#but then it took so long��. and I’m like.. 1 I might have lost the drive. and 2 I’m so fucking late to the party ghgh

[stillwatervoid]

Now nothing’s the same PT. 2 | Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: It’s been two weeks, and you still can’t face Mark. Can’t hear his voice, can’t stand his face, can’t bear his touch—because everything about him reminds you of the things you’ll never have again. Of the lines you weren’t supposed to cross. Of all the things that will never be the same.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, very brief mention of SA (but it’s a misunderstanding), dry humping/frottage, oral (Mark receiving), anal sex, anal fingering, belly bulge.

Tags: There’s more plot than porn but there IS porn (eventually), so—Porn with Plot, Reader is highkey not okay, self-hatred, extreme guilt and shame, misunderstandings, light angst, fluff, getting together, morning sex, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 22.2k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language, so sometimes the tenses might be a little inconsistent in the flashbacks! I got kind of lost in my own narrative style (why did I do this to myself? lol). Anyway, it’s finally here. 20k+, baby. I’m honestly a little nervous because a lot of people were waiting for this one, and I really hope it lives up to what you were expecting. Also, thank you for the comments, the likes, the reblogs—I see every single one and they mean the world to me. Enjoy!!!

Part 1 | You're here

By the time your phone’s ringtone cuts out for the tenth time this night, you’re left staring at the screen with a hollow numbness.

The notifications glare back at you—missed calls in angry red, all bearing the same name, each one a fresh stab of guilt. Below them, a flood of unread messages piles up. You won’t open them. Can’t open them.

Because you’ve done the worst thing imaginable.

You betrayed Mark.

Mark, your best friend since fifth grade. The one who, along with William, had pulled you into their duo like you’d always belonged there. The person who laughed with you, stood by you, trusted you.

And you betrayed him.

Now, the mere thought of Mark makes your stomach churn with nausea. The shame is suffocating, a filth you can’t wash away, sinking into your skin like a brand. You feel disgusting. A monster. Because that night with his variant—the one who was all darkness and hunger and twisted devotion—exposed the worst parts of you. The pathetic, desperate parts. You’d poured every unrequited longing into a warped imitation of the boy you loved, because you were starved for it. For the way he looked at you. For the way he wanted you.

And that’s what sickens you most. How easily you gave in. How badly you wanted it. How, for just a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that Mark could ever lov—

Your fingers dig into your hair, breath hitching.

No. You can’t face him. Can’t even answer a simple phone call—to what end? To hear the disgust in his voice? To confirm just how much he hates you now? To witness the exact moment your friendship shatters beyond repair?

(Vaguely, you remember the shattered window, the jagged shards of glass dispersed across your floor, dust swirling thick in the air.

And then you, thinking, oh he’s going to die.

But in that moment—still half-dazed, aching, your body heavy with the lingering aftermath of sex—you don’t know if you meant him. Mark. Your Mark. Your best friend, the one who has always been nothing but good to you. Or him. The other Mark. The one who took you apart with a smirk, the one who claimed you as if you were already his.

You knew the fight was inevitable. Knew one of them would kill the other. Knew it would be like watching an immovable object meet an unstoppable force.

And when the dust cleared from Mark’s thunderous landing, when you saw his murderous expression mirroring the alternate’s, when their identical hatred burned through the tension—

For one terrifying heartbeat, you couldn’t tell which was which.)

You throw yourself onto the bed, yanking the covers over your head like they could smother the memories—or the shame.

But no amount of hiding could erase the evidence still etched into your skin. The bruises that just wouldn’t fade even after two weeks. Deep purple and stubborn, they mapped every place he had touched, bitten, kissed. There wasn’t a single inch he’d left untouched. Of course not—he’d been thorough, murmuring your name in desperate whispers, sucking marks into your neck like he wanted to devour you whole.

You flinch, shaking your head to dispel the thoughts. The replay. But you did this often—remembered the rasp of not-your-Mark’s voice, the way his hands had gripped you with possessive desperation.

Because you’d liked it.

God, you’d loved it.

It had been a fantasy ripped straight from your most secret thoughts, and the proof still lingered on your body, both exhilarating and humiliating. Worse still was how your skin prickled at the memory. How even now, just thinking about that night makes heat coil deep in your gut, no matter how much you want to suppress it.

(Cecil Stedman would stand over you, his expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you hurt?” he’d ask, eyes flicking over you, assessing.

You’d freeze, blood draining from your face as you realized—your fingers were fumbling with the collar of your hoodie, tugging it up, up, up, instinctively trying to hide the bite marks beneath.

They wouldn’t know. They couldn’t know.

The GDA agents had swept into your apartment just minutes after Mark had thrown his variant through your shattered wall with a punch that shook the building. By then, you’d already be fully dressed, face burning with shame and self-loathing, hating the way your legs still trembled from the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

There was no way Cecil could know what had happened. No way Mark would have told him on his way here.

And yet—still, you’d shrink into yourself, pulling at your collar, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, yanking your hoodie’s hood low over your face. You’d eye everyone with barely restrained panic, thoughts spiraling—they’ll know, they’ll see, they’ll realize— 

“Don’t worry,” Cecil would say, sensing your unease. “Despite our differences, I know Mark always gives his all to protect the people he loves.” 

You’d flinch. Close your eyes. Shrink even further inward.

“…I know,” you’d murmur, voice hoarse and raw.

Cecil would interpret your withdrawn attitude as a trauma response or shock. He wouldn’t know the truth—you wouldn’t tell him. And the others in his team could only guess, while you tugged at your collar again, desperately trying to conceal the bruises blooming on your neck, the tremor in your legs, the ache in your body—the stickiness still drying on your thighs.

“Mark will take care of it,” Cecil would assure you. “No one can hurt you anymore.”

Yet, guilt would seize you by the throat.

Because the truth would weigh heavy on your tongue—how you had arched into those cruel hands, how you had begged him to take you, how the tremble in your body wasn’t from fear, but from the awful, shameful wanting still thrumming under your skin.)

Your throat bobbed as your fingers drifted to the darkest bruise on your neck, pressing down just to feel the ache. The pain was sharp, immediate—a reminder that it had been real. That he had been real.

And that you’d let him.

And fuck—if it doesn’t make your body tingle, heat up, and freeze all at once. If it doesn’t make you a horrible friend all over again. That’s why you’ve been ignoring Mark’s calls. Why, as your phone buzzes in the silence of your room, you refuse to pick up. Refuse to hear his voice. Refuse to stand before him.

Because now you know.

You know the way Mark’s kisses taste like. Know the shape of his body, the flex of his muscles as he moves over you. Know the sounds he makes when overcome with desire—the quiet gasps, the low groans, the desperate moans. Know the way his cock feels, hot and heavy, buried deep inside you, making you see stars and stealing every last bit of air from your lungs. You know the way his hands grip your hips, how perfectly your bodies slot together, the pressure building and building, the obscene slap of skin on skin as he fucks you into the mattress—

Jesus.

Your fingers twist in the sheets, body shuddering as the memories surged back—vivid, hungry. This is why you can’t face him. Because he knows what you did. You both do. How the hell can you ever look at Mark in the eye again? Knowing that now—now—you can never suppress your feelings again, never shove them back into the corner of your heart where they belonged. How do you face him when every glance sends your pulse racing? When your body remembers what it’s like to be loved by him—even if it wasn’t really him?

Just thinking about it makes you lose your grip, heart hammering, body shivering. Because it remembers.

And there’s no way in hell you’ll ever be able to forget.

That’s why you grab your phone, Mark’s name flashing for the nth time, and finally power it off.

The silence that follows is deafening. But the noise in your head doesn’t stop—the endless, pounding thoughts reminding you that you don’t deserve Mark. Not his kindness. Not his forgiveness. Hell, maybe not even his anger. Not the sharp edge of his accusations, not the fury in his screams.

You deserve nothing from him.

(“Nothing,” you’d answer, avoiding his piercing gaze as he studies your body. “It’s really nothing, Mark.”

You’d try to ignore the way his breath comes in sharp pants, the blood staining his suit, how his eyes seem wild with something you can’t place.

Right then, he would remind you too much of the other Mark—who walked into your apartment with that razor-sharp smirk, who ruined you after. Ironic, how now your Mark looks just the same. Only this time, the blood belongs to that version.

The fight’s over.

Your Mark stands victorious.

And deep down, you knew this was always how it would end. You knew he’d be the one left standing.

Still, somewhere beneath it all, you’d try not to think about his variant, who had whispered your name like a prayer just hours ago, gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Nothing?” Mark would repeat, voice raw and cracked from exhaustion and the tension hanging between you two. “Y/N, you’re—you’re hurt. You need to get checked out—”

He’d step forward, arms reaching for you. But you’d flinch, stepping back, desperate need to put distance between you, because you feel filthy, disgusting, and you can’t let him touch you like this.

He’d freeze, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, his expression faltering between hurt and disbelief. Then his eyes would flicker to the exposed skin on your neck, to the wound where not-your-Mark had bitten you hard enough to draw blood, then to your lips, swollen and tender from his kisses, and finally to your eyes—red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears.

Mark’s expression would twist. Just the slightest. Just enough to reveal the anger beneath the exhaustion.

“I wasn’t hurt,” you’d whisper, voice quiet, weak, barely holding together. But the shame would force the words out anyway—force you to confess, to lay yourself bare, to make him hate you. And with your face burning, throat tight, you’d add, so, so quietly— “And you know it.”

Mark would go silent, his shoulders sagging, face falling as if the weight of everything had drained the life out of him. And you—God, you’d want him to hate you. To finally look at you with the disgust you’ve earned. Punch me, you’d think as the silence stretches. Yell at me. Scream at me. Hate me.

But after what feels like an eternity, all he’d say is, “...I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—”

“Kid,” Cecil would interrupt from down the hall, voice clipped and irritated. “The fight’s not over. We’ve still got at least ten Invincibles around the world. Stop the chitchat and get back to work.”

But Mark wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t budge. Even when you couldn’t meet his eyes, he’d stay rooted there, mouth forming words that won’t come—

“Kid,” Cecil would repeat, louder.

And this time, Mark would turn, his broad back facing you, his expression hidden from view.

It’d be his voice—deliberately measured, controlled—that’d betray just how much he was holding himself together, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “We’ll talk, Y/N. Alright? We’ll talk… later.”

And then he’d be gone, launching into the sky, leaving you behind with the suffocating need to be hated.

Because if he hated you, if he was furious, if he despised you—then it’d be so much easier to just walk away.)

“Fuck…” you whisper, the familiar sting settling deep in your chest, a raw, aching pain that makes you sink further into your mattress, wanting to disappear. “I screwed everything up, didn’t I? Fuck…”

Now, with your phone dead, no calls ringing through, no texts demanding your attention, you’re left alone with nothing but the desperation of your own thoughts, drowning in self-loathing and shame. You can’t stop thinking about everything you wish you could change. All the things that will never be the same.

William has been trying to reach you, too, these past few days. You’ve seen his messages pile up—confused at first, then worried, then frustrated when you vanished completely. And you know it’s not fair to him, disappearing without a word, without an explanation. But you can’t face any of it—not the mistakes, not the consequences, not even your friends.

Not Mark.

Because the embarrassment is unbearable. Because the guilt is eating you alive.

Even here, tucked away in this borrowed apartment with its unfamiliar walls and cold silence, you can’t escape it. After that night—after Mark tore through the walls, shattered your window, with the only mission to kill the variant who dared touch like that—you had no choice but to move somewhere new. Somewhere Mark didn’t know. It’s the only reason he hasn’t shown up yet—hasn’t hovered in front of your window demanding that long-overdue conversation.

With a heavy sigh, you bury your face in the pillow. If you can’t escape your thoughts awake, maybe sleep will silence them. That’s the lie you tell yourself, when loneliness settles into your chest like a second skin, its weight overshadowed only by the remorse festering in your mind.

And as consciousness slips away, you wish—not for the first time—that you’d never fallen in love with Mark Grayson in the first place.

When you wake up hours later, sweat clinging to your brow from dreams you can’t recall, it’s not the sun that rouses you.

It’s the sound.

A soft, rhythmic tapping—knuckles against glass. Insistent. Steady.

Your heart skips a beat as you jolt upright, body tense, sheets tangling around your legs as drowsiness evaporates. You scan the room, blinking hard, trying to convince yourself you imagined it— 

But there it is again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your muscles go rigid. Because this is the twentieth floor. No one should be knocking through the window.

You glance at the clock on your nightstand. Nearly six in the morning. The sky outside is still draped in gray. Just who in the world—

And then it hits you, the realization sinking in like cold ice.

Who else could it be?

Who else but the one person in the world you’ve been trying so damn hard to avoid—who could casually knock on your outside window like this, despite the fact you’re hundreds of feet above the ground?

Mark.

It must be him. It’s always him. Right outside your window grinning like an idiot and ready to tell you all about his day like it was the most important thing in the world.

But that was before.

Now you doubt he’s here to talk about his day.

You sit frozen, breath shallow, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your chest. How the hell did he even find you?

Cecil swore—

(“Please,” you’d beg, hands clenched into tight fists. “Don’t tell Mark.”

It would be the third day since the Invincibles’ invasion and destruction, and Mark would still be out there—fighting, barely holding on, while you cowered in GDA safehouses. You’d already demanded a new home, a new phone—now you just needed Cecil’s silence.

“I can’t. He’s threatened me more times than I can count this month alone,” Cecil would grumble, rubbing his temples. “You think I can hide his best friend without a way to trace you? He’s gonna lose his shit.”

You’d hug yourself tighter. “I know… but he’ll understand it’s me who doesn’t want to—” see the disgust in his eyes or hear the betrayal in his voice “—talk.”

“The answer’s still no, kid,” Cecil’s tone would brook no argument. “From the way he reacted when I told him about the rogue Invincible heading your way? I wouldn’t want to know what he’d be capable of doing if I kept this from him.”

Your heart would stutter then freeze—shame and longing and self-loathing and love crashing over you in nauseating waves.

“Then...” you’d swallow around the lump in your throat. You dreaded the moment the fighting stopped, the moment Mark came looking for you, demanding answers. “Then… give him my number. That should be enough, right? If he’s worried, I’ll answer. But don’t tell him where I’m living now.”

Cecil would study you for a beat too long. Just as panic starts creeping up your spine—

“Fine.”

You’d blink. “Really? You swear?”

He’d sigh, long and insufferable, like he was so done with all this. “I swear. Now get out. I still have important shit to do—like saving the world.”

You wouldn’t waste a second, already turning on your heel, heart racing now that you knew you could walk away from Mark without having to deal with the shitty thing you’d done. Without explaining. You could pretend it never happened. Let him hate you for it—that’d be easier.

“But—” Cecil’s voice would stop you cold. When you glanced back, his gaze was piercing as steel. “The second he thinks you’re in danger and wants anything to do with it… the deal’s off.”

You’d process the warning for a moment—but then, you’d think… there’s no way Mark wouldn’t hate you now. There’s no way Mark would want anything to do with you now.

So you’d nod, knowing you’d be safe.

Because after the Invincibles came Conquest, and the aftermath of their fight, and the countless deaths... and you’d know that Mark had enough shit to worry about to even spare you a single thought.)

Fucking Cecil—he sold you out. It’s barely been two weeks. How could you possibly be in danger?

And yet, the tapping continues—more urgent now, almost frantic. You don’t need to look to know it’s Mark. You feel it. The way your skin prickles, the way your pulse stutters, your body shuddering as if it remembers.

He came for you. And maybe… maybe you always knew he would, no matter how many times you convinced yourself he’d hate you enough to never look back.

Still, your body locks up, sitting bolt upright in bed, torn between throwing the window open or sitting there, pretending you’re not home, praying he gets bored and leaves.

But the moment your feet slide to the floor, the second you stand, legs carrying you forward—your body already knows the answer. Because if Cecil gave him your address, that means Mark’s worried. That means he won’t leave. And more than that—You want to see him. Despite everything. Despite the shame, the guilt, the dread curling in your stomach like a cold fist.

Because god, you missed him. You miss him.

Your palms start to sweat, knees unsteady beneath you. But you take a breath—a deep, uneven breath—and decide to just do it. Hear him out. Let him yell. Let him cut you off. Just… rip off the fucking band-aid and move on.

With a trembling hand, you draw the curtain aside— 

And with your breath caught in your throat, you finally see him.

Mark’s reaction is immediate. One moment, his fist is raised, his expression twisted in anxious concentration, frozen mid-motion to knock again at your window. But then—his eyes widen, brows lift in surprise as his mouth falls slightly open.

“Y/N—” his voice comes muffled through the glass, both palms pressing flat against it like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “Y/N, oh my god. It’s really you. I’ve—” a ragged gasp cuts him off, breath fogging the window between you. “Are you—fuck, are you okay? I’ve been—God, we’ve all been—William and Eve and—and everyone. You just stopped answering your phone and William couldn’t—and the texts wouldn’t get through—I thought maybe you were—”

His rambling cuts off abruptly when you flip the window lock and slide it open.

The sudden lack of barrier leaves Mark statue-still, his eyes darting across your face with alarming intensity. You notice the slight sheen in his eyes, the way his lips tremble as they part and close, his shoulder raising and falling, fast and shallow.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, staring at your feet. The concern in his voice feels like a knife twist. After everything, he shouldn’t still care this much. “I’m sorry.”

The words seem to shatter whatever trance Mark was in, because the next thing you know, he’s crossing the gap between you in the blink of an eye. You’re forced to step back, a huff escaping your lips as his arms wrap around you in a desperate, tight embrace.

“Oh my god...” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper as he buries his face into the curve of your shoulder. “I’m glad—so glad you’re okay.”

Despite his words, no matter how relieved he sounds, your body tenses against him. Your arms stay stiff by your sides, refusing to return the hug. Mark notices immediately—of course he does. You can feel him stiffen, too—his breath catching when he notices how your body freezes up, the way you seem to pull away from him without moving an inch. In a flash, he’s pulling back, hands flying up in surrender like he’s been burned.

“F-fuck—sorry! I know I shouldn’t—after what... after him—” he winces, eyes snapping shut in frustration, like he can’t stand himself. “I—I just... needed to see you were safe.”

He glances away now, his shoulders sagging, the tension in his posture dissolving into something sad and small. His lips twist downward into a pitiful frown, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter.

“I’ll go. I get it. You don’t wanna see me anymore.”

Shit.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Where’s the anger? The betrayal? The screaming match you’d braced yourself for?

You’d imagined this moment a hundred times—Mark bursting in, furious, disgusted, finally giving you the hatred you deserve. Not this... this crumbled version of him, respecting boundaries you never knew were there, looking at you like he’s the one who did something wrong.

It’s not fair.

You were ready for anger. You could’ve handled anger.

But not this.

Not Mark, sad.

Your hand moves on instinct—snapping out, grasping his wrist before he can float off again, knuckles white from how tightly you hold on.

“Don’t—” you choke, the word catching on a breath you didn’t mean to let go. “Don’t go.”

His breath catches audibly when you stop him. You feel the shift in his posture as he turns back toward you, his pulse jumping under your fingertips. When you dare a glance up, his gaze burns into yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

And fuck—no, you can’t do this. Can’t look at him, can’t face him. You were right to keep your distance. So, without thinking, you quickly avert your gaze, feeling the heat rush to your face—shame, embarrassment, self-loathing… you don’t know what it is anymore, but it’s making you burn, your cheeks flushed in a way you wish you could stop.

“We need to talk, right?” you force the words out, voice dry, cracking a little. “Then let’s talk.”

Even though you really, really don’t want to. But you owe him this. You’ve been avoiding this conversation long enough, running from it like a coward.

“Right,” he whispers softly, voice barely audible. “Let’s… talk.”

Yet neither of you say anything. The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick and heavy. That’s when you realize—your hand is still on his wrist. You let go like it burns, flustered and flinching back as if caught doing something you shouldn’t.

That’s when you really look at him.

He’s not wearing his  suit, nor his goggles. Just Mark Grayson, in a sweater and jeans, standing in your tiny room like a regular boy. He didn’t come here as a hero, just as your best friend. And judging by the way his hair’s a mess and his eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, he probably rushed. Probably didn’t think twice before threatening Cecil into giving up your location. Probably didn’t even try to hide who he was, flying all the way to the outskirts of the city at dawn, with nothing shielding his identity.

Anyone could’ve seen him. Anyone could’ve guessed who he was. But still, he came. All of that… just to be here with you. To find you. To make sure you were okay.

The silence shatters when you blurt out, “Are you okay? I wasn’t there when—with Conquest—” your voice cracks. “God, I’m sorry.” Another reminder of what a shitty friend you are. “I’m so sorry.”

Mark rubs at his neck, a familiar nervous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly? I’m glad you weren’t there. You shouldn’t have to see me... like that.”

You hum in response, eyes darting everywhere but him—walls, floor, the curtain still fluttering from when you opened the window. God, the awkwardness is suffocating. Why can’t you cut through it?

Then, quietly, Mark continues. “About… whatever happened. That day.” His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid even saying it might make you crumble. “You don’t have to talk about it. I get it. You’re probably—” he swallows thickly “—traumatized.”

Traumatized?

Your eyes flick up at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

His eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I’ll give you all the time you need. And if you can’t ever—” a shaky breath. “If seeing me is too hard, I get that too.”

“Mark,” you shake your head, confusion tightening your chest. “What do you mean?” And then, dread begins to settle deep in your bones, a cold fist wrapping around your heart. “What… what do you think happened?”

He recoils like you’ve struck him, nearly stumbling back through the window frame. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again—

“Don’t make me say it.”

You freeze.

Brows draw together, thoughts racing, flipping through every possible thing he could mean—until you see it. The guilt carved into his face. The way he’s carefully keeping his distance, like he’s afraid to spook you. His eyes flick, just for a second, to your neck—where faint marks still linger, bites and kisses pressed into skin that’s long since stopped feeling warm. His expression darkens.

And then it hits you.

(You’d read his messages after the battle was settled—after the smoke cleared and the city stopped screaming.

One after the other, each one hit like a blow to the chest. Guilt. Remorse. Regret soaked into every word.

Mark (2:03 AM): I’m sorry I wasnt there

Mark (2:04 AM): I’m sorry I let it happen

Mark (2:06 AM): I should’ve been faster

Should’ve gotten u somewhere safe the moment we knew

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:07 AM)

Mark (2:18 AM): im sorry

can u pick up the phone?

Mark (2:22 AM): y/n

Mark (2:25 AM): ples

Mark (2:25 AM): please

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:33 AM)

Mark (3:37 AM): I’m sorry. Im sorry. Cecil said u didnt want to talk

Mark (3:39 AM): I get it...

Mark (3:45 AM): im sorry

shouldve never let this happen to u

Mark (3:47 AM): im sorry)

Suddenly, horribly, you understand.

“Oh my god, Mark,” you exhale, dragging both hands over your face as the heat floods in—burning shame, disbelief, something sick and sour twisting in your gut. “God… I don’t—I wasn’t—whatever you think happened to me, you’re wrong.”

Mark frowns. His lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean I’m wrong?” he says, voice low, tight with frustration. “Y/N—you don’t have to… I mean, if you’re trying to comfort me, or spare me, or whatever—”

“I wanted it!” the words spill out before you can stop them—louder, sharper than you intended.

But you need to say it. Need him to see you for what you really are—a disgusting, traitorous, filthy human being who took advantage of the situation. Who let himself melt at the first touch of hands that weren’t Mark’s but carried his face, his voice, his warmth. A hypocrite who’d spent years pretending your feelings were platonic, only to come undone the second some twisted reflection of Mark offered you everything you’d ever craved.

