward chuckle. His touch felt so nice, so comforting, but it was too much for you right now. You clear your throat as you stand in front of him with your arms behind your back and stutter as you speak.

When you push him away you can see a little bit of hurt in his eyes before it’s quickly replaced with understanding and patience. 

"I-I forgot that.. I forgot my son has soccer practice now.. So I don't have to pick him up for a few hours.." Your voice is wavering and sheepish, and you sound so unsure of yourself. The woman you were this morning, strong and unwilling to speak to the man in front of you was traded for a whole new persona, one that couldn't help but fumble under the gaze of Spencer.

"I see." He says in a calm, comforting tone, "Then, what would you like to do? Where would you like to talk?" As he speaks you can see him relax a little bit, but he is still filled with nervous energy, but it's clear that he’s trying to help you calm down.

And before you can stop yourself.

"We could go back to my place.."

When you say those words a huge smile makes its way across Spencer's face. He nods in agreement and takes your hand in his. You let him hold it.

"Your place, it is." As he speaks he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side door for you before getting into the driver's side himself. He turns to look at you to make sure you've gotten in safely and smiles again before turning forward to drive from the school to your house. As he drives, your thoughts race. You start thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, and they outweigh everything that could go right. 

It almost hurts your heart that he still remembers where you live, without a GPS or directions. It's like he never really forgot, how could he? It's all muscle memory to him.

As Spencer drives, a wave of nostalgia hits him hard. He can't help but remember all the sweet moments you have had at your place. He remembers the long nights, and the quiet mornings. He remembers the way you used to make him feel.

Then it hits him, these are the same feelings that made him make the huge, dumb mistake that got him in this situation in the first place. If he doesn't want to lose you again he’s going to have to do everything in his power to fix his mistakes and do everything he needs to do in order to make you happy.

Pulling into your driveway, you swallow before unbuckling yourself and stepping out of the car. You don't wait on him as you're walking up the pavement to your front door, pushing it open and walking inside.

Spencer gets out of the car and follows you inside, closing the door gently behind him. He walks over to you and looks at you with intense love and affection in his eyes. Before you can speak, he gives you a long, passionate kiss. For those few seconds he is able to forget everything and all he can think about is just how much he's missed you and how much he loves you. When he finally pulls away, you can see how hard he had to try to pull himself away in the first place, he missed the taste of your lips on his. 

"I love you.."

You gasp against his lips when he breaks the kiss, and the way your eyes widen almost rivals the moon. The nerve of him, you thought. But when his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, you can feel the anger fizzling into pathetic dust and you pull him in for another bruising kiss.

Spencer kisses you back passionately and his arms wrap all the way around your waist in the embrace. A wave of calm crashes over him as he holds you close to him because nothing feels better in the moment than being close to you again.

After a few minutes of kissing you he pulls back just a little bit to look at you and breathlessly speak.

"I missed you," he says, a little breathless, "So much."

Your eyes are full of passion and vexation towards him and you all but growl out your words. 

"Shut up and kiss me." Grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, you deal another violent kiss to him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Is all he can say as he moves in again. He had to pry your mouth away from him for air, and he leans in to kiss you again, but this time, instead of going straight for your mouth he makes his way to your neck. He’s leaning over slightly as kisses your neck, your ears, and your jaw in a playful move that has more passion behind it than playfulness, but you can still tell he is trying to tease you. 

Growing impatient and letting months of pent up emotions control you, you grab his hand on your head and forcefully move it down to your ass, putting your hand overtop of his as you make him squeeze your rear.

Spencer lets out a gentle groan at the feeling of you gripped in his hand, and grabs the handful roughly, digging his fingers into the denim of your jeans. 

"Now, can we talk?" His voice is gravelly and breathless. 

You’re pushing his body back until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sits down on it. You sit down next to him and begin to kiss up his neck, one of your hands moving to hold his jaw steady.

"Go ahead.." You murmur against his neck as you press a wet and sloppy kiss against the goosebump raised skin. 

Spencer lets out a small chuckle at how much you seem to be enjoying this. He's loving every second of it and he just smiles as his eyes start to go a little bit cross-eyed as he leans back into you.

"Stop that. I don't think I can hold a coherent thought like this."

His voice is half serious and half playful, still filled with the same passion and lust for you it has been the whole time.

