#but crashing together with the tides of time

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories for a Demon, Night 1: The Sleeping Princess (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

“Lucanis?”

Some assassin, he thinks bitterly, as Rook’s soft voice breaks him out of his reverie. She finds him sitting at the dining room table, staring at the fire with a cup of now cold coffee in his hands. He didn’t hear her come in.

Caterina would’ve given him at least ten lashes with her cane for letting someone sneak up on him like that.

His mind, lately, was a restless sea. Waves of him and Spite crash over each other, fighting to rise above the din. Fighting for control. And like the moon pushes and pulls the tides at night, Spite’s influence becomes harder to ignore in the waning hours of the evening. Sometimes it was hard to pay attention to anything but Spite rattling the bars of the prison that was Lucanis’ mind.

On most nights he finds himself alone in the pantry, or the dining room, with only a flickering fire and the demon in his head for company. Until a few moments ago that is.

“Rook” he manages a pleasant, tired smile while turning towards her. “You’re up late”

She shrugs and pulls up a chair beside him, now rimmed in the warm orange glow of the fire. “Thought you might want some company – you know, after the whole…” she gestures vaguely in his direction, and he doesn’t need any further elaboration.

He remembers feeling tired, so tired after their last mission. A bone-weariness that only came with the kind of world-ending threats they were becoming entirely too accustomed to handling. Three cups of his strongest brew hadn’t been enough to curb the knife’s edge of sleep deprivation. He remembers sitting upright in his cot and closing his eyes for just a moment.  Then, he was in the basement hallway with the Vir’Evas Eluvian, surrounded by Taash, Harding, Rook - and the terrible realization that Spite had taken him for a walk.

Perhaps it was his brutal training at the hands of his grandmother, perhaps it was his own stubbornness, but he hated to make them worry. Especially Rook, who already carried the weight of the world on her small shoulders and the voice of an Elven god in her head. Dealing with a sleepwalking abomination was probably the last thing she needed to be worried about.

“I’m fine” he lies, and stares down at his coffee. His grip on the handle of his mug tightens. Rook’s bright green eyes flicker down to his hands, and he knows she doesn’t believe his words any more than he does. “As I said before – Spite is my burden to bear. Please, go get some sleep, Rook”

Her face falls just a little at that.

“Would if I could” she starts, “You won’t sleep, I can’t sleep – I figure we might as well be night owls together. But if I’m bothering you, I’ll go”

He doesn’t know her well enough yet to catch if she is lying about not being able to sleep – but he imagines she has plenty of her own worries big enough to keep her up at night.

When he doesn’t answer, Rook moves to get out of her chair.

Lucanis quickly waves her back down into her seat.

“No, no, no bother at all” He raises his cup to her in a cheer, “I’ll be glad for the company”

He swirls the cold coffee in his cup, before looking back up at Rook.

“Coffee? I’m going to make a fresh pot” he asks, rising from his place. Rook gives an appreciative nod, the corners of her eyes crinkling with another smile.

“I’d love some, thanks”

Rook is silent until his return from the kitchen, with a cup of freshly made coffee – real coffee, in each hand. None of that instant boiled bean water that Neve had a habit of making.

As he hands her the cup, he notices something in her lap that wasn’t there before. A small journal. Its bindings were tattered and frayed, the colour had faded from what he presumed was a bright crimson to a more muted shade of red, and the pages were yellowed with time.

“What is that?” he asks, taking his place in front of the fire once more.

Rook sets the steaming cup of coffee aside on the table, so she can begin flipping through its worn pages. A musty, acrid smell like old mothballs hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, he’s a boy in the Dellamorte estate’s library running wild between tall, marble bookshelves seeking mischief and knowledge in equal measure.

“My father’s old journal” Rook thumbs through the pages more carefully now, and her voice grows soft.

“He was a Bard in his youth. Toured all over Thedas with his troupe. As he went, he wrote down stories from across the continent” She leans her chin against her hand and smiles fondly at the little book in her hand. “Never imagined he’d be collecting bedtime stories for a future daughter”

There was a softness in her voice that he was not accustomed to hearing, tinged with the barest echo of grief. This is the first time in the few weeks they had known each other that Rook mentioned any kind of family. He notes her use of past tense and decides not to pry, much as he finds himself growing ever curious about his new companion.

Companions.

Rook looks down at the book again before meeting his eyes. They were almost pleading.

“I thought... maybe you’d like to hear one. You know, to help pass the time?”

He thinks of refusing, of telling her she needs to rest, that there is little sense in them both being sleep deprived because of Spite. There is something in her eyes that stops him from turning her down. An emotion he cannot quite name but feels akin to longing. Not quite sadness, not quite nostalgia – somewhere in between.

He quickly comes to the realization that this may be as much for her, as it is for him. Lucanis remembers the comfort that reading old stories brought him. He can picture, in striking detail, the book on Wyvern physiology he stole from the Dellamorte library as a child. He knows the contents of each page by heart, because he can still hear Illario's grumbling about wanting him to shut up about Wyverns echoing through his distant memories. He would read it by candlelight until late in the evening, ready to extinguish the flame and hide the book under his pillow at a moment’s notice if Caterina came by.

He decides that if he can help her by simply listening to a story, he will. Rook spends most of her free time trying to fix everyone else’s problems. Always flitting to and from each room in the Lighthouse like a hummingbird, fretting over the team. The Crows were already indebted to her efforts against the Antaam, and she made it a point to help him with both Spite and tracking down Zara. With all that in consideration, he feels it would be a rather poor show to refuse. That and another feeling he didn’t have a name for, keeps him from rejecting her company tonight.

“Alright” He sighs and takes a sip of his coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Let’s hear it”

Lucanis ignores the skipped beat in his chest as she beams widely.

She claps her hands together and straightens in her chair. “Wonderful!”

“So, what tale will you tell tonight?”

“Have you ever heard the old Tevene story about the Sleeping Princess?” she asks excitedly, crossing her legs in her chair like an impatient child about to be served dessert. She’s practically oscillating with excitement in her seat.

Lucanis smiles at that.

“No, I can’t say I have”

“It’s one of my favourites” she gushes, picking up the journal again and flipping to the correct page. Ringlets of rich brown hair sweep over her shoulder as she does so, and he decides to focus on his coffee instead, before he’s caught staring.

“Aha” her brow furrows as she quickly scans the contents of the journal. “Alright, here we go”

Rook sets the journal aside once more and takes a quick sip of her coffee. He doesn’t miss the way she savours the brew. He knew she enjoyed coffee from their meeting at Café Pietra with Illario, but it was nice to know she appreciated his coffee as much as theirs.

He raises an eyebrow when Rook starts cracking her knuckles – and her neck, then readies her hands in the same pose he’s seen her use for magic.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see” she grins conspiratorially.

“If you’re about to throw a fireball at me – “

“Relax, relax” Rook shakes her head, and whispers “Magic has more uses than fighting”

He can feel Spite stirring in the dark recess of his mind and does his best to ignore it.

Rook’s delicate hands begin glowing with blue light, and to his astonishment, a moment later she conjures a fully realized image of a castle, floating in the space between them. He can see the spires, turrets, and even the wrought-iron gates in clear, astonishing detail. Lucanis leans forward to inspect the castle as it rotates in mid-air, giving him views of every side. Even the masonry and statues have an immaculate degree of realism. It was almost as if she had taken a real castle and shrunk it down.

“How …?” He is not usually one to be rendered speechless, but it was not every day he is exposed to new types of magic - and when he was, historically, that hasn't always been a good thing for him. Spite rumbling under his skin reminds him of that.

“I learned to do it back in my Circle days. It was my thesis work – the use of the Fade to create projections of objects from one’s minds” her pride in her castle falls when she continues to explain, “The senior enchanters thought it a waste of effort and I barely passed my final year – they couldn’t see a use for it past getting their children to sleep. I suppose if magic can’t be used to some terrible, destructive end, it gets relegated to a novice’s thesis statement to be buried in the Circle’s archives and never touched again”

“It’s incredible Rook” he breathes. The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. He’s not sure if it’s the warmth of the fire, or something else, but he swears a faint tinge of red creeps from her neck up to her ears.

He desperately wants to reach out and touch the castle, but keeps his hands firmly on his coffee cup, worried he may ruin her concentration.

Rook’s eyes crinkle with her smile, wide and genuine. He’s never seen her smile like that, and it feels utterly disarming.

He brings his coffee cup to his lips again, about to take a sip.

“Thank you, Lucanis” Her voice is sweeter than the coffee on his lips.

“You’re welcome” is all he manages to choke out, leaning away from the castle to give himself some distance to regain control of his faculties.

Rook clears her throat, “I ahh, guess I should get on with the story, hmm?”

Lucanis nods and takes another sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through him but he is not entirely certain it’s from the coffee alone.

“I would say you’re burning moonlight, but given where we are …”

He smiles when Rook chuckles at his terrible attempt at humour, and he appreciates it even if it is forced on her end, but it feels genuine enough. Everything about Rook was genuine.

Her focus returns to the castle in front of them.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a small kingdom”

She waves her hands in a fluid motion and the solitary castle morphs into a bird’s eye view of that same castle perched on top of a hill, overlooking a small village.

“And in that kingdom, there lived a King and a Queen, much beloved by their people.”

The castle and village disappear. They are now replaced with two figures sitting on matching thrones upon a simple dais. In the thrones sit a man and a woman, each with a crown decorating their foreheads.

“The King and Queen longed desperately for a child of their own and had tried for many years to make it so. ‘Would that we had a child!’, the King cried, and yet, their child remained a dream.”

As she said those words, the mouth of the king moved in tandem.

He can’t imagine the amount of concentration it must be taking to accomplish telling a story, maintaining an illusion, and making an illusion talk. He continues to sit there in awe, with only his training keeping his jaw from hanging on the floor.

The corner of her lips pull down into a slight frown.

“The Queen would not accept the words of her physician, who told her bearing a child was not possible for her, for there was a sickness in her womb that would prevent it”

The image morphed into the Queen hunched over on the floor, on all fours, sobbing. It looks so real he is convinced he could hear her agonized cries.

Now, the Queen has traded her crown for a traveller's cloak. She floats aimlessly in the air between them, the cloak billowing on an invisible wind.

“The Queen, unbeknownst to the King, set off to seek the knowledge of a Spirit from the Fade. When she eventually finds one,” Rook pauses and waves her left hand to bring forth the image of an amorphous spirit in front of the Queen. “She wastes no time asking the Spirit if it could help her conceive a child”

The spirit continues to float above the figure of the queen, who is now on her knees looking up at it, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“The Spirit asks if she is prepared to do anything to have a child. The Queen fervently answers that she would give up anything – do anything for an heir.” The figure of the Queen bows down to the Spirit in deference. “Satisfied, the Spirit gives her knowledge of a ritual that could provide her with a child. It would take several mages and the sacrifice of an innocent, but that was the only way to cure the sickness from her womb and carry a child. ‘Do this, and your child will grow in grace and beauty. Hair spun in gold, lips as red as the rose. She will walk with spring time wherever she goes. Her song will put nightingales and larks to shame’”

Blood magic. Figures this story comes from Tevinter.

“But be warned” The Spirit holds up a hand, “Should the Princess ever prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and draw blood, she will die”

The figure of the Queen hurriedly nods, before disappearing into nothing.

“The Queen quickly returns to the kingdom and enlists the help of her council of Magi”

The figure of the Queen returns to its original appearance. She is now surrounded by seven cloaked figures, each carrying a stave in their hands. The form of a young woman is chained, on her knees, in the middle of them all.

“They had their sacrifice, and the knowledge on how to perform the ritual” Her voice is quiet, almost strained.

The figures appear to be chanting now. The faint blue glow of the form of the young woman slowly turns red, with some concentration on Rook’s part. A moment later, the form is swallowed by red light and disappears. Veins of red climb like vines and weave their way into the figure of the Queen, settling on her stomach, before fading from sight.

Rook’s frown deepens and her brows draw closely together. The figures of the King and Queen morph into an embrace. And quickly after, they are sitting on their thrones, side-by-side, with the Queen’s belly swollen with child.

“The King had no idea about the ritual. He was ecstatic, of course, at the prospect of finally having a child” Rook said. “And so he didn’t question it when the Queen asked that every spinning wheel in the kingdom be burned to ensure her safety”

The pair disappear, and now, a large pile of spinning wheels, burning with blue flames, takes their place.

It disappears soon after, and the image of a baby is conjured in its place. She is sleeping soundly in an intricately carved wooden cot.

“The Princess, who they called Rosaea, was perfect. And just as the Spirit had said, she would indeed grow in grace and beauty” The form of the baby changes to that of a young woman, with long, flowing hair and a beautiful face. “She was loved by all her people, for she had a kind heart. She lived happily with her parents and was adorned of gifts from her people, the nobility, and suitors alike. But things would not stay that way for long.”

The image of the princess disappears. The scene shifts to the King, Queen, and the Princess together at the gates of the Kingdom.

“Urgent business with another Kingdom called the King and Queen away, and so the Princess was left to wander the castle by herself”

Rook waves a hand and the Princess walks alone, before coming to the form of an old woman hunched over a spinning wheel.

The princesses mouth moves in tandem with Rook’s words.

“You there, madam” The princess says, pointing to the wheel. “What is it that you are doing?’ She asks, for she had never seen a spinning wheel before”

The figure of the old woman turns towards the princess and beckons her closer, “I am spinning, dear girl’, it answers” The figure of the princess moves closer to the spinning wheel. She leans over it, and asks, “What is that thing that twists around so briskly?”

No sooner had she said the words and taken the spindle into her hand, there is a flash of red light, and the figure of the princess is on the floor. Not dead, but sleeping, for he can see the rise and fall of her chest.

The old woman first morphs into the spirit from before, the one that spoke with the Queen, and then it changes again into a twisted creature - all horns, claws, and jagged edges. One he was all too familiar with. A demon.

“The Spirit the Queen had spoken with was no Spirit at all, it was a Terror demon in disguise.” Rook explains, waving her hand through the illusion of the girl and the demon towering over her, erasing it from existence.

It is at this moment that Lucanis realizes he’s forgotten to breathe. He draws a deep breath, and leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs. His coffee sits abandoned on the table, as does Rook’s. Spite is practically vibrating behind his eyes.

“Well, go on” he gestures at her.

Rook grins, evidently satisfied with her work. “Impatient, are we?”

Lucanis smirks, “Spite wants to know how it ends”

“And you’re not the least bit curious?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking at him doubtfully.

He distracts himself with a sip of coffee, miraculously still somewhat warm. “I might be”

Rook chuckles and shakes her head, mirroring him by bringing her own coffee to her lips. She licks her lips and sighs, and he tries to look anywhere but her mouth. For a moment, he finds himself preoccupied with his own shoes.

“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story” She rings out her hands and brings them back into position. That familiar blue glow envelops them again. He feels its safe to meet her gaze again.

“The Terror Demon’s ritual didn’t just affect the Princess, it affected the whole Kingdom. One by one, everyone fell into a deep slumber, just like the princess”

He watches intently as the castle courtyard morphs into view between them. Figures of soldiers and servants alike start falling asleep in place, dropping like wilting flowers. The courtyard disappears and returns to another view of the entire kingdom. Large, twisted brambles begin enveloping it,He eererere forming an impenetrable wall of thorns encasing everything in sight.

“The King and Queen returned to find their Kingdom gone. They tried rallying support from other kingdoms, but none could breach the Demon’s brambles”

Figures of soldiers and magi alike lobbing magic and arrows and spears at the wall sprang to life. Each volley as useless as the last. She pauses as the image fades, and nothing takes its place.

“And?” Lucanis asks leaning onto his forearms even more.

“And I’m getting there” Rook laughs, flourishing her fingers like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra.

“The Demon’s spell kept the kingdom in a state of eternal slumber. It fed on their fears and nightmares in the Fade while they slept. On the outside, a hundred years had passed, and the King and Queen were long dead. But everyone inside the Kingdom still remained as they were when they were put to sleep”

Two elaborate tombs flickered to life, before fading a moment later.

“Another hundred years passes before a wandering adventurer, pure of heart and mind, and possessing the soul of a true hero, would come to the ruins of the Kingdom, still surrounded by the wall of thorns”

She conjures the image of a handsome-faced young man, in simple chain mail, riding atop a horse.

“But this adventurer was special, you see” Rook whispered and leaned in closer.

Smells like lavender and rosewater, Spite chimes.

“For he had a Spirit of Valor on his side. And the Spirit would see the Terror Demon banished back to the Fade forever”

The figure draws his sword, glowing a bright golden yellow, and pierces the wall of thorns with ease. He continues to cut through the wall and makes his way to the castle.

“There was a great battle between the Demon and the Hero, but the Hero prevails with the help of the Spirit of Valor”

The demon is pierced by the golden sword, and cries out a soundless scream, before disappearing. Now, the entire view of the kingdom is back. The brambles recede like a tide, and one by one, little figures of soldiers and servants begin waking up.

Curiously, when the image fades back to the figure of the princess, she still lies sleeping.

“Why didn’t the princess wake up?” Lucanis asks, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“The Nightmare Demon’s hold on the Princess is stronger than any of the other inhabitants of the Kingdom” Rook explains, shifting in her seat. "It was banished back to the Fade, but not defeated in its entirety. Terror is one of the strongest emotions there is, after all"

The princess and the hero fade from view, and this time, nothing takes their place.

“There has to be more than that” He throws his hands up and shakes his head, before taking another sip of coffee. He nearly spits it out. It’s gone cold. Again. Yet for all his love of caffeinated beverages, the thought of getting up to make another cup doesn’t even cross his mind.

She laughs again, her green eyes twinkling with mirth, “I’m getting there.” She repeats.

“You’re doing this on purpose” He points to her, frowning.

“I have to build suspense somehow!”

Rook raises her hands again, and the figures of the princess and the hero return to view.

“The Hero couldn’t help but be struck by the Princesses’ beauty. He could do nothing else but admire her sleeping form. And he was overcome with the desire to kiss her, for he knew it was love at first sight. He had no way of knowing if it would work – maybe it was his own heart, or maybe it was the Spirit of Valor whispering in his ear, but needed to know if a kiss could wake her from her slumber”

The figure of the prince moves closer to the princess, and hunches over her sleeping form. It leans in and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips.

Both the princess and the hero were soon engulfed in a warm, golden glow. The figure of the princess wakes, and the hero takes her into his arms.

“The princess wakes to find herself in the arms of her rescuer. She and the Hero fall in love. They re-establish the kingdom and ruled together as King and Queen, living happily ever after”

And with a final flick of her wrist, the embracing figures vanish into the ether.

“The End” She says, with a satisfied smirk and a small bow at the waists.

Lucanis leans back in his seat, unable to stop himself from smiling. “That’s it? Everything is fixed with a kiss?”