God, so this is why there’s no yelling, no accusations thrown at you. Because Mark—your Mark—still sees you as someone worth trusting. Someone worth protecting. Someone who, in his mind, must have been tricked, coerced, hurt. Even after listening whatever happened that night—the sounds of skin meeting skin, the desperate need in your voice as you begged the other Mark to make you come, to unravel you in his touch—he still thinks you’re the victim.

Shit. Shit.

Your arms fall limp at your sides, exposing the damning evidence purpling your throat. “That’s what you’re not getting,” you whisper, tears blurring your vision as you stare at the floor between you. “He didn’t force me. I let him. I—” your voice cracks “—I begged.”

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

And you can’t stop.

“You should hate me,” you choke out, and god, your voice sounds wrecked. “The person you think I am? That’s not real. I mean, look at me—” A wet, shuddering breath. “God, look at me. After everything I said about still being friends? Pathetic. I’m not your friend. I’m can’t be your friend,” your shoulders shake. You wrap your arms around yourself. “Just—just hate me already.”

You still won’t look at him. Can’t bring yourself to. The silence stretches, broken only by the wind whistling through the open window, raising goosebumps on your skin. And that silence—it feels worse than yelling would’ve.

Hot, heavy tears slide down your cheeks, burning against your skin. Because maybe now he sees it—what you are, what you did, and what you, even now, can’t fully regret. Because fuck, it felt good. So good.

And because you can’t even lie to yourself and say you wish it hadn’t happened, is exactly why Mark should walk away.

Why he should look at you with disgust.

Why he should despise you.

That’s why—

A warm hand cups your cheek.

Mark’s touch is featherlight, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear as it falls. The softness of it, the quiet gentleness of him touching you like you haven’t just shattered everything between you—it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

When you look up, confusion clear on your face, he simply says, “You know I hate when you cry.”

Your lip trembles, and a weak sob escapes before you can stop it. Of course. Even now, after everything, he offers kindness you haven’t earned.

Then he’s moving—stepping into your room. Into your space. Into you. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, slow but sure, like he’s done a hundred times before. He tucks your head against his shoulder, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You melt into him almost instinctively, breath hitching in ragged gasps—like you’ve been drowning, and only now are you finally breaking the surface. But then doubt creeps in—hesitation lingers because you’re not sure you should be this close to Mark, should allow yourself this comfort. But despite everything, you slowly bring your arms around him, unsure but needing him more than you’ve needed anything in the past two long, empty two weeks since you ruined everything.

Because fuck—Mark is everything you’ve been craving. Because this is the Mark you know and love. The Mark you fell for. Gentle, kind, steady. Warm in a way that feels like safety.

And when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, his scent hits you—familiar and grounding—and it makes your head spin. His body, solid and real, holds you like you’re still someone worth holding onto.

“Y/N,” Mark says, voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear. “I could never hate you.”

You shudder as tears well up again—hot and blinding—spilling over as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’s too good. Too gentle. And it hurts.

His embrace is everything the other Mark’s wasn’t—steady instead of desperate, grounding instead of possessive. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll break, like he sees you, and it’s unbearable.

“I know,” you whisper, voice muffled against his shoulder. “But you should.”

He pulls you closer at that, impossibly close, until there’s no space left between you. And you try—God, you try—not to notice. Not the heat of his hands tracing soft circles on your back. Not the way his breath ghosts along your ear and neck. Not the matching rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeats thudding in sync, chest to chest. You try to ignore it all. Because it’s too intimate. Too soon. Too much to handle when your body still remembers the weight of his—his—naked body against yours. The slide of sweat-slick skin, the hitch of breath against your ear, all breathy moans and hushed gasps.

“No,” Mark blurts suddenly, voice tight, shaking with regret. His fingers fist into the back of your shirt like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. “You should hate me. I was a total asshole to you, Y/N. For weeks. Months, even. And you were right. I wasn’t being fair to you. I ignored you, pushed you away, treated you like crap, and I didn’t even have the guts to tell you why.”

He swallows hard, his next words coming quieter, more broken.

“And then, when it really mattered, I couldn’t protect you. I failed you. You should hate me,” he exhales, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. Then, in a single, intimate whisper right against your ear, Mark adds, “I’m sorry.”

The words lodge in your chest, unexpected and disarming. That tight knot of guilt loosens just enough to let you breathe.

I’m sorry. The words come so suddenly, so softly, that you almost miss them. You were supposed to be the one asking for forgiveness, the one weighed down by guilt and regret—not Mark.

What Mark did—keep you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, barely speaking to you beyond polite conversation, and looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place ever since the day you confessed your feelings—was never something you could truly blame him for.

You were the one who couldn’t keep it in. The one who let your feelings spill out and ruin everything. The one who wanted to still be his friend, desperate to keep him in your life, clinging to any scrap of him you could get.

You were the one who promised yourself you’d move on, who told Mark as much.

And then you ruined everything again.

Because the moment someone with Mark’s voice, Mark’s smile, Mark’s face reached for you, you didn’t stop him. You let yourself fall into him like he was this Mark—as if that made it okay. You let him touch you, claim you, own you in ways this Mark never did, never agreed to—while all you could do was gasp and beg for more.

God. And Mark’s the one saying sorry?

“I forgive you,” you say, the words slipping out faster than you can stop them—too eager, too willing to let months of confusion and pain be wiped away with a single breath.

But as you speak, you feel the wrongness of this moment. You can still feel the heat in your cheeks, the way your skin tingles where it touches his, the dizzying familiarity of his scent flooding your senses. Your body remembers. It remembers. Every place he touched you, every mark he left, every kiss still lingering like a brand. And even if it wasn’t him—wasn’t your Mark—it doesn’t matter.

Because your body doesn’t know the difference.

And you know, with sudden clarity, that this has to end.

“I forgive you, Mark,” you repeat, quieter this time. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past.”

Maybe he hears it—that slight shift in your tone. The edge of something final curling around your words. Because then his arms tighten around you—not restraining, just holding. Just keeping you close a little longer.

“That means we’re still friends, right?” the question comes out muffled against your shoulder. You don’t need to see his face to picture the crease between his brows, the hesitant frown you’ve known since fifth grade. “Y/N?” His voice cracks. “Because I forgive you too. Whatever happened that night—” his breath hitches “—it’s in the past for me too, alright?”

You open your eyes. The morning sun is rising outside your open window, spilling pale light through the fluttering curtains. A breeze slips through and brushes against your skin, drying the last of your tears. There’s an odd calm in your chest now, the quiet certainty of a decision made.

For one lingering moment, you let yourself stay—letting the warmth of his body soak into yours, letting yourself pretend—just for a heartbeat—that things could be simple. That they are simple.

Then, gently, you pull away, slipping from his arms with predictable ease. Because of course he lets you go. Of course his hands fall open the instant you retreat, always respecting your boundaries, even now.

Mark stands still as you step back, gaze dropping to the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Mark shifts uneasily. “Y/N...?”

“No.” The word comes out steadier than you feel. “We can’t be friends.”

Mark doesn’t respond right away. You can feel the weight of his confusion, the way he’s trying to process your words, replaying them in his mind as if he might’ve misheard.

“What?” he breathes, voice small and cracked.

You swallow hard, nails digging into your palms. “I can’t do it. I can’t pretend everything’s fine. I can’t go back to what we were because—” you suck in a breath and let the truth crash out of you, unfiltered. “Because I can’t trust myself around you, Mark.”

Mark goes utterly still.

“Because when you hold me like that, I start remembering... things that weren’t real. Things I shouldn’t want.”

A beat.

Mark’s hands twitch—like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. You have to tear through the illusion before it starts to wrap around you again—before you slip, before the memories seduce you back into longing.

“I know it wasn’t you,” you continue, forcing the words through the lump in your throat. “I know you don’t see me that way. And I know it’s not really your fault.”

You glance away, arms folding tight around your chest like a shield—an instinct born from shame and desperation, as if you could protect your body from betraying you all over again. Of remembering it.

(The way not-your-Mark would hold you, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

The unbearable pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

The way he’d groan and growl against your lips as his hands roamed your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin.

The way his lips would brush against yours, both of you panting, gasping for air, and still leaning in—still trying to kiss, to steal whatever breath the other had left.

The way his hips would move, his body joined with yours, each thrust hitting just right, so deep inside you.

“I love—” he’d pant, his rhythm faltering. “I love you, Y/N.”

And how do you recover from that?

How do you erase it?

How do you look Mark in the eye when your body still aches with memory?

You don’t.

You can’t.)

A traitorous shiver runs through you, heat blooming under your skin like fire.

“But I can’t unfeel it,” you rasp, voice hoarse and cracking. Your cheeks burn with the triple weight of shame, guilt, and something far more damning—arousal, thick and undeniable. “I can’t unknow what it felt like to be—” you hesitate, then force the word out “touched like that—by you.”

You take a step back. Then another. And another, putting precious distance between you.

“And I can’t go back to being just your friend like none of it ever happened, Mark,” you continue, breath hitching. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. There, it’s your turn.

The words hang in the air, cold and final. This is the moment the fragile thing between you fractures beyond repair.

You can’t be his friend. Not when just looking at him sends your mind reeling with flashes of skin and heat, of whispered promises and breathless moans and the ache of being wanted. It plays behind your eyes in obscene, impossible detail every time you blink. And it’s not fair—not to Mark, who trusted you. Who never asked for this. Who deserves better than your traitorous body and its wretched, persistent wanting.

Let him hate you now. Let him recoil from the truth of how badly you’d craved it—how part of you still do. His hands. His mouth. His moans. The way he’d murmur I love yous like a prayer against your skin—

“What—what are you saying?” he asks, voice rough with disbelief. He takes a step forward, closing the distance you so carefully created. “That this is—it? Just goodbye? Don’t… Y/N, just—look at me.”

When you don’t, his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up with a gentleness that undoes you. The tears on his lashes glint in the sunlight.

“You think I can just walk away?” he says, voice raw and aching. “Pretend like you’re not my friend anymore? Like I can forget you? Like—like I can hate you? When I—”

He breaks off, his brows drawing tight, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as frustration flickers across his face. For a heartbeat, he closes his eyes, as if bracing himself, before reopening them, locking onto yours with an intensity that nearly breaks you.

Then, softer, more vulnerable than before, he asks, “You remember I needed to tell you something? Before everything went to shit, before asshole versions of me started crashing through our world?”

Your eyes flicker over his face, confusion and turmoil knotting inside you. Still, you take a deep breath, slowly nodding. “You wanted to tell me the reason you’ve been pulling away,” you murmur, voice quiet. “You said it was because of my confession…” The words taste like ash. You exhale sharply, the ache in your chest blooming fresh as you take another step back. “God, Mark—just forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need an explanation. I know why you pulled away,” you swallow hard. “I ruined it. That’s on me.”

“No, no, Y/N,” he says urgently, voice desperate as he steps forward, closing the gap between you with stubborn, desperate steps. He’s now deep into your room—into your life, the way he always does. And you know, without him saying it, that he’s not leaving. “Just—just listen to me. Please.”

And then, as if he can’t bear to let you go, he does something that completely catches you off guard. His hands reach for your face, warm and steady as they cup your cheeks, rough fingers pressing against your skin. You freeze instinctively, breath catching in your throat.

He tilts your head gently, making sure your eyes meet his. And there it is. His gaze—warm, brown, familiar—pierces through the wall you’ve tried to build, melting the icy grip around your heart. There’s something there in his eyes, something that’s been there for months now, something you recognize but still don’t understand.

For some reason, your heart picks up its pace.

“The reason I’ve been pulling away is because I—I was confused,” Mark says, his voice cracking, thumbs tracing shaky circles on your cheeks. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you—or say the wrong thing. And I thought—I thought maybe if I kept my distance, if I just gave it time, it’d all go away. That you’d move on. That I’d be okay with it.” He lets out a shaky breath, jaw tightening. “But I’m not okay with it. I’m not okay with losing you—not now, not ever. Because every damn day since you told me, Y/N… I’ve been—”

He chokes on the rest, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly, calloused fingers trembling against your cheeks.

“Every day since you confessed, I’ve been wanting to—” a frustrated growl rumbles in his chest as the words get stuck in his throat as if they were physically painful to admit. “Fuck. I’ve wanted—”

The sentence dies on his lips again, but the way his gaze drops to your mouth says everything he can’t.

And suddenly, the air feels too thick, too tight. You can’t breathe. Not anymore.

You feel the heat of his stare, the way it burns through your skin, and the space between you grows impossibly smaller. It makes your chest tighten, heart hammering. Every inch of you is aware of how close he is, of how much he invades you. His touch, his presence, his warmth—all of it settles into you, tingling against your skin.

You want to step back. You want to create some distance, to breathe, to think—but his hand stays firm on your face, thumb gently brushing away the tear you didn’t even know had fallen. And God, it’s just like that other version of him, that hunger in his eyes—the need that burns too brightly for you to ignore.

“…Mark?” you ask, low and uncertain. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

His eyes darken as they trace over your face, dipping to your lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath hitches, just slightly, when you unconsciously lick your lips, an instinct you can’t control under his intense gaze.

“God, don’t make me say it,” he murmurs, voice rough. His forehead presses against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, soft and shaky. “Y/N, I want—I need to—”

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t. The words get caught again, but he doesn’t need to say anything more. Not when he answers in the only way you’ll believe him.

Mark leans in, closes the last bit of space between you, and kisses you.

Your eyes flutter shut unconsciously, a startled gasp catching in your throat as his lips meet yours.

The sensation—Mark’s lips, warm and firm and real against yours—obliterates all coherent thought, leaving you lightheaded and trembling. And then, one final thought cuts through the haze like lightning.

Mark Grayson—your Mark Grayson, the one you’ve known since fifth grade, the one you’ve been secretly in love with since eighth, the kind and good Mark—is kissing you.

The thought alone makes your knees buckle, your pulse roar in your ears, your breath come in shallow pants against his mouth.

“Mark…” you breathe, managing to pull back just enough to speak, your cheeks blazing. “What—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He’s kissing you again, harder this time. Both hands cradle your face, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your breath stutters, lost between his lips and your own racing heart. You don’t even realize he’s maneuvering you until your back meets the wall, his body pressing you there, surrounding you completely in his warmth, his scent, his safety.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s with a soft exhale that ghosts across your tingling lips. The sound is equal parts contentment and barely restrained hunger, as if he’s both savoring this and already aching for more. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. When his eyes open—dark and blown wide—they shine with something fragile and new and raw.

“Y/N…”  he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling. “Shit. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I’ve been too much of a coward to say it. But, Y/N, I—” He pauses, his expression softening, brows furrowing in that way that always makes you ache, the slight pout of his mouth tugging at your heart. He inches closer, his breath warm against your lips, and in that breath, he whispers, “I’m in love with you.”

Your lips part, expression faltering as tears threaten to fall again, blurring your vision. The weight of his words, of his confession, pulls something tight in your chest, unraveling the last of your restraint.

Mark’s thumb gently brushes under your eyes, catching the tears falling, his gaze filled with a quiet regret. “I’ve loved you for so long. And I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out. I guess—I guess I was so used to having you in my life that I didn’t even realize what I was feeling. And when I finally started to get it, I freaked out. I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of—of what it could mean.”

A shaky inhale, both yours, his, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers again, leaning in closer, his breath mingling with yours, so close now you can feel the heat of him. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

You silence him with a kiss—partly because your racing heart can’t take another declaration, partly because you’ve dreamed of this moment for what feels like forever.

The heat of his mouth against yours sends fire through your veins, and suddenly you’re clinging to him, fingers twisting in his shirt as you melt into the embrace.

Mark groans against your mouth, his body pinning you to the wall with a delicious pressure that makes your head spin. But you don’t care—can’t care. Not when every inch of you is burning, not when all you can think about is the soft, urgent way his lips move against yours, like he’s been starving for this.

When you part your lips to deepen the kiss—greedy, desperate, aching to be closer—his tongue slides against yours in a slow, exploratory caress that draws a whimper from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands drop from your face to your waist, gripping hard as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the wild hammering of his heart through his chest, its rhythm perfectly synced with yours.

“Shit—” he breathes against your swollen lips, his cheeks flushed deep pink. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I can’t—”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, yanking him closer until your breaths are mingling, quick and desperate. “I get it,” you whisper, voice thick. “Mark—just—don’t stop. Keep kissing me.”

Mark does just that.

His arms tighten around you, and the small, needy noise he makes in the back of his throat sends a rush of heat through you. The solid warmth of him holds you steady when your knees threaten to give out, his presence completely consuming, anchoring you in the overwhelming feeling of being wanted, of being wanted by him. And when he nips at your lower lip, the sharp burst of pleasure-pain makes you arch into him with a broken moan.

Shit—shit.

Your body remembers too much, too vividly, and it doesn’t take more than Mark’s feverish kisses—all teeth and tongue and desperate, gasping breaths—for your skin to start buzzing with heat, for arousal to stir sharp and sudden in your pajama pants.

His hands roam with a nervous, almost clumsy urgency, shaking slightly as they slide along your body. You can feel his inexperience in the way he hesitates between touches, in the hitched breaths against your lips—and god help you, it only makes you harder, heat flooding your veins until you’re certain your blush stretches from your cheeks to your chest.

“Mark,” you murmur breathlessly between kisses, “Mmh—Mark…”

You try to say something—warn him, maybe—to tell him that maybe you should slow down, take a breath, but he kisses the words right out of your mouth. And damn, it’s embarrassing how quickly your body betrays you—how just the feel of him, warm and solid and real, reduces you to this trembling mess. He’s only kissing you, for Christ’s sake, yet it feels like he’s branding himself into your very bones.

Still, a coil of anxiety twists low in your stomach. You’re afraid he’ll notice. Afraid he’ll freeze and freak out. Because as far as you know, Mark’s never been with a man—never even kissed one. His alternate version, sure, seemed experienced, confident, knew exactly how to touch you and make you moan. But this—this is your Mark. And the way he kisses you—eager, almost awed, his breath catching like he’s afraid this might all be some kind of dream—it feels different. And if his confession earlier was true—if he’s spent months wrestling with his feelings—then Christ, this might be his first time doing any of this with another guy.

And shit—maybe this is going too fast. You’re getting so fucking turned on and don’t want to scare him off, but—

“Oh, fuck, Mark—” the whimper tears from your throat as he pulls you closer, almost desperately, like he wants to melt into you completely. And when his hips press against yours, the friction makes you jolt, breath catching in your throat.

Your dick is rock hard. You don’t need to look down to know this. And judging by the way Mark suddenly stops kissing you, breath heaving as he pulls back just enough to look at you, flushed and wide-eyed, you know he can feel it too.

The sight of him—messy hair, lips swollen, breath ragged—is so fucking hot you feel your cheeks burn even hotter, shame and desire twisting together in your gut.

“I’m—” you start, ready to pull away, to gather yourself, to put an end to this heated moment before you completely lose it. “I’m sorr—”

But Mark doesn’t let you finish. His hips snap against yours in a sharp, deliberate thrust, erasing every inch of space between you. A broken noise escapes you as you finally feel it—the hard, undeniable length of him straining against his jeans, big, just like you remember.

Mark whines, his breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, slow and experimental this time. The sound he makes is downright filthy, a shuddering sigh against your lips.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. He does it again, and this time you both moan, the vibration mingling between your mouths. His voice is wrecked, shaky with want. “Y/N—fuck—can I…? Please, can I…?”

You don’t even know what he’s asking, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he’s this hard, this needy, rutting against you like he’ll die if he stops. Not when every ragged breath, every desperate thrust, tells you he wants this just as badly as you do.

“Yes,” you choke out, hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. “God, yes—”

Suddenly, your feet lift off the ground. The world tilts as Mark lifts you with that effortless superhuman strength, his hands firm beneath your thighs, until your back meets the wall with a soft thud. Your legs lock around his waist instinctively, pulling him flush against you until every inch of your bodies align—chest to chest, hip to hip, the hard length of him grinding against yours in a way that makes your vision blur.

“Mark—”

His name spills from your lips in a breathless moan as you roll your hips, unable to stop the desperate friction.

It still doesn’t feel real—that after all these years of pining, of biting your tongue through every casual touch and forced smile, of convincing yourself it’s okay to be just friends, of him telling you he didn’t see you that way—he’s here, kissing you with the same frantic need burning through your veins.

So the words escape in a whisper, raw and shy with years of pent-up longing, “I love you.”

Mark’s groan vibrates through your chest, his grip tightening on your ass with barely restrained need. “Yes, yes—” his voice cracks, eyes blown wide with vulnerable sincerity when they meet yours. “I love you too. God, I love you.”

Something in you cracks at that, and you yank him forward, lips meeting in a messy clash of teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse—just frantic, open-mouthed kisses as your hips move in a desperate rhythm. Every roll of his hips sends electric shocks down your spine, pulling ragged gasps from your throat. You can feel everything—the thick drag of his cock against yours, the tremors in his fingertips where they dig into your skin, the wild hammering of his heart where your chests press together. The growing dampness between you only fuels the fire, fabric sticking uncomfortably as precum soaks through layers of clothing.

It’s overwhelming.

He’s overwhelming.

Mark nips at your lower lip with a broken whimper, and for one dizzying moment, you want more—more of his warmth, of his weight pressing you into the wall, of his hands gripping your skin hard enough to leave fingerprints, of his strength pinning you in place like he never wants to let you go. You want him to consume you, to claim you, just like—

Like—

Like his variant. The one you let touch you exactly like this just two weeks ago. The one who kissed you, ruined you, took everything you had to give simply because he looked like your Mark. Sounded like him. Moved like him. You let him in, let him leave his marks on your body—because you were desperate. Because you missed this Mark so damn much it hurt.

All at once, the heat evaporates and the fog of arousal clears. You’re acutely aware of the growing shame, the sudden weight of your guilt pressing down on you.

How dare you? How can you stand here, grinding against your Mark, kissing him as if you didn’t just betray him in the worst way? As if you didn’t let some twisted reflection of him fuck you senseless. As if you didn’t moan I love you to a monster wearing his face. As if the bruises have faded when they’re right there, purpling under your shirt where Mark’s fingers rest now.

Mark freezes the second your body goes rigid against his. His eyes flutter open—hazel gone dark with want, now clouded with confusion.

“Y/N...?” his voice is rough and uneven. “What’s—did I hurt you? Did I—fuck, was that too much?”

He slowly puts you down, feet safely back to the floor, although his hands hover over your waist, trembling—still touching, but not squeezing anymore. Like he’s afraid he crossed a line. Like he’s the one who should be ashamed.

And god, that just makes it worse.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, voice small and barely convincing. “I just—”

Your hand lifts before you can stop it, fingers brushing along the tender skin of your neck—right over the bruises and bites the other version of Mark left behind. Still there. Still vivid. Still haunting.

Even after your Mark killed him, that other Mark lingers. Clinging to your skin like a curse you can’t scrub away.

Mark’s gaze snaps to the movement, his eyes tracking your fingers with a focus that makes your pulse stutter. You see the exact moment his gaze changes. His pupils narrow, his jaw clenches. That barely-contained storm behind his eyes. You’ve seen it before, that look, and now recognized it for what it is. Jealousy, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control.

You look down quickly, heart sinking under the weight of shame. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

(You wished they had disappeared along with the alternate Mark.

Every time you’d look in the mirror, you’d wish those marks could vanish—make it easier to forget, to pretend it hadn’t really happened.