"You're a genius, figure it out." Your voice is low and teasing as you bare your teeth against the flesh and nibble at it, leaving small, red marks.

Spencer groans a little bit as a shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of your teeth against his skin. His eyes go a little bit more cross-eyed the longer you do it to him.

"Please," His voice is a little bit breathless and it's unclear if he is asking you to stop or if he's just asking you to take a little break from it so he can finish his sentence. "I'm begging."

Despite his words, you continue to suck at his neck, determined to mark him as yours once more. He was right, you two needed to talk about it, but you were a little preoccupied at the moment. Smiling against his skin, you lick over a fresh hickey.

“Haven't changed much then, Spence.."

Spencer lets out a small noise that is part moan, part whine, and part laugh. His eyes are just about completely rolled back into his skull at this point.

"I can't talk at all while you're doing this," His voice is strained but it's clear he is trying desperately to keep a playful tone to it. "You're not going to make this easy are you?" You can hear him take a deep breath as he is just barely able to calm himself down enough to give you a warning. 

"Nothing about this is easy, love.." The pet name just slips from your mouth, as if it were a habit. You don't dwell on it for too long as you lift yourself onto his lap and continue to kiss and mark his neck.

Spencer moves slightly to make it easier for you to sit on his lap and he lets out a soft sigh when he feels your weight against him and once again he can't help but smile.

"Baby," He says, his voice getting just a little bit more sincere now as he gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, "Please..." he asks one last time with pleading in his eyes.

"I have a lot to talk to you about. I'm not sure how you feel about everything but I promise it will be okay if you let me explain."

With a final press of your lips against him, you pull back and rest your hands on his shoulders. 

"Speak then."

The man takes a deep breath and speaks with the most sincerity you have ever heard in his voice.

"I am truly, truly, sorry for what I did to you," His voice cracks at the end of the word ‘you’ as he gets emotional again. He takes a few more deep breaths to compose himself before tearily speaking again. You can see how much he means the things he is saying and how much it hurts him having to tell you this.

“You didn’t and don’t deserve anything I did to you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry."

You had hoped the cloud of lust that sat between the two of you was enough to distract and mask the real reason why he was here, and you sigh. The arousal in your body fades and is quickly replaced with solemnness.

"I didn't deserve it, and I so badly want to hate you, Spencer." He reaches a hand out to run through your hair as you talk, and you lean into his comforting touch. "I spent months wanting to scream at you, yell at you for how you treated me. I wasn't even going to talk to you today, really.."

At your words Spencer's eyes fill with regret. He can only imagine how hard and awful the past few months must have been for you and to know he is the one who put you through it all makes him feel like he's a monster.

"I can't blame you, I know I'm a terrible person.. I really do." Spencer's voice cracks and tears start to form in his eyes too, he looks at you with a sad, pitiful look in his eyes. "You didn't deserve any of it, baby. I don't know what I was thinking.."

You tilt your head to the side at his words and pout at the way he's putting himself down. With a slightly trembling hand, you reach to wipe the tears forming in his eyes.

"You're not a terrible person, Spence. Just.." Taking a deep breath, you actually think about your response this time. When you come to a conclusion, you don't know if it's the right one or not. "Just, promise not to do it again, alright?"

Spencer watches you as you wipe away the tears that have formed in his eyes. He looks up and meets your eyes with some of the most pure love and devotion he has ever had. He slowly nods his head in agreement as a small smile starts to form on his face at your response.

"I promise, my love... I will do anything to make up for what I've done."

His words are filled with so much love and compassion it almost seems impossible that he is the same man who hurt you so many months ago.

You slowly nod and swallow, and try to push away the already rising feelings of sadness and regret.

"Can I kiss you without being interrupted, now?"

Spencer chuckles a little and nods.

"Of course you can... I've been dying for one." He gives you a playful wink and a playful shove to your shoulder before turning to kiss you deeply. When he pulls away his eyes are filled with the same passion and desire you have always loved, and a bit of the same lust you felt earlier as well. He smiles at you as he leans back on the couch and wraps his hands on your hips. 

"Come closer. I've missed you so much."

A warm feeling fills your body at his words and you grab the back of his head to tug him into a hot and heavy kiss, full of pent up emotions of anger, lust, love, and hurt.

Spencer moves in for the kiss with just as much desire and lust as you. He lets out a small, playful moan as you pull on his hair, he grabs your waist as you kiss him and a small smile forms on his mouth.