Rook shrugs innocently, “Aren’t most things?”

He has no time to process that, or the way she’s looking at him while she says it.

“Besides, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was true love’s kiss. Love can be a powerful form of magic in its own right. Just as powerful as Terror - if not more so”

Lucanis frowns. He wishes he could believe that.

“In stories, perhaps” he mutters, swirling the cold coffee around in its cup.

Rook yawns and runs a hand through her wild curls.

“Perhaps” She stands and takes the journal in her hands. She offers him another sweet smile before turning to leave, “Never hurts to believe, though”

As she makes for the dining hall door, Lucanis stands from his chair.

“Rook?” He calls out after her.

She stops and turns, “Yeah?”

“Thank you … for this” he gestures to the fireplace. “For tonight.”

Rook nods, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked my story”

“Would you come again tomorrow night?” He asks, entirely too quickly. Convinced he sounds like a lovesick puppy, he wants to kick himself in the shin. Thankfully, he has Spite to do that to his head.

Rooks brows lift in surprise, like she wasn’t expecting him to ask. They quickly settle into a kind expression, one he finds he wants to burn into his memory until its all he can see.

“Yeah, of course” She gives him a small wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow night”

Lucanis returns the wave and returns to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

Meanwhile, Rook leaves the dining hall barely able to keep herself upright.

Being inside the Fade made it much easier for her to draw on her magic, but she’s never used that level of detail and sustained it for so long to tell a story.

Sleep would come easier that night for her from the mana depletion alone.

But Lucanis would stay awake replaying her story in his head over and over again. He would think of how the warm glow of the fireplace cast streaks of orange and gold into her wild curls. How her eyes practically sparkle and the softness of her voice when she tells a story.

But in all the loops of Rook and her story that play in his mind, it escapes his notice that a possessed man is the hero of her tale.

[ricecooka]

i have fallen victim

i sincerely apoligize for shipping radioapple. i dont find it hot i swear, its just amusing. please no its not like kissy kissy ship theyre just like coparenting, a two man comedy act, two opposite forces that are entertaining to watch clash against eachother. please jury do not strike me down, i will learn from my sins, i will kill the part that is cringe.

[rcmclachlan]

Trademark: Top-tier Bucktommy writer + generally Cool + getting Buck pregnant

Thank you + thank you + thank you!

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine. 

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing. 

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine. 

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this. 

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding? 

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together. 

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe. 

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.  

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”  

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged. 

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions. 

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. 

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid. 

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.  

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. 

Fuck.  

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this. 

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display. 

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go? 

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone. 

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning. 

Or maybe he does. 

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home. 

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not. 

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day. 

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not. 

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you. 

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you. 

You didn't make it. 

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you. 

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood. 

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time. 

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.  

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that. 

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap. 

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. 

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.  

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss. 

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over. 

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison. 

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here? 

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family? 

You’re an intruder. 

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake. 

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that. 

And why should you be? 

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed. 

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.” 

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone. 

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.” 

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?” 

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!” 

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards. 

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it. 

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you. 

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks. 

His foot rears back. 

The world goes cold. 

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!” 

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased. 

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes. 

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe. 

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay. 

You can do this. Get it together. 

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could… 

No. 

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could… 

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

[ma1dita]

Congratulations on 23! not a book reader but I remember reading somewhere that there's a rule that boys and girls who aren't related ofc be alone in the cabins together. Imagine this rule got implemented bc of Luke and posideon! reader

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x poseidon!reader

not sure if this was supposed to be a smut request but guys look what you've done to me this is all yalls fault

a/n: smut... a bit of godly desecration & blasphemy?...is this dark!luke? luke said fuck the gods literally...no dialogue...wrap before you tap bc they dont (luke castellan x poseidon!reader)

wc: 603

It had been raining at Camp Half-Blood for a whole month.

No amount of prayers from Cabin 7 nor Mr. D's control over the atmosphere of his camp could change this—and everyone was doing their hardest to figure out why.

You and Luke however, were having the time of your lives— with camp activities canceled due to the downpour, it gave you more time to bundle up under the covers and within each other's arms. It wasn't a secret per say, just something so natural between the both of you. Like crashing tides, he'd fall into your embrace over and over for as long as the gods would allow. But sometimes, he liked spiting them for the fun of it.

Your cabin was empty all the time anyway, no pesky siblings or unclaimed campers peering over the bunks and invading your personal space, because this is what this was between the both of you---personal and intimate. No one's business but your own.

In Cabin 3, you were his alone. And as much as he is Camp Half-Blood’s all-star camper, he thinks the gods owe him this much. He’s allowed to be selfish when it comes to you.

Luke could relish in the sound of your moans echoing off the marble walls, waves of pleasure extracted from you as he thrusts into your pussy, soaked and pulling him in deep. He marks you where only he can see, handprints on your hips, hickeys between your tits and thighs, and he licks your cheek like a fucking dog, just because he can.

His alone.

His cock pistons harder as he holds onto the plush of your tummy, hands grappling onto every expanse of skin he could touch—his, his, his, from the hair he's pulling on your head to the tips of your curled toes. The harder you shake underneath him, the wider he grins, reducing a daughter of the Big Three to nothing but a fucked out puddle of tears. 

Luke encourages you to be louder—deep down, he likes the idea of desecrating you in a place of honor. The Big Three were too pretentious to be parents, forbidden children given temples instead of homes to sleep in. It’s not his fault this place has too many platforms to christen. He supposes you both should try your father’s altar next.

Your eyes glaze over before you cum, and each time it reminds him of sparkling seafoam kissing the coast of the beach back home. It's his cue to throw your legs over his shoulders, diving into your mouth like you'd breathe oxygen into his lungs as he loses control and moans until your heart, like the rest of you feels full of him. He swirls your pretty pearl between his fingers, coaxing your orgasm out of you as naturally as he calls your name. 

Under the tears and drool, Luke agrees you’re your father’s daughter, soft and sopping wet, drenched in his domain. Anchoring himself between your hips, you let out a scream of Luke's name and he kisses you delicately as you both release—everything from your collarbones to your breasts to the skin behind your knee, he kisses all of it. 

His.

Luke could argue that the cum dripping out of your womb is his too, despite how eagerly he gives it to you each time. You didn’t even have to beg him this time.

It's what he loves about Cabin 3—it's his as much as it's yours, no clothes necessary. Until Mr. D comes barging in drenched to nine hells and floodwaters rising behind him with a personal threat from your father.

[rafestify]

Beach Fight and Tides of Forgiveness — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Y/N and Rafe confront their painful past after a chaotic beach fight between Y/N and Ruthie but begin to reconnect, exploring the possibility of a hopeful future together.

Rafe Cameron x Ex!Reader (season 4 spoiler alert!)

Warning : Swearing (english is not my first language)

A/N : Probably the longest fic I've ever written so far, it's like around 2.3k ish, and i think this was a request from @dkjndfnmdfmdmnd , hope u like it 🩵

For us Pogues, the beach wasn’t just a place to visit—it was like our second home, a refuge where we felt truly ourselves. The salty breeze, the endless horizon, and the warmth of the sand beneath our feet brought a kind of peace that was hard to find anywhere else. The sound of waves crashing and seagulls chirping in the distance seemed to wash away our worries, making everything feel better, if only for a little while. There's nothing better than a day off with the people you love the most, in a place that feels like home—the beach.

“Don’t you just immediately feel like everything’s better at the beach?” Kie said, her gaze sweeping across the shoreline as she took in the sun, sand, and waves.

I nodded in silent agreement, sharing the same unspoken understanding that nothing compared to the serenity of the ocean. Together, we began setting up the chairs and cool box, the salty breeze tugging at our hair as the waves crashed in the distance. “Let’s get these boards off!” JJ exclaimed with excitement, his eyes gleaming as he headed toward the Twinkie to unload the surfboards, ready to dive into the thrill of the surf.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath, catching sight of Topper and his friends’ trucks rolling toward us, their engines rumbling louder as they approached. “You’re joking,” Sarah sighed, exasperation clear in her voice as she rolled her eyes at the unwelcome sight. “Don’t stop,” JJ mumbled, focused on untying the ropes securing our surfboards to the top of the Twinkie, clearly determined not to let their arrival ruin our plans. “Anywhere but here,” Kie added with a frustrated tone, her eyes narrowing as she watched them close in, the tension in the air thickening with every second.

“Great, just the perfect time,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes as their trucks came to a halt and parked just a few meters away from us. The sudden noise and presence of Topper and his friends felt like a dark cloud looming over our sunny day, threatening to ruin the fun we had planned.

“Let’s go, baby!” The voice rang out, unmistakable and familiar, stirring a rush of memories within me. The one that used to comfort me in moments of doubt, the one that whispered soothing words to ease my fears. Rafe Cameron had a way of making everything feel right, his presence a warm embrace that felt like home. I turned to locate the source of the voice, and our eyes met—his striking blue gaze locking onto mine. The moment stretched, the world around us fading away as the connection lingered just a heartbeat too long. All of a sudden, Topper strode toward us with an air of confidence. “Sunshine's coming,” JJ remarked, earning an exasperated sigh from John B as he stepped closer to him. Though I couldn’t quite hear their conversation, they appeared surprisingly relaxed, exchanging easy banter that contrasted with the tension in the air.

We all surfed the waves together, and it felt utterly exhilarating. After months spent chasing the elusive City of Gold, finally engaging in something I was truly passionate about was a refreshing escape. The thrill of surfing, the salty spray of the ocean, and the laughter of friends combined to create a blissful sense of freedom that was simply amazing.

After surfing for what felt like hours, I made my way back to the shore, slipping into my denim shorts. “Guys, there’s a turtle hatch!” Kie exclaimed, her excitement palpable. “Y/N, look!” I rushed over to her, my heart racing as I squealed, “Oh my god!” In awe, I added, “They’re so tiny!” Sarah and I echoed each other, our voices filled with wonder at the sight of the adorable little turtles making their way to the ocean. I have always had a deep love for sea creatures, particularly turtles and dolphins. This passion is what drew Kie and me together, as we bonded over our shared fascination for the ocean's incredible inhabitants.

As we helped the tiny turtles by creating paths for them to reach the ocean, the sudden roar of a truck engine interrupted our focus. My gaze shifted to Topper’s girlfriend, Ruthie, at the wheel, with Topper himself lounging in the passenger seat. “Hey, stop! There’s a hatch!” I yelled, desperation lacing my voice. “Stop!” Kie added, jumping up and waving her arms frantically. “Guys, stop!” I shouted again, but the truck only sped up, closing the distance between us. In a split second, Sarah yanked me out of the way just as the truck barreled past, sending me tumbling into the sand with a startled grunt.

“Are you okay?” Sarah, Kie, and JJ asked in unison. I managed a quiet “I'm fine,” but a sinking feeling twisted in my stomach as I noticed the truck circling around again, this time picking up speed. Panic surged through me, and I jumped to my feet. “Stop! There’s a hatch!” I yelled, but my voice was swallowed by the roar of the engine as they barreled over the paths we had painstakingly created for the turtles. “No, no, no…no!” I gasped, horror washing over me as I watched the truck crush a few of the fragile creatures beneath its wheels. My heart raced as I rushed toward them, my pulse pounding in my ears. Kie knelt beside a turtle with a shattered shell, its life flickering away. “Fucking psycho,” she muttered, her eyes brimming with anger and sorrow. I felt a fire ignite within me, furious at their reckless disregard. Ignoring my friends’ calls, I stormed over to where they stood, determined to confront them.

“Look what you did!” I shouted, cradling the lifeless turtles in my hands. “Do you think this is okay?” Ruthie stole a quick glance at the broken shells before quickly averting her eyes. “No, look at it!” I protested, my voice rising with anger. “You drove right over a turtle hatch, you idiots!” Rafe stood beside Topper, who tried to diffuse the situation. “I understand you're upset, Y/N,” he said, his tone calm but unhelpful. I hadn't even noticed my friends were behind me, their expressions mirroring my shock and frustration. “I’m more than upset, Topper” I shot back, feeling the heat of my anger.

“Look, it was only one,” Ruthie interjected dismissively, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “I mean, there are so many more of them,” she pointed out, trying to minimize the damage. “You know what? You should just throw that to the seagulls,” she added with a mocking tone. “Cycle of life, right?”

My breath quickened as rage boiled within me, and I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed her hard, and just as she prepared to retaliate, Rafe stepped in between us, his presence a barrier against her aggression.

“Stop,” he said firmly, pushing Ruthie’s arm away before she could retaliate. He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly. “There’s something seriously wrong with you people,” I shot back, turning on my heel and striding away, handing Sarah the lifeless turtle.

“That’s right, go back to your side, bitch! You don’t belong with us anymore!” Ruthie shouted, her words laced with venom.

That was the final straw. Rage coursed through me, boiling over as I stormed toward her, every ounce of frustration and hurt fueling my movements. Without thinking, I swung my fist and connected hard with her jaw. The impact reverberated through me, and for a heartbeat, everything froze—the shocked look on Ruthie's face, the collective gasps of my friends.

She recovered quickly, her eyes blazing with anger. Without hesitation, she lunged at me, landing a swift punch that connected with my nose. The sharp pain shot through my face, and I felt warm blood begin to trickle down. I stumbled back, shocked by the sudden turn of events, my hands instinctively going to my face. John B tried to step in, attempting to intervene but Rafe was a lot quicker than him.

“Control your crazy bitch, Top!” Rafe said, his gaze locked onto me with a mix of concern and frustration. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Like you care,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed off, seeking refuge at my secret spot on the beach alone.

I perched on top of a massive rock, my knees drawn to my chest as I hugged them tightly, listening to the soothing sound of the waves crashing below. This spot was my sanctuary, the place I retreated to whenever I felt at my lowest. It never failed to calm me, wrapping me in a cocoon of peace. Suddenly, I sensed someone behind me. I turned to find Rafe standing there, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He climbed onto the rock and settled beside me.

“I didn’t give you permission to sit here,” I protested weakly, trying to maintain some semblance of defiance.

“It’s a public place,” he replied, his voice steady as he leaned back against the rock.

I fell silent, my gaze drifting to the horizon as the sun dipped lower in the sky, lost in a swirl of memories and thoughts. “How did you know I’d be here?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He turned to me, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “We used to come here together, remember? You told me it was your favorite spot.” A sigh escaped me, heavy with longing. God, I missed those days���when everything felt simpler and the weight of the world was lighter.

“Here,” he said, breaking through my thoughts as he handed me a tissue for my bloody nose. I took it, our fingers brushing briefly. “Thanks,” I murmured, grateful for the gesture and the warmth of his presence.

“That was a pretty great punch, by the way,” Rafe said, a playful grin breaking through the tension. The corners of my mouth turned upward, and I let out a small chuckle, the sound echoing against the backdrop of crashing waves. We fell into a silence that felt strangely comfortable— not awkward at all. Despite the distance that had grown between us since our breakup, I still felt an undeniable sense of safety around him, as if we were wrapped in a bubble of shared history.

“I missed you, Y/N,” he confessed suddenly, his voice steady yet vulnerable.

My heart skipped a beat, and I turned to look at him, shock flickering across my face. This was the moment I hadn’t expected, the admission I had longed to hear but feared would never come.

“I missed you too, Rafe,” I sighed, the words flowing out of me, heavy with unspoken feelings and memories of our laughter, our late-night talks, and the way he could make me feel like the only person in the world. “I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he continued, his expression earnest, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m clean now, Y/N. Haven’t touched those shits for almost five months.”

“Really?” I asked, my disbelief melting into pride. I felt a swell of admiration for his strength and determination, and it made my heart ache a little.

He nodded, a flicker of vulnerability dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, I realized I couldn’t keep dragging you into my mess. I needed to change— for myself and for you.”

“I’m so proud of you, Rafe,” I said, my voice warm and genuine. I reached out, resting my hand on his for a brief moment, feeling the warmth radiate between us. A smile broke across his face, illuminating his features. “I did it all so I could be better for you,” he admitted, his sincerity wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. The air between us crackled with unspoken possibilities, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to rekindle the bond we once had.

“Can we at least try to work things out?” he asked, his gaze steady and hopeful. I paused, contemplating his words. He may have been a jerk to everyone else, but with me, he was sweet, protective, and loyal. The thought stirred something deep within me, a flicker of hope in the depths of my heart. “I’m not ready to be in a relationship again, Rafe—maybe just for now,” I finally replied, my voice softer than before. The truth of my feelings hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, a reassuring smile breaking through his earlier concern. “We’ll take things slow. I’ll wait until you’re ready, alright?” The sincerity in his eyes made my heart flutter, a mix of apprehension and excitement dancing in my chest.

“Okay,” I smiled, a sense of warmth washing over me.

“Okay?” he repeated, his eyes lighting up with hope.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll take things slow,” I confirmed, feeling a rush of relief and anticipation. Rafe’s smile widened, and in that moment, it felt like we were stepping into a new chapter together, one where the past could fade into the background while we explored the potential of the future. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I leaned my head on his shoulder. The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore filled the air, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. The warmth of his presence enveloped me, and I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hope stirring within me, a belief that perhaps we could find our way back to each other, not as we were before, but as something new and beautiful.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! 🎀

[trulyumai]

To Honor Your Husband

pairing: emperor geta, reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: violence, mention of blood.

synopsis: Through it all, it was you who remained by Geta's side. Even he couldn't ignore such an obvious act of devotion.

Enjoy!

The marble floors lit up in flashing waves. The hanging torches ignited the chambers with astute precision, cascading the emperor's eyes in a sheen, orange glow. 

He was upset; veins popped up angrily upon the man’s pale head, winding their way across the expansion of his temple. 

You sat there, precariously upon the bed, unable to move, to say a word of comfort. 

For the emperor was furious; what was to ease his ever rising temper? 

Certainly not you. You learned from your mistakes. Still feeling the tingle and scratch his rings made on your cheekbone. 

The last attempt you made— a month ago?  You couldn’t tell, Time was ever lost on you as of late. 

You remembered Reaching out a hand,  wanting to shush his worries, the incessant scratching of his knuckles. 

But he had turned too quick— too fast.  you could do nothing but watch and wait. 

Watch as the maroon ring crashes down upon the side of your face. Head swinging to the side, cold blood ran down your cheek, dribbling just past your chin. Staining the white and gold lace that had adorned your frame comfortably. 

It was your favorite piece

It lay in ashes now. Burnt just the night after, permanently ruined by the invasion of blood that seeped into its cloth.

He had said nothing. No apology, no look of remorse. 

He only spit in your direction, yelled at how foolish—useless you were to the crown. To him. 

“To think I married such a whore.” He sneered, shaking off the blood that dotted across the back of his hand. 