But no matter how many times you’d wash, how hard you’d scrub until your skin turned red and raw, they’d still be there.

Eventually, you’d give up, sinking into the hot stream like you could melt into it—like you could drown the guilt, the shame, and the hunger that still throbbed beneath your skin, embedded in every lingering kiss.

Then you’d shut your eyes, mistaking the heat for his touch, the steam for his breath. You’d press your fingers into the bruises he left, hard, like you could still feel him there.

And the heat—God, the heat—wouldn’t come from the water anymore. It’d rise from deep inside you, from the places he had touched, heat coiling low in your belly every time you touched them.)

“I’m sorry,” you say again, softer this time.

You feel like you’ve messed it up—again. Like any second now, Mark’s going to snap out of it, take one good look at you and regret all of it—regret the kissing, the grinding, the confession.

“Why are you sorry?” Mark asks instead, head tilting, that painfully familiar puppy-like confusion softening his features. Then his gaze drops back to your neck, to the bruises purpling your skin, and his expression twists—something between a pout and a grimace. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but it’s difficult for him to even ask. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing hard. “Do you want him more?”

“No!” you answer immediately, the idea so absurd it’s nearly offensive. “Of course not.”

Because it’s always been Mark. Always.

You’ve spent these last few days pretending it was him, after all. Imagining it was your Mark’s hands that touched you, his voice that whispered those filthy, obsessive promises against your skin. Dreaming it was your Mark who kissed and claimed you, fucking you so deep into the mattress you’d never forget it was him. Every time you closed your eyes, it was him. Even when you woke up shaking, sweaty, needy—it was always him.

Still, your fingers linger on your neck, shame and guilt twisting in your chest like a knife. The bruises feel like damning evidence of your betrayal—like they’re proof of something ugly, something that might disgust him.

You can’t help the question that slips out, barely above a whisper. “Do you want me less?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate.

“No,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And you just stare at him, torn between disbelief and overwhelming relief. It doesn’t make sense—none of this makes sense. Because—because why? Why would he forgive you? Why would he still want to want you?

Mark sees the doubt in your eyes before you even speak. His hand lifts slowly, hovering just for a moment—until it settles against your cheek, warm and gentle.

“I don’t want you less,” he says, firmer now, his gaze locked onto yours. “I just—” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his voice dropping to a rough whisper “—hate that it wasn’t me.”

Your heart stutters.

“I hate that he touched you like that—that I wasn’t there to stop it. Or—” he falters, jaw tightening as if he’s choking on his own thoughts. His cheeks flush, matching the heat on yours. “Or—fuck—that it wasn’t me. The first to do it.”

Your breath catches, lips parting in a silent gasp. His thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly, and you lean into it instinctively, like your body knows what your brain hasn’t caught up to yet. His breathing grows shaky, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips to the marks on your neck—lingering there, his tongue swiping unconsciously over his lips while something hungry blooms in his gaze.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” Mark murmurs, almost to himself. “I should’ve been brave enough to tell you I loved you. That I wanted you. That—”

He cuts himself off, closing the distance between you in one decisive movement. His eyes darken, glassy with want as they flick between your lips and the bruises on your neck.

Then—slowly, so slowly—his hand trails from your cheek to your throat, his fingers skimming the marks with featherlight touch.

“Can I…?” Mark breathes, eyes flicking between your neck and your eyes, trembling at the edge of control. “Please?”

You shiver beneath his touch, voice catching in your throat. All you can manage is a small, trembling nod.

It’s all he needs.

Mark presses you back against the wall, his arms locking around your waist with a possessiveness that sends your pulse skittering. His face buries into the crook of your neck, breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts that raise goosebumps across your skin. His lips hover—barely touching, achingly tentative—and you can’t tell if he’s teasing or just being careful.

Either way, the anticipation is torture. It’s too intimate. Too much. Too not enough. You need more, more, more.

“Mark…” you breathe, voice impatient, eyes slipping shut as your fingers tremble behind his back, clinging to the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

Finally—finally—Mark kisses you.

His soft, warm mouth finds a bruise. He lingers for a heartbeat, then deepens it, tongue sweeping over the purpled skin in slow, deliberate strokes. A sigh escapes you, your head tipping back to give him better access as your body goes pliant against his. Mark groans, low and full of approval, the vibration traveling straight to your dick. His tongue works harder now, sucking over every bruise like he’s trying to erase them, replace them. Like he’s marking you all over again but this time with his. Like he’s trying to say mine.

“Shit, Mark…” you groan, pressing closer, chasing the friction you both left behind just a minute ago, desperate to build the heat until it swallows you whole. “Mark…”

He answers your unspoken need without hesitation. His hips snap forward, meeting yours with a roughness that punches a groan from his lips and a moan from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands tighten on your waist, pinning you flush against the wall as he sets a relentless pace. You can’t move, can’t think, can only roll your hips in time with his, each thrust drawing out another broken sound.

And all the while, his mouth never leaves your neck—sucking, licking over the bruises like he’s determined to replace every one of them with his own. Bigger. Darker. His tongue branding you with every slow, hungry drag, possessive suck.

“Fuck—mmh, Mark…” you gasp, voice wrecked and breathless, your body trembling from how much you feel him—his cock pressed thick and heavy through your clothes, his tongue hot and wet against your neck, his fingers digging into your skin with a needy kind of desperation.

It’s all too much.

Your head’s spinning, floating, untethered. You’re not even sure this is real.

“Mark,” you whisper, hoarse and pleading, “kiss me. Please. Kiss me.”

Mark pulls back from your throat with a ragged gasp, lips flushed and slick, eyes dark and dazed. And then he’s on you again—hand twisting into your hair, dragging your mouth to his in a brutal, breathless kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and heat, the kind of kiss that’s more collision than contact.

You moan into him, a fractured sound that melts right into his mouth. He swallows it greedily, groaning back with a breathy, needy sound of his own. Neither of you can breathe—it’s evident in the way your chests heave between frantic kisses, in the dizzying exchange of panting breaths, yet neither of you dares pull away. Neither of you even think about slowing down.

And it’s that—the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest, the way your head spins from oxygen deprivation—that tells you this is real. God, it’s so real it hurts.

Mark Grayson is kissing you.

Not the maniac from another dimension. Not the twisted version of Invincible who destroyed cities and killed thousands before paying you a visit.

This is your Mark—your best friend who laughs too loud, who geeks out over comics. The boy who’s just as inexperienced as you are, yet kisses you with a determination that makes your knees weak.

This is the boy who’s a hero, not a monster.

It’s everything at once—the crushing weight of Mark pressed against you, the rough drag of his thick cock against yours through layers of fabric, the obscene wetness soaking both your pants as his hips roll in desperate, uneven thrusts— that does it. That coils the tension in your gut tighter until your legs shake violently under the weight of it. His moans vibrate against your lips, ragged and desperate, and when his hips stutter—once, twice—you break.

Your vision whites out, mouth falling open in a silent cry as you spill into your boxers, your entire body seizing around him. But Mark doesn’t stop—his thrusts grow faster, lost in the haze of pleasure, and the overstimulation wrings a choked sob from your throat—toes curling, thighs trembling as your oversensitive cock twitches helplessly. In a daze, you bite his lower lip hard enough to draw a startled whimper from him.

Then your head falls back against the wall with a wet gasp, a silver strand of spit still connecting your swollen lips.

“Ah— fuck, Mark…” you wheeze, vision swimming, the world tilting dangerously. “Fuck, fuck… I can’t—I’m gonna—”

Mark’s gaze sharpens, the lust clearing just enough for him to look—to take in the way your legs tremble around his hips, the obscene wet patch blooming across your thin pajama pants, the way your knees keep buckling from the aftershocks still rolling through you.

“Shit—” his voice cracks, hands flying to steady you. “Y/N—fuck, are you���? Did you just—?”

The raw awe in Mark’s voice makes your flush deepen unbearably. “Shut up, Grayson,” you mutter, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice raspier now, fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to ground himself. “Oh, that’s so hot.”

You groan, pressing your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard as you squeeze your eyes shut, mortified. God. You just came from grinding against him, both of you still fully dressed, like some desperate teenager. The humiliation burns worse than the pleasure.

“Should we—” Mark starts, voice unsure, cracking a little as he swallows hard. “Should we stop?”

You blink slowly, catching your breath, heartbeat still loud in your ears. The high is fading enough for you to register how hard he still is—his jeans pulled tight around the obvious strain in them, and he looks like he’s suffering. You shift awkwardly, skin burning, but the answer is easy. No, you don’t want to stop. Not even close.

“I could,” you whisper, “suck you off.”

The second it leaves your mouth, your face goes up in flames. You want to bury yourself under a rock—but you don’t take it back. Not when Mark’s breath catches in his throat, when his grip on your waist tightens, and he stares at you like you just offered him the goddamn world.

“Huh?” he blurts, like his brain just short-circuited. “You mean—you don’t have to. I can—shit, I can just—”

You yank him down by his collar, cutting off his rambling with a firm kiss.

“Mark,” you murmur against his lips, “I want to. If... if you do.”

A bead of sweat trails down his temple as he nods, rapid and jerky. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, sure. Absolutely. Please.”

The eager, clumsy response pulls a laugh from you—soft and fond. God, this is your Mark. Awkward and earnest and perfect. And you love him exactly like this.

Then, you’re sinking to your knees—right there against the wall, with Mark still caging you in. Your pulse roars in your ears as you look up through your lashes, watching his reaction unfold in real time. His lips part on a silent gasp, eyes wide like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Your heart races. His, too—you can see it in the rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s already breathing unevenly, fingers twitching at his sides before he braces them against the wall for balance.

You’re nervous—your hands tremble a little—but you mask it with a veil of confidence, your gaze steady as you reach for the waistband of his jeans. You’ve never done this before, not for anyone. But you’ve thought about it. Over and over. You’ve fantasized about this exact moment—him, always him—Mark in your mouth, groaning your name, falling apart for you.

And the thought alone has your mouth watering.

Your fingers fumble with the zipper, heat blooming in your cheeks as your mind races with possibilities. You picture him thick and heavy on your tongue, imagine the weight of him, the taste of him deep in your throat. Your lips part instinctively, anticipation pooling low in your stomach.

You glance up one last time.

Mark’s already leaning into the wall, palms flat against it like he’s afraid his knees might give out. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, chest heaving—and you haven’t even started yet.

A thrill licks up your spine, tugging a small smile to your lips as you watch him squirm.

Finally, you tug at the waistband of his jeans, peeling it down along with his boxers in one slow, deliberate motion. His cock springs free, already fully hard and trapped for so long that it curves upward eagerly, the dark flushed tip glistening with precum. You hear Mark’s breath hitch sharply, his abdomen flexing as his whole body tenses.

And damn... he’s big. Just as big as you remember from his variant. Thick, veiny, heavy—pure Viltrumite genes. But this time, the size doesn’t intimidate you. Not even a little. This time, you bite your bottom lip, pulse quickening with excitement. Then you wrap your fingers around the base of him, feeling the heat and weight in your hand. He groans, breath hitching, hips giving the tiniest, desperate jerk toward you like he didn’t mean to move but couldn’t stop himself.

You lean in slowly, breath warm against his sensitive cock, watching how it jumps under your touch. There’s a bead of precum glistening at the tip, catching the light, and your tongue flicks out—just a little closer, just a little more.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, voice cracking like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re actually—you’re really gonna… oh my god—”

His words dissolve into a choked moan when you finally take him into your mouth, the taste flooding your senses—salty and musky and something uniquely Mark. You take him into your mouth slowly, tentatively, clumsy as you try to adjust to the stretch of him. Your lips drag awkwardly over his length, your jaw already aching, but you hum, determined, and take a little more, and feel his whole body jerk in response.

“S-shit! Shit, Y/N, that’s—” his hips stutter forward before he catches himself when you nearly choke, hands turning into fists against the wall. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh fuck, your mouth—”

One of his trembling hands finally finds your hair, fingers tangling gently at first before tightening unconsciously when you suck harder. The broken noise he makes goes straight to your own groin. Jesus. You’ll let him grab you however he wants if he keeps making those sounds.

“F-Fuck,” he whimpers. “Oh god, that feels—shit, it feels so good—oh my god—”

Every choked-off groan, every aborted thrust of Mark’s hips sends fresh heat coiling low in your belly. He’s falling apart just from this, just from you, and the power of it leaves you lightheaded. God, it’s better than you’d fantasized. The weight of him on your tongue, the way your lips strain around his girth, the salt-bitter taste of precum flooding your mouth—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

It’s messy, awkward even. Your jaw aches a little already, and your rhythm is more trial and error than skill—mouth bobbing up and down, hand working the base in shaky sync. You know it’s obvious you’ve never done this before. Maybe you’re not even doing it right. But from the way Mark reacts—thighs trembling, the punched-out whimpers spilling from his lips, the white-knuckled grip he has on the wall for balance—it’s clear you’re doing something right.

So you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

You want this. You want him. Just like this.

Then, when you swirl your tongue along a thick vein on his cock, hollowing your cheeks with a deep suck, Mark shatters. His moan cracks through the room, raw and unfiltered, as his hips jerk forward on instinct. The sudden push sends him deeper than before, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a jolt that makes you gag. Your eyes water, throat clenching around him, lips stretched painfully wide. It hurts, it burns—but strangely, the stretch feels so good that heat flares, sharp and intense, straight to your own cock.

And then Mark’s yanking back, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. “Shit—sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice cracking as he stares down at you in horror. His face is flushed and guilt-stricken, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to do that—God, are you okay?”

You catch your breath, lips parted as you pant unsteadily, chest rising and falling with effort. Your throat still burns, your eyes sting faintly, and your jaw aches—but none of it bothers you.

You lift one trembling thumb to the corner of your mouth, wiping away the mess of spit slicking your lips. When you glance up at Mark again, he looks wrecked, still flushed, still trembling with arousal—but his hands hover awkwardly, like he’s afraid to touch you now.

God, that hurt. The stretch in your throat was raw, intense, almost too much.

But it also felt so good.

“I’m okay,” you rasp, voice hoarse but sure. Your cheeks burn hot with your confession, but you don’t look away. “I—I don’t mind if you… lose control a little.”

Mark blinks, still breathing hard. “Huh?” he asks dumbly, his voice dazed. “No, that’s—I don’t—” His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N…”

Despite his words, his hips betray him, twitching forward ever so slightly, like he’s already imagining it again.

You lick your lips, greedy and insatiable, the taste of him still lingering there. All you want is to feel that weight again—the ache, the stretch, the sting at the back of your throat. The way he made you feel full, like you couldn’t take another inch and still wanted to try.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper again, lashes fluttering as embarrassment bubbles up—but not enough to stop you. How do you even say this? How do you explain needing him like this? “I really…” a shaky breath, “want you to fuck my mouth. Please?”

Mark’s eyes go wide. His mouth parts in a soundless gasp, his whole face flushing deep crimson, like the words physically hit him. “Are you—” he stammers, swallowing thickly, “are you sure?”

You nod, resting one hand gently on his hip. With the other, you drag your thumb across the flushed tip of his cock, smearing the bead of precum there. He groans, low and broken, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

“I’m sure,” you breathe, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed head, tasting the salt and bitterness of him. “I’m so sure, Mark.”

Mark’s hips jerk violently when you take him back into your mouth—a little deeper this time, a little more confident—his cock twitching against your tongue.

“Fuck—” his voice cracks. “Y/N, I—”

But still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t let himself fall into the temptation, not fully. He holds himself back with a trembling restraint, biting his lip so hard it turns pale, brows drawn tight, sweat glistening on his forehead. A moan catches in his throat as you work him over—slow licks, teasing sucks, your tongue gliding along every ridge and vein, doing everything in your power to break him.

“Oh god—” he chokes out, eyes squeezing shut as his hips twitch forward, just slightly, sliding deeper into your mouth.

Even then, you feel the hesitation, the way Mark is fighting himself—desperate to lose control, to give in, but terrified of hurting you.

“You’re so—fuck—it’s too good—,” he sobs, voice high and tight with pleasure. “You’re so—my god—hot.”

The praise coils heat low in your belly.

You pull back until just the head rests on your tongue, savoring his choked whimper. Then—with a steadying breath—you sink down, lips stretching obscenely as you take him deeper than before. You don’t stop when it hurts. Not when the pressure burns. Not when your throat tightens and your gag reflex threatens to kick in the moment his cock hits the back of your throat.

You hum, the vibrations swallowed by the stretch in your throat, and your own arousal spikes sharply at the overwhelming fullness, the stinging pressure, the weight of him.

And Mark—Mark completely shatters.

He throws his head back with a strangled, guttural cry, the sound ripped straight from his chest. His grip on control slips. Hips twitch forward on instinct, not violently, but fast enough to force a gag out of you, your nose brushing against the base of him.

Mark gasps, eyes snapping open in panic the moment he realizes what he’s done. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

But before he can pull away again, before his worry ruins the high building between you, you dig your fingers into his sweat-slick hips and drag him closer, taking him to the hilt, until you can feel him pulsing somewhere behind your tongue. The pressure is so deep it knocks the breath out of you and settles low in your core. Your eyes sting, tears welling, but you don’t let go. Not yet.

Mark chokes on a moan.

“Fuck! My god, fuck, mmh, Y/N—” he whines, voice cracking beautifully. His chest rises and falls in frantic, shallow bursts, his fists clenched so tightly on the wall that his knuckles turn bone white. “Y/N, ah, I can’t—that feels—oh, you feel—”

He can’t finish the sentence.

He just moans, dissolving into low, breathless curses and half-formed words. Nothing coherent. Just helpless sounds of pleasure as you swallow around him, hollow your cheeks, hum at the sheer power of making him fall apart like this.

Then, when he finally can’t resist anymore, his hands fall from the wall with a trembling lack of grace, letting his forehead drop against it with a dull thud. A second later, his fingers slide into your hair, rough and sure, gripping tight at the roots as his palm cups the back of your head. When he looks down at you, his eyes are glazed over—wild and unfocused—lips red and swollen from how hard he’s been biting them.

The sight alone sends electricity crackling down your spine, goosebumps breaking across your skin. You’re completely, helplessly caged now—trapped between Mark’s thick cock filling your mouth and the wall at your back, with his hands in your hair, keeping you there. And all you can do is look up at him through teary lashes, his cock still nestled on your tongue, and wait.

“Okay,” Mark whispers, voice thick with arousal, low and rough like it scrapes the inside of his throat. “Okay… If you want it that bad—then have it.”

You don’t even get a chance to savor the victory.

Mark’s hips snap forward without hesitation, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your throat convulses around him, tears springing to your eyes as he bottoms out—but the choked noise you make only seems to undo him further.

“Ah fuck…” he whimpers, head knocking back against the wall, his fingers fisting in your hair, dragging you in deeper as he rolls his hips. “Fuck—Y/N—Just like that. Just like—”

The words dissolve into a groan as he starts to move in earnest, his hips driving forward while his hands guide you deeper. Each thrust hits the back of your throat with perfect precision—that sweet spot where pain and pleasure blur into something heady and intoxicating.

You force your throat to relax around him, swallowing reflexively even as spit spills from your stretched lips in glistening strands. The burn is exquisite—the ache in your jaw, the stretch of your mouth, the tears pricking at your lashes— every sensation confirming how completely he’s using you.

“Fuck!” Mark’s groans above you, his thighs trembling. “God, you take me so well—” His thrusts turn erratic, the slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. “So fucking perfect like this—”

When you blink up at him—watery-eyed, lips swollen, chin glistening—Mark completely loses it.

His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling just enough to sting as his hips stutter. You feel the moment he tips over the edge—the way his cock swells, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his entire body tensing tighter and tighter.

“Oh fuck,” Mark chokes out, eyes squeezed shut, his hands shaking in your hair as his hips rhythm’s falter. “Y/N, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You barely have time to brace yourself—your heart slamming against your ribs—before he falls apart.

With a shattered cry, Mark thrusts one final time, hard and deep and primal, burying himself so far in your throat that your nose brushes into the sweat-damp curls at his groin. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you’re choking.

Then you feel it.

There’s no warning, no chance to prepare, no space to breathe. His cock throbs, pulsing hard against your tongue as he comes, hot and thick, spilling straight down your throat in heavy spurts. You stifle a cough, eyes squeezing shut as tears well and spill, the pressure nearly too much, your throat clenching and flexing against the merciless intrusion.

“Fuck—fuck—!”

Mark groans, high and broken, giving one last desperate grind of his hips like he can’t help himself. The head of his cock nudges impossibly deeper with each twitch, his balls pressing against your chin as he rides out his orgasm. You gag around him but don’t pull away—can’t pull away—not with the way his hands are tangled tight in your hair, holding you there, not with how far he’s buried himself inside you. All you can do is swallow around the heavy spurts of cum, each twitch of his cock coating your tongue and sliding down your throat, leaving your eyes stinging and your lungs burning.

But it’s okay.

It’s perfect.

This is the sting you’d been chasing.

On your knees, mouth full, Mark’s musky scent thick in the air, the taste of his cum coating your tongue, sliding down your throat in slow, hot pulses. The ache in your jaw. The tears drying on your cheeks. The need to please him—and only him. The right Mark. The one who’s kind. The one who’s good.

When he finally pulls back, his cock slips free from your lips with a lewd, wet pop, leaving you dazed and panting. You let your head fall against one of his trembling thighs, lightheaded and dizzy as you catch your breath. Your throat aches in the best way, the burn sharp and satisfying as you swallow down the last of him with slow, heavy gulps.

“Oh my god—” Mark exhales, voice rough and breathless. “Y/N, I’m—god—I’m sorry…”

His hands are gentle as they haul you up, steadying you when your legs threaten to buckle. The guilt in his tone is almost comical—as if he could ever hurt you, as if this isn’t exactly what you wanted.

“Shit—I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he’s afraid to find pain there. “You okay? I’m sorry—I should’ve—should’ve stopped before—”

You silence him with a kiss—deep and consuming, filled with heat and reassurance. Mark groans into it, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands sliding to your waist to grip you tightly like its reflex.

“You didn’t,” you murmur when you break apart, voice hoarse but sure. “I love you.”

Mark exhales shakily, eyes glassy and dazed, dark with something fragile.

“I love you too,” he breathes. “God—that was... so good. I—I love you so much, Y/N. Jesus… Are you sure you’re okay?”

To make his point, he gently wipes the corners of your eyes where tears still linger, his thumb soft against your skin, his expression faltering with concern.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hands settle on his shoulders. “I’m okay... Are you okay?” Your gaze drifts downward pointedly.

“Huh?” Mark blinks, still dazed, before following your line of sight. His cock, which had started to soften, now perks up once more, half-hard and rising again with a visible twitch. He flushes deep red, mortified. “Oh—shit. I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what’s—I mean—You were amazing and I already came, so I don’t know why—”

You laugh quietly, fondly, cutting him off with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Mark,” you murmur, voice low and close to his ear. “We’re not done yet.”

He barely has time to register what you’ve said before you’re pressing on his shoulders, guiding him backwards. He stumbles with a startled yelp, his jeans and boxers still tangled around his knees, making him waddle back awkwardly like a penguin. And then—with a final push—he drops onto your bed, landing on his back with a bounce, eyes wide and stunned as he looks up at you from the mattress.

The sun’s just started to rise outside your window, casting long streaks of gold across the room. It catches the curve of his cheek, the red of his lips. And it catches yours too—the light spilling over the softness in your eyes, the affection so fierce it makes your chest ache.