As your lips break apart he catches his breath for a minute but he seems unable to resist you for too long as he pulls you in again for another kiss, this one even stronger than the one before and his hands start to wander under your clothes to the small of your back. Just one moment seems to be too long without his arms around you and his lips on yours.

A sigh of satisfaction pours from your mouth into his, and the feeling of his hands on your bare skin was a sensation you've gone far too long without. His fingers swirling up the flesh of your back feels like it's burning you in the best way, and you're all too eager to finally connect with him again.

Moving your hands to take off your shirt, you pull away from the kiss, much to his disappointment. As you tug the fabric off your body and over your head, you're left in your bra and jeans as you look up at him through long lashes and sultry eyes.

Spencer gasps at the sight of you and it takes all of his restraint not to just pounce you like an animal. A grin washes across his face and that devilish glint returns to his eyes once more.

“You are more beautiful than I ever remembered,” He says in a way that is both flirtatious but also full of love and adoration. He smiles as he looks up at you. 

“Will you allow me the honor of taking those off of you?”

"Please.." Is all you can mewl out, lust washing over your entire body, just ready to be his again.

At your words, Spencer's eyes light up with excitement and he smiles widely before getting off the couch and kneeling down in front of you. He slowly reaches out to the clasp of your bra and undoes it before slowly sliding it down your arms and off of you. He doesn't even try to hide his joy, it's evident in just how much he's smiling and the glimmer in his eye.

"You're still so perfect, my love... Just like a goddess." He whispers as he reaches to undo your jeans and unzip them.

You lift your bottom a bit off the couch to help him pull your pants down your legs, moaning softly at the cool air hitting your skin. Your arms cross over your chest, not used to being exposed like this after so long.

Spencer can't take his eyes away from you as he takes in your body again and a deep, content sigh escapes his lips as he looks at you.

"God.. You're more beautiful than I ever thought was possible," He whispers in amazement as his eyes take in your exposed body. "And you're just as beautiful on the inside too. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that.."

You can feel your breath hitching at his words, and a warm blush spreads over your cheeks, and you slowly lower your hands from over your chest, and rest them next to your bare thighs. You're only left in your panties now, sitting on the couch as he's kneeling in front of you.

Spencer's heart speeds up and he breathes heavily as he takes in the view in front of him. It's almost a little overwhelming, but all he can manage to do is take it in and admire you as he is left speechless for a moment. Finally, he comes to and he slowly moves in to touch your thighs. He takes his time and caresses them softly with his fingertips.

At his soft soft, you flinch slightly before letting your body relax. You trusted him, even after so long.

You can see the care and love in every soft caress that Spencer deals to your delicate body. His slow, steady touch is done with an intensity and a passion that almost seems to radiate off of him and you can feel it as his fingertips glide over the skin of your thighs. You don't know if you have ever felt someone be so delicate, slow, and methodical with something before but it’s beautiful, almost like he was dealing with a piece of art. 

Subconsciously, you feel yourself slowly spreading your legs as you watch his large hands move towards your body, and take the bands of your underwear in his fingers. He looks up at you for approval.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat and you can see his jaw practically hanging open as he's overwhelmed by the view that's in front of him. "You're beautiful, darling.." He says like it's a prayer. He lets out a soft sigh, and he nods in approval before slowly taking the bands off and peeling them down your legs.

You moan now that you're fully exposed in front of him, and all previous confidence you had in you has completely dissipated under his intense glare. Once the air flushes against your bare, soaked cunt, it makes you shudder with a shiver. 

Spencer's eyes narrow down on you and they burn with passion and emotion at seeing you there on the couch in front of him, all spread out and ready for him. He's lost in you for a minute and you can see it as his breath hitches and his jaw is still hanging half open. He still moves with deliberate, slow, and gentle touches as he moves his hand to the top of your thigh.

"Baby.. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers breathless, almost as though he is stunned by just the sight of you.

Moving your legs, you hook your calf around the back of his head, pulling him closer to your spread thighs, and there's a devilish smirk on your face.

He’s caught aback by how you pull him closer to your core and his eyes go wide at the gesture. He seems a little bit surprised but in the end he doesn't argue, instead he lets out a small chuckle and moves in closer to the point that the front of his face is pressed up against your thighs.