Tears stuck upon your lashes, until they sank down, wetting the pink and bloody patches with ease. 

Noticing the tears the emperor let out a cruel laugh. His lips twisted back in a way that scared you; unable to recognize such a hateful display upon your husband. 

Blatantly laughing at your very being. 

His hand grabbed your cheeks, squishing them together with a terrible force until the bones in your jaw popped with the pressure. 

“Look at you,” he tutted. His darkened eyes seeped across your trembling form, watching as your hands came up to his flexed one, weakly pushing at his jeweled fingers. 

“Tell me to stop.” Crazed eyes looked into your scared ones, unable to procure the man from houlting his assault on your cheeks, your smaller hands gave up their hold, and swung down back at the sides. 

“Tell me!” The emperor demanded. 

It was a trap, you knew it was. For no one could tell Emperor Geta what he would do. 

What he couldn’t do. 

So you said nothing. You let the man squeeze and pull at your face— scratching it here and there with the beds of his nails. 

“Pathetic.” Shoving you away, the bottom of your  dress caught between your feet, sweeping your form off the ground in a solid, single moment. 

You remembered looking up at him— vision blurry and wobbly from the vast amount of liquid pouring down your eyes. 

He looked monstrous— truly the epitome of a villainous emperor. You wished for different tidings. Different outcomes. 

Not to be here, sullying your reputation in some grandiose temple, with a man who could care less about your health. 

Suddenly— movement dashed across your sight. Breaking you from the past thoughts that plagued your mind. 

“Wife,” Geta called out. His form slack, sitting by the edge of the bed with his head slumped between his shoulders. 

You hummed back, not wanting to displease him so early in the night. 

“Am I not… worthy?” 

You stared. 

“Worthy… of what, dear husband?” 

Confusion etched upon your brow, a crease formed between them. 

Geta’s hand came up, idly swinging and gesturing to the expansion of the room. 

“Everything. Anything.” 

“You’re the emperor. Of course you-” 

“No! Without my title, without my wealth, am I worthy?”

His fist gripped onto the porcelain sheets, tightly winding them into his hold until blue veins sprouted out upon the pale flesh. 

You didn't understand- was this another trick, another ruse? 

“You… Are an honorable man, a husband-

“Just a husband?” a deep chuckle left the man's lips, it was harsh and short. 

“Not just a husband. My husband, my emperor.” His gaze lifted to meet yours, form now stiff and straightened from the tensing muscles. 

“I've abused you, belittled you.”

A shuddering breath escaped you, a bead of sweat formed upon the side of your head. 

“Yes,” 

“I've ashamed you.” 

A pause. The tension was thick, it molded across the room in waves like a pulsing heat. 

“You’ve hurt me, shut me out, made me look like a fool in front of the people.”

What were you doing, shut up, shut up, shut- 

“And have made me question my intentions… my life.” 

His eyes never left your form, he watched as your fingers shook, how they absentmindedly played with the loose strings upon the cotton covers. 

“But,” 

“But?” he jutted in. You realized then just how desperate he looked. How the look of longing passed between the cover of anger and contempt. 

“But, you're my husband. I have sworn my body, my soul to you. Through it all, even if the senate- the citizens were to turn their back upon you, I would be there- here, with you.” 

He wanted to burst out laughing at such a loving display. In a way, he despised how easily his wife could ease him so, just by letting out a few poetic lines to scrape by his mind. 

But another part of him wanted, no, needed to hear such prattling over his being. 

He wanted to be loved, not just for being an emperor. 

But for being him. 

He wanted to be honored.

To be worthy. 

Like you. 

He despised it, envied it. 

Loved it. 

You saw how his eyes lit up once more, a fiery auburn rose inside the retna’s and you knew then it was time for silence. His walls were lifted up again, shoving you as far as he possibly could. 

“Seek slumber, dear wife.” His armor clattered with his sudden movement. He walked towards the stone walkway, leading out towards the chambers. 

You were so close, so close to getting to him. You saw how he slackened with each sweetened word. How his eyes relaxed on your form with comfortability. It wouldn't end like this, not when you were near a new level with him. 

“Geta?” 

 The words fluttered from your mouth. A desperate chill ran across your body, crawling up your spine until it met with the back of your neck. 

The emperor stood still, his armor rang out no more as his movement halted with the desperation seized upon your voice. 

The way you spoke his name. 

Gods.

The man began tightening his fist, over and over so his fingers tensed with pressure. 

“What?” 

“I love you.” 

The man hadn’t meant to flinch, back bending with a subconscious twitch of surprise. He wanted to make you eat those words- shove his ringed fingers down your throat until bile burned the tips of his flesh. 

But,

In a way, it was nice hearing those words fall effortlessly from someone as loving as you. Without forcing, demanding them to spill from your pretty pink lips. 

A groan spilled from his mouth- low and barely audible. He turned quickly to drown it out. 

“Of course you do,” a teasing, mean smile lit up his face. His lips raised, white teeth gleamed against the light. 

Wasting no more time, the emperor resumed his exit, leaving you alone, to mull over the affections of a broken lord. 

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC(Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

Notes: You can find the rest of the chapters on my masterlist!

If you like the first snippet of this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

Atop the cliffs that line Dragonstone, Jaenara Velaryon watches the tide crash against jagged rocks littered below. Crystal blue waters lap at the sandy shores and white wispy clouds pass by overhead. She thought it unfair that a picturesque day such as this be wasted on tragedy. Jaenara grips the ground beneath her, plush green grass filling her palm and tickling the skin. Gripping harder, she reveals the dirt underneath as grime is pushed underneath her fingernails. She is alone now, away from her mother and brothers. From her step-father and step-sisters. Away from all prying eyes and listening ears. Away from hushed whispers, the only sound that fills her ears are that of the breeze that whips around her and the ocean below. 

She is finally free to weep. 

Tears litter the ground she sits upon. Although she is alone she chokes back a cry, as if fearing that the winds would carry her sorrow back to the castle. Her tears muddle in the dirt below, and Jaenara recounts the events of the past fortnight.  

— — —

Sunlight spills into the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Rhaenyra and Daemon are positioned at the head. The war room had seen more activity this past week than it had in many years, Jaenara had thought. She and her twin brother, Jacaerys, had sat in on a few meetings with members of her mother’s council. The passing of King Viserys had left the realm in disarray, and while her eldest uncle had made no claim to the throne yet, Jaenara understood that time was not on their side. 

“The instruction of a mother can only do so much, especially for a boy as unruly as Aegon,” Rhaenyra had said to her council, “While Alicent may urge her son to heed the wishes of Viserys, Otto and his council are surely whispering ideas of betrayal and usurpation into my half-brothers ears.” 

“I will not wait to see if Aegon honors my rightful place on the throne. It is time to act.”

Her mother had said this before leaving for King’s Landing, much to the dismay of some of her council. The presence of Prince Daemon - no - King Consort Daemon, had helped to quell some of their anxieties, as well as Jaenara’s. Though she knew, better than most, that her mother was a force to be reckoned with even on her own. They had left Dragonstone on Syrax and Caraxes, a formidable warning to the Hightowers and anyone else who opposed Rhaenyra’s claim.

Jaenara’s desire to accompany her mother and step-father had fallen on deaf ears.

“Jace and I must ride with you,” she had urged her mother, “dragons are stronger together.” 

Rhaenyra smiled at that. “There is truth in what you say, sweet girl,” her mother ran a hand through her daughter’s thick black mane. So unlike her own white-bonde hair. “But this is a delicate time. We may yet be on the brink of war-

“All the more reason for us to come!” Jaenara pleaded.

“You, Jace, and Luke are needed here.” Rhaenyra had not raised her voice at her daughter, though her piercing violet eyes scolded her all the same. “Keep a watch over Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon,” Jaenara let out an over-exaggerated sigh at that, turning away from her mother. 

“As well as watch over Dragonstone, atop Aetherion, Arrax, and Vermax.” Her mother added.

The princess turned around at this. 

“We can only hope your uncle and his council of vipers will allow this transition of power to be peaceful. But I need you and your brothers to remain here, to ensure that no one dares to bring harm upon this castle.”

The prospect of riding her dragon alongside her brothers seemed to satiate the princess’ desires. That had been the end of it. 

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

A week had passed. A cloud of tension hung over Dragonstone that Jaenara could only escape by mounting Aetherion. She patrolled the surrounding waters, in search of any signs of a siege on their isolated stronghold. Her dragon, still young and only slightly larger than a warhorse, danced across the waves below the castle. His dark, purple wings almost dip into the sea, allowing Jaenara to taste the salt in the air and feel the mist spray across her face. She had not a drop of Velaryon blood in her, though she enjoyed the water all the same. 

I am no true Velaryon, Jaenara had thought to herself - a truth she would never speak aloud. But I may yet prove to be the blood of the dragon.

She reins Aetherion upwards, into the clouds above.

The princess is handing Aetherion over to the dragon masters when she finally learns of her mother and step-fathers arrival home. Her ears perk at the faint roars of Syrax and Caraxes in the dragon pit, surely feeding by now. Without another word, Jaenara turns on her heel, and sprints into the castle. 

“Your mother requests your presence in the war room!” A servant had shouted after her. 

Still in her riding leathers, she makes a sharp turn down the hall leading to the room and stumbles into her twin. “Jace-” Jaenara catches her breath, “Mother and Daemon are home! You must come with m-”

“I know.” Her brother responds shortly. 

A pause.

“You have already met with them?” she asks.

Jaenara studies her brother and notices he will not meet her eyes. Her gaze drops to his fists, white knuckled at his side. “Go speak with her. We can talk afterwards.”

And before his twin has the chance to respond, Jacaerys is gone. 

A sickly feeling settles in the young princess’ stomach as she faces the large doors of Dragonstone’s council room. She decided that there was no point in stalling whatever awaited her on the other side. Jaenara pulls open the doors and steps inside. 

Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon turn towards the young woman, and Jaenara feels even more unease spread through her. The feeling nearly subsides when she looks upon her mother.

“Nara,” Rhaenyra sounds as though she has not seen her daughter in years rather than days. Arms outstretched towards her daughter, Jaenara breaches the distance between them and embraces her mother. “Sweet girl” Rhaenyra breathes.

“Mother,” Jaenara exhales and realizes just how much she had missed her. 

A moment passes before Jaenara finally pulls away. She eyes Daemon, and notes an unreadable expression etched upon her stepfather's face.

“Well,” Jaenara breathes, “I would venture to guess things went well?” she jokes.

Daemon turns away from mother and daughter and walks towards the large windows, looking out to the sea. 

Rhaenyra looks upon her only daughter. The blood of her blood. Her long black hair spills over her shoulders. Her black and crimson riding leathers, crested with the symbol of House Targaryen, grips her form. She meets her daughter's lavender eyes. The rest of her daughter’s physical image, so unlike her. But not her eyes. Lighter than her own, but still undoubtedly Targaryen. 

A deep breath from her mother. Daemon remains silent at the window. 

“An agreement has been reached. I will take my rightful place on the Iron Throne, just as your grandsire intended. Alicent Hightower, members of the council, and even some lords throughout the Seven Kingdoms rallied to my cause - vouched for my legitimacy as heir. Your uncle, Aegon, seems surprisingly content with this arrangement. His mother tells me he has no true interest in ruling. He only wishes to retain his status so that he may live his life in his own…selfish ways.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “We have the gods to thank for allowing reason to prevail so that the realm may be spared from being plunged into needless war. There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war so bloody as a war between dragons…” Her mother trails off but finds her voice once again. “But there are terms to this peace - I have agreed that your uncle has a seat on my council.”

Jaenara looks between her mother and step-father incredulously. A scoff breaks from her throat. “That’s it? Well this is good news!” she exclaims, “And Jace, he should remain your hei-”

“Tell her the rest of it.” Daemon turns from his place at the window, finally facing his wife and step-daughter. 

The princess looks to her Queen, eyebrows raised.

“Mother?” Jaenara looks to her mother and sees a woman haunted. 

“You are to marry Aemond Targaryen, and you will preside over Dragonstone together.”

Silence fills the room.

“Surely you jest, mother.” Jaenara bites out. Her voice is as cold and hollow as the room now feels.

“Your mother is not so cruel as to make a joke out of this.” Daemon says to his stepdaughter. The princess of Dragonstone stares at her parents. Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. A position they have paid for with her hand. Her hand.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra turns to her husband, “A moment alone with my daughter.” It is not a question but a command. He steps away from his place at the window and begins to leave the Chamber of the Painted Table. Daemon reaches his step-daughter and places a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes it. Leaves.

The door shuts and Rhaenyra moves towards her daughter, but not before Jaenara draws back.

“All my life,” she gasps, “All my life, you have told me you only wish that I may marry as I please. That I should not be in the position you found yourself in as a young girl. That I should not be some token of peace - some possession to be given away! You have allowed me to remain free in this position, even now at eight and ten!” Her hand finds her neck, as though she might start to choke. 

“And now…now you - you give me away to him. To that - that man. Who tormented me throughout our childhood together. Tormented Jace and Luke! Surely it will be a loveless marriage.” She looks the Queen in her violet eyes. Eyes that mirror her own. “But anything for your throne, right?” She spits out. 

Rhaenyra’s face falls at that. At a time such as this, she is reminded of herself in her youth and of her own mother. She remembers Aemma, her sweet mother, in her final days. Of when she had told young Rhaenyra that royal wombs as theirs are to serve the realm. Rhaenyra remembered the discomfort that had filled her, hearing her mother say this. And discomfort still surrounded her at the thought of her daughter following in her own footsteps. She remembered the gatherings of lords and their sons that had taken place in her teenage years. Auctions for her hand. Power hungry men only wishing to share her bed for a glimpse at the throne. 

There was the evident truth. She had given away her daughter, in exchange for the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra had condemned her only daughter to the same fate she had suffered.

Jaenara immediately regretted the vitriol she had spouted at her mother. Her mother, who faced hostility and disdain all her life - from even those who were supposed to be her friends. Her family. Deep down, Jaenara understood what was necessary to avoid all-out war. She had told herself she would do whatever she would need to, to secure her mother’s crown and to preserve House Targaryen. But it was not supposed to be like this.

As a dragon-rider, she was supposed to forge the path to the Iron Throne through Aetherion. Alongside her brothers. Her step-father and step-sisters. Her grandmother, Rhaenys.

Not through a marriage pact. 

Rhaenyra gathers her thoughts and speaks, “My love…this is not a decision I made lightly. You see now why our visit to King’s Landing lasted so long. The negotiations were a labyrinth to be navigated. I know this is not fair to you, but we inhabit a world that is unfair to women. A world that deals in our lives and in our misfortune. A world built by men, for men. But when I sit the throne…I will build a new world. I will forge a new path. One that your grandchildren may be happy to live in.” 

Jaenara physically recoils at the thought. The Queen continues, “Though for now…we do what we must.” She takes her daughters hands in hers, “There are whispers about my ability to rule. There have always been, though now they are more present than ever. But you-” Her voice wavers and her grip tightens, “You have the opportunity to help me in ending the question of my capabilities. You can unite our house - we would all be the better for it. You will do the realm a great service in avoiding a war of fire and blood.” The mother finishes, squeezing her daughter’s hands again.

Jaenara breathes, low and steady. “Mayhaps I would rather see the realm put to the torch than marry a man such as him.”

“You do not mean that, daughter.” Rhaenyra is quick and stern in her reply. Now, her words burn Jaenara as well as her eyes. Jaenara does not shrink back, though she does not mean what she says. Not really. They are empty words, born from the heat of the present moment. It is not her mother she is angry with. The princess of Dragonstone is angry with the world, that it was made only in the interest of men. Angry with the gods, for making her a woman. Angry with herself. Angry at her now betrothed, for being who he was - for hating her so.

“I do not.” Jaenara finally replies. “But mother, he will not have me! Just as I will not have him!” Aemond Targaryen knew what Jaenara Velaryon was.

Memories of hurtful epithets from her youth—bastard, his Strong niece, the daughter of a whore—echoed in her mind, whispered by Aemond and Aegon alike, haunting her even now

All phrases that had been hurled her way in the days of their youth from him and Aegon alike. Words that followed her and her brothers throughout the corridors of the Red Keep. Words that coaxed tears out of the eyes of little Jaenara in the darkness of her bed chambers, where no one may see them. 

Aemond would not settle for someone he viewed as inadequate as his niece, and Jaenara would not stoop so low as to marry someone as detestable as her uncle. 

It would be a relationship doomed from the start.

Her mother’s words surprise her. “Aemond has agreed to the union.” Rhaenyra reasons with her daughter, “Alicent is very persuasive in her ways. She knows you to be good natured-”

The remarks earned a bitter laugh from Jaenara.

“-And not unlike him! You have both changed since the days of your youth. You are more alike than you may think.” Rhaenyra continues, “You would not be far from me daughter. Not far from the protection of myself and Daemon. As well as Jace. You would remain at the Red Keep for a time - before and after my coronation and your wedding - and leave for Dragonstone when you are ready.”

“He is vile. He despises me. And you.” Jaenara tells her mother.

“And yet my time at King’s Landing revealed a different side of my half-brother. He was not pleased with this proposal - though he took it much better than you have, Nara.” Rhaenyra reveals. A certain glint shines in her daughter’s eyes upon hearing this revelation, though it leaves as quickly as it had appeared. “Taking his hand will keep you close to me. You will both hold significant positions of power. You need not worry about being shipped off to the Riverlands, or gods forbid - the North - to marry a lord you barely care for-”

“I do not care for Aemond.” Jaenara interrupts.

“I would rather you take the hand of the devil we know rather than a devil we do not.” Rhaenyra remarks.

Jaenara left her mothers grasp and looked around the room before her. The room, which now belonged to her. And Aemond she thought bitterly. She had come to find profound comfort within the walls of Dragonstone. Some would call the castle dark and unwelcoming, though she knew its warmth came from the people within. Its merriment came from her time overhead, in the skies. But now, Aemond meant to ruin her home. Is nothing sacred? The princess wondered. In this moment, her thoughts felt so numerous that they may yet crack open her skull. Her emotions were so varying, she felt as though her heart would erupt from her chest.

Rhaenyra waits for her daughter to face her, and to finally give in to the Crown’s wishes. Instead, Jaenara lets out a noise akin to a wail and rushes out the door.

And Rhaenyra is alone.

— — —

Jaenara Velaryon’s tears finally stop and she feels as though she can finally catch her breath. She recalls the circumstances of the morning over and over, as if it were all just a bad dream she would soon wake up from. Wind whips her dark hair into her face. Salt kisses her lips. Salt from the air and from her teardrops mingle together.

A dragon does not weep.

“Dragons do not weep!” She echoes the words aloud, as if speaking them into existence will make it any more true. The words are carried away by the breeze and escape her.

“Everyone cries, child.” 