Mark props himself up on his elbows, staring at you with flushed cheeks, red ears, and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sight is so endearingly vulnerable it coaxes a soft smile from you before you can stop it.

Then, wordlessly, you reach for the hem of your t-shirt. You pull it over your head in one fluid motion, revealing your bare chest to the growing warmth of the morning light. Before hesitation can creep in, you hook your thumbs under the waistband of your pajama pants and underwear, pushing them down, one knee after the other, until there’s nothing covering you.

Mark’s breath catches audibly as he takes you in. His pupils dilate, eyes raking over you, wide and reverent. He sees everything—all of you—and his gaze doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, it sharpens.

There are marks on your skin. Faint purple bruises. Bite imprints. The shadow of fingerprints where his variant had held you too tightly. Mark’s gaze darkens as he takes them all in. He follows every trace like he’s deciding where he’s going to start replacing them—where he’ll press his own fingerprints over those old ones, where he’ll bite to make new ones.

Your pulse thrums wildly at the thought, heat pooling low in your belly.

Still, the question slips out, quiet and uncertain. “Do you… still want me?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His voice cracks as his eyes drop lower, where your cock stands hard and aching. “God, yes. Yes. Always.”

The raw certainty in his voice sends your heart fluttering. You step forward until your knees bump the mattress, then climb toward him with deliberate slowness. Mark watches, transfixed, his breathing growing erratic—sharp inhales followed by shaky exhales, as if he’s forgotten how lungs work.

You can’t help the soft chuckle that slips from your lips as you straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his hips. Your fingers reach for the hem of his sweater, tugging gently, and Mark lifts his arms obediently, swallowing hard as you peel the fabric off him. As you do, he kicks the rest of his jeans off in an awkward scramble that makes you bite back another smile.

When Mark is finally bare beneath you, his chest rising and falling like he’s already worn out, he locks eyes with you. There’s nothing guarded in his gaze now—just raw, honest adoration.

You lean in and kiss him.

One hand trails across his chest, feeling the hard flex of muscle, the way his abs clench and shiver under your palm. Mark sighs against your mouth, melting into it.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers squeezing, greedy, like he needs to memorize the shape of you. He groans low in his throat as they climb higher—until they curl around the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasp, startled and electric, just as his teeth graze your bottom lip in a teasing bite.

“Y/N…” Mark breathes, dazed and needy, his hips lifting instinctively, desperately, trying to grind against you—trying to chase just a little more friction between your cocks. “Please… come on, please…”

You swallow his plea with another kiss, languidly tangling your tongue with his before breaking apart. Beneath you, Mark looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, panting in the heavy quiet. The room is thick with heat and want, the air nearly humming with it. But even with your own cock leaking against his, aching just as bad, you press a steady hand to his chest and push him back until his head meets the pillows in a soft bounce.

“Y/N?” he asks, brows knitting, a pout forming—but he doesn’t resist. He just looks at you, confused, a little breathless, waiting.

You pause for a moment, just taking him in.

That night with his variant, everything had been cloaked in shadows—his body, his face, his expression. And sure, it’s not like you didn’t know it was him—Mark, hero and all. But damn, your Mark is built like something out of a dream—broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscles shifting under your hands, chest rising fast with every breath. And now, in the soft glow of morning, Mark’s features aren’t shadowed, aren’t dark, aren’t animalistic.

Just sunlight slipping through your open window, catching in his hair, warm across his skin. His head sinks into your pillow, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes locked on you like you’re something holy—eyes full of something close to worship. And fuck, he looks perfect.

You bite your bottom lip, anticipation thrumming through your veins, before reaching toward your bedside drawer. Your fingers wrap around the familiar shapes—lube and a condom—and when you pull them out, Mark’s eyes go wide.

His gaze darts from your face to your hands and back again, his chest rising quicker, excitement blooming across every inch of his skin.

“Oh my god, are we—” he swallows, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, are you—are you sure?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, but you don’t look away. “I’m sure,” you murmur, voice quiet but steady. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he breathes, voice thin and shaky, his fingers trembling right where they rest on your hips.

“Yeah?” you repeat, a little breathless yourself, as you flick open the lube cap with a quiet pop.

Mark nods, eyes fixed on you with laser focus, like he’s drinking in the sight of you—every movement, every breath. His lips part slightly, tongue flicking out unconsciously, and it makes your heart flip, your body hot all over.

The lube is cold when it hits your fingers, slick and slippery. You brace yourself, resting your free hand against Mark’s chest where his heart thunders beneath your palm, and lift yourself slightly on your knees. You try to block out the way his gaze clings to you, the way it makes your stomach twist with nerves and desire at once, and you slide your fingers lower, toward your entrance.

You swallow, breath catching, and with a soft gasp—one you don’t know whether it’s yours or his—you press a finger inside.

Mark jerks beneath you, his cock twitching, hips lifting off the bed slightly like his body is trying to follow yours. His grip on your waist tightens—not hurting, but holding, trembling, like he’s trying so hard not to lose control. You know you must look obscene like this, fucking yourself open on top of him, and it clearly does something to him. His fingers dig in, a low, choked noise leaving his throat.

But then—suddenly—he lets out a breath that sounds nearly pained, one hand snapping up to grab your wrist and still you.

You freeze, eyes flying open, confusion and a flicker of panic flooding through you.

“Mark?” your voice comes out small. “What’s wrong?”

But his eyes aren’t on yours. They’re locked on your leaking cock, on the way your body moves, his gaze so full of hunger it nearly knocks the air out of you.

His voice is shaky when he speaks. “Can I—” he breathes. “Can I do it?”

A shudder runs through you as you register his question, then you nod, dazed.

That’s all the permission Mark needs.

He reaches for the lube, coating his fingers with shaky hands, then lifts your hips with a care that makes your heart skip. You brace your arms behind you, palms resting against his knees, back arched in anticipation.

“Like—like this?” he asks, voice uncertain but eager, his slick fingers trailing toward your entrance, brushing lightly in a way that steals your breath.

“Yes,” you exhale, eyes half-lidded. “It’s okay… just push—”

He pushes in before you finish speaking, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, body jerking at the intrusion. His fingers are thicker than your own, the stretch immediately noticeable.

“That’s fine?” he asks, already breathless.

“Fuck—yes,” you mutter, thighs trembling.

Mark watches, fascinated, as your hips twitch, silently begging for more. He complies eagerly, sinking deeper. “Oh shit,” he murmurs. “You—you feel so tight, so warm.”

You bite your lip as he begins moving experimentally, feeling your body gradually relax and accept him. Then he slides in a second finger.

Your head tilts back, a pant escaping your lips.

“Shit—” you groan, the tip of your cock leaking messily against your stomach, throbbing with the weight of your arousal. “Deeper, fuck, deeper, Mark. It’s fine. I can—ah—handle it.”

Mark’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes in a third finger.

It makes you jolt—your toes curl, your vision whitens, and a broken moan slips past your lips before you can even try to hold it back.

It’s different.

You never felt this way when you did it yourself.

You’d tried. Again and again, chasing the same fucking high from that first time—but it never came close.

(You’d jerk awake in the darkness of your new apartment from yet another haunting dream—sheets clinging to sweat-slick skin, body trembling.

You’d feel disgusting, guilty, and ashamed—because it was another dream of Mark doing things to you he’d never done before. Not your Mark, anyway.

In the darkness of your room, alone and overwhelmed by shame, you’d vividly remember the touch of not-your-Mark’s hands on you, his shuddering breaths against your ear, his possessive grip, his kisses down your throat, his groans and growls, the sheer size of him, buried so deep inside you that it jolted your entire body.

And when you’d finally come to, breath caught and sheets damp, you’d realize it wasn’t really the variant you were dreaming of. Because in the haze, his face would shift—when the sneering cruelty melted into your Mark’s tender expression, his touch gentling even as he fucked you deeper.

Your cock would throb against your pajamas, traitorous, and aching with a need that refused to be ignored.

You’d buy lube the next day like some shameful criminal, hoping to drown the thirst you couldn’t shake.

But deep into another restless night, jerking awake from a dream that left your body aching, Mark’s face seared into your mind like it had been burned into your eyelids—fingers buried knuckle-deep inside yourself—you’d realize something awful.

You can’t.

You can’t satisfy it. The need. The wanting. The hunger.

Mark’s variant had whispered it, during that heated moment, a filthy promise in your ear: Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

And he’d been right.)

But with Mark—

With Mark—

Fuck, it feels good. It feels right.

So good it melts your inhibitions, strips away your shame. You let every sound fall from your lips—gasps, moans, breathless cries—because he’s reaching places inside you that’ve ached ever since the day you learned what it felt like to be touched—to be wanted—by him.

“Fuck, Mark—fuck!” you cry out, biting your lip hard in a half-hearted attempt to stifle the filth spilling out. “Oh fuck, that’s it—that’s so good—”

Mark responds by pushing deeper, fingers curling just right. Your hips stutter, body trembling.

His mouth is parted, breathing shaky, eyes dark and full of reverent lust as he watches you unravel. He takes in every twitch, every sob, every buck of your hips, like he’s burning it into his memory—learning exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you writhe, what makes you lose control.

Then he twists his fingers just right, and your mouth falls open in a soundless moan.

Your toes curl, your arms nearly give out. “There—” you gasp, voice wrecked, “there, yeah, that’s—god—”

Mark can’t hold back any longer.

With a low, guttural growl, he props himself up—one arm curling tight around your waist, the other still working you open. You gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but your breath is stolen the moment his lips crash against yours. It’s fierce, bruising—desperate. You wrap your arms around his neck without thinking, pulling him closer. He moans into your mouth, swallowing every shaky breath, every whine, every broken sound that slips from you.

“Fuck—Y/N,” he pants between kisses, voice wrecked and trembling. “Let me—mmh—let me, please. Please.”

You know exactly what he’s asking.

You don’t need to ask.

You don’t need him to say it.

It’s written all over him—in the way his hips buck into the air, his cock flushed dark red and leaking steadily, twitching with need. In the way his muscles tense and flex with restraint he’s barely hanging onto. In the way his fingers keep fucking into you, wet and slick, the obscene sounds echoing in the quiet, sunlit room.

And god—you want it too.

You’ve wanted this. You’ve dreamed of this.

Over and over, the memory of that first time replayed in your head like a sweet nightmare, haunting you with something you never thought you’d feel again. Not with your Mark. Not after everything. Not if he hated you.

But shit. You were wrong.

He doesn’t hate you.

Mark wants you.

Despite everything. Despite what you did. Despite the marks someone else left on your skin. Despite the betrayal.

He still wants you.

And fuck, he wants you bad.

So you kiss him, tongue sliding against his, messy and desperate. You let him suck and lick into your mouth however he wants, because god, he seems starving for it. Like he’s been holding back for years. Then, you press a hand to his solid chest. He lets you, even though your strength is nothing compared to his—but Mark lets you guide him anyway. Lets you push him down, pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a soft pout on his face and heat in his eyes, waiting eagerly.

His fingers slip out of you with an obscene, wet sound, and despite everything, a needy gasp escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness. But the thought of what’s coming—something thicker, fuller—makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Mark’s head falls back onto your pillows, messy hair damp with sweat leaving faint prints in the fabric. There’s a giddy thrill in knowing that, even after this day, your sheets will carry the raw, distinct scent of Mark Grayson in them.

He watches you intently, eyes burning with anticipation, breathing shallow.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, grabbing the condom and tearing it open. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “I’ll take care of you, Mark.”

Because today, you wanted to be the one to give him everything he craved—to make him feel good, to pleasure him. It was your weakest, most pathetic way of making up for letting another version of him touch you first. But it was all you had to offer.

You settle on his thighs, fingers curling around his thick, heavy cock, rolling the condom down his length with painstaking care. Mark’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back into your pillow with a soft moan, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.

“Y/N…” he breathes out, voice cracking around your name. “God—Y/N…”

You don’t stop, making sure the condom fits just right. Then you reach for the lube, slicking your fingers generously before wrapping them around his cock again. He jerks in your hand, hips twitching helplessly as you spread it evenly, coating him until he’s glistening and ready.

“Please—fuck—please…” Mark gasps, barely holding it together. His voice is raw, thick with need, and every broken sound he makes sends a fresh coil of heat twisting in your gut.

You swallow hard, the fire in your belly almost unbearable. “It’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time,  though you’re no longer sure who you’re reassuring—him or yourself.

Finally satisfied, you lift your hips—guiding his cock with a shaky breath toward your entrance. The swollen tip brushes against your rim, thick and fat, and it makes you flinch with anticipation. Mark’s head snaps up instantly, his eyes flying open, dazed and dilated, lips parting like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh my god—” he whispers, almost in awe.

You sink down slowly, just enough to take in the tip, and a gasp tears from your lips. Mark lets out a low groan, biting into his bottom lip as his brows knit tight with restraint. His fingers claw at the sheets beside him, knuckles white, trying so hard not to thrust up into you.

You look at him then.

Flushed, eyes half-lidded, his chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady bursts. The sunlight filters across his face, casting him in a warm, golden glow, making him look like something unreal. Like something angelic and ethereal.

He’s nothing like the other version of himself.

This Mark isn’t looming over you with control. He’s underneath you, undone, baring his vulnerability like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

This isn’t the Mark who took; this is the Mark who gives, who lets you take the lead without hesitation.

And when he looks at you, it’s not with obsession or possessiveness. It’s with reverence.

Your Mark—all sunlight, warmth, kindness, the one you fell for, the one you never stopped aching for.

Your Mark, who meets your gaze with pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and aching despair when you don’t move.

You grin—soft and disbelieving. Your heart swells with something too big to name, affection blooming so wildly it nearly chokes you. You can’t believe this is real. That it’s not some dream clawing at your chest in the middle of the night, reminding you of what you could never have. Because it’s not.

You have it now.

You have him.

Your Mark.

Mark’s hips stutter upward with a whimper, his cock sliding just that fraction deeper inside you. When your eyes meet again, you make sure he sees it—knows it.

“I love you,” you say.

He freezes, then his eyes soften, wide with something so raw and tender it punches the air from your lungs. A shy, breathless smile tugs at his lips, and he murmurs. “I love you too.”

It’s enough to make you start rolling your hips—once, twice, three times—in slow, teasing circles over his tip. Your body heats under the friction, under the weight of his gaze. And when Mark exhales, a soft sigh slipping from his parted lips, that’s when you move.

You drop onto him in one smooth, determined motion, sheathing his cock fully inside you with a single thrust, helped by the slick glide of lube.

Mark’s reaction is immediate—head snapping back, mouth falling open as a guttural moan rips out of him, eyes fluttering shut, spine arching hard against the mattress. His hands shoot to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise—bruises that, for sure, you’ll trace later with a breathless kind of  joy  instead of regret.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck!” he chokes out, hips jerking up instinctively, driving in deeper. “Fuck—Y/N, you’re—you’re so—” his voice splinters, breaking into a wrecked, almost-whimper, “—tight.”

You pant, head tipping back with a broken cry, your body twitching as Mark stretches you open. “Oh my god, Mark—”

His cock throbs inside you—thick, full, massive—just like you remembered. He’s forcing you open in a way you never thought you’d feel again. In a way it aches, burns, and hurts.

It’s too much—you know it is. You should’ve taken your time, let yourself adjust, eased into it. But god—god—you liked it. The overwhelming stretch, the raw, sudden fullness. The steady throb of Mark’s cock buried inside you.

You realized it that night—when Mark’s variant had pushed in without gentleness, without patience or shame—that you fucking loved being used like that.

He should’ve known, of course. Just like he knew everything else about you. That the fullness drove you mad. That the ache didn’t repel you, it fed something inside you—something primal, greedy, and starved. That no one could ever satisfy it but him.

Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

A shudder runs through you.

Yeah. Yeah.

No one but Mark.

No one.

“F-Fuck,” Mark stammers, his voice thick with heat, his expression crumpling in bliss. “Mmh—fuck—it’s so hot, it’s—god, it’s like I’m gonna melt.”

His hips roll deeper into you without thought, dragging a sharp, broken whimper from your lips. Your muscles tighten around him, a visceral reaction, and Mark chokes on a moan—half sound, half sob—as his fingers clamp harder into your skin.

“Mark—” you gasp, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself, nails digging into solid muscle as you tremble. “Nngh—how—how does it feel?”

“So good,” he chokes out, chest heaving. “God—it’s so good. You’re—fuck—you’re perfect. Just—”

His words dissolve into incoherence, his body trembling under yours. His chest is rising too fast, too shallow, his face flushed red and wrecked, lips parted in stunned, shivering gasps. He’s coming undone right beneath you, completely losing it, and you haven’t even started yet.

You watch, equal parts awed and concerned—because you need him here. Not spiraling. Not fading.

“Mark,” you whisper, cupping his flushed cheek, your thumb gently brushing over his heated skin. “I’m right here. Breathe.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, like your voice alone gave him permission to come back to earth.

“That’s it,” you soothe, grounding him, voice soft but firm. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe.”

Little by little, through shaky, shallow inhales, Mark’s eyes flutter open. You smile at him, tender and full of adoration, and reach up to wipe the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. When his gaze finally lands on you—dazed and wide—his pupils are so blown they nearly swallow the brown of his eyes whole.

“My god—” he exhales, forehead slick with sweat, chest rising and falling slower now. “Oh my god, Y/N. Are you—are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The question’s ridiculous, really—he was the one on the edge of passing out from forgetting to breathe.

You let out a soft chuckle. “I’m okay,” you reassure, stroking his cheek, then squeezing his cock with a deliberate clench. He gasps beneath you, twitching inside. “Are you, Mark?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding frantically as he swallows thickly, hips giving the smallest, involuntary jerk. “Peachy. Great. Never been better. Just—just a little… overwhelmed.”

“We can wait—”

“No. No!” he interrupts, voice pitched and desperate. His hands grab at your hips, dragging you down, sinking himself even deeper inside you. You gasp at the sharp, pulsing stretch—at the feel of every ridge, every thick inch of him. “Shit—sorry—fuck, I can’t wait,” he groans, breath hitching again. “I need you.”

Your cheeks burn, heart stuttering, desire coursing through your veins like wildfire—lighting you up from the inside out. Mark needs you. Holy shit. The words echo through your mind on an endless loop—sharp, breathless, haunting. Words you’ve longed to hear—to feel.

Your voice is barely a whisper, foggy with disbelief and affection. “Okay.”

Your hand drifts from his cheek to his chest, palm gliding over the warm, sweat-slicked skin, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned torso. Mark shivers beneath your touch, breath hitching, like your fingers alone are short-circuiting him. Then, slowly, you trail your hands down his arms, catching his wrists and guiding them lower—down, down—until his palms rest against the flat of your stomach.

Mark’s eyes widen instantly, a sharp breath tearing from his lips as his gaze snaps downward.

“You feel that?” you whisper, rolling your hips in the smallest motion, just enough to press his hand deeper into your abdomen. “That’s you.”

You already knew it’d be there—just like the first time. That small, firm bump rising from the flat plane of your stomach—where Mark’s cock is buried so deep, so thick and long and overwhelming, it carves a visible imprint against your abdomen.

Mark chokes on a sound that’s half-groan, half-growl. “Ah, shit…”

His eyes are blown wide, locked on the bulge beneath his hand, thumb slowly pressing into it like he can’t believe it’s real.

His voice comes out hoarse, wrecked with awe and arousal. “Shit—look at that. Look how deep I am. Fuck, Y/N…”

Mark thrusts up experimentally, a sudden jolt of his hips that punches a yelp from your throat. But your body responds before your mind can catch up—thighs trembling, you lift yourself just enough to drop back down, and the sharp rush of pleasure that crashes through you both is instant.

His eyes flutter, unfocused, locked on where your bodies meet—the slow shift of his cock inside you, how far he sinks in, how deep you let him go. Rearranging you. Filling you so completely he looks like he might lose his mind.

“Aw fuck—” Mark groans, voice cracking around the edges, head lolling back before snapping forward again, trying to keep watching. “Fuck—I’m inside—I’m so fucking deep—”

He proves it in the next moment—hips snapping upward at the exact moment you slam down. The impact draws twin cries from you both, his hands still pressing into your belly like he needs the tactile proof of just how deep he’s buried. You rock into him again, and again, the rhythm building into something messy, urgent, addictive.

“Yeah, Mark—” you pant, voice shaky, trembling with every word, “—yeah, nh—it’s you.”

“Fuck—” he breathes, brows knotting together in that beautifully wrecked way, lips parted, breath stuttering. “Mmh—fuck, it’s so hot. You’re so—shit—so fucking hot—”

His voice dissolves into broken sounds—soft whimpering breaths, helpless noises you never imagined you’d hear from him. And god, the way he’s falling apart under you makes something burn in your chest.

You reach for him again, hands finding his wrists, guiding his palms away from your belly, intertwining your fingers with his. You start moving in earnest—hips rolling, grinding, riding him with purpose now. You use his hands as leverage, keeping them pinned against your waist, making him hold you steady as you fuck yourself down onto his cock like you were made for it.

“Y/N—ah—Y/N—” Mark groans, his voice ragged, hips jerking up to meet you halfway. He’s trying, trying so hard to match your rhythm, to give you everything. “Fuck—ngh—Y/N—”

“Oh god, oh god—!” you cry out, head falling back as one especially deep thrust slams into that spot, sending white-hot sparks ripping up your spine. “Mark—fuck—there—oh my god, there—”

You slam down at the same moment Mark snaps his hips up, and his cock slams straight into your prostate so hard it sends a white-hot jolt through your body—your vision blurs, eyes nearly rolling back into your skull.

“Holy fuck—! Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” you gasp, your whole body arching into the pleasure. “Fuck, Mark—Mark—”

Your nails dig into his arms, clenching around him, pulsing and tight and desperate. You ride him with everything you have—up and down, again and again—chasing that perfect heat, that delicious pressure deep inside you, stretched full around the thick length of him. Your own cock leaks helplessly, slapping against the firmness of his stomach with every bounce, every thrust, adding sparks of stimulation that make your whole body twitch.

“Shit—Y/N—fuck, like this?” Mark pants, meeting your hips with frantic thrusts. His eyes are wide and dark with arousal but still so painfully earnest—always checking, always making sure. “Here? Feels good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, spine curving as you push down harder, grinding into him, pressing in deep, chasing more even when you’re already full to the brim. “Yes, yes—yes!”

Every nerve in your body lights up—your fingertips, your thighs, your cock, all buzzing with raw, electric heat. And when you angle your hips just a little lower, just right, Mark’s thick cock crashes into your prostate again—and again—and again, pounding that spot in a rough, perfect rhythm that steals the air from your lungs.

“Fuuuuck—” you gasp, voice catching in your throat as your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure burning hot and blinding. “Oh god—it feels so good—so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Mark pants beneath you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, gripping you like he can’t get enough. He drives up into you, deeper, harder, and the greedy way he squeezes you makes your head spin. “Jesus—you feel amazing,” he groans, breath shaky. “You’re so fucking tight, I’m—I swear you’re gonna kill me—fuck—”

Your thighs are burning now, trembling from the strain. Your stomach coils, muscles seizing with effort.

“Ah—ngh—Mark—I can’t—” you whimper, voice breaking as you cling to him, nails dragging across his shoulders as your strength slips. You’re shaking all over, legs giving out, rhythm falling apart.

You can’t keep going. Even though your body wants to. Even though you’d give anything to ride him into oblivion. But your legs shake violently, threatening to give out entirely. The only thing keeping you moving is Mark—his strong hands lifting your hips, guiding you up and down on his cock.