"What are you doing to me, love?" He asks innocently with a smirk of his own as he looks up at you with an amused smile on his face. His warm breath is ghosting over your glistening hole, and it makes you all the more desperate for him. 

“Making up for lost time.” 

You pull him in closer with your leg latched around him, urging him to get on with it already. You hadn’t slept with anyone since the two of you broke up, and you never really had time to take care of yourself. But that’s what he was there for. 

“Guess I better get to work, then..”

Spencer huskily spoke before leaning down and encasing your puffy clit between his spit slicked lips. The sensation instantly made you arch your back and jolt away from him, but he was quick to wrap his hands and arms under your thighs and over your hips, forcing you closer.

As he pulls you closer, his long wet tongue peeks out from his mouth and licks a broad stripe up your cunt, tasting just how much you missed him. With each lick, he was lapping up at your juices like a man starved, moaning at the way your slick coated his tongue. 

Your lips were parted in a high pitched mewl, and you squeezed his head tighter with your legs. It made him dizzy, being suffocated by your shaking thighs and your gushing pussy, and he couldn’t have asked to be anywhere better. 

The wet muscle between your folds was pistoning in and out of you like heavy machinery, working you just the way you needed. You could feel your cunt contracting around him, further gushing your arousal on his tongue. 

Spencer was breathlessly moaning into your core, not being able to contain it. He was agonizingly hard in his pants, and it took everything in him to pry himself away from you. When he does, he deals one last slow, tortuous lick up your folds, before licking his lips and backing away. 

You look up at him with pleading eyes, and he was already working on lifting you from the couch, quickly making his way into the hallway and where he knew your bedroom was.

You could feel your still soaked cunt rubbing against the silky fabric of his shirt, and couldn't help but grind your hips down against it. You had been so touch starved, that even this tiny bit of satisfaction made your breath catch in your throat.

He gently laid you down on the bed, making sure your head was rested against a pillow, before he practically tore the buttons off his shirt trying to take it off. And his pants were no different, the leather of his belt slid against the fabric of his dress pants, and as soon as you heard a small clank of metal against your floor, his pants followed suit. 

When he was fully undressed, and crawled over your body until he was caging you underneath him, and the sight of his slightly sweaty hair falling over his face made your chest heavy with emotion. 

Spencer leans down to kiss a line from your chin to your jaw, before stopping at your ear and lowly whispering into it. 

“Think you can let me take care of you again, like old times?” 

And it’s almost like his voice has put you under a trance, because before he can even finish, you’re nodding. It didn’t matter what he asked of you, you’d always say yes. 

He lifts himself away from you with a small mirrored nod, before hoisting you by your waist and flipping your pliant body around, and propping a pillow under your stomach and hips.

The cool material pressed against your sweat sheened skin made you sigh, and his rough hands traced over the curves of your hips and ass like he was trying to relive all the nights that he used to have you like this; plush ass bent over in front of him, soaked cunt begging for attention, spread legs practically inviting him between them. 

He swallows at the memories, and has a hard time convincing himself this is actually happening again. But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long, whether or not you’re really in front of him, or he’s just dreaming again, he can’t leave you like this. He loves you too much. 

Trembling hands find the heavy bobbing length of his cock, and he grabs himself at the base, shakily squeezing in order to urge himself to not cum immediately. You deserved better than that. You deserved so much better than everything he could give you, and he promised himself he’d somehow redeem himself. 

There wasn’t a better time to start than now, he thinks to himself as he tilts his hips forward to rub the leaking tip of his member against the silky folds of your cunt. And thank goodness he’s kneeling, because the second he felt soft, wet flesh against him, he would’ve collapsed. 

“G-God.. Missed this..”

You lift your head slightly from where it’s pressed against the pillow, and look back at him with a lazy smile. Your voice is slighted muffled against the fabric, but he understands you.

“Didn’t get laid over the summer, Spence?” 

You lift your ass higher, arching your back further so he would get the memo to fuck you already, and with a shake of his head and the cant of his hips, he’s easing himself inside of you, inch by inch. 

“N-No.. Was always yours, love.”

The smile slowly falls from your face and you turn back around to bury your face in the pillow, trying to play it off with a pleasured sigh. 

The two of you had stayed loyal to one another, despite everything. The thought made your heart swell and your cunt clench. He was unmistakably yours, and he always would be, no matter what. 