Nara does not turn around. She doesn't want her mother to see her cry, as though she were a child reprimanded. Rhaenyra settles into the grass next to her daughter and takes her into her arms. Jaenara feels as though a coldness inside her melts from the warm embrace of her mother, and she allows herself to cry. She was still her mother’s child.

“I am sorry, my girl. My Nara.” Rhaenyra wipes her daughter’s tears away as her own begins to pool in her eyes. 

Huddled in the warmth of her mother, Jaenara feels the anguish of her mother and sees the sorrow in her tears. How cruel it is, she thinks, that a mother could not save daughter from the same fate she once suffered — despite sitting on the most powerful seat in The Realm.

The princess understands sorrow to be a condition of life. A condition of womanhood, especially. But did sorrow have to become a hallmark of her life — for the rest of her life? Jaenara takes a shaky breath. She was a princess, a reality she had enjoyed as a luxury until now, when the weight of duty descended upon her. Marriage, a princess’s duty—she resolved it would not become her undoing, nor the source of her sorrow. Her duty is for The Realm. For her family.

In a moment of clarity, Jaenara understood the folly of her tears..

She sits there another moment, in her mother’s arms. She begins to picture Aemond Targaryen. His one eye, staring back at her with intensity. His sleek, white hair. The curl of his lip. Jaenara knew she could never come to love the man, and would never be able to love her. Duty, Jaenara thinks, is the death of love. 

The princess finally rises up to look at her mother. Sorrow has been replaced with resoluteness.

Rhaenyra had always seen echoes of her past lover, Ser Harwin Strong, in her daughter’s features and had cherished her for it. But now, watching Jaenara, she sensed a dragon’s fire within her.

“I will do it mother.” Jaenara begins, “I will do my duty, I will serve my kingdom and you as its Queen - I will wed Aemond Targaryen.”

— — —

The One Eyed Prince rises from a dreamless sleep. He remains in bed for a moment, his eye adjusting to the early morning light that had begun to creep into his bed chamber. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if today will finally be the day that an agreement would be reached. 

His half-sister and the Rogue Prince had descended upon King’s Landing on dragonback days ago. He regarded the gold and scarlet dragons with little interest. No matter, he had thought, mine is bigger. 

During their lengthy stay, Aemond observed the frenzy that had been set upon the Red Keep. A frenzy that had started after his father’s passing and had only grown. He had sat in on a few meetings between Rhaenyra, his mother, grandsire, and members of the former king’s small council. Some meetings he and Aegon had been privy to - some they were not. His elder brother did not seem at all perturbed by the prospect of his possible throne being wrenched out from under him. He understood Viserys had no intention of leaving him with the crown. And Aemond had thought that the realm was the better for it. 

Aemond and his mother had witnessed first-hand the kind of man Aegon had grown up to be. His sweet sister, Helaena, knew better than the both of them combined. It seemed the only person who wanted Aegon to sit the Iron Throne was their grandsire Otto - though he did not seek this out of the belief that his grandson could unite the realm. He only sought after a new puppet, one he could pull the strings of whichever way he pleased. 

Alicent and Rhaenyra had grown closer in the past few months before the King’s passing. Letters carried by ravens were exchanged, and now the two women almost seemed like the close childhood companions the court had once known them to be. Almost. It was still uncertain if time could truly heal all wounds.

Aemond thought his mother naive. Easily bent to the will of his half-sister. A phantom pain settles in the socket of his eye.

It was no matter now. As a second born son, Aemond had nothing to gain either way. If the gods were fair, he would have been born the eldest. And his weak, malleable father would have named him heir, rather than Rhaenyra. It was no matter now. Dwelling on fleeting possibilities would do him no good. 

Aemond is securing his leather patch over his sapphire eye when there is a rap at his door. Alicent Hightower stands before him. Dark circles sit below her eyes and loose, red curls frame her fair face. The negotiations between his half-sister and his mother’s family were taking their toll. “Your presence is needed in the council chamber. Rhaenyra and Daemon will be there, as well as Aegon and members of the small council.” She tells her son. 

“And so we finally relinquish our power,” Aemond breathes, “under what conditions?”

Alicent’s eyes drop from her son’s and she walks away without another word. 

His mother had always been a distant shroud. As a child she was wordless when he craved encouragement. Out of reach when he yearned for a motherly embrace. He tried not to blame her for this. He heard the stories that circulated the castle - of a girl who grew up without a mother of her own, forced to bring forth babes when she was not much older than one herself. 

So, he was used to her aloof nature. Though her lack of explanation at a time such as this did unnerve the prince. 

Aemond enters the council chamber where everyone else has already gathered. 

“The man of the hour!” Aegon bellows. 

Aemond regards his brother and wonders what has lifted his spirits at such an hour. Aegon delights in the misery of others, and in remembering this, Aemond feels unease.

“Aegon, enough.” Alicent is stern in her words, “Aemond, please sit.”

Prince Aemond sits opposite his half-sister Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon. Rhaenyra’s eyes rake over him, and he meets her neutral gaze with his cold one. Daemon lets out a wry chuckle at the wordless exchange. Ser Criston Cole, positioned at a corner of the chamber, stands stock still.

Alicent clears her throat and begins, “This council has come to a consensus,” Aemond looks to his mother.

“Rhaenyra…will be made to sit the Iron Throne, as King Viserys intended.” she shoots a sour look over to Otto Hightower, who sat on the far side of Aemond. Dismayed grunts and whispers circulate the chamber. “Aegon is to serve on Rhaenyra’s council. Jacaerys and Baela Velaryon are to stay here in King’s Landing. As heir, he will attend council with his mother and will make a place here.”

Aegon shifts in his seat and stares at a corner of the room, obviously bored. As if he had heard this to him recounted numerous times by now. 

“The more the merrier.” he says in a voice so low, Aemond wonders if anyone else had heard him. Aemond then wonders how his brother can be so content with relinquishing rule over the Seven Kingdoms to their sister. He hears Rhaenyra draw in a breath and his cold gaze finds hers once more.

“Aemond. We find ourselves in unprecedented times. One of the last things our father wished was for the infighting amongst his family to cease. We cannot expect the realm to watch as sister fights against brother.” She pauses and Aemond senses the hesitancy in her words. Alicent picks at the flesh around her fingernails. Rhaenyra continues.

“I only wish to unite our families and ensure that everyone has a place amidst my rule. Amongst my court. To do this…your mother sees it best to…” Aemond wishes she would just spit out her decree and be done with it. 

“I wish to wed you and my daughter, Jaenara Velaryon.”

Now that gives Aemond pause. 

Aemond had seen his niece a short time ago, when she and her family had come to King’s Landing to defend her bastard brother’s claim to the Driftmark throne. He had eyed her as Vaemond Velaryon was cut down by Daemon, intrigued by her unwavering gaze despite the horrific scene. He watched her at dinner that night, finding a smile gracing her face at times. He noted the joy she took in watching Jacaerys dance with Helaena. He felt her burn holes into him as he toasted to Jaenara and her brothers. His Strong niece and nephews, he had said. 

She despised him. And he gave her many reasons to. He did not have time to recount the enumerable times he had tormented her and her brothers during their childhood together at the Red Keep. A torment that was dealt back to him by the hands of his nephews.

Though Aemond could not deny, he held some sort of strange admiration for his niece. 

His half-sister's voice returns the prince from his thoughts. “Aemond?”

Aegon does little to suppress his glee. “What do you say, brother?” He laughs and gives him a rough slap on the back. “Will you have your bastard bride?”

Daemon Targaryen slaps a hand down on the table. “Daemon.” Rhaenyra stops her husband before he can speak or act. Aegon quiets once more, though a smug smile settles on his face.

Despite the truth in his brother’s words, Aemond takes offense to them. He found himself feeling that way more often lately, when the slights towards his niece had not been dealt by him. His thoughts return to the situation at hand. 

Aemond understands the position that he is in. This is not a request. It is a command by his new Queen. And by his mother. He considers that this may yet be a fortunate outcome for him. As the second-born brother, he has a small hope of ever sitting the throne. He had dreaded the day his mother would finally pass his hand onto the daughter of a lord that the Targaryens and Hightowers only wish to form political alliances with. Is that the only purpose children served? We are the bartering chips of our parents, he had thought bitterly. But with his niece - with Jaenara - Aemond would rule over the ancestral home of House Targaryen, and that seemed a better lot in life to have. They would retain their status. It could prove to be a comfortable position. But Aemond wondered if this is how low his family truly thought of him - to marry him off to a bastard. A so-called pure-blooded descendant of Old Valyria with hair as dark as the night. 

It was no matter now.

As Aemond considers the future that has been thrust upon him, a new thought crosses his mind. The line of succession.

Jacaerys is her heir.

And if something were to happen to his betrothed’s twin brother before he were to have an heir himself? If The Stranger were to come for the eldest male heir of the crown? Well, then Jaenara would be next in line. The realm had already accepted Rhaenyra as their ruler - surely they could come to accept another woman.

Jaenara Velaryon - or Targaryen - Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And her King Consort:

Aemond Targaryen. 

It was hard to suppress the wry smile that began to tug on the prince’s lips. Aemond may yet use the cards he had been dealt to his own advantage. He could feel the cold steel of the Iron Throne beneath his fingers - power he may yet reach through his niece. He sat there another moment, as if still mulling over his options.

A sigh escapes him as Aemond once again meets the violet eyes of his half-sister. 

“As you wish, your Grace.” The One Eyed Prince bites. 

[wandasaura]

BURNING BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN

summary — the annual maximoff memorial day barbecue has finally come, but so has a softer side of your dominants

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, mentions of dom/sub dynamics, this is 90% fluff, shower sex, quickie, fingering, oral, nipple stimulation, hickies, its relatively tame in comparison to what lives in this au, domestic fluff, mentions of pietro being dead as fuck, men/minors dni

authors note — remember when i said i was taking a little break? yeah i lied and im not sorry about it!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff

The warmth and promise of sunshine had quickly taken hold of Westview, days of long darkness and snow storms came to be just a memory, thawed out by butterflies and the occasional white dove that pecked at the birdfeeder on the back porch of the Maximoff residence. You couldn’t understand how the sky was so much brighter in warmer weather, but as you sat beside Natasha on the cusp of solid Earth, you thought it looked bluer than usual. The crashing waves before you licked at your feet and dampened the shorts you wore when the tide dared to try and swallow you whole, but like changing seasons, it never stayed quick. 

Sunrise had barely hit its peak and already the traces of pink and orange were just another mental memory for the big scrapbook of moments you never wanted to forget. The sand was coarse beneath the fingers that hours earlier had been dug into soft blankets, but refreshing and welcomed despite how small granules crept beneath your nails when you picked it up the wrong way. Natasha hummed an old lullaby beneath her breath, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun like a lonely flower that had managed to grow in an abandoned field. You knew much about the woman's past, but not enough to understand her connection to the star that brought you light each new day. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but you knew that eventually you’d come to know the reason for her methods of relief in hard times. 

The first weekend of break had come on quick, and the barbeque that Wanda and Natasha had frantically tried to tidy the house for before your attitude interrupted them was merely hours away. Despite the plans and the people coming over, time had been taken out of the day to devote just to you. In this moment, sitting on the edge of solid ground beneath rays of sun that attempted to burn you, you couldn’t even explain how truly loved you felt. 

The beach was empty, void of the presence of others and quiet for your enjoyment, save for the seagulls who squawked over scraps and the waves that crashed against man made piers and naturally jagged rocks. Your toes were coated in sand, your fingers in the same state, but you didn’t care to think about the messy things at that moment, you only wanted to focus on the good. The good was Natasha’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close like a stray wave might succeed in carrying you out to sea. The good was Wanda’s perfume that lingered around the collar of your stolen shirt like the scent was woven into the cotton. The good was being here, being free and alive. The good was knowing Natasha. The good was having Wanda. The good was knowing love and having love.  

You laid your head down on the woman’s shoulder, noting how her hair seemed to glow beneath the sunlight. In this moment, it wasn’t auburn with scuffs of brown thrown in at the roots, it was orange like fire made by those long before lights and lanterns existed. She was ethereal, sat out beneath the early daylight, bearing her freckles for the sky to adore. You’d attempted to count them earlier, your gaze stuck on her naked face with blemishes and beauty marks sporadically thrown into the mix, but somewhere after thirty they all blended together and you settled for simply looking at them, admiring how you were somehow allowed to see them. 

You were happier in spring, happiest in summer, but recently, you have found those seasons in people. Wanda was like the early days of May, where weather was warm but also cold, and sunlight was soft but somehow harsh. Natasha was like summer, late July if you thought about a specific moment. Like the air she was sweet, but like the people she was calm, and like the night she was chaos wrapped up in laughter and loved company. They weren’t perfect, you would never call them such, but they were as close to it as people could get. 

A soft smile graced your features, and though you squinted to lessen the sting of sunlight, Natasha thought you looked stunning. When her eyes reopened and her head tilted downward to look at you, there was only affection smeared across her face. Her eyes that were so meticulously different shades of green had a spark within them that could only speak of the happiness she felt. How words had existed for so long and still there wasn’t one to describe the intense feelings that rushed through the both of you, you didn’t know, but you were content enough to rest against her with the knowledge that even if you couldn’t say it, you were both feeling it. 

“We’ve gotta head back soon.” Your beautiful moment was ripped into tiny pieces of paper that got caught in the breeze before they made it into the recycling can, and the smile that had turned your lips upward quickly worked in the opposite direction. You shook your head, digging your heels into the sand like the simple action might change her mind and make her forget about the barbeque that was starting at noon. “Not now. I need a couple more minutes of this.” 

You giggled softly when she nuzzled into your head, her wild curls tickling your nose because she hadn’t bothered to straighten them yesterday. You reached up, taking one of her curls between your fingers and pulling it taught, letting go to watch it bounce back into place and laid against her forehead with frizzy edges. You sighed in content, running your fingers through her wild hair that couldn’t be tamed in this state. “I like your natural hair.” 

Natasha crinkled her nose at your genuine admission. She puckered her lips and let them rest against your finger that was still in front of her face as you softly brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. “My natural hair is blonde.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You rolled your eyes fondly, snuggling even further into her side despite how hot you felt beneath the sun. No matter the weather you wanted to be pressed up into her, and it was clear that she wanted the same, her arm around your waist squeezed you tight, almost daring you to try and pull away prematurely. “When you met Wanda did she have red hair?” 

“No, the red is pretty new. It was brown, a little bit longer than she keeps it now. She was really leaning into the whole emo phase. We could never go out together if she didn’t have red lipstick and eyeliner, she always said it completed her look.” Natasha smiled fondly at the memories that came to mind when she thought about the beginning stages of their relationship, and you felt your own heart warm in your chest as you thought about the young couple they had been. You wondered what kind of odds had been stacked against them, but you didn’t question it, happy to just live in this happy moment. 

You let your hand fall back into the sand, rubbing circles that slowly became hearts into the malleable surface. The beach would always be one of your favorite places, but sitting beside Natasha made it better, sweeter. “How long have you been together now?” 

“Fourteen years.” Natasha laughed, her own hand reaching out to collect handfuls of sand that she let run between her fingers until only a few granules were left in her palm, and then you watched her repeat the process over again. “Sometimes it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago, and other times it feels like I’ve never lived without her.” 

“I never hated her.” You admitted, though you had the slightest inkling that Natasha already knew that. She just had a way of knowing things before you did. There was no possible way anyone could hate Wanda Maximoff, and if you somehow stumbled upon the only person in the world who did, you didn’t doubt they’d meet a quick and painful demise. 

“I know, moya kroshka.” Natasha laughs softly, so softly the sounds of the waves almost drown her out completely, but you still heard her. You’d always hear her. “It’s coming up on a full year since we started this whole thing, have any ideas about what you want to do?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, reaching for Natasha’s hand when she lost interest in the sand. She’d taken her rings off last night and with the early wake-up call hadn’t put them back on. The slightest tan kissed her features around where they usually sat, and gently you brushed the pads of your fingers against the pale skin. “I just want to spend it with you both.” 

“We can definitely make that happen.” Natasha hummed softly, laying a gentle kiss on the top of your head where sunlight had kissed your hair. Your roots were warm, hot against her lips, but Natasha didn’t flinch away. You knew this moment was coming to an end, but you could appreciate it for the few seconds longer that it lasted. “Wanda probably has breakfast ready, milaya. We’ve gotta start heading back now.” 

“Can we come back?” You questioned softly, not wanting to speak too loud as if it could ruin the quiet atmosphere around you. As you stood, dusting sand off the back of your legs, you winced at the ache in your back when you finally found your feet and steadied yourself on them. Natasha did the same, a quiet groan slipping past her lips when she reached down to collect your abandoned sets of flip flops. With one hand occupied, she reached the other out to you.  

“We’ll find a day.” She promised with a nod of affirmation. Your hand fits easily in the palm of hers, your fingers curl around her scarred knuckles while hers lay flat against your unbroken ones. Together you’re a perfect balance. Delicate definitely, but not entirely harmless. 

Westview sits on the edge of New Jersey, the air tinged with the permanent lingrance of salt and sand. The farther you walk, the less prominent it becomes, but if you know what you’re looking for, the scent of the shore still remains. Houses closest to the water are painted soft colors that linger in the summer sunrises, vacation homes that are only occupied for a handful of months throughout the year, but the deeper you walk the more mundane it becomes. The town is a muted palette of browns and beiges, fences of white and cars of greyscale. It’s perfectly coherent, acceptably mature, but the Maximoff residence remains the outlier. In the blandness of tans and creams, the two-story house is a soft green color with vibrant red shutters. The cars are normal, though elaborate. Unlike the Hondas and Toyotas that occupy driveways and road space, Natasha’s sleek Corvette Stingray sits beside Wanda’s Audi R8 in the driveway, the only flex of their wealth that’s apparent. You like it though, like how they’re so different from everyone else. 

You make sure to kick the sand still clinging to your heels off before you step into the house, and immediately you’re met with the aroma of sweet sugar and maple. Natasha hums at the change of scent, leaving behind the traces of salt that had tickled her nose the entire walk back to the house in favor of discovering what Wanda had prepared for breakfast. She drags her hand across your back as she passes you, seeking out the presence of her wife. 

You're slower to follow, taking your time to meticulously stack your flip flops with the rest of the shoes in the entryway. They don’t match the aesthetic of Valentino loafers and Prada heels, but you smile at the sight anyways. Your favorite pair of white converse sit beside the shoes Wanda wears into the office every work day, and your balled up pink socks are tucked into Natasha’s running shoes for some reason, but the little traces of your place here makes you feel at home. You’re not so different from the shore that lingers through Westview in the winter, but unlike the water that’s abandoned when snow falls, they’ll never forget about you when the seasons inevitably change. 