“I can’t—Mark,” you sob, eyes brimming with overwhelmed tears. “Please—fuck me. Just fuck me—”

Mark growls—deep and guttural—and you barely have time to breathe before he shifts, rolling you to the side. The world tilts, everything spinning—and then you’re on your back, blinking up at him, caged beneath the weight of his arms on either side of your face.

And then he kisses you like he’s starving, swallowing your gasps as he devours your mouth with desperation. You cling to him, barely coherent, mind already melting as his body aligns with yours again, cock pulsing hot and heavy where it presses against your entrance.

Instinctively, your legs lock tight around his waist, arms looping around his neck. Mark thrusts back in with one smooth, deep stroke—your body taking him effortlessly, like it’s made to welcome him. Your toes curl at the stretch, at the sheer fullness of him, stars bursting behind your eyes as another desperate, broken moan rips from your throat—one that Mark swallows greedily between kisses, mouths moving feverishly against each other.

“Mmph—Mark,” you pant into his mouth, barely able to breathe, “I love—mmh—I love you.”

Mark pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears of pleasure that mirror your own. “Fuck, Y/N—” His voice cracks, hips stuttering. “I love you. So much. So much.”

You nod, dazed and floating. “Don’t stop. Please—keep going.”

And he does.

He fucks into you hard, desperate, the sound of skin meeting skin raw and constant. He now knows you can take it—knows you want it—and Christ, he wants it so bad too. Wants to lose himself inside you, feel every inch of you wrapped around him as his self-control frays and snaps, tension coiled so tight in his gut it’s barely manageable. You’re squeezing him perfectly, body clenching down like you need him, and every sound you make pulls another raw groan from his throat.

He wants to stay here forever. He wants to be inside you, part of you, one with you—if that were possible, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You like it?” he pants, voice cracking with another deep, sharp snap of his hips. “Y/N—fuck—you like it?”

“Fuck! Yes!” you arch off the bed, toes curling. “I love it—I love it—I love it—”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, head spinning as your incoherent moans fill the room, every sound soaking into his skin like heat. You melt into him with every thrust, open and pliant and so fucking willing it nearly undoes him. God—and he’d run from this. From you. Too scared of what he felt. Too scared to face it, to own it.

Mark could’ve had this months ago. Could’ve heard these sounds, seen this look on your face, felt you tremble like this under him—if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward.

“Good,” Mark growls, thrusting harder, more desperate now. “Good—because I’m not letting go.”

He presses a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose before trailing lower, breath hot as it ghosts across your neck. Your breath stutters—your entire body tightens—when he lingers over the bruises. Fading now, but still there. The ones his variant left behind to claim you, to make sure you don’t forget him. To make sure your Mark didn’t either.

Mark’s jaw clenches.

Then he bites down.

A choked gasp rips from your throat, pulse pounding as his teeth sink into the bruised skin, right where it still aches.

“Oh god—” your eyes fluttering shut, voice breaking into a high whine. “Mark—”

He doesn’t stop—sucking dark new marks over the old ones, sweeping his tongue over each one like he’s rewriting them. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave their own bruises, his thrusts never losing their punishing pace. It’s overwhelming, the way he consumes you.

“Fuck, Mark—” you groan, head tilting back to give him more room. “Fuck, yes—”

A broken moan tears from your throat as Mark picks up pace, his hips slamming into you with a force that should hurt but only sends lightning up your spine. Each thrust punches deeper than you thought possible, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur at the edges. His breath scalds your neck—panting, uneven—and you feel the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

Then his hand wraps around your leaking cock, using your own precum to slick the way as he starts jerking you off with frantic, uncoordinated strokes.

You nearly black out.

“Fuck! Mark—!” your back arches off the mattress, nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Mark—Mark!”

It’s overwhelming—too much at once. His cock nailing your prostate with terrifying accuracy. His mouth hot and wet on your neck, teeth scraping just shy of breaking skin. His hand working your length with a roughness that borders on painful.

Mark’s everywhere. Around you, inside you, all over you. And you don’t stop him. You can’t. You love him. And love every second of it.

“Yes, yes, yes—” you babble, face scrunching in overwhelming pleasure, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, yes. Mark—ah—don’t stop, don’t stop—I’m gonna—”

Tears blur your vision, trailing down your cheeks as the sensations overwhelm you. Every thrust, every bite, every breathless groan Mark lets out sends you spiraling. You’re burning from the inside out, aching, and full and right at the edge.

“Mark—” you pant, voice wrecked, hips jerking to meet the strokes of his hand. You’re trying to warn him, trying to form words that make sense. “Mark—I’m gonna come—oh fuck, I’m so close—”

But then—just when it’s all building to an uncontrollable high—the frantic pace stutters.

Mark slows, pulling away from your neck. His forehead drops gently against yours, nose brushing nose, both of you panting, your breath mingling in the space between.

Everything slows down.

You stare at Mark through glassy, dazed eyes.

The sunlight hits just right, turning the brown in his eyes molten gold, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. His hair is damp and messy, clinging to his forehead, his face flushed and burning, lips swollen and parted with every heavy breath. His expression—open, yearning, achingly soft—melts straight through you.

Mark looks beautiful.

Mark looks yours.

And Mark whispers, “I got you.” Then softer, “I love you.”

And you believe him.

God, you believe him.

The kiss that follows steals what little breath you have left. Your body locks up—a lightning strike of pleasure that makes your thighs tremble violently around his hips. You come with a strangled sob, shaking apart in his arms. Your body clenches around him, cock twitching in his hand, hot release spilling across your stomach, over his fingers. Every jolt wracks through you like a wave, and Mark holds you through all of it—grunting softly into your mouth, matching the kiss with gentle rolls of his hips and firm strokes that push you through it.

He drinks in every gasp, every broken sound you make, kissing you slow and deep, teasing your lips between his, coaxing out every last drop like he wants to milk you dry.

“Mark,” you rasp, voice rough and awed. “Mark.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, voice just as wrecked, thumb brushing your cheekbone, wiping away tears you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m right here.”

Tears spill over—not from the oversensitivity, not from the aftershocks still wracking your body—but because this is Mark. Your Mark. Not a dream. Not a cruel echo from another world. Not something twisted in the dark.

“I love you,” you sob into his mouth, clenching around him hard, desperate to hold onto him. “I love you so much, Mark.”

Mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hips stuttering but still driving into you with that same relentless intensity that has you squirming beneath him from the overstimulation—but you take it.

“Love you too,” he breathes, voice cracking.

And then—Mark comes.

You feel it in the way he bottoms out with one final, shuddering thrust, so deep you can see the outline of him through your stomach. In the way his cock pulses inside you, spilling heat into the condom until it swells, pressing insistently against your tender walls. In the way his entire body locks up, then collapses against you with a broken whimper, his mouth desperately seeking yours even in the haze of it all.

You part your lips for him. Let him lick, let him breathe you in.

Then he finally slips his cock out, making you whimper into his kiss at the sudden emptiness. Your legs twitch, shaky, your body clenching instinctively around the absence. But Mark kisses you again—gentle, grounding, soft—and then collapses back onto you, chest to chest, skin to skin.

And finally—everything stills.

The only sounds left are your ragged, breathless gasps as the two of you try to come down, lungs working overtime to catch up. Mark buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, pressing soft, distracted kisses along your throat. You shudder, cheeks burning with flustered heat at the intimate display of affection—even after everything, even after just having sex with Mark, it makes you shy.

Jesus—you just had sex with Mark.

And there’s no guilt clawing at your chest. No remorse creeping up your throat. No shame curling in your gut like it wants to make you sick.

You had sex with Mark Grayson—and this time, it’s perfect.

You hum, low and content, arms sliding around his back, your nails lazily dragging over his skin in faint, aimless patterns. Mark shivers against you, arching slightly in reflex, his weight shifting more into you—pressing you deeper into the mattress, and into him.

“That tickles…” he mumbles against your ear, voice low and hoarse, rough in a way that makes your heart jump.

You chuckle softly. “Baby.”

He grumbles something incoherent, then nips playfully at your neck, just below your ear—exactly where he knows it’ll make you squirm. You flinch, breath catching, a sharp little jolt running through you.

“That tickles,” you echo, trying for mock annoyance, but the smile is already pulling across your lips.

Mark doesn’t need to see it—he hears it, the smile on your tone. He smiles back, the hint of mischief in his grin evident as his teeth graze your neck, sending another shiver through you.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. His eyes—soft and full of love—search yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

“Hey,” Mark says shyly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Hey,” you whisper back, just as flustered.

“That was…” Mark exhales, his chest still heaving slightly. “That was amazing.”

Your cheeks burn, body still buzzing—soft and sore and tingling in all the right places. “Yeah,” you say, voice hoarse. “So good.”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking over your face like he still can’t believe you’re real, and here, and his. Then, like he can’t say it enough, Mark exhales. “I love you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms pulling you close as if he’s afraid to ever let go. “I love you. God, I love you. I’m never—never letting you go now. No one—” his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper “—will take you away from me.”

You chuckle, warm and light, and wrap your arms around him in turn, holding him just as tightly. “Good. I love you too.”

It’s a promise.

It’s that simple.

In the quiet aftermath, Mark’s nose stays buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he’s addicted to your scent, you feel something pressing insistently against your thigh.

You blink, stunned. “...Are you hard again?”

Mark whines—a high, embarrassed sound muffled against your skin—as he shakes his head violently. But his hips betray him with shallow, involuntary thrusts against your leg.

“My god,” you murmur, voice low and amused, affection lacing every word. You feel his hips twitch, his cock nudging insistently against your thigh. “Is this… is this a Viltrumite thing? Did I just condemn myself to your ridiculous alien stamina?”

He groans against your skin, lips brushing sensitive flesh as he mumbles, “…Maybe.” Then, quieter, with a smile curling into your collarbone, “Or maybe I just really fucking like you.”

Your cheeks heat, breath catching, your own body already stirring in response. Your cock—sticky and still sensitive—starts to throb faintly between you. “I guess... we're lucky the day just started.”

Mark lifts his head at that, and the sight alone knocks the air from your lungs—his grin wide and a little bashful, brown eyes gleaming gold in the sun, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, skin glowing with sweat and love.

The rays catch on the sweat still glistening between your bodies, on the marks you’ve left on each other—fading bruises, fresh bites, the ghost of fingertips pressed too hard. Little traces of everything that’s changed. Of all the things that will never be the same.

A/N: Okay, I’m honestly a little embarrassed by the ending, haha—I swear I wrote like three different versions and scrapped them all 😭 it gave me such a hard time... Anyway! I really hope you enjoyed it! this is the end of it!

taglist: @horrific-dust @cronasluvr @kogadoguinho @kirsoup @kaycesspade @killerd1 @rosy-myhouse34 @cim0nnin @garlicforthewin @unfaithfulmemories @krispytimemachinepolice-blog @parastaein @connorlupin @tired12sstuff @1nfinitestarr @hasperxzt @numberonetimemachinething @tozixmq-t0zl5ta @sl1m3y11 @marsblues @no-bishes @the-ultimate-librarian @optimisticstrawberrypizza @uncharted-lands-world @queermaeda @gaychaosgremlin @qi-rong-husband @kaelyre @at4-raxia @f1nn-03e @verort @fonkthedonk @gojosdumpydump @mef0rg0r @tinfoil531 @iwillrisefromthefire @wshyouwerehere @brymalibu @starlightchildsworld @your-platonic-gay-lover @ifaitos @chemicalwindexbottle @kobenio @decaffinetedcookiecrossiant @halo-chao @atenmybeloved @fruitypebblerancher @bensontrechic @m4r13ll @thekit-katkairi @gayaristocrat @exactlyclevercollector @fin-boi-twig @yellowfrog-withagun @nightblanc @wind19845 @lazy-ahh @sweet-cherub @imakms @montimer @jo-cujoh @dazaiosamutheoneandonly @bunnymysteriously @cssammyyarts @makitokokonoi

[idontactuallywrite]

on the edge of more; choi seunghyun

pairing co-star!choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

contains pining for older co-star!choi seunghyun, reader is in her mid twenties or smt, age gap, slowburn, not-so unrequited love, smoking n drinking, YEARNINGGG, reader being down bad (understandably)

word count 2.6k

note PART 2 IS HERE rly appreciate all the love the first part got thank u <3 this was longer than i thought i had the biggest writer's block but finally managed through it

part 1 part 2

—

THE WORK DINNER WAS meant to be a celebration—a small, intimate gathering to mark the successful completion of the project. Only the staff, cast, and a few select crew members had been invited. It wasn’t a night for grand speeches, but rather a simple appreciation for everyone’s hard work.

There had been a few exchanges of words before your arrival about the gathering among your colleagues, but it wasn’t until you stepped foot into the restaurant that you realized it had been carefully curated. The venue was beautifully decorated, with candlelit tables and a cozy, inviting atmosphere that made you feel like part of something intimate, something special.

You came to learn that it was all his idea. Seunghyun had personally arranged and booked the restaurant, ensuring the evening went smoothly—down to the smallest detail. His thoughtfulness made your heart swell. There was something about the way he took charge—a trait in a man that never failed to make you swoon. The quiet authority he carried made him even more admirable.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. You could hear the female staff whispering and giggling here and there. Though you were seated too far away to catch their conversation, you were certain they were gushing over him. Could you blame them? You were just as down bad.

There were subtle moments when he’d check in on people, ensuring everyone had a drink in hand, the way he politely but firmly kept the night on track. A few exchanged glances and smiles passed between the two of you. His smile was polite but carefully measured, nothing more than a brief flicker. But every time he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks would appear, deepening the curve of his lips in a way that, despite the professional tone, still felt unexpectedly warm. The familiar tightening sensation gripped your stomach, and the stir of butterflies rose in your chest. He could do so little, yet make you feel so much.

It was strange—these feelings you couldn’t seem to brush off. The dimly lit room made his features almost glow, despite his age. His hair slicked back, looking sharp as always. His attire was simple, yet effortlessly stylish. His hand rested casually on the table, fingers long and lean, with a faint scar running across his knuckles. You tried to pry your eyes off it, but you couldn’t help imagining what it might feel like on your skin. Who were the lucky women he’d been with, to have had the chance to feel the works of his fin–

“Babysitting your drink again?” Your train of thought was cut off by a voice. You whipped your head toward the source and saw one of your co-stars sitting next to you. He noticed you hadn’t touched your drink and checked in on you, having noticed your lack of engagement in the conversation at the table.

You snorted at his teasing remark before thinking of a response—one that didn’t give away how you were too busy gawking at Seunghyun.

“We have all night. I’m not in a rush.” Your words were casual, but your eyes couldn’t resist darting back toward Seunghyun, who was entertaining a conversation with the director. Quickly, you snapped your gaze back to the man next to you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you underestimating me?”

One drink turned into two, then three, and before you knew it, you were leaning closer to your co-star, lost in the competition of it all. Giggles and silly jokes were exchanged between the two of you.

Your banter didn’t go unnoticed by Seunghyun, who was seated across the room. Taken by surprise at your sudden closeness to his junior, he observed the way your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, your giggles filling the air—giggles caused by someone else and not him.

He felt a tightening in his chest, an emotion he couldn’t quite define, especially when it came to you. It wasn't jealousy, it couldn't be affection. You've never been close enough for feelings to grow.

The sight of you so carefree with someone picked at his skin. It left him feeling uneasy—like he was falling behind, even though he wasn't part of the race. He was never part of the competition. You weren't his to stake a claim on.

Ever since you walked in, he found himself distracted by you more often than he should. Thankfully, as an actor, he had the talent to downplay it.

You were beautiful—there was no denying it. Tonight, you wore a black dress. Simple, yes, but it clung to you in a way that was anything but. The fabric molded to every curve, hugging your body in a way that made it impossible for him not to notice the swell of your hips, the slight dip of your waist. He knew you were aware of the effect you had on men.

He felt like he needed to do something. Anything. A pull to make you notice him in a way he wasn't sure even he deserved.

…

Your skin was flushed, warmth radiating from your chest out to your limbs, the effects of the alcohol already seeping in. You may have let yourself loosen up a little too much tonight.

You needed air. The room felt too hot, too crowded. The noise, the laughter, the constant buzz—you were overwhelmed. You politely excused yourself to the people around and headed to the door.

The cool air greeted you as you stepped out, a sharp contrast to the heat of the room you left behind. You moved to a nearby corner, seeking a moment of silence. But to your surprise, you caught a glimpse of Seunghyun stepping toward you, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. You swallowed thickly. You hadn’t even noticed he came out.

“How’s the night treating you?” His voice was low, smooth. He stopped a few feet away, studying you in a way that made your pulse jump. His eyes narrowed slightly, noticing the flush of your cheeks and the unsteady way you stood, stumbling in your heels. You were starting to get drunk.

You forced yourself to stand tall, mustering the strength to not slouch to fight off his assumption. “Good, just needed some air,” you replied, trying to sound unphased. Your words slurred slightly as you finished, “Can I have one?” Your eyes gestured toward the cigarette in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow at your blunt request, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. There was a slight hesitation at first, but he stepped closer, holding the cigarette toward you, the ember lighting up his face. A nervous flutter twisted in your stomach at the shrinking distance between the two of you. He’d never been this close before. Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers tightened around the cigarette before he withdrew from you.

You both smoked in silence, your eyes never quite meeting his. The air was charged with tension, yet it felt like there was something unsaid hanging in the air—something neither of you was ready to address.

The smoke burned your lungs, but you didn’t mind; it was oddly calming, especially with his company beside you. There was a moment of silence before he broke it.

“You know, you really shouldn’t smoke.” His voice was laced with concern. You turned to look at him, your expression flat as you braced for the usual lecture, expecting the familiar words.

“Why? It’s not good for m—” you started, but he cut you off.

“It’ll ruin your skin.” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, almost aware of the reaction his words would pull from you. He thrived on surprising you with his unexpected humor.

You raised an eyebrow, exhaling the smoke. “Oh, is that why you’ve got such perfect skin, huh?” you played along. “Maybe you should quit before it starts to wrinkle.”

Your teasing jab made him chuckle, the sound warm and rich. But his eyes still lingered on you, even as the conversation felt like it held no real importance. He enjoyed it. More than he’d care to admit.

“I’m older than you, so I’m allowed to make bad choices,” he shot back, taking another drag. “But you? You’re too young to be smoking and ruining that pretty little face of yours.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat, and you swore you sobered up just slightly. He’d never complimented you so directly—it felt genuine. You remembered how he’d nod and agree when you were being interviewed together, how he’d mention your attire or how you looked at an event. You thought it was just out of respect and media training—but maybe you’d learned something new today.

You scoffed, trying to dismiss his words that you’d probably think about for the next few days. Rolling your eyes, you responded, “I’m twenty-four, not twelve. I can make my own decisions.”

The conversation lingered in the air as more people filtered out of the venue, exchanging goodbyes. It was a sign for you and Seunghyun to wrap up as well. The night was coming to an end.

“It’s getting late,” his tone firm. “Let me give you a ride home.”

He felt responsible for escorting you home safely—a courtesy from an older colleague. A young woman like you, who’d had much to drink tonight… he couldn’t imagine the trouble you might find yourself in at this hour.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden offer, but you didn’t feel the need to protest. It wasn’t really a question, and he wasn’t expecting a no. “Thank you,” you muttered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You both gathered your things and followed him to his car.

…

The blue of the streetlights outside the window did little to help you sober up. You felt drowsy, your eyelids heavy, your cheeks sinking into the palm of your hand that rested by the window.

The car ride was silent but not uncomfortable. It was oddly soothing, you could say.

Every so often, Seunghyun’s gaze darted to you. It was nearly impossible not to notice the way your legs were crossed, the slit of your dress riding up, exposing more of your thigh. It was a sight he shouldn’t indulge in, especially when you were in such a vulnerable state.

A tight knot of discomfort formed in his chest. He almost felt ashamed to look, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of another man seeing you made his jaw clench. If it wasn’t him by your side tonight, what kind of trouble could you have gotten into?

He cursed softly under his breath, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the improper thoughts swirling in his mind. He was your senior, a colleague you looked up to and respected. He reminded himself of the boundaries. How inappropriate it would be to look at you that way, especially being much older than you. He felt like a creep.

The car slowed to a stop as it neared your apartment building. You had dozed off somewhere along the journey, your head tilted slightly against the window. Your slumber was interrupted by a slight cough. Your eyes fluttered open.

“We’re almost here,” he said softly.

You blinked up at him, taking in the familiar streets in the background. You felt disoriented for a moment before sitting up and smoothing down the fabric of your dress. Your eyes shifted to Seunghyun beside you, the dim streetlights casting shadows along his sharp jawline.

He looked different like this—more relaxed. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell just enough to brush against his forehead. The curve of his lips, always understated but endlessly captivating, was pulled into a neutral line. Something about him tonight felt closer than ever.

It could’ve been the alcohol making the air feel heavier—every glance, every shift in his posture, every breath between the two of you. Your heart thudded in your chest. You’d never felt this close to him before. It was just the two of you.

When the car came to a halt, you couldn’t think of a better moment than now. Maybe it was the liquid courage surging through your veins, but the moment he turned his head toward you, something snapped.

You grabbed the lapel of his dress shirt and pulled him toward you with a sudden, almost reckless boldness. Your lips caught his, the kiss fierce, filled with desire, and the build-up frustration of his lack of action you’d been holding in. Want and heat—a kiss that demanded something in return.

For a split second, Seunghyun didn’t move, caught completely off guard. But his hands didn’t push you away either. They hovered somewhere between restraint and confusion, trembling with hesitation.

A sudden rush of heat he hadn’t expected. The way you’d pulled him toward you—reckless, full of desire, but also so sudden. For a second, he felt the temptation to pull you closer, to let the moment stretch on. But then, reality struck him.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of what just happened. He had to pull away, reminding himself of the boundaries, the unspoken rules between you two. There was no room for this—not now, not like this. It wasn’t just the age difference, the professionalism—no, it was the fact that you were drunk, vulnerable in ways he hadn’t expected.

His fingers lingered around your wrist, gentle yet firm, guiding you back, but his heart was heavy with regret. It was a temptation, yes, but it was also a line he couldn’t cross. Not yet. Not in this way.

He moved slowly, as if trying to pretend nothing happened, for both your sake.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” his voice broke, gentle but firm. He wasn’t scolding, no judgment, just a quiet reminder of the boundary he was setting.

What were you thinking? Was this something young people did these days—make out with random people when drunk? Did you see him as just some old man to be toyed with? You didn’t see the weight of how this could make him feel?

His eyes searched for yours, hoping for an explanation—an expression you couldn’t read. It was like he was conflicted, but you didn’t know—or care—what mattered at this point. You were mortified at how you had just thrown yourself at him, at how he had turned you down. You wanted to sink into your seat and disappear.

It didn’t feel right to look at him— you couldn’t, heat creeping up your neck, the embarrassment suffocating and unbearable. Had you read the room wrong? You had thought—no, you had hoped—that he might kiss you. But instead, it was a rejection you hadn’t seen coming. Before he could utter another word, you fumbled with the door handle, pushing it open with more force than you intended.

“I—good night,” you stammered, your voice hoarse as you rushed out of the car.

He leaned forward slightly as if to follow, but stopped himself.

“Wait—” His voice trailed off, his hand reaching out, as if to stop you. He didn’t mean to make you feel rejected or ashamed. He didn’t know how else to respond appropriately. He couldn’t think.

He stayed in the car, watching as you sprinted away, your figure disappearing into the building.

Inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. You couldn’t believe what you had just done. How could you face him again after this? Had you misread every sign? This was a disaster. He had been so distant before, and yet you still let yourself think something could happen. How foolish. How could you even look at him now? That was a problem for another day.

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Her Intern

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: You get a look into what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s temper, but she could never be mad at you.

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), mention of stocks, Yelling if that stresses you out.

A/N: Wanted this to be longer but I’m starting class again on Monday and I’ve had way more work to do than I thought. Hope you enjoy this. I’ve tagged everyone who asked, if you want to be tagged in the next chapter, let me know.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

The silence in the room made every minuet feel like an eternity. No one dared to speak. You could feel your pulse rise as the clock hand inched closer to the number nine. This morning you had gotten ready on auto piolet, showered and once again put on your wrinkled shirt. You hadn’t bothered investing in any new clothing since you began working with Pietro. The lack of dress code made you feel like it wasn’t necessary, so this was still your most professional shirt. It was the same one you’d worn your first day here, now you worried this would be your last.

Sleep hadn’t come fast last night. You’d stayed up for hours running possible situations and outcomes, planning what you’d say for each one in excruciating detail. But by the time morning came all those preparations were gone from your mind. The only thing you could focus on was the memory of Wanda catching you in her office.

She looked so angry.

You blinked away the sting in your eyes and nose, not wanting to cry, not now at least. That could wait till after the meeting, when you could lock yourself in the bathroom away from prying eyes.

The clock reached nine and the doors to the conference room flung open, Wanda entered leaving the door to slam shut behind her. Everyone in the room sat up straight and turned their attention to the red head, everyone but you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look, instead keeping your head down hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“Good morning,” Wanda began as she retrieved some papers from her briefcase, “I know I’m taking you away from your work, but I wouldn’t have called this meeting if there wasn’t something important that needs to be discussed.” Her tone was polite, but anger was bubbling underneath. As she finished speaking her eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on you. Wanda faced twitched with annoyance at fact you weren’t looking at her. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Once I have everyone’s attention, I’ll tell you why you’re all here, or better why one of you isn’t.”

You took the hint and slowly raised your head, not expecting to find Wanda staring directly at you, stern eyes softening for a moment before hardening back over. Her words finally reached your brain, and you glanced quickly around table, the other interns seemingly doing the same.

Theo.

Theo wasn’t there. He hadn’t come in with Wanda, which was strange considering how he’d normally be following her around like a lost dog.

“I expect you to already know this, but Westview Paper is the most trusted news sources in the country,” Wanda paced at the front of the room, her voice and posture portraying nothing but power. “We take pride in being able to provide the American public with honest unbiased reporting. So what do you think might happen if an employee threatened that reputation?” She was now stood directly behind you; the room was so silent you could hear your heart as it raced.

“They would be fired.” The silence was broken by an intern sat across from you. Despite his suit probably being worth more than you all make a month, it fit him like a kid playing dress up in his dad's wardrobe, and he looked like he’d just been caught. Wanda let his words hang in the air for an uncomfortably long time.

“Yes, thank you Jake. They would be fired.” As Wanda moved back to the front of the room her fingers ghosted the nape of your neck, something so innocuous it could have easily been an accident. “Theo had gone behind my back, fed information about stories we were publishing to outsiders, and all to boost his stock portfolio.” Her voice dripped with distain. “He is no longer working here, in fact, he will no longer be working for any publisher this side of the Atlantic Ocean.” She gave her words time to breath, making sure we all understood the gravity of the situation. Your mind went back to yesterday, standing in her office when she came out angrily yelling down the phone, that’s what she was talking about.

“Now I called this meeting as a warning to all of you. You aren’t children anymore, this is the real world, your actions have consequences that go far beyond timeouts, or early bedtimes. So if any of you even think about trying anything that will tarnish the reputation of this organization, I want you to really consider what it means to throw your life away! A life that, I might add, for most in here was handed to them.” With every sentence her voice grew louder, the anger finally bubbling over as she slammed her fits onto the table. Wanda stood up straight and adjusted her blazer, "You may leave." Her word was final.

There was a mad scramble for the door as everyone collected their things and piled out the room.

“Y/n, I want to have a word with you.” Wanda called out with a lingering trace of rage. The other interns turned to look at you as you awkwardly shuffled back from the door. Your anxiety was already high and now you truly felt like you were going to combust. It took a moment for the room to clear but once it had, and the door closed you jumped into your apologies.

“Ms Maximoff, I’m so sorry, Pietro said it was okay, not that it’s his fault, I should have never invaded your privacy like that.” The word vomit just kept coming. “I was just meant to drop off the magazine and leave, I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I’m so sorry, I understand if you want to fire me.” With those last words your lip wobbled, and you could do nothing to stop the tears.

Wanda, who up until now had been watching you ramble with slight bewilderment, moved to comfort you. “Y/n. I’m not going to fire you, don’t be silly,” she shushed, placing a hand on your shoulder and motioning for you to sit down, “quite the opposite actually.” You sat down trying your hardest to steady your breathing. “What do you mean?” You asked, wiping your nose with your sleeve before Wanda instinctively handed you a tissue from the box on the table.

“First, I wanted to ask if you were okay.” She leaned in placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Yesterday, in my office, you left so quickly. I was worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yes, y/n! I was because…” Wanda stopped herself and leaned back in her chair. “Because you are my employee, and I think you have a promising future here at Westview.” You go to speak but Wanda continues, “Which is why secondly, I wanted to ask if you would be interested in taking over as my intern. I can give you some time to think about…”

“Yes!” You blurted out a little louder than expected, your cheeks flushed as you saw Wanda’s shocked expression. “I mean yes Ms… I would… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. It’s just… are you sure you want me?” Before you could start to spiral again, you were brought back to reality by the sound of Wanda giggling.

“I’ve wanted you from the start.” She stood up and began walking to the conference room’s door. “For the position of course.” She added before leaving.

As you sat alone in the room you couldn’t help it as a smile crept across your face. You were going to be her intern! Then the reality of the situation hit you. You were going to be her intern.

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter

[alwaysanundertone]

hiw Abt a marauderers x FEM reader, like where it's after a double moon or smth and Remus is EXTREMELY clingy to the reader, snuggled in her, doesnt let her move, literally anything...and sirius on the other hand is in an awful mood cuz he had some family problem or some thing...he needs support and the reader or Remus aren't there to help him out..and jamesie? Well he had a quidditch match and lost that and is in an equally depressive mood...they all need the reade..but she isn't able to comfort them all...

Sirius becomes and and shouts at the reader...rmeua shouts at sirius for shouting at the reader and James (he can't shout, he's too sweet lol) argues with Remus for being to clingy to the reader...

And so they all get mad and stuff and go to other rooms of the house (lol)

This keeps on continuing until the reader lashes out on all three of them!!!

(p.s: u can totally not do it, if u don't like it lol)

my first request! I'm kind of nervous. My requests are open, and while writing this I realized how much I love them! So feel free to send them <3

Love can be overwhelming | poly! marauders x reader

slight angst / a bit of fluff

word count: 1.8k

CW: mention of abusive household

part 1, part 2 , part 3

When you started dating the Marauders, the first thing that your friend Dorcas said was to beware, polyamorous relationship could be tough. At first, you brushed her off: you knew that, but your love for the boys would have overcome everything.

Or at least you thought so.

You have been experiencing the worst week of your whole life, you were stressed over your head with schoolwork, wanting to stay on top of your class but, also, struggling too, and this time, your boyfriends weren’t helping at all.

It all started with the fact that, obviously, it was the week before the full moon, meaning that Remus was extremely on edge, but also clingy. Having an afternoon for yourself was a luxury: the werewolf had to stay by your side all of the time. You didn’t quite get this clinginess, because he behaved this way only with you; he wanted to have the other two marauders near, of course, but he was fine as long as you didn’t wonder off, and sometimes he seemed to be a bit possessive over you. So, let’s say that if you felt the need to have some practice lessons for potions, he had to be there, and it didn’t matter if the professor didn’t want anyone else in the room with you: you had to choose between having him near you, or skipping the extra lessons you so desperately needed.

“Remus, I know it’s stressful for you, but you must understand I have to take this class. It’s not like I’m going to be gone all afternoon, I’m asking you for two hours maximum. You know that Slughorn doesn’t like having other people during these lessons, and he’s doing me a favour here” He looked like you just might have kicked him.

“I don’t understand why my partner suddenly doesn’t want me around.” You took a deep breath: truth was, you knew that he wasn’t being unreasonable because he wanted to. If his werewolf instincts weren’t acting up, he would have probably pushed you to take even more lessons, but now he wasn’t in his right mind. You had to chance tactic.

“Baby, you know that I love you, right? I love you so, so much” You took his face into your hands, you saw his expression visibly shift. “And I know it isn’t easy for you, I know that. I swear, if you go napping now, you won’t even notice I’m gone”

“But napping is way more fun with you” His voice turned sultry, his hands now groping your ass lightly. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of need, but now was not the time.

“Tell you what, I’m going to lay down with you until you’re asleep. I’ll give you some head scratches, then, when I’ll be back, you’ll have me all to yourself. Does this sound good?” His pupils were now a little bit wider; he nodded and hauled you on his shoulder, making you yelp when he made you fall on the bed. He positioned his head on your chest, a hand crawling underneath your shirt to grip one of your tits possessively, while the other one stayed underneath your ass, the tips of his fingertips hovering dangerously close to your core.

You knew that his hold wasn’t casual: he was trying to make you stay, knowing the effect that he had on you, but you couldn’t give in: you had to stay strong,  because deep down you knew that, if you failed this exam, you wouldn’t be in the right mind to help Remus during the full moon.

You just had to get through this week, it was only 7 days, right? And most of today was gone, if the other boys would be helpful, as they always did, everything was going to be just fine.

You wandered off to the Great Hall for breakfast, exhausted. After the lesson with Slughorn, you came back to a very needy Remus, who took all of his clinginess out of you, leaving you sore and tired; while he slept soundly, though, you had to study and make up for the hours lost being supportive for your boyfriend, leaving you with about two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

“Hey girl, didn’t see you in our dorm room yesterday, oh what the fuck-“ Dorcas looked at you like you might have grown another head during the nighttime. “Babes, have you slept? Like, at all?”

“No, I haven’t. Remus is being extremely clingy, and you know that I’m not the best when it comes to Potions. Given the fact that the test is going to be next week, I barely have time to rest” She scoffed, but you interrupted her before she could start. “I know that James and Sirius should help, but he’s being this clingy only with me, and they can’t do much about that; plus, the upcoming game is stressing them out so much, yesterday they came to bed after practice, they didn’t even eat anything. I just want to support them”

She sighed. “I know baby, but try to not burn out, okay? If you need any help, I’m here, you know? Now, let’s go eat something”

You were happy to share some time with her and your boyfriends, but when you sat next to Sirius, one look at him told you anything that there was to know.

He didn’t greet you, didn’t sport his usual smirk: he was looking down at his plate like it might have held the answer to all his problems, while James looked at you preoccupied. Remus just held you close to himself. You tried to peel yourself away from his embrace, to not avail.

“Sirius, baby, do you want to talk? We can skip the first few hours and go on a walk to the Black Lake?” Now he was looking at you, his eyes were red and puffy, you tried to not cringe at his expression.

“It’s okay, Y/N, just the usual” You hated how he always seemed to shut down, not wanting to share his problems with you. As you tried to reach for his hand, Remus snatched you back, holding you close to him: you could see the moment in which Sirius shut you out for good, and you wanted to kick Remus for it.

“I’m going to handle this, you’re going to think about Remus, okay darling? Then I will report back to you, I swear” James whispered in your ear, You took a deep breath, nodding: you were thankful for him, but you still didn’t want to make Sirius feel like he couldn’t count on you.

You had the time to eat a biscuit before you had to head to class, Remus trailing behind you. You just had to wait for a few days, a few days and all of this would be over, and you had James to help you get through this week. You would be fine, you told yourself.

On Wednesday, you were thankful that Remus had an important herbology test, which gave you enough time to check in with Sirius. You entered their dorm room, spotting his curled frame under piles of blankets: you felt a pang of guilt, you swore your heart broke just a little.

Without making any sounds, you peeled the blankets off and wrapped your body around his, he startled in his sleep.

“Shh, baby, I’m right here. You’re safe, you know that? And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what” It was like you opened a faucet: his body started trembling, and then came the sobbing, he turned around and hugged you back, you caressed his head and back softly. After he quieted down a bit, you took his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Would you like for me to sing for you?” He nodded eagerly, burying his face in your chest, while you sang him a lullaby.

After a bit, you heard his breath even out. Your heart ached for your lover, you didn’t know what living in an abusive household felt like, and you sometimes even felt guilty over the fact that you had the most loving parents someone could ever asked for. You knew it was silly, but if you could, you’d swap family in a blink of an eye, everything to take this burden off of Sirius’s shoulders.

“Is he okay?” James whispered, startling you. He bent down, placing a soft kiss on your head. “I don’t know, Jamie. He had a breakdown, now he is asleep. I don’t know how to help him, I don’t want him to suffer like this every month.”

“I know, love, I know. You’re doing your best, and he appreciates it. But” He looked at you embarrassed, and you already knew what was going on, you sighed. “Remus just finished his test, and he’s going kind of nuts, he wants you by his side. You should go”

“Can’t he just come here, so we could cuddle?”

“I don’t know, love. This moon seems different, he got a lot more possessive over you. He just wants you for himself, I think we’re going to fix this before the next month, but for now, I think you should go”

You nodded, looking down art Sirius for the last time, before looking for Remus.

You prayed Sirius didn’t feel abandoned by you,  but you still had James to count on.

On Thursday, you stayed in bed all day with Remus. You studied, of course, and he seemed happy to have you around. You didn’t see Sirius at all, given the fact that you stayed at your dorm, but you thought that James was handling him well.

Exactly, you thought, because, as you and Remus took your seats for the Friday’s night Quidditch game, after having studied all day in the library, you felt a bit anxious. You told yourself you were being paranoid, but deep down, you knew something was off, and when Sirius entered the Quidditch pitch, you knew he wasn’t okay. He didn’t come to greet you, didn’t even look at you, and when you shoot a glance at James, he just averted his gaze: you were fucked.

You took a deep breath and snuggled closer to Remus, his clinginess now comforting, as the game begun. From the first actions, you knew that they were going to lose: Sirius looked like he wasn’t even trying, while James was too preoccupied to check on him to score a single goal.

And as the game ended, you knew your night was going to be an awful one: Gryffindor just lost the game.

[youunravelme]

meant just for you // part two

author's note: thanks for all the love you showed part one! here's part two (and the final part, though i'll probably write some follow up fics about this couple later).

summary: you have a history of dating around and hooking up. after seeing your teammates start to settle down, you and mat make a bet to see who can fall in love first.

pairing: mat barzal x pwhl!reader

warnings: mentions of sex (though no actual smut because i can't write that to save my life), cursing, toxic boyfriends

guy three: peter (cont'd)

when you woke up early the next morning, it wasn’t because you wanted to, it was obligation to your team that had you getting on the road by eight to get back to your apartment in jersey. and maybe the time you got home coincided with peter’s work schedule, but if he asked, it wasn't intentional.

you didn't like lying, and you for sure didn't like that you were so comfortable doing it to him, but after the way he'd talked to you last night, part of you felt like he deserved it. besides, you were about to go on a roadie, you could afford to go a few more days without seeing him.

“i don't know that it should be like that,” your mom commented over facetime while you packed. “don't you want to date someone you wanna be around all the time?”

you scoffed. “don't you get tired of dad?”

“sometimes, but that doesn't mean i want to go days without seeing him.”

“even when he messes up?”

“i might go an hour with the silent treatment, but we usually try to talk about things that upset us before going to bed.” she pauses, then says, “are you sure peter is the one you want to be with?”

you blinked and took a second from throwing clothes into a suitcase to look at her. “what’re you saying? of course he is. he’s the right person, college was just the wrong time—”

“or maybe he was the wrong person then and is the wrong person now,” she said with a conviction you'd seldom ever heard from anyone.

you wrote your mom off after hanging up the phone, but the entire flight to ottawa, it was all you could think about.

wrong person then, wrong person now.

“what’s wrong, twitch?” jess nudged you. “you look lost.”

you blinked before looking at her. “i think i might break up with peter,” you said. 

“oh?”

“my mom made a comment this morning, about how maybe he was the wrong person then and also the wrong person now but—”

“your mom is right.”

you blinked again. “...what?”

jess shrugged like what she said wasn’t the equivalent to a record scratch in your brain. “he didn't seem to be your type.” when you said nothing, she continued. “he didn't care about what you care about. god, it seemed like he was waiting for you to give up hockey.”

your stomach twisted at the thought.

jess laid her head on your shoulder and squeezed your knee. “i just want what’s best for you, and i think the best is just around the corner.”

the roadie was long, with you winning as many as you lost. and you couldn't blame anyone but yourself for it. your mind was divided, jess’s words as well as your mom’s ringing in your head, until one night, you were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling while jess was asleep in the other bed.

you glanced at the time and winced when it said 1:40am. 

but still you found yourself hitting mat’s contact.

“hello?” there was a loud bass sound on the other end, but he picked up after two rings.

you glanced at jess before walking outside in the hallway. “hey,” you said.

“what’s up? you okay?” it was music in the background, you figured out. probably some top 40 hit you hadn't heard because no one listens to the radio anymore.

you hummed and got on the elevator to head down to the lobby. “i’m fine.”

“then why're you calling me when you should be asleep? don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“i think i’m gonna break up with peter.” you blurted out.

mat choked, the loud bass noises got quieter, like he'd walked into a hallway or outside. “you're what? what brought this on?”

“my mom and jess talked to me about it.” you sat in a chair in the lobby, your leg bouncing. “made me think that maybe peter is the wrong guy every time.”

“twitch i—”

“mat? are you coming back in? is everything okay?” grace. you would know her voice anywhere, it felt like.

“yeah i’ll be there in a sec, grace.” he cleared his throat. “listen twitch, i gotta go. let me know how that conversation goes, and good luck at your game. you're gonna do great.”

“no, yeah,” you said. “thanks mat, have fun.”

when he hung up, you continued to sit in that lobby, watching as couples stumbled in from the cold, giggling, drunk, and holding hands. you tried to remember a time where you'd been that happy holding peter’s hand, or when you'd ever been that giggly around him.

you couldn't think of a single instance.

you laughed when you were with him because you were funny. you smiled because you were having so much fun on the dates you planned.

as you made your way back up to your room, you took notice of the hollow sensation in your chest, the idea that it had all been for nothing, that you'd opened yourself up to more heartbreak in hopes that peter would be the one to make you fall in love.

you were in a canadian hotel hundreds of miles from home and mat was in a long island bar with grace.

and you weren't sure why it was that thought alone that kept you up all night.

when you finally made it back to new jersey, you wasted no time in going home and sending a text to peter.

you: we need to talk.

it didn't matter that it was nearly midnight. it didn't matter at all to you, because the truth was, while you were still young, you weren't going to waste any more time on a guy who was waiting for you to be someone you weren't.

you rehearsed a speech after morning skate the next day, trying to get your words right. yet when he came over with daisies in hand, the words fell out of your mouth.

“hey babe—”

“i want to break up.”

peter reeled back, the flowers he was holding out still in his hands, waiting for you to accept them. but the truth was:

you hated daisies.

“what?” he asked.

“i can't keep doing this anymore. i thought maybe this was our second chance, but maybe there shouldn't have been one at all.”

peter tossed the flowers on your coffee table and reached for you. “baby, you don't know what you're talking about. we work so well together.”

you took a step back. “do we? because you hardly come to my games, you don't even seem interested in them.”

he scoffed. “this again? i told you i’m busy—”

“doing what? happy hours with your douchebag friends from your douchebag job?” you ran your hand down your face. “god, we don't even care about each other’s passions!”

“passion? getting pieces of rubber flung at you is a passion?” he laughed. “that’s a hobby, you could be making so much more doing literally anything else.”

“it’s not about the money! i love hockey—”

“oh grow up! you’ll play hockey for what? another five years? and then what? you'll have to do what the rest of us do and find a real job.”

you stepped back again, his words striking a chord that hurt more than you anticipated. “we’re done,” you said, hoping your voice sounded stronger than you felt. “get out, and take those fuckass flowers with you.”

“baby—”

“no! stop! you don't get it and i’m done waiting around for you to understand hockey is it for me. i’m not gonna ‘grow up’ the way you think i need to. so just leave and find someone else willing to be what you want.”

peter gaped at you before he spun on his heel and slammed your front door shut.

the pictures on the wall rattled, but your hands and heart were steady.

guy four: ....?

there was no telling what his name was, you couldn't remember it to save your life. but his tongue was down your throat and his hands were wandering.

maybe this is what you were meant for, hookups and casual makeouts with random bartenders on their breaks.

you were halfway to second base when jess cleared her throat, snapping the two of you out of your heavy petting session. 

“the manager sent me to tell you it’s time to get back to the bar,” she said, eyes at the guy you were making out with.

he nodded and, in a flash, had disappeared among the crowd.

“are you okay?” she asked, taking the place against the wall the bartender had occupied.

“yeah, why wouldn't i be?”

jess fixed you with a look that had you shrinking just a little. she knew that you knew why she was concerned. since the break up, you'd been on a bender of sorts, hooking up left and right. which, wasn't bad, but it seemed counterintuitive to falling in love.

“maybe it’s time we go home. do you need a ride?”

you shook your head, you'd only had one drink an hour ago. it wasn't liquor that made you make out with a stranger. “i think i’m gonna go to my parents’ place. i’ll see you tomorrow for practice?”

jess didn't look convinced.

“i’ll be okay, my parents’ house is like the safest place i could be.”

she nodded and hugged you tight to her chest. “i love you, twitch. text me when you get there.”

you hugged her back just as tightly. “i will.”

the drive itself was only an hour, could've been shorter if you were more reckless with your car, but seeing as you weren't a millionaire, you played it safe. that, and you didn't want to have to call your dad to come pick you up if you wrecked your car.

you pulled into the driveway, sighing at the familiarity of it all. it took only a matter of minutes for you to unlock the door and head upstairs to your childhood bedroom. you pulled out clothes you'd never taken to jersey and crawled into bed, letting the sleep take over.

when you made your way down the stairs the next morning, it was to the smell of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon.

“i knew i heard you come in last night, squirt,” your dad said before taking a sip of his coffee. “how was the game?”

you plopped down in your seat as your mom handed you a plate of pancakes and bacon. “i broke up with peter a few days ago.”

your parents, to their credit, didn't choke or show any sign that they were shocked. your dad took another sip of coffee and your mom took her seat at the table.

“how're you feeling?” your mom asked.

you shrugged. “i feel like i should be more upset that it’s over.”

“but?”

you sighed and cut a piece of pancake with your fork and shoved the piece in your mouth. “but i’m not. i guess i’m just disappointed that i wasted more time.”

“it’s not wasted,” your dad said. “did you learn something new about him or yourself?”

after a moment, you nodded, feeling like you were back in high school again.

“then it wasn’t wasted.”

“i thought it would be him. i stupidly thought the right guy would be in front of me the whole time like the movies. was it childish? sure, but i thought maybe it would be my turn.”

the whole conversation felt too intense for breakfast, but your parents weren't showing any signs of backing off. 