The squeeze of your hole around him forced him inside of you quicker than he had planned on, and he had to bite his lip, breaking skin, to stop himself from finishing right there and then. He grunted as he tried to regain control over himself, and pushed himself the rest of the way inside of you.

When he was buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes rolled back into your skull and you bit at the pillow to stop yourself from screaming. He filled you so perfectly, just as he used to. It felt right, like he belonged nowhere else but entirely swallowed by your cunt. 

Spencer mutters out a few curses to himself before he’s draping himself over your body, pressing his firm chest against your damp back. His mouth is right by your ear, and you move your head to the side a bit to hear him better. 

And hear him better you definitely do. You can feel the heave of his chest as he breathlessly begins to withdraw his cock from inside of you. The rub of his veiny, long length dragging along your soft walls had you cursing like a sailor. 

As his breaths and moans quicken, so does the shove of his hips against your ass. He was so deep inside of you it was a miracle he was even able to pull himself out of you, but he managed to do it just fine. There were no complaints from you whatsoever as you felt him imprint the image of his tip right against your spot with every thrust he dealt to you. 

Your hands were planted out in front of you, gripping at the fabric of the comforter when his own came and fully encompassed them. Spencer intertwined your fingers together as the visceral sound of your pussy sucking him deeper and deeper filled your ears. 

Every time he humped into you, your clit brushed against the pillow, and it only made your cries of pleasure grow louder. The friction was dizzying, and you unknowingly clench around him impossibly tighter. 

And he just about loses his mind at that moment. When he’s sucked flush against your body, he goes cross eyed and squeezes your hands in his, as if trying to ground himself. A guttural groan leaves him and it’s a few more moments before he’s panting in your ear as he starts to move once more. 

He pulled back his hips to let his cock slide halfway out of you, before forcing himself back into that tight drenched cunt of yours. You can feel the spurt of arousal that leaks out of you at the force of his thrust, and you writhed at the feeling. 

Your body shakes underneath his as the combined feeling of grinding yourself down against the pillow and how deliciously his length abused your cervix and puffy folds drives you mad. You were gasping for air, trading your desperate moans and whines for a chance at breathing.  

“Sp-Spence.. Baby–please.” 

There wasn’t one single thought in your brain that knew what you were begging for, but somehow, Spencer knew exactly what to give you.

“L-Love you so much, sweet thing..” 

He moans out to you, then he leans down unbelievably closer to you. He lets go of one of your hands to wrap his own around your neck, grabbing at your throat as gently as he can to urge your face up to kiss him. 

It’s a little hard to catch his lips with yours, as with each plow into you sent your body forward, along with how heavily he was breathing. But when you do, the two of you seal your lips together in a passionate, burning kiss. 

His grip around your throat tightens a bit, and it’s enough to entirely set you off the edge. With one more ground of your hips against the pillow, and one more stamp of his cock against that little spongy spot inside of you, you’re suddenly soaking everything around you. 

The wet noise of your release is all you and him can hear, as you’re spraying your arousal all over his hips, his cock, your thighs, and those poor sheets underneath the two of you. Your eyes cross almost comically at the feeling of your orgasm rushing through you, and Spencer is doing no better.  

As he feels you squirt all over him, he curses into your ear and his entire body goes rigid. His hips still and he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly get before dumping everything he’s worth right into your soaked velvet core, sending ribbon after ribbon of his cum right against your cervix. 

“F-Fuck.. Fuck.. fuck..” 

All you can think about is how full you are. His cock is miraculously still hard inside of you, even though he’s emptied everything he’s got into you, and his thick cum is practically fighting for any room left you’ve got inside you. 

Wet. Wet would be the only word to describe the scene you’ve found yourself in. Your body goes limp against the soaked bed, and his sweat drenched body finds itself at the same fate as he collapses against you. The hand around your throat loosens and snakes its way back to your lonely hand, intertwining them once again. 

The both of you are panting against each other's faces for god knows how long, and neither of you have moved a muscle. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, running down the expanse of your thighs to join the puddles of your own arousal that pool against the bed. 

With a groan, he slowly pulled out of you, and it was like pulling the plug to a well, because the second his cock left your hole, a gush of a mixture of your arousals flowed out of you.

He chuckles at the sight, while you just moan softly. Spencer lays down right next to you and pulls your body against his, so you’re chest to chest. He reaches to move your sweaty hair out of your face, pressing a warm kiss against your sticky cheek. When he speaks, his voice is strained and you wouldn’t be surprised if he had lost his voice. 