“Where did you leave the stray?” You just barely catch the end of whatever conversation has led to that question when you finally appear in the kitchen. The sunlight is golden now, no longer soft with pink and orange, but it falls over Wanda like the perfect blanket anyways. She’s wrapped up in Natasha’s arms, pinned to the stovetop where bacon rests in a hot pan. The only indication that this moment is less than perfect is the hot grease that pops and splatters every other second when Wanda neglects it for too long. 

“You know, you should really be nice to me before I start biting your ankles like a real stray.” You hum, your voice carrying through the kitchen like it’s always belonged there, though it’s not a response derived from annoyance like it would have been only weeks ago. Rather, your words are layered with fond exasperation that Wanda finds herself laughing at. 

Natasha kisses the lawyer's shoulder, squeezes her waist tightly, whispers something in Russian that’s not entirely audible from how far away you stand, before she pulls away entirely and walks toward the refrigerator. You pout when she pulls out the near empty pitcher of orange juice, setting it down on the island to be poured into glasses when breakfast is ready. It seems you could’ve spent a few more minutes beneath the sun, but you don’t complain. This is just as nice, just different. 

“That’s my job.” You sulk, letting your naked feet slap against the hardwood floors as you approach with sadness written across your expression. “Wanda, your wife took my job.” 

Natasha only narrows her eyes at you, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips that she doesn’t even attempt to school. “It was my job first.” 

“Well it’s my job now!” You stuck your tongue out at her, sulking your way over to Wanda who lets you wrap your body around hers like a baby koala. With your front pressed up against hers, you have to crane your head backward to catch a glimpse of her face, but you're pleased to know she’s already looking down at you. You pout your lips up at her, grinning in victory when she kisses your frown away with a sigh of faux exasperation. “Can I have a new job?” 

Wanda laughs at your question, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts to sit on the skin of your ass that’s still marked from days prior. You sighed in relief at the contact, leaning heavily into her chest when she rubs away the lingering ache that truthfully doesn’t bother you much anymore. It doesn’t last long, there’s still much to be done before noon rolls around, but you soak up every ounce of domesticity this morning has offered. “Sit on the counter and look pretty for me while I finish up with the bacon.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” You giggle after saluting her, wiggling out of her arms and sliding your way up onto the countertop that’s practically become your designated spot since she stopped reprimanding you about sitting up here. Natasha crosses the little space between the edge of the island to where you’re perched watching Wanda cook, and you hum in pleasure when she leans forward to connect your lips. 

Your hands wrap around her shoulders and fingers tangle into the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. You smile into the kiss, beyond content with the little bubble that’s existed around you since being roused from sleep at five in the morning. A shriek of surprised laughter fills the kitchen when Natasha pulls away from your lips and buries her face in the crock of your neck, a raspberry tickling the sensitive skin as she blows against it. You squirm away from the sensation, but your arms still keep her locked in place. 

“Hi, Natty.” You giggle, tugging gently at the loose curls that your fingers are twisted between. She smiles at your happiness, pecking your lips a handful of times before she pulls away and whispers back the same greeting. “You smell like the beach.” You point out, giggling at Natasha’s extravagant eye roll. 

“You both smell like the beach and will be taking a shower after breakfast.” Wanda chimed into the conversation, tapping your thigh in warning as she opened the cabinet just beside your head. It had become routine at this point for her to simply work around you, so the clattering of plates beside your ear didn’t bother you much. 

When she turned around to grab the serving plate of belgian waffles on the island, your hand shot out to slap her ass, all thoughts of controlling your limbs forgotten. But really, who could blame you when she was wearing the shortest cotton shorts that had ever been sold in stores? Natasha had to bury her face in your neck to muffle her laughter, and you could feel her wide grin against your skin as you smirked innocently back at Wanda who set a firm glare in your direction. 

“Behave yourself.” She warned half-heartedly, absolutely no bite to her warning as you’d all just accepted the natural occurrence of the day, your roles as dominant and submissive forgotten about. You liked this exchange, not because you felt any less their equal when they bossed you around and set expectations upon your shoulders, but because it was the faintest glimpse at what life could be if they weren’t married and you were really their girlfriend. “Don’t even think about it, Natalia.” Wanda warned, already knowing Natasha was about to do the same thing you had been bold enough to accomplish. 

The redhead merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders, feigning innocence as she pulled away from your embrace and brought the drink glasses and pitcher into the dining room. You hopped off the counter the same as you always do, mimicking Natasha’s shrug when Wanda winced at the action. You grabbed the platter of bacon from her hands and followed after the lawyer who had already exited, eager to see where the day ended up, surrounded by the Maximoff’s closest friends and family members. 

-

The shower water was hot enough to create a thick fog on the glass doors and surrounding mirrors in the en-suite master bathroom, but still it felt cold as you joined Natasha beneath the heavy and unrelenting spray. You shivered despite the heat, reaching for the handle and turning it up even hotter, ignoring the Russian’s protests that her skin was actively melting off her bones. You liked hot showers, but you hated hot baths, and somehow you had yet to find a happy medium that worked for the both of you. Typically you’d compromise and switch off between who melted and who froze, and although it was admittedly your turn to freeze, today was not a day where you were willing to sacrifice feeling in your appendages.  

You silenced her whines with a desperate kiss, not even attempting to hide your need for her as you backed her up against the cold tile walls and pinned her hands to her sides. Your tongue was unrelenting as it licked and sucked at hers, tasting the minty toothpaste that she had rinsed from her mouth only minutes before you’d sought out her presence. When your teeth bit down on her tongue, just hard enough to send a shock of excitement down to her core, Natasha decided that being pliant in your hold wasn’t working for her. 

You shrieked in surprise when your position switched easily, the hands that had been firmly holding her wrists against the wall now pinned at your sides in the same way. You arched away from the cold tiles, effectively smashing your chests and eager nipples together as you attempted to run away from the cold wall.

“Fuck!” You shivered, your lips ghosting over hers. “You have a fucking Stingray and you still haven’t discovered heated walls?! What’s the point of having money if you don’t use it for good things!” Your words were quickly replaced by breathy moans as Natasha attached her mouth to your chest and greedily sucked a mark into your untouched skin; a mark that wouldn’t be easily hidden, especially not with the swimsuit you had been intending on wearing for the party. “Fuck, Nat–” You pushed her head away, hoping you’d acted quick enough for the damage to be only minimal. The smirk on her lips told you that you hadn’t succeeded, and you slapped at her shoulder in exasperation. “Your sister is literally going to be here in two hours, can you contain your vampire impulses until she leaves?!” 

“My sister has fucked her girlfriend in my guest bedroom. A hickey should be the least of her worries.” Natasha threw back at you, attacking her mouth to your nipple with purpose. You had ten minutes to sort yourselves out before Wanda came stomping up the stairs and pulling you out of the shower, orgasms or not. You did not want to spend the entire afternoon and evening hot and bothered because you got pussy blocked by a scary Sokovian. 

Natasha’s teeth pulled at your nipple, allowing the skin to sting for only a second before she soothed the pain with quick flicks of her tongue. Your other nipple was not privy to the same treatment, but her stumbling fingers attempted to make up for the neglect as she rolled and pinched at the pebbled bud. You shoved her head away from your chest, forcing her down onto her knees and in the direction of where you needed her most. It occurred to you briefly that you should wash her hair as she ate you out, kill two birds with one stone or whatever the saying was, but you quickly backtracked on that idea when her tongue sought out your clit with no lack of drive. Your knees wobbled, your breath got caught in your throat, and desperately your fingers tangled into her hair and pulled her closer. Your hips grinded against her face as she licked and sucked at your nerve with a passion, and you're certain that had the droplets of liquid fire not been falling over her face in a manner that was less than pretty, her chin would’ve glistened with your arousal. 

You arched into her touch as your orgasm approached, and Natasha had used the new position of your body as the perfect moment to bury two fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. You gasped in pleasure at the brief sting that came from her actions, crying out her name in pure bliss as she worked you over the edge so quickly you deserved an award for fastest achieved orgasm. 

She pulled away with dilated pupils, her own lust not forgotten about. You sank to your knees before her, pushing at her shoulders until she complied with your silent request and was laid out on the shower floor. Unlike you, she didn’t attempt to wiggle away from the flush of cold against her back, and unlike her, you didn’t waste time toying with her nipples. You dove straight into her cunt, lifting one of her legs until it was high enough to drop onto your shoulder. She tasted like she always did, but something about this situation made her more addictive. The spray of the water fell onto her belly, harsh droplets of water tinting the skin pink from not only the temperature but the pressure. One of these days, you’re going to get around to finding out the true pleasure of the detachable shower head, but today was not that day. You didn’t tease, much more intent at working her up and pushing her over before Wanda came to interrupt. Her clit throbbed beneath your tongue as you licked at her, and her walls clenched around your fingers as she pleaded for more. 

“Faster.” She moaned, her head thrown back against the white shower floors. The messy sprawl of her red hair was perfectly angelic, but you had no time to dwell on the sight of her as the minutes ticked down to none. Your fingers set into her at a punishing pace, curling into the sweet spot she loved so much until it was just a symphony of your name that rolled off her tongue in breathy whines and moans. You eased her off of the cliff with a practiced ease, giggling softly when she pushed your head away and subsequently caused water to spray in all directions as it bounced off her wrist. “N-Never letting you talk me into a shower quickie again. I think there’s an entire lake in my ears.” She panted, splaying a hand across her belly until she had managed to catch her breath. 

“I mean, technically I didn’t talk you into anything. I mouthed you into this.” You giggled, helping her stand and replacing your rough touch with something tender and sweet. You reached for Wanda’s shampoo, not caring that Natasha had her own right beside it. Wanda’s smelled sweeter, and if you were going to be the one to wash the woman’s hair, it would be you who picked the scene she bore for the rest of the day. 

You rubbed at her scalp, lathered until it bubbled, and eased your fingers through the knotted locks when it was time to wash it out. Wanda’s conditioner sat in her hair when the process was repeated on your head, and you sighed in relief when Natasha scratched her nails against the nape of your neck before trailing her hands down to your shoulders. Her thumbs worked on the soft muscles between your shoulder blades, and you melted into the firm attention. 

“How long can we stay in here before she breaks down the door?” You questioned, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself relax completely. Even if you hadn’t said it, you were beyond nervous to be meeting their family and friends. Some of the people attending their barbeque were big names in the security world, namely Kate Bishop, and you intended on making the best first impression if you were to ever have a career in the same field. 

“Three minutes.” Natasha chuckled gently, guiding you under the stream of water so she could rinse the soap from your hair. She conditioned you right after, twisting the strands of your hair between her fingers as she worked out the knots and kinks toward the ends. You rinsed her hair when she was done, dragged a loofa across her skin afterward, and then were rewarded with the same loving treatment. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Everyone coming knows how much you mean to us. They’re all excited to meet you.” Natasha kissed your shoulder before she turned the water off and squeegeed the door clean of droplets and steam, stepping out into the cold first before she offered you a towel. 

“I know.” You sighed, drying your body as you tried to force your feelings into words. “I just want to make a good impression. These are your friends. It’s your sister. They matter to you and Wanda.” 

“And you matter to me and Wanda just as much. If you’re worried about Yelena, there’s no reason to be. She’s going to act like she hates you because she thinks it's her duty as my little sister to vet whoever I choose to spend my time with, but by the end of the night she’s going to have you trapped by the firepit showing you pictures of her dog. When she met Wanda for the first time, she insulted her in Russian because she thought she wouldn’t understand.” Natasha snorted at the memory, and you couldn’t help but grin bashfully at the admission. “You’re going to get along fine, and honestly that worries me. I can barely handle you by yourself.” 

“Hey!” You slapped at her side, but couldn’t help the wide smile that threatened to split your lips in half as you stared up at her. “I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.” 

“I don’t doubt that, утенок.” Natasha leaned forward to kiss your lips, and you returned the gesture though a crinkle of confusion settled across your brows. 

You asked once she pulled away, wrapping the towel tightly around your torso so that you could make a break for the guest bedroom where your outfit for the day remained. “What does that one mean?” 

“Duckling.” She laughed, and you groaned knowing that it was going to stick around, at least for a little while. You’d been quite privy to Wanda in recent days, call it making up for lost time if you really had to explain your reasonings, and both the Russian and Sokovian had chalked up your clinginess as acts of a duckling blindly following its mother. If Wanda was anywhere in the house, you were right behind her. Yesterday you had genuinely pouted at the bathroom door when she forbade you from coming in with her when she needed to pee, and unluckily enough for you, Natasha had come into the bedroom at just the right time to watch the scene unfold. “Go get dressed. Yelena said she’s arriving at twelve which really means she’ll be here in twenty minutes.”  

You nodded quickly, bolting out of the master bathroom and into your claimed bedroom without a moment of hesitance, not wanting Yelena to arrive before you were dressed. The door wasn’t even fully closed before you were dropping your towel and scrambling to find your bathing suit bottoms in the pile of messy clothes stacked on the dresser. 

-

Droplets of chlorinated water lingered on touches of skin that had yet to be dried by the slowly slipping Spring sun; still a ripple of motion in the pool that hadn’t yet gone completely still with the fresh absence of bodies in the water. The crack of wood submitting to controlled flames accompanied the music of laughter and conversation that happened around you. The evening was long ahead of you, eternal more hours of company promised, but you didn’t feel any obligation to join in on jokes and memories as you fell into Wanda’s lap and snuggled in close, seeking her warmth and comfort as a chill set overtop of you. You’d been drinking all afternoon, being handed hard seltzers and beers whenever anyone noticed your hands were empty. You’d finished a handful of Wanda and Natasha’s chosen drinks, taking it upon yourself to try at least one of every flavor they had laying around the backyard. The flush on your cheeks was near permanent at this point, and though the heat in your ears would be gone by morning and replaced with a headache only Advil and sleep could soothe, the kiss on your cheeks would last days before it settled into darkened skin. 

As promised, Yelena had kept you pinned to the edge of the pool when the sun was still at its highest peak in the sky, showing you pictures and videos of the two dogs she took great pride in caring for. Kate had watched for a while, draped across her girlfriend's shoulder as the three of you laughed at a particular video of Fanny and Lucky dressed up in bowties zooming around their daylight drenched kitchen, but she had excused herself to the bathroom before the end was in sight. Maria Hill had been your savior, though you were content with Yelena’s easy presence not to mind your trapped position much while it had lasted. The early hours of the afternoon had been filled with conversation and the act of acquainting, but the later hours had told a different story; a wild one. It was the story of how you had come to find this state of mind, far past the point of being tipsy and well on your way to true drunkness. 

You hummed when Wanda laid her palm flat over your belly, keeping you close and safe in her lap. The soft pad of her thumb tickled your belly button as she adjusted slowly, sinking further down into the lounge chair she sprawled across. The sloppy smile on your face was the truest indication of your contentment, and Wanda, though she wondered who had been the one to feed you so much alcohol without her realizing, returned the grin. 

Natasha and Yelena were noticeably missing from the circle, but the silhouettes of their wild hair and toned shoulders were figures or darkness in the kitchen that promised a quick return. Natasha, though only an inch or so taller than her sister, wore her curls in a messy bun that slipped lower and lower down her head as the hours carried on. She was easiest to spot from a distance, the shadow of her presence known perfectly to you. Wanda didn’t pay you much attention other than the firm hand on your belly, but you were content to just be with her as she laughed and caught up with the blonde woman sat beside her; Carol Danvers. 

“They put up a new plaque for Pietro today.” Carol laughed at the inkling of information she had forgotten to share earlier in the afternoon, and Wanda craned her head in hopeful willingness that Carol would share more. “He would’ve loved it. He’s the only bastard on the squad that was dumb enough to have a catch phrase.” 

As if that mentioned catch phrase had been sitting on the lips of every person gathered around the fire, it fell from soft tongues without a moment of hesitation. Messy, not at all in tune, but seemingly perfect to Wanda who smiled when horrible Sokovian accents caught up to her ears and the words her brother had made his slogan lived on when even he didn’t, “You didn’t see that coming.” 

Memorial day has never held much significance to you. It had been just another holiday that sat on the start of summer, sometimes warm enough for gatherings like these, and sometimes not. Until you realized that the American flag folded in militant perfection in the master bedroom was a symbol of remembrance, you hadn’t thought it held much significance to the CEO’s either. Even though you hadn’t known Pietro, his life ending years before your path had crossed with the Maximoff’s, you smiled. His name had lingered in conversations throughout the day, and you didn’t question how loved he still was after years of absence. 

Wanda’s lips were heavy on the crown of your head when she leaned down to kiss you. You leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second before they opened and found Natasha admiring the sight of you. Two beers retrieved from the cooler near the pool sat in her hands, one cracked open and extended in your direction. 

“She doesn’t need anymore.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop you from grabbing the long necked bottle Natasha offered and adjusting yourself in her lap so that you could sip on it easily, having already spilled one drink down the front of you. With your back against her chest, and your legs situated between hers, you had to crane your neck to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face, but her arms around your torso were the physical assurance of her presence. She rubbed at the skin of your belly that had grown pink and warm beneath the sun, not yet tan, but it would come soon. The hickey on your chest had long since been forgotten, though Yelena had posed many questions of its origin before Kate slapped her shoulder and changed the topic. You’d been accepted without question, and you found that while some of their friends were painfully intimidating, Maria and Carol, they were truly sweethearts who had the same tendencies of protection as your dominants. 

When your beer had grown warm, and your cheeks had grown flusher, having been in no hurry to finish it off and replenish it like Yelena was doing, you passed the near empty bottle off to Natasha who had taken it not without an exasperated roll of her eyes and a mumbled sentence along the lines of being nothing but your servant. You had giggled, shrugged your shoulders, and curled further into Wanda who didn’t seem to even flinch at your elbow digging into her ribs. 

Despite your determination to remain awake, sleep won over you just as quickly as drunkenness had. Wanda merely rubbed your back in encouragement, being the single factor that had forced you into soft unconsciousness when conversations still buzzed around you. With your eyes closed and your breathing even, no chance of being woken even by the harshest storm, conversation had naturally flowed away from Pietro and onto you, but both Wanda and Natasha welcomed the new topic if it meant having the welcomed opportunity to boast about just how truly sweet you are. 

“I see you played the long game, Maximoff.” Maria winked at the Sokovian, her icy blue eyes admiring your innocent form as you attempted to wiggle closer to the auburn haired women who held you tightly. If you could find a way to burrow yourself beneath her skin, she knew that you would’ve done so already. 

“Patience rewards those who have it.” Wanda merely smirked in response, running her pruney fingers from hours of holding sweating cans and bottles through your chlorine stiff hair. “She just needed a little encouragement.” 