“maybe the right guy still is,” your mom said. “we all suck at looking for things when we think we’re running out of time.”

your dad chuckled. “i can’t tell you how many times we found the lucky socks on top of the pile of laundry in the corner of your room after you said you lost them.” he reached across the table and squeezed your hand in his. “you have time to figure it out, squirt. why rush?”

why rush, indeed.

the next few days passed by in a monotonous montage. your social life was suffering and you hadn't heard from mat since the roadie when you called him. part of you was ashamed for bothering him when he was out with grace, but another part was overwhelmed with the idea that maybe your friendship was over.

he'd probably fallen in love first, he probably won the bet.

and for some reason, the thought made your stomach sink.

he was probably holding hands with grace and kissing her after games and bringing her favorite flowers because he took time to know that stuff. he probably opened doors for her and made her walk on the inside of sidewalk. he was probably on the road to falling in love with grace because she was perfect.

meanwhile, there you were, thinking peter was your ticket to a happily ever after like you'd dreamt of when you first watched sleeping beauty as a child. but he was just a guy, a guy who couldn't remember your coffee order or work schedule, a guy who expected you to be at his beck and call when he needed you, a guy who wanted you as arm candy while he waited for you to get a clue and grow up.

a guy you'd wasted time on for reasons unknown to you.

maybe it was loneliness, or a desperate need to be chosen by someone other than your parents, to be someone’s first priority, you weren't sure. it could've been any or all of those things.e all you knew now was you spent too much of your youth on him, you weren't spending anymore thinking about him.

you were laying in a vegetative state on your couch, watching reruns of temptation island when your phone vibrated next to you.

mat: hey! long time no see. are you busy tonight?

you blinked, but your fingers were moving faster before your brain could fully process what was happening.

you: nope! not at all

mat: cool. wanna come to the game tonight?

you blinked.

you: really?

mat: yeah. haven't seen you in a minute. i'd like to see you tonight. maybe catch up after the game?

you: sure!

you drove the hour to your parents’ place who were out of town for spring break. you parked in their driveway and started walking to ubs like you'd always done, this time alone.

mat texted you earlier to let you know that grace would have the passes to the locker room, to just follow her lead. 

she was all soft smiles when you met up with her, greeting you kindly. her eyes looked over your shoulder, furrowing when she didn't see something, you guessed.

“where’s peter?” she asked. “was he busy tonight?”

“oh,” you laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “we broke up. so i don’t know where he is...”

grace’s smile faltered. “oh,” she said.

interpreting her fading smile as sympathy, you shrugged to diffuse the tension. “yeah but it’s fine, we weren't a good fit anyway. he didn't understand how important hockey is to me.” you sighed and looked around at the fans walking inside. “how're you and mat doing?”

you meant the question to be conversational, but when grace’s face twisted up, you realized you may have overstepped, though you couldn't figure out why. 

“things are...fine,” she said. “we should go sit down.”

you followed her lead to the seats, recognizing a few of the kids and wives mat had talked about before. however, you didn't wave, knowing good and well they probably had no idea who you were. nonetheless, the kids were cute.

over the course of the game, you tried to talk to grace as much as possible. you asked about her work (she works for a nonprofit helping disenfranchised students graduate high school) and complimented her outfit, yet she still seemed distant. there was a look in her eye that didn't quite match the energy you were giving her.

it didn't make much sense either when you followed her down to the locker room. she was quiet then too, which was odd, considering the isles won. thankfully, there wasn't much time to dwell on it because a brown haired woman came over and introduced herself.

“i’m holly,” she said. “i know grace, but i haven't met you yet.” and had anyone else said it, you might have felt insecure or out of place, but holly said it with such inviting warmth that you told her your name.

“but most people just call me twitch,” you admitted.

almost immediately she smirked with a knowing look in her eye. you weren't sure the cause. what could she possibly know just from a nickname?

“it’s nice to finally put a name with a face,” she said. in certain lighting, it looked like she wanted to say more until she realized grace was still there.

mat came out all smiles a beat later, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you talking to holly. he walked over and greeted grace first, kissing her sweetly, if you had to describe it (even if the thought made your stomach turn).

mat hugged you next, squeezing you tightly, before moving on to hug holly. 

“so,” he smiled. “what’d you think?”

“it was fun,” grace said quietly.

mat’s eyes landed on you, something you only knew because you were already staring at him. “you need to shoot the puck more. you’re playing hockey, not ping pong,” you stated. “assists are good, but so are goals.”

he rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “a ‘good job, mat’ would've sufficed, you know.”

you laughed to yourself. “maybe, but your ego is big enough as it is.” then, a realization that grace was standing there, you cleared your throat. “besides, i’ll leave it to grace to inflate your ego. as your friend, i’m here to keep you humble.”

you glanced at grace who sent you a grateful smile.

mat wrapped his arm around his girlfriend’s waist and nodded at holly as she excused herself. his attention was drawn to the locker rooms as more of his teammates exited. your eyes were drawn to a tall man just now leaving. he glanced in your direction, waved at mat, and walked towards the parking garage.

you blinked once. twice. and turned to mat. “i need you to set me up with him.”

mat choked. “what?” 

“duclair, your teammate, i need you to set me up with him.”

mat blinked, then clenched his jaw and shook his head. “no.”

taken aback, you asked, “why? do you think it’d be a bad idea? is he a douchebag?”

“no.”

“then why?”

mat sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “do you need a ride to your parents’ house?”

“nope!” you popped the p. “i’m gonna walk back.”

mat immediately shook his head. “not happening. i’ll give you a ride.”

“it’s really not that big of a deal, i’m sure you and grace want to go out somewhere and celebrate—”

grace cut in. “let us get you home,” she said. “it’s not safe to be walking alone this late at night.”

you acquiesced and followed mat and grace to his car. the ride was quiet, silent except for the soft notes of a justin bieber song playing in the background. from your seat in the back, you saw mat reach to grab grace’s hand and watched in confusion as she moved out of his reach.  your stomach twisted when you saw the frown on his face, so you looked away quickly to get rid of the sensation. 

mat pulled up to your parents’ house and parked in the driveway.

“thanks,” you said quietly. “for the game and driving me home.” you turned your focus to grace, who was staring out of the passenger window. “it was nice seeing you, grace.”

she managed to turn over her shoulder and give you a slight smile. “you too.”

“let me walk you to the door,” mat said. you tried to protest, but he was already halfway out of the car before you could say anything.

“i’ll see you later,” you said to grace before hopping out of the car into the cold air. mat walked by your side to the front door and waited for you to pull your keys out before he said anything.

“thank you for coming tonight,” he said. “it was nice, seeing you there, after weeks of not seeing you.”

you smiled because you just couldn't help it, not when he looked so sincere. “anytime, mat.”

he reached for you, pulling you into another tight hug. “i’ll text you?” he asked.

“let me know when you get home.”

he nodded and pulled away. “i will.”

guy five: anthony

with the isles clinching a spot in the playoffs, you weren't fully expecting mat to text you any time soon. you'd kept up with his games enough to know he was playing well. and part of you felt smug that maybe he'd taken your words at his last game to heart.

you: congrats on clinching!

you started cleaning your apartment before you left to go to elmont. with the pwhl international break in full force, you were planning on taking advantage of your parents’ groceries and living situation. maybe you'd convince your parents to take off work and spend time with you, maybe you'd drive out to the hamptons or maybe see your cousin in connecticut, but you weren't going to skip town without cleaning first.

you’d just vacuumed the living room rug when your phone rang. 

mat’s name appeared on your home screen.

“hello?” you answered.

“hey! you busy tonight?”

“just headed up to see my parents. it’s the first week of the international break, so i figured i’d go spend some time with them.”

“when are you leaving?”

“as soon as i finish packing.”

“would you wanna come over when you get into town?”

“s-sure, is grace gonna be there? i don't wanna overstep—”

“we broke up.”

you nearly dropped the phone. “w-what?”

his sigh echoed through the receiver. “yeah...it’s a long story. i’ll text you my address.”

clothes were being thrown into a duffel bag. you had no idea if they even matched, you just knew you needed to get out of jersey as soon as possible.

“i’m leaving! i’ll be in town in about an hour?”

truthfully, the drive was the longest drive you'd ever taken. sure, you'd shaved off two minutes from your maniacal driving, but it wasn't fast enough. you wanted to know what happened, why they broke up—

why your heart was leaping in your chest at the revelation.

you arrived at mat’s place, a house in the suburbs, a house much nicer than the one you grew up in, which made sense considering the salary difference.

mat was leaned up against the doorframe of his front door as you pulled into the driveway. you were hopping out of the car as soon as you threw it in park.

“turn your car off, doofus!” he called with a hand framing his mouth.

heat rushed to your face as you reached back into the car to cut off the ignition. “whoops,” you said.

mat came down the stairs of his porch and grabbed your duffel bag from your hands. your eyes must've widened because he nudged you. “relax, you're not moving in, but i don't think it’s smart for you to leave your stuff in the car.”

you rolled your eyes. “this is the bougiest neighborhood around, mat.”

“and? where’s your wallet?”

your eyes widened as you went back to your car, digging around in your center console before pulling out a bundle of cards wrapped together with a hair tie. “here!” you held it up like it was a trophy, something to be proud of.

mat blinked. “you can't be serious.”

“what do you mean?”

he gestured to your hand. “you’re joking right? that’s not a wallet.”

“it’s fine! it works for me!” you waved it around before mat snatched it out of the air and started towards his front door. “hey come back with that!”

“you're not carrying your important information out in the open and tied together with a hair tie, that’s ridiculous.”

you followed him inside and watched as he placed your duffel bag on the ground in the entryway. you continued to follow him into the common area and towards a table with drawers.

“here,” he said, handing you a worn leather wallet out of one of the aforementioned drawers. “take this.”

“i can't take this,” you replied.

“sure you can, i’m not using it, so take it.”

you scrunched your nose up. “but it’s ugly.”

mat ran a hand down his face and sighed. “cards tied together with a hair tie is ugly. now take the damn wallet.”

you crossed your arms and refused to move. “no. i don’t want an ugly wallet.”

“it’s pure leather.”

“and it’s ugly.”

mat looked at you, with something akin to fondness and maybe a little of something else you couldn't place. and when he smiled the bright smile no one had been able to replicate, you took the wallet.

you studied the worn brown leather. maybe it was the lack of eye contact that gave you the courage to ask the question on the tip of your tongue since that morning. “why'd you and grace break up?”

mat cleared his throat. “want something to drink? i’m a little parched.” without saying another word, he walked towards what you assumed was his kitchen.

you followed, because of course you did. you watched as his t-shirt stretched over his back muscles and shoulders as he filled a cup with iced water. “are you gonna answer the question?”

he sighed and turned around, taking a sip of water in the process. “it just wasn't working.”

“but you seemed so happy!”

he shrugged. “she wasn't.” you waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine. wanna go sit?” he gestured towards the lush couches in the living room.

“are you gonna answer any of my questions directly?” you asked, following him and plopping on the couch only after he did it first.

mat sighed. “i don't know, i feel like i was so close to having what my teammates have.”

you nodded along, pulling your feet up onto the ottoman. “i get that. sometimes i think there's something fundamentally wrong with me, that's why no one stays.” mat froze next to you, even as you let out a bitter laugh. “i mean, i broke things off with all of the other guys but maybe i’m just not built for this—”

“there's nothing wrong with you,” he said with a certainty you wished you possessed.

you blinked. “huh?”

“there’s nothing wrong with you.” mat looked at his feet, propped up next to your own. “even if a genie gave me a wish, i wouldn't change a single thing about you.” there was something so childish about it that stuck with you, but not childish in a bad way, childish in the innocent sense. he said it with the same conviction as a little kid who still believed in santa claus. you couldn't help it, you looked at him, waiting for his eyes to meet your own. when he did, he gave you a small smile, before it evolved into a smirk. “even if you can't peel your oranges.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. “asshole. at least i can stay on my feet on the ice.”

mat made an indignant noise. “that’s not fair! you hardly ever skate as fast as i do.”

you continued on like you didn't hear him. “all i know is the only times i end up on my ass during a game is because someone knocks into me.”

mat ignored your comment and reached for the remote by your feet. he pushed your feet off the ottoman and laughed when you yelped.

“you’re such a dick! i was comfortable!”

“that's what you get for being mean.” he tossed you the remote and hopped off the couch, heading back to the kitchen. “what’ve you been watching lately?” he asked from the other room.

“temptation island mostly!” you called back. “it’s trashy but—”

mat hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to you. “god i love temptation island.” he handed you a freshly peeled orange. “want one?”

there was no telling how long you'd stayed at mat’s place, or how many episodes that equated to. hell, it wasn't until mat woke you up that you'd realized you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“hey,” he nudged you gently. “it’s like 9pm and all you've had since you got here was an orange. do you wanna order in?”

you inhaled and rubbed at your eyes, not realizing that the sun had set long ago. last you remembered it wasn't even six o’clock. granted, you didn't even remember falling asleep either, so who could really trust your memory?

you motioned to your phone which had made its way to the ottoman, though you couldn't remember ever placing it there...

mat grabbed it for you and winced when he saw the missed calls from your parents.

a slew of texts accompanied the missed calls, most asking where you were, if you were safe, if something had happened. one text from your dad said he was close to calling the cops, (a joke if you'd ever heard one, your dad didn't trust cops).

“i should probably get home before they send out a search party...” you were too busy messing with your phone to pull up your mom’s contact to notice the way mat’s face dropped.

“what're you doing tomorrow?” he asked, the words falling out of his mouth.

you stopped texting your mom to look at the way he waited for your answer, the way he seemed to hang onto the next words to leave your mouth. “i don't think i have anything going on...”

“come to my game?”

and when he looked at you like that, how could you say no?

the drive back to your parents’ house wasn't by any means long, but there was a longing in your heart you didn't recognize, like an invisible string was attached to mat’s house and the farther you got from him, the more unsettled you became.

you just didn't know why.

“where were you?” your dad asked the second you unlocked the front door.

“mat’s,” you said simply, missing the way your parents’ eyes widened while you locked the door behind you. however, you turned around just in time to see the smirks adorning their lips.

“oh?” your mom said, an odd tone in her voice. “and how is he doing?”

“he’s fine. i’m going to his game tomorrow.”

your mom’s eyebrows rose. “against the devils?”

“yep.”

“that's an intense game to go to,” your dad commented. “do you have anything to wear?”

you blinked and moved towards the kitchen. “what? is this an interrogation? i’m probably just gonna wear a sweatshirt and jeans, dad. it’s a game.”

your dad threw his hands up and did his best to look innocent. “just asking a question, squirt. how’s he feeling about their chances tomorrow?”

you shrugged yet again and opened the fridge. “we didn't talk about hockey.” your eyes searched the shelves in hopes of something that wouldn't require anything more than 90 seconds in the microwave. all you saw was lunchmeat and a giant ass block of cheese.

guess you'd have cereal for dinner.

“well, you were over there for a long time, what did you talk about, if not hockey?” your mom asked.

you turned around and scrutinized your parents, both of whom were on the literal edge of their seats. for once, your dad wasn't reclined in his chair with a newspaper and his readers on. his elbows were braced on his knees. and your mom wasn't working on sudoku like she usually did.

they both stared at you in a way you couldn't remember seeing before. “what're you two getting at? we just talked. mat and grace broke up and so we talked about that. and then we watched temptation island because mat hadn't seen the newest season.”

you cleared your throat when neither parent had anything to add. “and if that’s all, i’m gonna go shower.”

“tomorrow, tell mat we said hi!” your mom called up the stairs.

because you were a good daughter, you, in fact, called mat when you got to the arena the next day to relay your mother’s message.

“tell her i said hi back,” he laughed into the phone. it was rich and deep and flooded your stomach with a weird sensation you hadn't felt before. “speaking of, did she send the shirt with you?”

you adjusted the gift bag in your arms. your mother gave you strict instructions not to peek, so despite the fact that you wanted to, you respected her orders for once.

“i’ve got it in a gift bag, but i don’t think i’ll be able to take it in.”

“you didn't drive, did you?”

“mat, you've been to my parents’ house. you know i walk.”

a shuffling sound was heard on the other end. “hold on a sec, i’ll meet you outside.”

“you don't have to—”

“i’m not risking you taking a peek at the shirt. just give me five minutes to send an intern or someone to meet you.”

“you don't trust me?”

“not at all,” he said without an ounce of hesitation. “not with this.”

you huffed, but conceded. again, it was only the respect you had for your mother that kept you from looking at the shirt she made for mat. there was only one thing that could be on it. there was no doubt it was a baby picture of you, the real question was though, which embarrassing photo did mat pick?

before you could even go down that rabbit hole, a young woman was rushing out and meeting you by the entrance.

“hi,” she said, slightly out of breath. “you had something for mr. barzal?”

you almost laughed at the formality of his name, but you managed to hold it back. “yes,” you said and held out the gift bag to her. “i think my mom put some brownies in there for him, but i wasn’t allowed to peek so i can’t say one way or the other.”

she nodded but looked at you like you were speaking another language. “anything else i should tell him?” she asked.

you shook your head. “nope. that’s all.”

in a flash, she was gone again, leaving you standing by the entrance of ubs, waiting for the doors to open. there was a small part of you that regretted walking simply because it meant you had nowhere to go until the game started, but then you remembered the expensive ass parking and walking sounded like a better option.

at least it hadn't rained.

when the doors opened, you were one of many people heading straight towards your seats. you didn't make enough money to justify spending money on stadium food, but you were most definitely treating yourself to a soft pretzel anyway. so what if it was a little early, you were hungry and there was nothing like a soft pretzel while waiting for a hockey game to start.

by the time you made it to your seat, most of the wags were already there. mat warned you ahead of time where your seat would be, and it didn't seem like that big of an issue at the time. but standing among them now seemed a little daunting.

until you saw holly.

“hey!” she smiled, one arm holding her daughter on her hip, the other hand holding her son’s. “mat told me you were coming!”

you blinked. “he did?”

holly nodded. “it’s good to see you again. you picked a good game to come to.”

“it’s not quite the battle of new york, but i’m happy to be here either way.” with a quick glance around the arena, it was clear that seats were filling fast. it would be packed in no time.

you were glad you got your soft pretzel when you did. you took a bite as holly led you to your seat which was conveniently next to hers. you put a reminder in your phone to thank mat whenever you saw him next.

seeing him next happened sooner than you expected because as soon as he came out onto the ice, after doing a few laps, he skated in your general direction.

there was no legitimate reason why your stomach should've flipped when he bent down and waved at holly’s kids, or why your knees got a little weak when he threw a puck over the glass for a stranger.

he stopped in front of you this time, and smiled so big you swore you could see his molars. that, you'd decided in that very moment, was your favorite smile of his.  some people, you thought, looked crazy or insane when they cackled like mat did, but it wasn't like that with him. the way mat laughed, smiled, snarked, and smirked made your insides do somersaults.

you'd never felt like this with any of your other friends. maybe it was a feeling reserved for friendship with guys instead?

mat knocked on the glass in front of you and smiled before he skated back to finish his warm ups.

your cheeks felt warm whenever the two of you made eye contact, and you couldn't figure out why. you especially didn't know why holly kept looking at you out of the corner of her eye and then proceed to smile lightly.

it didn't make sense. but you didn't dwell on it either.

the game started shortly thereafter and it was electrifying. the crowd was screaming, yelling, banging on the glass. one guy a few rows over called jack hughes a bitch as he was crosschecked into the boards.

what a time to be alive.

you were almost positive you'd be hoarse and your ears would be ringing for the rest of the night.

once mat scored a goal and you shot out of your seat, you were well on your way to not speaking for the rest of the week. you'd have to apologize to your team later. maybe your mom could make a warm cup of tea for you when you got home to help mitigate the consequences of your excitement.

mat scored again two minutes later, crouching down low and yelling while shaking his fists like he always did for a celly.

right before the end of the third, mat scored again. hats rained down from all parts of the arena. mat’s smile was wider than you'd seen it. there were tears forming in your eyes, joy afresh in your bones.

he'd deserved this, was all you could think about.

he'd deserved it all.

you walked with holly down to the locker rooms and spent time chatting with her. though, if you were being honest, you were just buying time until mat came out.

he didn't leave you waiting for long. he walked out, wet hair, suit on, and smiling. his eyes lit up when he saw you with holly.

your legs were moving towards him before you even registered what was happening. your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, breathing in his body wash. “i’m so proud of you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “this is so exciting.”

he squeezed you back just as tightly. “thank you for being here.”

you pulled back as much as he would allow and smiled. “wouldn't wanna be anywhere else.”

there was no telling how long the two of you stood like that until the eye contact grew intense and had you stepping back.

a hand clapped mat on the shoulder. your eyes followed the lines of his arm until they landed on anthony duclair’s face.

“good game tonight, barzy,” he said before nodding at you and turning on his heel and walking away.

as soon as duclair was out of earshot, you turned to mat. “i want his number.”

mat’s jaw clenched. “no.”

“why not?”

“no.”

“mat, that's not an answer.”

he hitched his bag over his shoulder. “are you coming over?”

while you wanted to press him more, standing outside of the locker room was not the place to do it, so you nodded and let him guide you to the parking lot. he placed a hand ghosting over your lower back.

and if you’d walked slower just to keep his hand on you, who could blame you?

the car ride was quiet except for the music playing softly over the speakers. mat’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel when they weren't too busy white knuckling the leather.

he didn't say anything when he pulled his car into the garage either. you just followed him inside and attempted to wait for him to say something. but when the silence became deafening, you spoke up.

“mat, what’s going on? you haven't said a word since we left the arena, which, might i add, is unusual given how you're a top tier yapper any other time—”

“i don't get it,” he started, cutting your rambling short. “i had a hat trick tonight and you still want to date my teammate. what do i need to do to win you over? to give us a shot?”

you blinked like he was speaking a different language. what the fuck was he talking about? “i don't know what you mean.”

he ran a hand down his face and sighed. “c’mon twitch, you’re smart. you have to know by now.” mat reaches for his game day bag and pulls out the gift bag you gave the intern earlier in the evening. “this,” he said. “this is what i mean.” he tossed the bag to you, which you caught with ease. “open it.”

“mat, this is for you,” you explained slowly. “my mom said you wanted a shirt—”

“look at it,” he said. “i already know what’s on it. i picked out the picture myself.”

you looked at him with his hands on his hips shifting his weight from side to side. even before rivalry games, before his dates with other girls, you'd never seen him this antsy. you'd do anything to keep him from looking like that, so you pulled the shirt out of the bag and let it unravel as the bag fell to your feet.

and unravel it did.

the picture rendered you speechless. when mat was taking photos on his phone all those weeks ago (or was it months? you could barely remember a time when mat wasn’t in your life at that point. time ceased to matter when you were around him.), you assumed it was the photo of you in your amish outfit holding a candlestick next to your aunt’s antique butter churner. but it wasn’t. no, the picture wasn’t anything goofy or humiliating like you were anticipating.

you were six and missing one front tooth. there were two braids resting on your shoulders. you wore a pair of cinderella plastic high heels. but none of those things caught your attention.

it was the adult new york islanders jersey you were wearing that caught your attention. the jersey was your dad’s and came down to your ankles, but that wasn't the reason you were transfixed.

it was claude lapointe’s jersey.

the number 13 on the sleeve felt like a brand.

you scrutinized the image a moment more before looking up at him. “why this photo?”

mat looked at you, his eyes softening just a little. “don't play dumb, twitch. you know why.”

“if this is about the bet, mat—”

“—who cares about the bet? i don’t even remember the bet! i just know that if you’re gonna date a hockey player, i want it to be me.”

any oxygen left in your lungs suddenly disappeared. you couldn't breathe, couldn't think. there was no way this was real.