“You know, he was talking about you during class today..” 

The slight rasp and squeak in his voice is problematically attractive to you, but you don’t think you could deal with another orgasm after flooding your own bed. 

You shake your head and groan softly at his words. 

“Oh god, what’d he say?” 

“He kept saying to everyone, ‘Mr.Reid is Mommy’s boyfriend!’” 

The tone in his voice heightens as he tries his best to imitate your son's words. You groan again and close your eyes. 

“And I’m guessing you didn’t say anything to him about it?” 

Your voice is strained and laced with faux annoyance, but he sees right through it. Spencer huffs out a small laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead. With the arm that’s holding you against him, he squeezes your shoulders lightly, as if to tease you. 

“Course I didn’t, can’t embarrass him like that..” 

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and he pulls you closer to him as you shake your head.  

“You’re the worst, I hope you know.” Your tone is playful and teasing, but you can feel yourself relaxing in his hold, allowing yourself to savor the moment for the time being. 

“Maybe, but at least I’m ‘Mommy’s boyfriend’ again..” 

[kissitbttr]

I need more sweet moments with frat!miguel you owe us for hurting us with the argument one🔫

HSHDHDJDHDH I’M SORRYYYY MY LOVEEE PLEASE FORGIVE MEEEEE

BUT OKAY!!

—

miguel rarely comes to your cheerleading practice. not because he doesn’t want to but simply because his training and yours are always on the same day,

he does get to see you from afar though, thank god both of your teams share the same field. only a few yards away.

every time he goes on a water break, he uses the advantage to keep an eye on you for any injuries that might happen.

though he would definitely admit that is not the only reason why. miguel always find himself huffing and puffing at the male coach who keeps grabbing you by the waist and stuff. his assistant is no better.

‘they’re my coaches, miggy! how am i supposed to understand what to do if he didn’t show me?! plus it’s not like they’re flirting with me. cheerleading includes body contact’

yeah okay, that makes sense or whatever. but he still doesn’t like it.

he loves watching you train though. the flexibility you have within your body makes him go crazy. he always tries his best to catch you doing splits, bridges, toe touches etc, anything that includes you showing it off,

especially in those tight shorts you’re wearing right now that accentuates the shape of your ass,

“o’hara! done ogling your girl?!”

he peers over his shoulder to see his coach expressing annoyance. arms crossed, brows dip into a frown. behind him, glen and two other guys are stifling their laughs,

but miguel doesn’t feel embarrassed of getting caught. instead, he smirks cockily and shrug. “can’t blame me for having a pretty girlfriend, coach”

“yeah yeah—get your head back in the game” coach instructs with stern voice. “or i’ll put you on the bench” he threatens,

miguel scoffs with a smirk still on his face. hands on hips while chewing his gum. “no you won’t” he challenges, earning himself a warning glare from the old man. “who’s gonna lead the team if it ain’t me?”

“you forgot the vice captain?” beck points at himself with a grin,

miguel just shrugs. “compared to me? we know the answer to that, kingsley. the team then erupts in strings of ‘ooh’

“oh cocky now huh?” beck throws him a ball expecting him to get hit, but miguel’s reflexes are always on point. catching it with one hand, so effortlessly

“what’s that about putting me on the bench, coach?” he teases with a laugh, watching him sigh in annoyance,

before he could muster a response, miguel’s ears perk up at the sound of his favorite voice. a bright smile breaks out as he turns around, seeing that it’s you.

“miggy!!”

the team groans when miguel abandons the ball and completely shift his attention on his girlfriend. running towards him in your team’s sports bra and bright pink nike pros,

miguel extends his arms open, without second thoughts you jump at his embrace with a giggle. his hands holding you tightly by the bare thighs. legs locking around his hips as both of your sweat clinging onto each other,

“this is a nice surprise, baby—but i smell really bad right now” he chuckles, though makes no effort in putting you down,

“i like you better dirty” you shrug, looking into his eyes making him groan,

“naughty girl” he pecks your lips. “you done with practice?”

“mhmm” you hum. “gimme a second okay?” you wave at the coach and team. “so i know you and your brothers are having the weekly party tonight, buuut—i have a proposition”

he cocks an eyebrow, “that doesn’t sound good”

you roll your eyes at his teasing manner. “how would you feel about—skinny dipping with me tonight?” a whisper comes past your lips, and you almost laugh at how fast his eyes suddenly brighten more,

“wait—for real?!”

with a nod, you continue. “the community pool that i’m working at will be closed early for today and guess who’s got the keys? me!” you cheer, “what do you say?”