“She wasn’t the only one.” Natasha rolled her eyes, sipping slowly on her beer that despite the warmth, still brought a piece of home over her longing heart. Russians may drink vodka, but Melina Vostokoff had always preferred a beer. 

Wanda shrugged, knowing that despite her persistently cold demeanor, she had never truly doubted how her heart yearned for you. “It’s not my fault you brought home a brat.” 

“If I remember correctly, you said the same thing when you met Natasha.” Carol smirked over the lip of her can, her eyes burning holes into the side of Natasha’s face, though the Russian pointedly ignored her stare. 

“Watch it, Danvers.” She warned, but surrendered to the teasing she had missed in recent months. Life was busy, but they’d always find a reason to come back together.

[edenesth]

[8:54 PM]

"You okay, baby?" Mingi asked softly, instinctively wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he guided you into the elevator of your apartment building just as the doors opened. You hummed, leaning into his side for comfort. "I've been better."

You had been feeling a little under the weather all day, and being the paranoid type, your boyfriend quickly picked you up from work after noticing your less enthusiastic replies during lunch break. After a visit to the nearest clinic and grabbing some food, you were finally home. All you wanted now was to clean up, crash on your bed, and bask in his embrace, forgetting everything else.

"Just hold on a bit longer. We're almost there," he reassured you, murmuring against your forehead and pressing a lingering kiss on your skin after selecting the floor of your shared home.

Fluttering your eyes shut, you melted into his hold, the familiar hum of the elevator climbing to your floor offering a moment of peace. You could already picture the sweet scene of home welcoming you both after a long, tiring day. So close. So close to being home, so close to paradise, so close—

Until it wasn't.

Your eyes flew open and a yelp escaped your lips as you felt Mingi tense, his grip tightening around you. The elevator had jerked to a sudden, unnatural stop. Eighth floor. So freaking close, just two more floors and you would have been home, but nope—

No, no, no, no, god, no.

This can't be happening. This isn't happening. You were stuck. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave, and before you knew it, you were hyperventilating. Mingi cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Hey, hey, hey. It's gonna be okay, I'm right here with you. Look at me, baby. Just focus on me, hm?" You nodded, tears welling up as your heart pounded in your chest. Claustrophobia clawed at you, turning this moment into your worst nightmare.

"Okay, good job. Do you remember the breathing exercises we always do?" he asked gently, his fingers caressing your cheeks and wiping away stray tears as you nodded. "Be a good girl and keep doing it for me, yeah?" You nodded again, taking deep, steady breaths as you had practised with him countless times for moments like this.

While you struggled to focus on breathing, he quickly moved to the control panel, pressing the emergency button and urgently communicating with security to send help as soon as possible. Thankfully, the handyman had already been alerted by the guards who noticed the situation through the live CCTV feed. Reassured that help was on the way, he turned back to you, his heart aching at the sight of tears once again streaming down your cheeks, your eyes squeezed shut, and your fists pressed tightly against your ears.

Seeing your distress, he stepped towards you, careful not to overwhelm you with his presence. He gently wrapped his arms around you, offering a secure but non-restrictive embrace. "I'm right here with you," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of panic. "Focus on my voice, baby. Just breathe with me."

The elevator felt smaller by the second, your breaths coming out in shaky gasps despite your efforts to stay calm. Mingi's soothing voice and gentle embrace were the only tethers keeping you from spiralling completely, but the suffocating fear was relentless, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. You felt trapped in a nightmare, the walls closing in as your heart pounded wildly in your chest.

Carefully, he guided your head into the crook of his neck, his hand gently cradling the back of your head. He began stroking your hair in a calming manner, his touch gentle and rhythmic. "I'm right here, my love," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "I'm never leaving you. You're not alone. We're in this together."

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, each a lifeline pulling you away from the edge of panic. "You're safe with me," he continued, his voice filled with love. "I won't let anything happen to you. Just keep breathing, baby. Nice and slow."

With each stroke of his hand through your hair, you felt a small measure of calm returning. His presence, solid and reassuring, became your anchor. The walls of the elevator seemed to recede slightly, the oppressive fear easing its grip on your mind. You focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest, matching your breathing to his. His calm heartbeat thrummed gently against you, a soothing rhythm that eased your frantic pulse.

Your boyfriend's whispers continued, a steady stream of loving reassurances. "I love you more than anything," he murmured. "You're so strong, and I'm so proud of you. Just focus on my voice, on my touch." He pressed soft kisses against your temple, your cheek, and your forehead, each one a tender reminder of his support.

Gradually, your breathing slowed, the frantic gasps giving way to deeper, steadier breaths. The panic that had threatened to overwhelm you began to ebb, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of calm. Mingi's arms around you felt like a shield against the world, his love a powerful force keeping the fear at bay.

"That's it," he soothed, his hand never ceasing its gentle movements through your hair. "You're doing so well. Just a little longer, and we'll be out of here. I'm right here with you, always."

With his words and touch guiding you, the nightmare began to lose its hold. You clung to the lifeline he provided. The sensation of his steady breathing, his calm heartbeat, and the soft kisses he pressed against your skin comforted you deeply, making you feel truly safe and loved in his embrace.

He had done such a good job consoling you that the next thing you knew, the elevator doors were being pried open and the guards quickly ushered you both out. Knowing better than to take the next elevator, your boyfriend guided you up two flights of stairs and finally, you were settled back home.

While he got to work putting your things aside, the sight of his sturdy back was all you could see. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His actions paused, and he covered your hands with his, turning to face you over his shoulder. "What is it, baby? Are you alright?"

You nodded against his shoulder. "I will be if you stay with me forever, Song Mingi."

He turned fully to face you, his eyes softening as he cupped your face in his hands. "Forever and always," he whispered, leaning down to kiss you gently. "I'll always be here, no matter what."

Normally, you would have cringed and teased him for the cheesy words, but at that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his love and the safety of your home, your heart fluttered with a deep, undeniable happiness. You knew you could face anything as long as you had him by your side.

ATEEZ Masterlist

This is based on a dream I had of our princess comforting me in such a situation because I do have a severe case of claustrophobia and this would be an absolute nightmare to me. But y'know, if I had a Song Mingi to comfort me, maybe I wouldn't mind it as much🤧

HAHA anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this random little timestamp and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

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@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

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@bangtannie7

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[chestersturniolo]

𝑨 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆

part two of “𝑼𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔“

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

••••••••••••••••

The day had been moving slowly as you and Matt went about your routine. The baby’s arrival was just around the corner, and everything felt like it was in a state of tense anticipation. The hospital bags had been packed for weeks, sitting by the door, a constant reminder that your lives were about to change forever.

Then, in the quiet of the afternoon, it happened. You felt a sudden, warm rush and a sharp tug low in your belly. Your breath caught as realization dawned—your water had broken. Panic crashed through you, mingling with a rush of adrenaline. You called out for Matt, your voice trembling with a mix of excitement and fear.

Matt came running into the room, his eyes wide as he saw the look on your face. 

“What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he scanned you from head to toe.

“My water just broke!” you managed to say, your voice quivering.

 The reality of what was happening hit you both at the same time. This was it. The moment you had been preparing for, but now that it was here, it felt like everything was moving too fast.

“Okay, okay, deep breaths, sweetheart” Matt said, quickly moving closer to you, his hands instinctively going to your shoulders to ground you. 

His calm demeanor did little to mask the nervousness flickering in his eyes, but he held it together for you, trying to keep you both focused. 

“It’s okay baby everything is ready,just breathe”

You nodded, trying to follow his lead,mirroring the deep breaths he was taking, silently instructing you to copy him. Matt kissed your forehead, then quickly moved toward the door, grabbing the pre-packed hospital bags with slightly shaky hands. 

“Let’s get you to the hospital. Everything’s going to be just fine”

He spoke the words as much for himself as for you, his voice gentle yet firm, keeping the rising tide of his own emotions in check.

Time seemed to blur as Matt helped you into the car. He held your hand the entire drive, you squeezing it whenever a contraction hit. He continuously whispered reassurances that made you feel like, somehow, everything really would be okay.

~~~~

Hours later, after what felt like a lifetime of pain and pushing, it happened—the moment your world shifted forever. Your daughter had finally arrived. The hospital room was now filled with a peaceful silence, the faint sound of monitors beeping in the background. 

You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from hours of labor, but every second of it felt worth it as you stare at the little life huddled on your chest. 

After a little while of skin-on-skin, you turn to Matt, who had been sat at the bedside, admiring his family in awe. His expression a mixture of wonder and disbelief,

“i think she’s ready for her dad” you smile weakly

Matt’s eyes lit up as he moved closer, his hands trembling slightly. 

You carefully held her out towards Matt, as he leans forward and scoops her into his arms.

 As he held her for the first time, a wave of emotion washed over him. His eyes quickly filled with tears as he looked down at the tiny miracle nestled against him. 

“Oh my goodness-” he whispered, his voice cracking. “-she’s absolutely perfect”

He glanced up at you, his eyes glistening with tears, and you saw the depth of his love, not just for your daughter, but for you, for the family you had created together. 

“Thank you… thank you for her” he said, his voice choked with emotion, as if he couldn’t believe that this moment was real, that she was real. With a soft smile, and tears forming of your own, you reach out, touching his arm gently as you both looked down at your daughter.

“Hey sweet angel-“ Matt whispered , brushing his finger against her soft cheek.

She stirred in his arms slightly ,and he instinctively rocked her, his movements gentle and slow.

“i can’t believe you’re really here” he says as his tears roll down his cheeks.

“You’re perfect…I can’t wait to watch you grow- I’ll teach you everything I know… like how to ride a bike, and how to make the best pancakes” 

You and Matt both let out a soft chuckle through your sniffles.

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around both of them, feeling the warmth and love radiating from this moment. 

“ i promise to love and protect you and mommy forever”

   ••• 5 years later •••

“I’ll teach you everything I know… like how to ride a bike”

It was a summers evening, the sun was starting to set, but the warmth of the day still lingered in the air. 

You were watching Matt as he knelt beside your daughter’s bike, double-checking everything. She sat on the seat, her small feet resting on the pedals, helmet slightly crooked, eyes wide with anticipation.

For weeks, they had practiced together, the training wheels providing the stability she needed to learn the basics. But today, those training wheels were gone.

“Are you ready, kiddo?” Matt asked calmly ,with a hint of uncertainty.

She nodded, gripping the handlebars tightly. 

“I think so” she said, a determined look on her face.

Matt placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, before moving to hold onto the seat with both hands.

“Okay sweetheart, remember what we practiced. Keep your eyes forward, and don’t forget to pedal”

He started walking beside her, holding the seat firmly as she began to move. The bike wobbled slightly, but he kept her steady, guiding her as she picked up speed. You stood a few steps back, your heart racing as you watched them.

“Daddy, don’t let go!” she called out, her voice shaky as the bike wobbled again.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry” Matt assured her,

He jogged alongside her, holding tight as she pedaled faster.

But as they went on, she found her balance, the bike steadied, and Matt could feel her gaining control. His grip began to loosen.

“Alright, I’m going to let go now” he said, his voice laced with a hint of fear.

“Okay!” she replied, seemingly more confident 

Taking a deep breath, Matt released the seat. He slowed his pace, watching as she continued on her own. The bike wobbled briefly, but she quickly corrected, her face lighting up with pure joy as she rode forward, all by herself. 

“Look Daddy! I’m doing it! i’m doing it!” she shouted, her voice full of excitement.

“Wow sweetie you sure are! i’m so proud of you!” Matt called out , as he felt a lump forming in his throat.

He took a few steps back to where you were stood, snaking an arm round your waist. Both of your gazes fixed on your little girl. Giving eachother a knowing squeeze. Whilst a wave of pride washed over both of you, mixed with the bittersweet feeling of seeing her grow up.

As she reached the end of the block, she turned around, her face still beaming with a smile. 

As she stopped Matt jogged over, scooping her up into a big hug as she hopped off the bike.

“You did amazing sweetheart, i knew you could do it!”  he exclaims, picking her up and spinning in circles. 

As you watched Matt scoop her up and spin her around, your heart felt like it might burst. Her giggle, so pure and full of joy, filled the air and made everything else fade away.

Seeing them both so happy, your little girl in her dad’s arms, reminded you of how special these moments are. It was a simple, perfect snapshot of the love your family shares. The laughter, the pride, the way she clung to Matt as he spun her around—it all felt like a beautiful reminder that sometimes…unexpected beginnings aren’t so bad after all.

••••••••••••••••••••

A/N ; and that’s a wrap🥹 i was going to split this into x2 parts, but thought i’d just make it a longer one for you instead!

i loved loved lovedddd writing this, so i really hope you enjoyed reading!!

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST

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[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 13)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“This is just a dream.” Your words came out in a tangled string, altogether as air being forced out of a balloon. You partially sagged as well, instinctively locked muscles loosening again after you’d realize there was another person next to you on the beach. 

She was beautiful, as always, with long silver-blonde hair  and violet eyes cut into a soft face. You froze for the briefest instant at the fact that her tall, Amazonian body was clothed, but dreams never followed the rules. 

With your arms out wide, you reached for the woman that had appeared beside you on the beach. “Right? Is it just a dream? L… like the ones before?”

You wanted it to be true. The swell of hope rose within you like the tide at your feet, but it was tainted by something that shook you and made your heart race.

The truth was like oil leaking through and into your bloodstream, sticking to your veins until it couldn’t be ignored any longer. Until it made you feel sick and trapped inside your own skin. 

“Right?”

The serene expression on Eve’s face gave way and rendered her heartache. She looked at you with violet eyes gone glassy for a long, long moment. 

Eve shook her head slowly. “No.”

—

The realm-traversing portal opened up amidst rolling clouds without much fanfare. Lucifer’s eyes snapped shut as he was accosted by piercing white light on all sides when he stepped out of it. 

“Ugh.” The blond blinked rapidly, trying in vain to adjust to the shift from dark red to blinding light. “It’s like crashing into the sun...” 

Heaven’s gates came into focus. 

“… while it’s going supernova.” Lucifer finished, muttering as he took a moment to shake out his sleeves. 

He stayed in place, readjusting his clothes while his wings folded back behind him. Heaven loomed on the horizon, only a short walk away. A fact that was eroding the King’s resolve with each passing moment.

Lucifer swallowed, straightening his bow tie. 

He wanted to turn back. 

It had been many millennia since he’d stepped foot anywhere near what was once his home; and in spite of the time and the distance, Lucifer could feel dread creeping up on him. The memory of being pushed and plummeting down, down, down into fire and brimstone came to him as if it had happened yesterday. 

Lucifer glanced down, anticipating the rise of molten rock and plumes of smoke as he headed straight into the Earth’s core. 

He was still standing, hands shaking so hard that his apple cane was tapping against the slow yet merrily rolling clouds. 

      The former angel closed his eyes again, inhaling deeply to steel himself. 

This was for you. He needed to know that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This was for you. 

He’d do anything for you. 

Another breath. Lucifer stepped out from behind the clouds and onto the golden path that led to you. Just a few feet away and the blond tried to keep his eyes level with the gate itself, purposefully avoiding the all-knowing symbol above. 

A very bored-looking angel was flicking through the pages of what Lucifer assumed to be a reservation list. He couldn’t quite put a name to the face, as unless St. Peter had dyed his hair and grown a good deal of scruff on his chin, this was someone totally new to the gig. 

      Lucifer grimaced, wondering if this was a boon or not. 

“Excuse me!” Lucifer called up. 

“Ah!” The angel squawked. “Oh! Shi-I mean—!”

He fumbled with the book, accidentally crumpling a page mid-flick. Lucifer waited, tapping his foot nervously while the gatekeeper pulled himself together. 

       Finally, he smacked both hands against the book, using it as leverage to lean over and get a better look at the new arrival. 

“My apologies! Welcome to He-H…” Pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks within the angel’s eyes upon catching sight of the newest ‘arrival’. 

‘Oh fuck, okay.’ Lucifer lamented, posture sinking as he readied himself for a shitstorm. 

       His wings stretched out once more, and Lucifer glided up as stealthily as possible. The angel reeled back upon his approach, horror-struck, while the blond met him face-to-face.

“Yes! Hello there Mmmm—”” Lucifer squinted at the name tag pinned to the angel’s chest. “Matthias! Wonderful to meet you! Unless we’ve met before, in which case I apologize! It’s been quite a while since I’ve been up rather than down. Heh.”

Matthias continued to stare, jaw practically hanging off his face. “Y-you—you’re-!”

Lucifer’s smile waned like a melting candle. He drummed his fingers against the table top and cleared his throat. 

“Right.” Lucifer continued. “So, anyway, I’m here just to say ‘hi’ to a very special someone, and I would be eternally grateful if you could help me out with that.” 

He waited a full minute, watching Matthias shake like a leaf. It left Lucifer torn between irritation and anxiety. 

“Look, I’m not here to make waves.” He tried again. “I’ve done that enough for an immortal lifetime! And you know that, clearly.”

He chuckled, pulling at his collar. “I’m not asking for much. If anything, I’m actually doing my due diligence as far as Heaven is concerned and what’s that you got there? Is that a flip phone? Didn’t know they made those anymore. Who’re you dialin-”

“PETER!” Matthias screeched into the dated device. Lucifer’s whole body flinched at the sheer volume. 

“Wait, no, no, no!” Lucifer panicked, arms flapping to regain Matthias’s attention. 

Matthias continued to rear back until he’d fallen off the podium, and he barely managed to remember his own wings before hitting the ground. 

“Peter!” He cried. “Come back! We have a situation here!”

“No we don’t!” Lucifer tried to butt in. “He’s being ridiculous Peter. Don’t listen to him!”

“You need to get back here now! No, now!” Matthias snapped the phone shut and kept aloft a good distance from the King of Hell. 

He then made the sign of the cross, of all things. 

“Stay back!” The angel yelped. “I’m warning you I-I-I’ve been abstinent for over a hundred years and it didn’t break me! Neither will you, foul Tempter!” 

Lucifer stopped, lips peeling back as if he’d just sucked a lemon. 

“Okay, I didn’t need to know that.” Lucifer said, floating closer. “Look, maybe you didn’t get what I was saying, I’m just—”

“I said stay back!” 

Lucifer groaned, running a hand down his face. “Fuck me for thinking Heaven learned to listen.”

—

You felt lighter as you made your way back into the cityscape of Heaven, although your heart was truly aching. 

     There was no use in staying hidden in the trees, but as you crossed back into the modernized version of paradise, you vowed to return. Unless Eve herself decided to make another reappearance and join the rest of her angelic peers. 

Speaking of which…

Wandering had led you back to the center of the town, and you noticed that it lacked an angel or two… hundred. 

“Where is everyone?” You asked the empty air. Not a soul stirred at your inquiry, but you stared at the cafe on your left. 

     The majority of cafe tables hadn’t been bussed. You peered at the plates of half-eaten pastries and teacups, noting that more than one was still full and steaming. 

“There you are!”

 The unmistakable voice of Emily put a stopper in your confusion. “Where have you been? I was so worried!”

The holy woman hovered before you, unable to stay still as her wings beat against the air frantically. You frowned.

“Hey Emily.” You responded slowly, your brain still picking up the inconsistencies. “Do you know where everyone is?”

The angel shook her head, staggering you as she instantly took your arm and plucked you from the ground like a flower. 

“Woah! Hold on, wait a second!” You choked on your own saliva in surprise. You struggled to pry her delicate hands off of you as you were dragged through the air. “Emily! What’re you doing?”

“You have to come quickly!” Emily exclaimed. 

“Let me go!” You demanded.

You gawked when she just sped up. Emily raced through the empty town center with you dangling behind her, until she had taken you out into the open air. The gate into Heaven rose above all else as you fast approached it. 

—

A crowd had amassed from the city pavilion to stand and watch, aghast at the scene before them. Some cowered in their places while others edged closer to whatever was happening on the other side of the gate. 

     People were still floating in as Emily rocketed toward the front. You had no choice but to follow her lead, windswept hair falling in your eyes and mouth. You spat as you were planted on solid foundation again, and jostled forward by a no less overwrought Emily. 

You parted your hair like curtains, expression already screwed up and twisted in anger. You looked up and over your shoulder at the angel nervously chewing on her lower lip. 

“Excuse my language but what the hell is going on?” You bit out. Ugh, hair still caught on your tongue. 

Emily didn’t deign to give you any answers beyond a hand raised, finger pointing ahead. Her gesture made you scoff, though you let your curiosity get the better of you. 

      The last thing you expected to see was a squad of angels in pastel blues and whites, brandishing technological spears at Lucifer fucking Morningstar. 

“Please, everyone, there’s absolutely no need for any of this!” Lucifer’s tone was an odd mix of disarming and pacifying. 

He was bowed over, arms held out in a bid for calm. It was only met with more hostility, as several of the spears pointed at him sizzled with visible electricity. 

“Spare us your lies, Serpent. And be gone.” One of the aggressors spoke, sporting a remarkably deep voice despite his youthful appearance. A chorus sounded behind the creature, shouts of ‘be gone’ and ‘back to hell’ resounding until the pounding of your heart drowned it all out. 

Your breath came up fast and shallow, the capacity to rationalize long gone at the sight of the Devil.         

     You’d just accepted the loss of him, had exposed the wound he had left behind in your soul to the open air and grieved the lesson it taught you. Death had parted you both and you had been preparing to accept it, no alternative left to contemplate. 

“Lou...”

Mouth open, you tried to formulate your thoughts into words. You were coming up short, voice cracking and striped like a dying animal. 

“Lucifer.” 

You went ramrod straight, electricity enveloping your sight. He staggered.

“LUCIFER!” 

Pain lanced through him, but Lucifer only had eyes for you. You, calling his name and racing forward to grapple with the bars of Heaven’s gate. You, beautiful and glowing and real again. 

The King stood up, gripping the spear that had made contact with him only moment’s ago and throwing it off. Gabriel fell to the wayside like a swatted fly, his squad of soldiers swarming around to try and right him. 

They might as well have ceased to exist as Lucifer moved toward you. Heaven ceased to exist altogether, as soon he was close enough to take your outstretched hands. 

“You’re here.” 

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx, @darling-angel222, @elementwind91, @bloody-delusion-expert, @devilslittlebabyxx, @diffidentphantom, @shamblezzz, @ranposanedogawa, @minamilinaqueen, @1-helluva-hazbin

[munefille]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥

yandere!m.merman x gn.reader

cw: mentions of death, disturbing imagery

as a fish takes refuge inside an oyster, it sees only the chance to hide from the unforgiving water within the calm mollusk, unaware of the true nature of its biology. unfortunately for the fish, the oyster has already activated its unique defense mechanism, encasing the fish as an immortal, precious pearl.

The rhythmic push and pull of the tides never failed to lull you into a state of mild stupor. Soft, slightly cool sand cushioned you while a gentle breeze brushed past your cheek and played with your hair. The day was only moderately gloomy, a grey tinted sky hanging over you as the clouds came and went, the sun nowhere to be seen. Still, you almost liked it better like this. The beach was more private, freer without the confines of eyes watching it.

Your calloused feet hopped onto the rocky shore, leaving the inviting sand disturbed as a sign of your presence. The salty ocean scent intensified the closer you came to the evermoving water. You stood atop the tallest rock, attempting to scan the waves at your vantage point, searching for your most curious find.

At last, peeking out from between the waves, did you spot the partially submerged head of your friend. His black eyes were trained on your form, no doubt watching you long before you noticed him.

A grin emerged across your face. "I see you!" you called, motioning for him to come closer as you waded into the water. The eyes disappeared beneath the tide at your request.

You felt him before you could see him, smooth scales wrapping around your leg in a firm hold. He reappeared directly in front of you, inky black eyes mere inches away from your own.

The creature's appearance was a far cry from the mermaids of your childhood, beautiful human women who happened to have a tail as their bottom half. No, he hardly mirrored the sentimental fairytale. You noticed his eyes first, sclera and pupil alike darkened together as they melded into each other- then you noticed his rubbery flesh stretched taunt across his sharp bones, with pale, sallow skin, nearly as grey as a corpse. You initially thought that's what he had been when he simply peered at you from afar, unmoving and unblinking against the rocking sea. He was just humanoid enough to lure concerned passersby like yourself deeper into the water, yet not quite passable as human.

In a closer vicinity, as you are now, you could see small scales dotting his cheeks and neck. Under the right light they appeared as little moons, revealing an opalescent luster that you could only describe as ethereal.

"Hello," you greeted with a wide close-lipped smile. Last time you had bared your teeth at him ended with him misunderstanding your friendliness for a threat. You weren't sure if he could talk, but that didn't stop you from trying to make conversation. You had a feeling he understood you to an extent anyways.

The mercreature tilted his head sideways in response, sleek, wet dark hair falling over his shoulder. An inscrutable expression remained plastered on his features; one you gave up trying to interpret using human facial language.

Silky scales gently tugged you further into the waves towards a rocky mass that stood above the crashing water. The current strengthened, oscillating you to its whims, but the guidance of the unyielding sea creature kept you from being swept away entirely. Although you would consider yourself a strong swimmer, you knew you would never compare to a creature born of the water, one who moved so in tune to the sea that his lithe form became indistinguishable from the tides.

Finally, you reached the rocks, gripping the relatively dry surface for relief from the unrelenting waters. You found a comfortable position on them, resting your upper body while you let your legs dangle. The mercreature remained below, lower half of his face once again concealed under the water, leaving only his unblinking eyes visible. His body underneath the water became obscured even further by the dark ring of hair that floated around him. Those eyes regarded you with scrutinizing intensity that would've resembled a predator, had you thought hard enough about it.

"What a nice view-" you began, but the thought was cut short when your companion pulled himself below the water, disappearing from your sight almost completely, save for the movement in the water that signified a strong tail pushing against it.

Confusion laced your face. The few minutes he had gone was enough to make you worry. Why had he left so abruptly? Surely he would be back? You weren't certain you could swim back to shore on your own. Although you trusted him- in fact, you would even consider him a friend- doubt from his apparent unpredictability lingered. After all, you had no way to reliably communicate, nor were you sure if your opinion of your relationship was mutual.

Your concerns vanished as he broke the surface of the water, swimming towards the rocks with something that gleamed as the light hit it.

He stopped at your feet, lifting the object slowly up to you. If you hadn't known better, you'd say the action seemed almost shy.

A gasp left you as you got a view of it. In his webbed, slender fingers lay a glistering mass of refined pearl, hints of color dancing across it the glossy surface. Distantly, you recalled that the creature's scales were of the same material. It resembled an anatomically correct heart. Never before had you seen a pearl shaped in such a way, nor did you know how it could've been, or why the shape was so accurate, even down to the imprint of the vessels. It was as if the thing had been pulsating. Why was it so accurate?

The beautiful piece was presented to you like a gift, so you had gladly accepted. You collected it from the awaiting hands. The coolness of it nearly burned you as it touched your flesh, the brilliant iridescence of it stealing your attention away from the faint scent of iron permeating the breeze. It distracted you from the bloody teeth of the now grinning merman, sharp rows glinting bright cardinal red. You thought nothing of the diluted red in the dark water, seeping towards your feet. The sinking body below, twisted and stuck eternally in a cry for help, was lost to you as you held the glimmering heart with reverence.

_____________________________✧_______________________________

i love creepy mermaids

[cedarmoonzz]

Are you planning on writing a part 3 of between the bars????? <3 love uuuu

slow like honey ꪆৎ ˚⋅

continuation of: between the bars and once more to see you

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

content: angst, making out, doomed relationship, mentions of sex, hurt/comfort

summary: unbeknownst to either of you, you both spend your final night together with stanford

Every anniversary for the past six years, without fail, you and Ford would go out to dinner. The tradition had started rather spontaneously. On your first anniversary, you had decided to forgo the usual gifts and opt for something more experiential. You chose a cozy little bistro near campus that served the most delectable pasta you’d ever tasted. The evening was simple yet perfect—filled with laughter, deep conversations, and the realization that you were embarking on something special.

Over the years, these dinners had become a touchstone. From greasy diners to hidden gems tucked away in the neighborhoods of Gravity Falls, each venue added a new layer to your shared story. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t expect Stanford to ask you out to dinner this time around. The routine felt like it might be breaking, perhaps due to the distance that had grown between you two. Yet, a small part of you held onto the hope that he would make the effort, just as he had every other year.

You stood before the scratched mirror in your bathroom, shifting your weight from foot to foot, the floorboards creaking beneath you. Your reflection stared back with a blend of uncertainty and anxiety, eyes flickering with the weight of the evening ahead. Ford should be coming up from the basement at any moment, and the thought sent another wave of nervous anticipation through you. You had dressed carefully for the occasion—your anniversary dinner—a night that demanded a touch of elegance. Clad in an outfit you had painstakingly pieced together from the second-hand shop by Greasy’s Diner, you hoped the thrifted treasures would suffice.

Boom.

You shut your eyes in frustration, the irritation gnawing at you as another tremor surged through the house. It was as if the very walls quaked in response to whatever Stanford was working on down there, deep in the basement. You could feel the reverberation in your bones, each crash and clatter below resonating up through the floors, making your knees tremble with the force of it. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was an intrusion, a relentless reminder of the chaos that constantly simmered beneath the surface of your life. You were tired of it, tired of feeling every impact three floors above, tired of the way the vibrations seemed to seep into your very being, leaving you on edge, unable to find peace even in your own home.

"Love is patient, love is kind," you mumbled to yourself, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra. You weren’t a religious person—never had been—but there was something about those words that clung to you in moments like this, offering a fragile thread of comfort. As the tremors from Stanford’s work below rumbled through the house, you shut your eyes in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. Your fingers pressed against your temples, trying to steady the rising tide of irritation.

Boom.

You clenched your teeth at the second jarring crash, a sharp, involuntary reaction that echoed your mounting frustration. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud," you muttered, the words barely discernible through the tight grip of your molars, which ground together with an almost rhythmic intensity. The verses, typically a soothing balm, now slipped past your clenched teeth in a strained whisper as you furrowed your brows with even greater force. Your forehead creased into a landscape of deepening furrows, each thud from the basement resonating through your body like a series of small, electric shocks.

You pressed your palms firmly against your eyes, the warmth of your skin meeting the cool, smooth surface of your hands. Your fingers dug into the delicate flesh of your temples, as if seeking to erase the persistent, intrusive thuds from your mind. You leaned back and forth on your heels, the movement gentle yet rhythmic, like a pendulum swinging in a futile effort to find balance amidst the storm. The persistent tremors reverberated through your body, amplifying the agitation that simmered just beneath the surface, leaving you to cling desperately to the fleeting moments of calm you could muster.

"It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered—" The verse was abruptly cut off by a thunderous Boom from the basement. You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Oh, fuck this!" you erupted, the words a raw release against the relentless din that had finally broken your patience.

“Ford!” you bellowed, your voice a raw, resonant cry of frustration that seemed to pierce the very air. With a furious swipe, you raked your fingers through your disheveled hair, the movement almost violent in its intensity. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you with a thunderous bang, the sound reverberating through the quiet cabin like an explosion of pent-up anger. You stormed down the stairs to the first floor, each footfall a heavy, defiant punctuation to your mounting rage. The rhythmic, thunderous stomp of your steps matched the pounding fury in your chest, each stride an urgent testament to your exasperation with the relentless, disruptive noise. "You better be ready down there!"

You slammed your palm against the wall of the hallway, the rusty button of the elevator beneath your hand giving way under the forceful impact. The metal creaked and groaned as it sank slightly, a stark reminder of your mounting frustration. The wall seemed to reverberate with the intensity of your outburst, the weight of your anger pressing down on every crevice and corner.

“Screw this! Screw his stupid portal, his idiotic rules, and screw him!" you fumed, a snarl curling your lips as you impatiently waited for the elevator doors to open. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you—here you were, standing before the very elevator you had designed and built, now reduced to a mere gatekeeper to the "forbidden" basement below. The last time you had descended to that enigmatic lower level felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday. Back then, you hadn’t known that this creation of yours, this marvel of engineering, would one day become a barrier, a symbol of the very authority you now found yourself defying.

The whirring of the elevator mechanisms was almost taunting, each second stretching out as your frustration grew. But beneath that anger, a spark of anticipation flickered—this wasn’t just a return to a place you once knew; it was a challenge to the very constraints you had helped put in place.

As the doors finally slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Instead of the dim, empty hallway you expected, you were met with the imposing figure of Stanford. His presence filled the small space, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was no escape now, no turning back—the gatekeeper wasn’t the elevator after all. It was him.

You pause, breath catching in your throat, as you take him in. Ford’s usual ensemble of a white button-down, tie, slacks, and lab coat has been cast aside in favor of a more commanding and intimate appearance. The white button-down remains, a familiar anchor in this transformation, yet the sterile lab coat has been replaced by a tailored black blazer. The fabric clings to his frame with a sensuous precision, tracing the contours of his shoulders and tapering around his midsection, creating a figure that seems both powerful and inviting, a magnet for the eyes. His shirt, once meticulously buttoned to the collar, now betrays a more relaxed demeanor. The top buttons are left undone, exposing a sliver of skin that hints at the warmth beneath, while his red tie, no longer neatly knotted, hangs loosely around his neck. It rests on his chest with a kind of deliberate carelessness, the bold color contrasting against the pale fabric, drawing your gaze.

His brown hair is tousled, strands falling just out of place, as if touched by the wind—or more likely, the consequence of his own distracted hands. This subtle disarray only adds to the intimacy of his appearance, a sign of his vulnerability beneath the polished exterior, inviting those who see him to look closer, to wonder what thoughts lie beneath the surface.

But it's not just his appearance that tells a story. His face is flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, as if he’s been caught off guard, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He stands in the elevator, holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity. There’s an urgency in the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that betrays a rush of emotion barely held in check. The sight of him like this—disheveled, out of breath, yet so achingly poised with that bouquet in hand— almost makes you laugh.

“[Y/n],” he says, still out of breath, his voice carrying a hushed intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. He extends the flowers towards you, his eyes skimming down your figure with an unmistakable admiration. "You... You look very beautiful." The words tumble out, raw and unguarded, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a vulnerability in his expression, a softness that contrasts with his usual composed demeanor.

The image of Ford standing in the elevator is a stark reminder of your first date all those years ago. You recall a younger Ford, clad in a sweater and slacks, nervously thrusting a bouquet of carefully wrapped lillies towards you as he stood at the foot of your apartment door. His face was as red as the blooms he held, a mixture of anticipation and awkward charm that made your heart flutter then, just as it does now.

Despite the passage of time, Ford remains fundamentally unchanged. You met nearly eight years ago, when you were both twenty years old, grouped together in an Advanced Quantum Dimensional Physics course on a project. Back then, his boyish charm was evident in every nervous smile and every hesitant gesture. Now, even beneath the weight of work and the stress that comes with it, that same charm endures.

"Thank you, Ford," you say, taking the bouquet with a soft smile. "What’s with all the noise? I was about to go down to the basement and beat your ass." Your tone blends relief with playful annoyance, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise tender moment.

Ford’s eyebrows raise, and he snaps out of his thoughts, his face flushing as he tears his eyes away from your form. He gives a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed by the chaos he’s caused. "Oh! Yes, my apologies. I was, um, looking for my car keys. And I seem to have knocked down a grand total of... three destabilizers? Maybe two particle accelerators.”

"Five pieces of high-tech machinery and we still can't afford a new dishwasher?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him. Your tone is light, but there's a hint of exasperation mixed with amusement as you look at the mess.

“These are necessary purchases, my dear!” he huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the elevator with a charmingly disheveled grace. He extends his forearm toward you, a gesture both gallant and inviting. “Are you ready to go? Our reservation should be starting soon.” His playful grin and the warmth of his gesture make it clear that he’s eager to move past the chaos and enjoy the evening with you.