“baby—do you really need to ask?!” miguel feels his pants growing tight at the thought of him and his girlfriend swimming naked later tonight. “fuck yes! i’ve been wanting to do that for a looong time”

“okay good! because i’ve been feeling rather bored with bikinis lately. i think its time for my boobies to be out in the open you know? free the nips”

“you’re killing me here, can’t say that shit now. still got an hour and half to go” he gestures towards the boys who are still playing ball, waiting for the team captain to join. “okay, no parties for me—just you and i tonight”

he puts you back down on your feet, grabbing your face and presses his lips against yours making both of you smile. “get outta here” he smacks your ass in a playful manner making you shoot him a warning glance, in which he only puts his hands up,

“see you back home, miggy!” you call out while running back to join the other girls

“fuck i love hearing that” he mutters, watching you run and let his eyes wander down to the shape of your ass. “and i love you” he points at the shorts you’re wearing,

beck could only shake his head at the sight of miguel still watching you go along with a few of other guys,

“can’t believe i’m saying this but—i prefer him not having a girl”

“nah man, you can’t say that” beck fist bumps a shoulder of another kid. “he’s happy. let him be”

“yeah and a pervert” carlos rolls his eyes, throwing a ball towards glen’s direction. “he gets pissy when i interrupt his game but won’t say shit when y/n is around”

“can’t blame him for simping. she’s hot” another guy jumps in, but only loud enough for miguel to not hear,

“ay coach!” carlos calls. “why were you just standing there and not pull him away or something, man?! you do that with the rest of us!”

“you kidding?! that girl’s scary when she’s pissed. better to let her do her thing and back off. now o’hara get your ass here and finish the scrimmage!”

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part one

Part two

❤️❤️

Fake Dating part 3

❤️

There was no doubt about it. Eddie had messed up. He never should have been such an ass, he should have thought before he said things. He hated that he had made you cry.

He could blame Steve for flirting with you but in reality it was his fault. The minute his feelings changed he should have said something to you but he was scared that you didn't feel the same.

Now he had to suck it up and tell you how he felt before he lost you for good and that was terrifying but he had to do it.

It was time to be Eddie the Brave.

You were chatting with Robin when he approached you and asked if you could talk later. "We could head to time and talk? I really think we need to talk about a few things sweetheart"

Was it Eddie's imagination or did your face fall at that? Shit. He didn't want you thinking that this was a bad thing.

"I need to apologise but I'd like to do that in private" he murmurs softly and you relax at this. The tension leaving your features.

"Okay, let's do it" he breathes a sigh of relief and vows to make things up to you later.

❤️❤️

The ride to his trailer is a quiet affair. Usually Eddie can fill any silence but he's working out what he wants to say to you. He needs to get this right.

Once the two of you are inside he decides to make some cocoa, it was your favourite and a secret recipe of Uncle Wayne's.

It helps soothe his raging mind and by the time he's finished and joins you on the sofa with the steaming mugs of chocolate, he's eager to speak and get things sorted.

"I just want to apologise for being such a dick with Steve. I was jealous princess" he admits and he waits with baited breath for what you'll say.

"Jealous?" you frown and he nods as he takes your hand, you don't pull away so he counts that as a success, he just hopes that you'll forgive him.

"Yeah because I don't want this to be fake or a ruse, I've been falling for you for a while now and I should have just said that instead of being a giant butthead" you giggle a little bit and squeeze his hand.

"Well you were a butthead and I meant what I said that Steve is just a friend, I'm not interested in him that way. Honestly I should have admitted how I felt about you but I was scared too" he kisses your forehead and you cuddle up against him.

"I like you a lot Eddie. I want to be with you for real. I didn't expect all of this to happen, I didn't expect to fall for you so badly but I have"

Eddie smiles and kisses you deeply. He can't wait to take you out on a real date. No more of this fake dating bullshit. You were his and he couldn't wait for the rest of the world to know.

"So princess... I'm thinking we could have a real date tonight? Milkshakes and movies and my suave charm and seduction. Sound good?" you answer his question with another kiss.

"Sounds perfect Ed's"

❤️