You take his arm, linking it with your own as you grin up at him. “As long as you agree to order a bottle of Cabernet for the table, I’m ready to leave when you are.” The easy familiarity of the gesture tugs at a longing inside you, a reminder of the effortless closeness you once shared. Lately, things have been strained between the two of you, and you’ve found yourself ruefully returning to your smoking habit in secret, having learned your lesson from the last time Ford caught you. You wonder if he can smell the smoke on your breath, if the scent lingers in your hair despite the deep conditioning you just underwent. The memory of smoking with a grocery bag tied over your head just two hours prior while re-reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar for the fifth time that year brings a pang of regret. You can’t help but feel a tinge of anxiety about whether this secret, this small escape, is detectable to the one person whose opinion matters most.

“Let’s make that two bottles, love,” Ford says with a smile that highlights the bags under his eyes. They’ve deepened, you notice, but he’s still impossibly handsome to you.

The car ride to the restaurant was enveloped in a serene silence, punctuated only by the soft strains of Fleetwood Mac’s newest single emanating from the 8-track tape you had insisted on playing. As the car glided through the wintry landscape, the world outside was a wintery tableau of stillness and quiet beauty. The darkness of the evening, settling in at 7 p.m., cast a soft, muted glow over the landscape. The trees, tall and skeletal, stood cloaked in a delicate blanket of snow, their branches heavy and laden with white. The ground beneath them was similarly covered, the snow pristine and unblemished, save for the occasional delicate track of a nocturnal creature.

The snowy expanse reflected the faint, ambient light of the car’s headlights, creating a shimmering, ethereal quality that danced across the landscape. The quiet was profound, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle crunch of tires over snow or the faint rustling of branches. The scene outside was serene and almost magical, a winter wonderland wrapped in a velvety cloak of darkness, enhancing the feeling of calm and intimacy within the car.

Stanford’s hand rests on your thigh, his left hand gripping the steering wheel while his right palm lies flat but carries a faint tension, as if it’s holding back something unspoken. It’s been two weeks since the night you shared in the snow and a month since his fallout with Fiddleford. Life has settled into a rhythm that feels both familiar and strained.

Despite his efforts to show his love—choosing to spend more nights with you rather than immersing himself in work on the portal—there’s an unmistakable edge to his presence. His hand, warm against your skin, still carries a subtle rigidity, a reminder of the underlying unease between you. His gazes linger longer than usual, and you’ve felt him study you with a mix of affection and concern. His eyes always narrow, as if trying to decipher something elusive about you.

Lost in the whirl of your thoughts, you’re only dimly aware as Stanford navigates the car to your destination. The vehicle glides into a snug parking space near the restaurant—the only refined dining spot in Gravity Falls, a testament to its understated elegance. The night’s darkness casts a soft glow on the restaurant’s exterior, hinting at the warmth and sophistication within.

Stanford’s deft hands turn the keys in the ignition, the engine’s hum fading into silence with a satisfying click. As the car stills, he turns to face you, his expression a blend of eagerness and intimacy. His gaze lingers on you, soft yet intense.

"I want to speak to you about something," he begins, his voice breaking through the silence left in the wake of Stevie Nicks’ fading melody. The suddenness of his words contrasts with the stillness in the car, his tone carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.

Suddenly, your seatbelt feels constricting, as if it’s tightening around you, making it difficult to breathe. The air seems to thin as you take in his gaze, the intensity of his eyes pinning you in place, filling the space between you with a palpable tension. "About?"

Stanford reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt, the click of the release sounding louder in the quiet car. He turns toward you fully, his body shifting to close the distance. You instinctively move to do the same, freeing yourself from the confines of your own seatbelt, now facing him without any barriers between you. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability as he speaks, "About what you asked me. If I'm... still in love with you." The words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of the moment pressing down on you both.

You say nothing, your breath catching as you stare into his eyes, feeling yours widen in surprise. The weight of his words settles over you, and your gaze falters, drifting down to your hands as they instinctively wring together in your lap. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, as you wait for him to speak, your heart pounding in the quiet space between you.

"[Y/n]," he mutters softly, but you don’t respond, your thoughts too tangled to form words. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, urging you to meet his eyes. "There is no one else on this earth who I love more than you." His voice is earnest, but as you look at him, you can’t help but notice how much older he seems—the streetlight streaming through the windshield casting harsh shadows that emphasize the worried wrinkles and dark circles beneath his eyes. "It pains me that you think otherwise," he continues, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, his expression a blend of sorrow and love.

"And I know that this... project of mine has formed a rift between the two of us," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. His hand stays on your cheek, the warmth of his touch at odds with the cold truth in his words. "I’ve been cruel to you—cold. None of it would be possible without you. I just... wanted to inform you that I am in the process of dismantling the portal.”

His confession hangs in the air, a quiet revelation that sends a wave of shock through you. The project that consumed him, the very thing that had driven a wedge between you, was now being taken apart. His eyes search yours, seeking understanding, forgiveness, something that might ease the burden he’s carried alone for too long.

“Stanley is coming tomorrow to help me put an end to this blasted mess I've created," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud makes them more real. The mention of Stanley, his estranged brother, only deepens the weight of his confession. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, a mix of relief and fear, etched deeply into his features. His expression is fraught with worry and trepidation, as if the enormity of what he’s undertaking has finally caught up with him. His hand remains steady on your cheek, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you haven’t seen in a long time—a silent plea for your support and understanding as he faces this daunting task.

He looks worried, more scared than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a tremor in his eyes and a depth to his expression that speaks of hidden fears. You know him better than you know yourself, and it’s clear to you that he’s concealing something. The anxiety etched into his features, the hesitation in his voice—it all points to a deeper truth he’s not yet revealing. The sense of something left unsaid lingers between you, an unspoken tension that underscores the gravity of his confession.

"Oh, screw it," you think, your heart swelling with joy despite the unspoken tension. You’re too overwhelmed with happiness to let the hidden fears or unspoken truths weigh you down. A radiant smile spreads across your face, transforming your expression into a broad, irrepressible grin. Leaning into his palm, you let the warmth of the moment wash over you. "No more late nights in the basement?" you ask, your voice light, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted. The joy in your tone contrasts with the earlier seriousness, cutting through the atmosphere like a breath of fresh air, and you bask in the simple, unadulterated relief of the news.

"No more late nights in the basement," he repeats, his voice carrying a note of relief as he takes in your smile. The tension seems to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a softer, more hopeful expression. "I also wanted to ask you something else," he continues, his gaze shifting to meet yours with a mix of earnestness and anticipation.

Your eyes widen just a fraction more as you absorb his words, a thrill of anticipation sparking within you. "What else?”

Ford’s face suddenly flushes a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably, moving his hand from your cheek to tug nervously at the collar of his button-down. “I was, uh, thinking,” he begins, his voice wavering slightly, “Maybe, once this is all over, of course, maybe we can start preparations for the… for the wedding.” The words stumble out of him, each one laden with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The vulnerability in his gaze contrasts with the warmth of his earlier demeanor, as he waits for your reaction to his tentative forwardness.

You’re convinced you’ve never been more ecstatic to hear this man’s voice in your life. A joyous giggle bursts from your throat, escaping before you can even catch it. The realization that your endearing, slightly clueless fiancé will finally become your husband sends a wave of elation through you. Your heart is practically dancing with delight, overwhelmed by the sheer excitement and happiness. The world around you seems to shimmer with a new, vibrant energy, and every thought and worry melts away, leaving only the radiant joy of this moment.

Without a second thought, you practically leap from your seat into his arms. The car’s interior transforms into a haven of warmth and affection as you envelop Stanford in a cascade of kisses. His face, already flushed from his earlier nervousness, now lights up with genuine laughter, the sound rich and full, reverberating through the confined space. His arms come around you with a comforting firmness.

"Yes! Fucking finally, yes, Ford!" you laugh, your voice trembling with the sheer joy of the moment. Your hands cradle his face with a tenderness that feels almost sacred as you lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and the kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of exhilaration and relief that seems to transcend all the struggles you’ve faced. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer against him, fully settling you onto his lap. The lack of the car's heater does little to bother you as you nuzzle your face into Ford’s neck, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Stanford laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rubs your back soothingly. "Y/n, darling, we're going to miss our reservation," he murmurs with a gentle chuckle. The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest, adding a comforting rhythm to the moment.

You pull away from the crook of his neck, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Stanford’s hair is now a delightful mess from when you ran your fingers through it moments prior, with rebellious strands splaying out in charming disarray. The collar of his white button-down, once meticulously aligned, now tilts at an angle, as though in a state of blissful disarray. The black blazer, once a paragon of tailored precision, is now creased and rumpled from your shared embrace, the fabric bearing the intimate marks of your contact.

His red tie, previously a picture of neatness, now drapes at a rakish angle, adding an alluring quality to his look. The flush on his cheeks, deepened by the kiss, contrasts vividly with his slightly tousled appearance, while a faint, tender smudge of lipstick lingers at the corner of his lips. You gaze at him, overwhelmed by the fierce surge of love you feel. Despite the messiness, there’s an undeniable intimacy in his appearance, a tangible trace of the passionate moment you shared, making him look both endearing and irresistibly human.

“Forget the reservation,” you say in one breath, your voice breathless and urgent as you surge forward to capture his lips with yours once more. The words barely escape before your lips meet his, and the world outside melts away, leaving only the heated, intoxicating connection between you.

It didn’t last, the kiss. It was intense but fleeting, a fervent moment before Stanford gently pulled away, taking your hands in his. He lifted them to his face, pressing tender kisses to your fingers, to your palms. His expression was a heady mix of adoration and intoxication.

You couldn’t recall ever feeling so radiant, so utterly cherished.

“You are an absolute vision, my love,” Stanford murmured, his voice a soft reverence against the inside of your wrist. He kissed the delicate delta of veins there, his lips tracing a path to the center of your palm, each kiss a silent testament to his deep affection. “You look stunning, incredible—breathtaking. [Y/n], these past few months have been a torment without you by my side. Nothing has made me feel so alive as I do now, looking at you.” He laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pressed your hand to his chest. “Do you feel that? My heart is pounding.”

Miraculously, even through the layers of fabric, you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart. He wasn’t exaggerating; his pulse was racing. You took his hand and guided it to your chest, so he could feel your own heart racing in sync with his.

“Look at you,” you said, breathless and beaming. “Dashing, roguishly handsome in your suit. How am I going to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Stanford’s cheeks flushed so deeply that his blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his voice was strained with longing as he replied, “Then don’t. Keep them off me, I mean,” he said, leaning closer, his mouth moving toward yours. “Hold me, touch me however you like…”

The temptation was almost unbearable. Dinner seemed a trivial pursuit compared to the desire to peel him out of his suit, to undress him slowly and explore every inch of his body. It had been far too long.

You leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before brushing your lips against his ear. “Maybe we should go back home first,” you suggested, pulling back and beginning to disentangle yourself from his embrace.

“That's not a bad idea,” Stanford says, his voice steadier now, though his cheeks still carry a hint of the earlier flush. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, which had been askew from your earlier embrace. “We can order takeout for dinner. Although,” he adds with a playful glint in his eye, “I must admit, I find something else much more appetizing.”

[lxclerc]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐝𝐫𝟑

summary... it’s never the right time for  you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other. requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black) pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader

note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

← prev part

high tide came and brought you in

“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization. 

and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him. 

daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him. 

still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him. 

your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin. 

but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals. 

you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture. 

but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is. 

eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin. 

in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way. 

but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him. 

one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye. 

and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again. 

“honey,” he says and your heart trembles. 

daniel.

it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not. 

but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel. 

you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay. 

but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well. 

“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask. 

he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”

please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him. 

you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”

the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”

you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much. 

but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet. 

“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”

you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.” 

you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours. 

“in a few years,” you say. 

and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea. 

but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone

the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country. 

he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet. 

max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.

by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close. 

goddamn it. 

it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you. 

you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend. 

the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.

“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him. 

“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel. 

but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.

and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?

“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him. 

you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”

“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”

you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her. 

“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”

max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose. 

but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.

and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more. 

these hands had to let it go free

that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you. 

“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him. 

“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”

“what are you saying?” 

“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”

you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love. 

“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor. 

“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.

he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”

you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair. 

the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate. 

“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.” 

you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.” 

you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”

“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?” 

“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”

you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”

struggled through the night with someone new

the next time you see daniel again, you invited him.  you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant. 

you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for. 

but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally  ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer. 

he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it. 

you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him. 

james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting. 

you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for. 

you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready. 

and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have. 

if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.

“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. 

you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today. 

you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”

“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you. 

you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him. 

it was daniel. how can you be so stupid? 

his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room. 

you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his. 

the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.

he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him. 

“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!” 

daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?

“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you. 

daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is. 

“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips. 

“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him. 

daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”

you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word. 

the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there. 

you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.

daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy. 

you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.

“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”

you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up. 

“i thought i was over him,” you say.

it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”

you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.” 

“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him. 

not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared. 

“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.” 

max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways. 

that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you. 

eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions. 

you come back to what you need

daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.

he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you. 

“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you. 

a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”

you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you. 

he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system. 

daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need. 

“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here. 

daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”

okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.” 

daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we  both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” 

“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”

“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”

he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”

“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall. 

you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!” 

he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.” 

“for closure.”

he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar. 

his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer. 

his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”

with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek. 

“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”

you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips. 

“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.” 

he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer. 

like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off. 

you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down. 

“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple. 

you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this. 

but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms. 

“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen. 

and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”

you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?” 

“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again. 

“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?” 

you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”

he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes. 

you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”

and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel. 

when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.” 

you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”

“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now? 

“breakfast.” 

you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that. 

and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message. 

daniel i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.

this love came back to me

the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home. 

“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement. 

after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with. 

you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself. 

“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go. 

“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh. 

“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.

you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid. 

after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father. 

and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown. 

“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving. 

you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.” 

and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be. 

and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together. 

daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again. 

he smiles at you and you smile back. 

hello, love, welcome home.

and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore. 

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[dovesdreaming]

Tides of fate

Summary: You’re silver mists daughter and grew up with Harry hook in neverland. When you were sent away to Auradon you thought you had lost him forever until a chance encounter on the isle when you helped mal.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

You had always loved the water. As the daughter of Silvermist, one of the most graceful water fairies in Pixie Hollow, the gentle ripples of a stream or the crashing waves of the ocean had been your constant companions. But it wasn’t just the water that held your heart, it was the boy you used to share it with. Harry Hook. Back in Neverland, when you were both just children, you had found a friend in Harry. The son of Captain Hook was wild, adventurous, and fearless, everything you admired but didn’t quite have the courage to be. He loved the thrill of the sea, and you loved the way he made you feel like you could do anything, be anything, as long as you were together. But life in Neverland wasn’t all adventures and endless days. Eventually, your mother decided it was time for you to leave the island, to see the world beyond its shores. Harry had wanted to come with you, but his father wouldn’t allow it, and so you had been torn away from your closest friend, leaving behind the only home you had ever known. You were sent to Auradon, a place where everything was bright and perfect, but also stifling in its orderliness. You tried to fit in, to make friends, but no one understood you like Harry had.

The endless parties, the gowns, the formalities. They all felt so hollow without the freedom and chaos of Neverland. You had only recently found friends just under a year ago when the villain kids came to Auradon. You saw how they were somewhat similar to Harry in their behaviour, how they loved mischief. You were slowly welcomed into their group and while you still felt as though a part of you was missing at least some of the whole had been filled with a similar friendship. But then, everything changed when Mal decided to return to the Isle of the Lost. She was determined to rescue Ben, and something deep within you stirred, a longing you hadn’t felt in years. You didn’t know what you were hoping for, but you knew you had to go with her. And so, you found yourself sneaking onto the Isle, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d find Harry again. You didn’t know where he had ended up after you left but an island full of mischief was your best bet at finding your Mischievous pirate.

The Isle of the Lost was nothing like you’d imagined. It was dark, grimy, and utterly devoid of the magic and wonder that had filled your childhood in Neverland. The air was thick with despair, and the streets were a labyrinth of alleys and shadows. You hoped if Harry was here he was ok. You clung to Mal’s side as the group made their way through the winding streets, but your heart wasn’t in the mission. All you could think about was the possibility of seeing Harry again. What would he be like after all these years? Would he even remember you?

Your thoughts distracted you so much that you didn’t notice when you strayed too far from the group. By the time you realized you were alone, Mal and the others were nowhere to be seen. Panic surged through you as you wandered the unfamiliar streets, the darkened buildings looming above you. Every noise made you jump, every shadow seemed to hide some unknown danger. But then, as you turned a corner, you saw something that made your heart skip a beat.

A figure stood at the end of the alley, his back turned to you. Even in the dim light, you recognized him, the familiar outline of his hat, the long coat that brushed the ground (shorter on him now that he had grown), the ever-present hook gleaming at his side.

“Harry?” you called out, your voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.

He froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the Isle. Then, slowly, he turned around, his blue eyes wide with shock as they met yours. “Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you took a step forward. “It’s me, Harry. It’s really me”.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The years of separation, the pain of being torn apart, they all seemed to melt away as you looked at each other. Then, with a shaky laugh, Harry closed the distance between you and pulled you into a tight embrace, his hook carefully positioned to avoid hurting you. “I thought I’d lost you forever” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as tears of relief streamed down your cheeks. “I missed you so much, Harry. I never wanted to leave you”. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “You’ve changed” he said softly, his gaze lingering on your features. “But you’re still the same Y/N I remember”.

You smiled through your tears, reaching up to cup his face with your hands. “And you’re still the same Harry, just a bit more piratey and grown up”. He chuckled, the sound bringing a warmth to your chest that you hadn’t felt in years. “Aye, that I am. But you… you’re still my fairy”.

For a while, the two of you simply stood there, lost in each other’s presence, as if trying to make up for all the time you’d lost. You told him about your life in Auradon, how different it was from the freedom of Neverland, and he shared stories of his time on the Isle, the struggles and the battles he’d faced. “I always wondered what happened to you” Harry admitted, his voice soft as he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “I thought about you every day, hoping you were okay”. “I thought about you too” you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Auradon felt so empty without you”. He sighed, his grip on you tightening just a bit. “If I’d known you were there, I would have found a way to come to you”.

The thought of Harry trying to find you, despite the barriers that separated your worlds, made your heart ache. “But we’re here now” you said, trying to smile. “And that’s what matters”. Harry nodded, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotions. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again, Y/N. I lost you once, and I’m not losing you again”.

Just as you were about to respond, you heard voices calling your name. You turned to see Mal, Evie, and the rest of the VKs running towards you, their expressions a mix of relief and concern.

“Y/N!” Mal shouted, skidding to a stop in front of you. “We were so worried! What happened?”. You glanced at Harry, who was watching the VKs warily, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I… I found Harry” you said, your voice hesitant. Mal’s eyes flicked to Harry, her expression softening slightly. “Harry Hook”. Harry nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “Aye. And I’m not letting her go”. Mal seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding once looking at your expression and the pleading in your eyes. “We need to get back to Auradon. Ben’s waiting, and we can’t risk staying here any longer”. You felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Harry again, but before you could say anything, Harry spoke up. “I’m coming with you”.

The VKs exchanged surprised glances, but Mal nodded. “Alright. But if you’re coming with us, you’ll need to keep a low profile. We can’t risk drawing too much attention”. Harry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Low profile? Not exactly my style, but for my fairy, I’ll try” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It was the first time in years that you felt truly whole,?like you’d found the missing piece of your heart.

The journey back to Auradon was surreal. Harry stayed close to you the entire time, his presence a comforting reminder that you were no longer alone. The VKs were cautious around him at first, but they quickly warmed up to him, especially after seeing the way he looked at you. When you finally arrived back in Auradon, Harry was in awe of the bright, pristine world that was so different from the Isle. But even as he marveled at the beauty around him, he never let go of your hand, as if afraid that you might disappear if he did. Life in Auradon took some adjusting too, but with you by his side, Harry managed to find his place. The other students were wary of him at first, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that there was more to Harry Hook than met the eye. His loyalty, his fierce protectiveness of you, and his undeniable charm quickly won them over. And as for you, you finally felt at home in Auradon. With Harry by your side, the world felt brighter, more vibrant. The days of missing Neverland were behind you because you had found something even better, someone who knew you, who understood you, and who loved you for exactly who you were.