“...what?” you squeaked out. “mat what’re you..huh?” you took a step back, the shirt dropping to the floor.

he gestured to the shirt. “i don't remember what the bet was about, i don't remember what i’d get if i won. and i don’t care. because all i want is you.” mat took a step towards you and scooped the shirt off the ground. “i’m not giving duclair your number because if you’re gonna date an islander, i want it to be me.”

“me?” you pointed to yourself.

he laughed just enough to crack a smile. “who else?” mat took another step closer, the distance between you two ever shrinking. “i just want to be enough for you, i want to peel every orange, and buy bags of starbursts to look for red ones. i want to carry your goalie bag after your shut outs and when you give up seven points. i want to see you wear my jersey. i want to wear yours. i want...”

his words faded out as a memory took over your brain.

“it’s time for you to start carrying your own goalie bag and peeling your oranges, now.

draft day seemed so long ago when your dad said it. but standing in mat’s living room felt like that same level of euphoria, a high you'd been chasing since being drafted to the sirens.

in college, you would've scoffed at the idea of some guy confessing feelings for you feeling as important as your draft day. but he wasn't just some guy, was he?

he was mat.

and mat had always been different.

“i know you said you don’t hook up with hockey players, but would you consider dating one?” mat asked, still shifting his weight, looking more unsure than you'd ever seen, even when he went against the rangers a few weeks ago.

“you don’t think i’m weird?” you asked.

he smiled. “i think you're the weirdest girl i know. and i love it.” mat cleared his throat and shifted again. “i love you.”

there was no helping the smile lighting up your face as you closed the distance between your bodies. “even if i sleep with socks on?”

mat reached out and hooked his thumbs in your belt loops, pulling you closer until you nearly went cross eyed trying to maintain eye contact. “mhm,” he hummed.

“even if my wallet is a hair tie holding all my cards together?”

“i thought i gave you one—” he cut himself off and shook his head. “yes, even that.”

“what about—”

“twitch, there's nothing you could do to change my mind. i love you, quirks and all.”

you couldn't stop the smile on your face. “you love me.” a statement, no questions.

“i love you,” he said before clearing his throat. “do you—”

you stood on your toes and pressed your lips to his. you'd kissed a number boys in your lifetime, but nothing could compare to mat. not the way his arms circled your waist and brought you closer. not the way his nose bumped into yours, and certainly not the way he moaned into your mouth that sent shivers down your spine.

“i love you, mat.”

and that smile, that grin you loved so much made another appearance. it made your stomach flip like it always did when you realized you were the cause of his happiness.

“wait,” you said. “who wins the bet?”

mat rolled his eyes and pulled you impossibly closer. “who gives a fuck?”

“i do! i want to win.”

mat rolled his eyes but there was no mistaking the smile still on his lips. “you won. i’ll peel your oranges for as long as we’re both alive as long as you're mine.”

and you couldn't stop the grin appearing on your face, the kind of grin that made your eyes scrunch up.

“you've got yourself a deal.”

the last guy: mat

[muscleloverz69]

New Friends Part 1

Scott was my best friend. It's every girl's dream to have a gay best friend like Scott. He was funny and kind. Guys were never threatened by him either because he was just a 5’5 beanpole. Scott was hanging out with me in my bedroom with my boyfriend Robby. The three of us were enjoying a movie. Scott was on the floor while I was cuddled up with Robby on the bed. 

Robby was a perfect boyfriend, a 6 '5 slab of beautifully sculpted muscle. His arms were larger than Scotts entire leg and his pecs made perfect pillows. He was a quiet guy but had a massive dick to make up for it. He was also very sweet, giving me thoughtful presents constantly. My favorite was a heart locket with strands of his hair in it so we’re always together.  I’ve seen Scott steal a peak at my boyfriend quite a few times but Robby was 100% straight.

Scott looked up at us on the bed “you guys are so lucky to have each other.” 

I smiled back at him. Scott was very single, no gay guy was ever interested in him. I was trying to figure out what to say to him when my bedroom door flung open. It was my brother, Vince. If there was anyone objectively hotter than my boyfriend it was my brother. That might sound fucked up but it was true he had everything Robby had but add in a brooding attitude and manliness Robby can’t compete with. The only problem was he was an asshole who hated me.

“Hey Melissa I see your loser friend is over.”

I rolled my eyes, Scott just sat there quietly, obviously overwhelmed by Vince’s presence before finally opening his mouth “Oh um yeah, hi Vince how are you.”

“You are such a gay freak.” Vince chuckled. “Anyway Melissa I’m here because I decided I’m sick of you always bringing your boyfriend over especially when I need a new best friend.”

I was confused until I saw Vince reveal a book from behind his back. Our family comes from a powerful line of witches and that book is the family spellbook. I realized too late however as with just a few magic words a spell hit Robby right in the face.

“Robby, what did he just do to you!”

 I watched as Robby sat up, his face contorted into a sneer. “It’s Rob bitch, now leave me alone so I can hang with my bro Vince.”

My heart dropped as ‘Rob’ stood up and walked away with Vince. Just like that I had lost my boyfriend.

Over the next few days everything changed for me. Rob was over almost everyday but he was a different person. He now had that same brooding energy as my brother and they did everything together. I would watch them as they came back from the gym, threw a ball around, or harassed Scott. Robby never would have mistreated Scott but Rob seemed to love it just like Vince. The two of them would bring girls home too which really stung. When Rob saw me instead of love in his eyes it was annoyance. I was now just his best friend’s dumb sister instead of his girlfriend. My heart was shattered and all I could think of was revenge.

Rob’s Perspective

“Bro I can’t believe I was ever with your bitch sister. This body was meant to be shared.” Rob flexed one of his massive biceps. 

Vince chuckled, popping his massive pecs in response “Yeah and no more of those pussy sweaters and shit she had you in. Only compression shirts and sweats to show off to the ladies.” 

They were on their way to a club planning a wild night, Robby used to never drink, but Rob pounded beers like it was water.

That wasn’t the only way Rob changed though. His once brown hair had turned blonde just like Vince, his voice dropped an octave to resemble his new friends as well as his muscles swelled to match his bro.

It didn’t take long for Rob and Vince to find Bimbos to hook up with at the club, they took them both to the bathroom excited to drop a load. Both of them entered the handicap stall. Rob took his massive dick out and started to stroke it up and down, hips gyrating as he did. He lowered his pants more just below his ass causing his bubble but to shake a little. He bent his bimbo over and without any foreplay shoved his dick into her. His shaft quickly thrusting as a deep moan rumbled in his throat. Vince had done the same to his girl, grabbing her hair with one hand as he put his muscled torso to good use.

The two bros were so focused on their chicks they didn’t even notice as Melissa entered the bathroom. She had found the family spellbook from where Vince had hidden it and now it was time for her revenge. A spell once cast could not be undone but it can be altered by a new spell.

Rob was close to finishing his ass starting to clench in anticipation. He hardly noticed as the space around him changed. The men in the bathroom were now mostly shirtless, all of them extremely well muscled and attractive. In fact even Rob and Vince’s shirts had vanished. There was also now a suspicious number of men kissing other men. Rob felt his dick get closer and closer as the twink underneath him let out a moan before his load filled up the guy's ass. He pulled out, the boy's ass still leaking. Vince finished too, and they both pulled back on their thongs and went back to the club. 

Rob felt like something was off but couldn’t put his finger on it as he rubbed up against a jock's ass. He looked towards his bro Vince as he watched him get spanked by a very sexy leather daddy. He realized he did find his friend very attractive. Rob possessively walked up to Vince placing a hand on his muscular arm. “Hey, what if we took this back to your place.” 

Vince’s eyes went wide with anticipated pleasure as they left. In the car Rob felt a strange fog in his head before shaking it off, he loved his boyfriend and best bro and was so excited to get home.

The second they entered the house Vince picked up Rob by the ass and pinned him against the wall. Rob wrapped his well defined legs around Vince’s waist as they kissed. Tongues darting back and forth as deep moans were exchanged. Vince lowered Rob down before bending just slightly to Rob’s chest, Vince glanced up predatorily before beginning to lick Rob’s meaty pec settling on his nipple, biting it gently. Rob whimpered, running his hand across Vince’s chiseled face before reaching upward and grabbing his soft blonde hair. Rob with a fistful of Vince’s hair in hand forced Vince onto his knees. Vince lowered Rob’s jock and a thick cock bounced out slapping him in the face. Vince’s tongue ran once down the shaft while his hand gripped the base. His mouth gently began cradling one of Rob’s balls in his mouth causing Rob to exude an uncharacteristically high moan. Vince carefully released him before greedily taking him into his mouth gagging as he did. Rob gripped Vince’s hair tighter as he began to fuck his face. Vince ran his free hand down Rob’s abs as the thrusting increased in pace faster and faster until he pulled back just in time for Rob to splatter Vince’s face.

Both panting hot and sweaty. Neither noticed Melissa watching from the stairs. “Now it's time to get a boyfriend back.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dearly Beloved 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, allusions to abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After spurning one too many suitors, you wind up with the worst person you've ever met.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: inspired by the ask about a reader that wears skirts all the time but Lloyd discovers she wears shorts too and it challenged to get past them.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You swipe the wand against your lashes one last time and shove it back into the tube. You sit up as you check the overall effect. Nothing too much. You like a dewy look, natural but glowing. You have to at least look like you care about today. 

The knock at the door is like clockwork. You’ve done this too many times. You expected your parents to give up by now. All the men did. 

You yawn and set the mascara back in your makeup case. “Come in,” you call dully. 

You watch your mother enter in the mirror. She’s in one of her stiff tweed jackets and a matching skirt. If she took a few inches off the skirt, it might be cute. 

“Waiting on you,” she tuts and crosses her arms. 

“Oh, are you?” You shut the case and stand. “I must’ve lost track of time.” 

You stand and smooth your dress. The little bow accoutrements long the shallow slit of the short skirt add a touch of sparkly to the navy blue. You’ve paired the dress with beige heels and thick gold hoop earrings. You look exactly to her standards and yet there’s disappointment in her eyes. 

“He will not like you being late,” she girds as she crosses the room and reaches for you. You stop her from touching your hair. She always has to fix what doesn’t need to be fixed. 

“Mother, it’s not on purpose. I only want to look my best. As you said,” you tilt your head coyly. 

“Don’t,” she frees herself from your grasp and points at you. “I need you to start taking this seriously. You are twenty-five.” 

“An old spinster,” you sigh dramatically, “how many is this now? Eighteen? You think this one will bite?” 

“If you would try, perhaps. Don't think you are so clever,” she bristles. 

“Mother, I’ve done everything you’ve asked me too. I’ve been on my best behaviour but you simply can’t force love,” you insist. 

“Dear, I do not know why you do this. Your father will blow an aneurysm if you keep this up,” she hisses. 

“Oh yes, the steam came out of his ears last time,” you chuckle. 

“It isn’t funny. This is our legacy. You are our legacy.” 

Your smile falls. Why you? It was her choice not to have any more heirs. If they are so important, she should have, right? Why must it be you? 

“Mother, can it not wait longer? A few years?” 

“This is not a seller’s market.” 

“And I’m not property. I’m a person. Your daughter.” 

“Mm, well, a few more years and there would be concern. For... fertility,” she sniffs. 

“Yes, I am cattle. Forgive my mistake.” 

“Please, I am not—if you tried to get along, you might find a good match,” she snips. 

“They are all snobs and terribly boring. I’ve tried.” 

“You are late. You are catty. And you roll your eyes,” she sneers. “How about a smile and a ‘yes, mother’.” 

You hold back your agitation. You get your stubbornness from her but that only seems to irk her. She didn’t raise you to be a pushover but that’s exactly what she’s telling you to be. 

“Yes, mother,” you smile and flutter your lashes, “I will try to increase my price so that you and father can go on your....” you count silently on your fingers, “twentieth honeymoon?” 

“You--” she begins and makes a fist. You lean away. She glares at you. “Rein it in.” 

She spins and stomps to the door. You exhale as your cheeks pinch painfully. At least she thought not to mess up your makeup. 

You follow her into the hallway. You’re silent. You know better than to keep on when she gets to this point. You tell that crying little girl to go back to her corner and once more paint on a smile. 

You follow her down the curling stairs and your heels echo through the foyer. She takes you to the sitting room and steps back to let your through first. You barely look at the man sat in the centre of the settee. 

“She’s here. Apologies for the wait, she was having a bad hair day,” she preens. There’s silence. “Well, then I should leave you to introduce yourselves.” 

She pulls the sliding wood doors from another era. You huff, “as if. My hair is perfect.” 

The man laughs. His sole scuffs as he stands. He says your name. 

“Mm, let’s not pretend here. We both know what this is.” 

“Straight to the point,” he remarks with a snort. “Should we exchange measurements and decide?” 

It takes you a moment to get his meaning. That’s disgusting. You face him with lip curled. “I think I can guess pretty easily,” you look him up and down. You arch a brow. “Oh, well...” 

His lips thin and he squints. The crinkles around his eyes deepen. You want to wipe off that silly mustache above his lip. 

“You’re a bit older than I expected.” You shrug. 

He puts a hand on his hip, “experience. Means I know what I’m doing.” 

You smile again, only to keep from laughing. You dig a heel into the floor and check your nails. “Sure, well, we should waste about half an hour and then we can send for my mother.” 

He clucks. You look at him, your elbow against your side as you keep your hand up. His brows knit then lift. “Lloyd Hansen.” He offers his hand, “billionaire, with a whole lot more coming to me.” 

“Right,” you look at his hand and turn away. You strut around him, “look, I’m really not looking to get married. I’m just doing what they tell me so I wouldn’t bother. Save your energy.” 

You flop onto the settee and hook one knee over the other. You rock your foot as you cross your arms. He slithers after you, stopping by the arm rest. 

“Oh, I got lots of energy,” he scoffs. “Well, half-an-hour, I can think of a few ways to pass the time. I’m not really the sort to wait until marriage.” 

You grimace at him, “no thank you.” 

“Well, aren’t you a treat? I heard about you but I thought all those guys were cucks,” he snorts. 

“Heard about me?” You repeat. 

“Sure, frigid bitch it what they’re saying,” he snickers and turns to sit beside you, “but they didn’t say anything about those legs.” 

He stretches his arm across the back of the couch above you. He tries to drop it onto your shoulders and you catch his wrist and shove him away. He chuckles again and tugs on your hair. You swat him. 

“Hey, no touching,” you snarl. 

“I like this,” he pinches the little ribbon button along the skirt, “it’s cute. Nice little peek of thigh.” 

Before you can stop him, he shoves his hand through slit of the skirt and squeezes our thigh. You yipe and you grab his other arm. He pushes up against your shorts. He frowns. 

“What?” He pinches the edge along your thigh. 

“Chafing,” you push him off of you. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m here to buy. I wanna know what I’m paying for,” he sneers. 

“Ew, ew,” you shove him again and stand, storming away as you shiver in repulsion. “Ew. Firstly, you’re too old. Second, your pervy little mustache is gross. Third, you’re nasty.” 

“You haven’t really given me a chance. One, I might have a few extra years under my belt but that means I know what I’m doing,” you face him as he holds up a thumb. “Two, this mustache is there for her pleasure. Yours, if you play your cards right. Three,” his other hand rests on his thigh as you glimpse the twitching in his cream coloured pants, “tell me how nasty to be and I’ll gladly fuck that rod out of your ass.” 

“Wow, you are repugnant,” you scoff. 

“I got some extra flavour,” he leans forward, his elbows on his legs as he clasps his hands together. “Those other guys, I know they came in here like simps in their bowties, tryna lube you up with those puppy dog eyes. Well, I’m here for business. I don’t have time to waste on games and you don’t seem to like playing. It’s perfect.” 

“It couldn’t be less awful,” you assure him. 

“Right, I’m sure you’re having the time of your life with Mommy Dearest there. Does she have wire hangers? Don’t answer that,” he laughs and sits back, leaning his arm on the cushioned rest. “At least I’m honest. I’m not gonna sit here and lick your asshole. Not figuratively. I got shit to get done, namely, getting married, and you seem, well, to put it in your language ‘so over it’,” he puts on a trite voice. 

“I’m over you,” you insist. 

“I don’t mind a girl on top,” he winks. 

“Ugh, maybe you should meet a few divorcees. They might just be desperate enough.” 

“Tried that game. She cried after. Was really awkward.” 

You glare at him. He really is gross. You’re not a prude by any measure but this is supposed to be an introduction. He’s supposed to at least pretend to be gentleman. 

“I’m done with this conversation, so you can entertain yourself,” you dismiss with a flick of your fingers. 

He chortles as you turn your back to him. You clomp over to the window and distract yourself with the hedges and the sparrows rustling within. Your mother will be upset but he’s the last of the...however many men you’d choose. 

“No wonder you got them lined up, sweet cheeks, you fill out that dress real nice,” his soles scuff on the floor. “It’s cute but I’d suggest something with a bit less at the top. I’m sure you got a nice balance.” 

You ignore him and shake your head at the panes. You listen to his slow approach. You tense as you sense him right behind you. 

“You’re not the first I’ve met either, you know? The rest of them are so... flighty. The last one had a list of demands. A fucking bride price. Chanel everything. Boring,” he says. 

You wince as he touches your back. He drags his fingers up your dress and you snarl as you go rigid. He gets even closer and hums. 

“Let me pet the kitty and then you can decide. You really can’t make a clear decision if you don’t know how a man--” he snakes his hand around your neck and you dip your chin. You bite down on the webbing between his thumb and index. 

He yowls as you clamp down on him. You let him go and he staggers away. You face him and watch him with a smug smirk as he shakes his hand. He cradles it and hisses. 

“You little...” he snarls through his teeth as his eyes blaze at you. 

“I warned you already not to touch me,” you insist. “The next time, they’ll be blood.” 

He holds up his hand and examines the red bite mark. He scowls and lowers it. His glare meets yours hotly. He squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes. 

“Oh, baby girl, you don’t know what you’ve done,” he spits. 

He turns and strides to the door. You cackle as he tries to pull them inward first, then figures to slide them apart. You stay as you are as you hear his footsteps reverberate around the foyer. You turn to face the window again. 

He marches down the long stone walk toward the arched driveway. You’ve never chased one out before. To be honest, all the others were too shy to get that close. He waves at Carmen, the valet. You tisk between your teeth and shrug as you spin back. 

Your mom will probably let her fists fly now but it will be worth it, so long as you never have to see that man again. 

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.6

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: yall... this is so long, so sorry. but thank you again for your patience, always appreciate you guys being so kind and considerate towards me. please enjoy this part!

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday

Nanami’s clients extended their visit. 

It has been more than a week since he and Haibara have been hosting them. Within that week, you might have seen Nanami maybe 3 times, if that. As much as it was good not to see him, you were a bit down. The once perfect dynamic now fell in the hands of complicated feelings and uncertain distance. The duality of emotion. 

You found yourself a bit lost when clocking in. Subconsciously, you’d head over to the cafe and get Nanami his coffee. But now, as his new assistants have been assigned to do that, your subconscious has trouble assimilating. Your cubicle area feels hollow without Nanami tapping away answering emails and clocking numbers. Lunches that were always coordinated were now taken on your lonesome. 

But, Haibara was one who would never let you get tortured by your own thoughts for long. “Y/N,” he sounds from behind. You don’t look over your shoulder, as your eyes are glued to your current assignment. You were fixing the words of a contract that Nanami and Takada curated together for a different client, making sure everything was concise and ready for the legal team to review. 

“Mm,” you hum in response, listening as he took a seat in what once was Nanami’s creak. 

“I have some work for you,” Haibara begins. “But before that, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch later? With me, of course.” 

You type one more word before freeing the keyboard, “you have the time to catch lunch with me?” 

Haibara nods contently, “Nanami and I sealed the deal, so he and Takada shacho will be having lunch with the clients at that boujee steakhouse a few blocks from the office.” 

You smile warmly, “congratulations, Haibara! I’m really happy for you guys.” 

“Thank ya, thank ya,” he ‘humbly’ bows at your curt praise. “It was grueling but we did it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with them to celebrate,” you ask, furrowing your brows a bit in confusion. 

Haibara shrugs, “I was invited to go, but I wanted to catch up with you. It’s been a bit of time since we’ve been able to talk, besides me coming to give you work from Nanami.”

He’s too good to me. “Ah, please don’t let me be the reason you miss out on the best T-Bone steak of your life,” you say in a lamenting tone. 

Haibara waives your worries, “you’re going through a shitty time, and I don’t want you to go through that alone. We can have a shitty time together.” 

“Pff,” you huff, but you couldn’t hide the smile you had. Haibara truly was a warm soul, and you were beyond lucky to have created such a good friendship with him. “What is the assignment you need me to do?” 

“Ah right!” Haibara fishes out a flashdrive from his black dress pants. He plops it on the desk, and flicks it towards you, the hard plastic sliding on the sleek surface. “This is the original presentation that you created for these very clients as the game plan for our collaboration. You made this in the case that it goes well, which it did.” 

“Correct,” you kept up. 

“Because they have agreed, Nanami needs updated numbers than the ones we have in all the charts and diagrams,” Haibara instructs, “nothing huge, just replacing all of those with our recent numbers. The information written will still be correct as it explains our steady ascension in the market.” 

“Got it, got it,” you spew, your brain getting wrecked from all his words. You take the flashdrive in your hand and plug it into your computer. “It shouldn’t take too long, but I’ll review the written work just to make sure it truly is consistent. I’ll also send you and Nanami an email noting all the changes.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“Anyways, where are we eating?” You change topics upon the growling in your stomach. As you click away in editing the powerpoint, Haibara slides over a card to you. Looking down, it’s a small reservation slip for two at a steakhouse. “So you’re still getting steak?” 

“I never said I wasn’t getting steak,” Haibara says amusingly. He fixes the small strand of black hair that came out from his excitement and he looks down at the reservation eagerly. “Takada shacho says I should take you out as well, as your work backed up everything we did this entire week.”

You widen your eyes, “me?” 

“Y/N, you’re literally the biggest asset to this department,” Haibara whispers, attempting not to make your other colleagues feel inferior. “All these guys here are assets, too, but you are the direct backbone to Nanami’s reputation as our Head of Department. He can afford to make mistakes because you’re always there to reverse them or catch them before they happen. You’ve also made an effort to become the liaison between the team and Nanami, something that wasn’t quite there before.” 

You look away, ignoring his praise, “that’s very kind of you to say, but I’m just an assistant. I just do what I’m told, Haibara.” 

“You do what you’re told in a way that exceeds what’s expected of you,” Haibara notes. “Like I said, there was a reason you were transferred to our department. You’re resourceful anywhere you go, it seems, as I heard Sales was not your first department either.” 

You nod with a small smile, “you’re absolutely right, it was not.” 

“It was Legal, no?” Haibara recollects. “Hence why you assist with a lot of our contract-making in this department.”

“Someones gotta get these quick approvals,” you joke, “and you all are the turtles in that race.” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Finish up what you’re doing and get ready. There’s a steak with my name on it!” Haibara chimes, his brain filled with steak and wine. 

This weather was unkind. You knew it wasn’t going to be kind anytime soon, as Japan was going through the heart of the winter time, but you still had some heat to complain about. The two of you trekked through the fury of winds and snow to make it to the restaurant. Tae was kind enough to prepare a very hot tea before your lunch, as you visited the cafe for a few minutes waiting for Haibara to finish his own work (the hypocrite). He even drew a cute smiley face on your cup. 

“For Haibara.” Your coats and garments get taken by a few gentlemen at the front before being guided by the host. She guides the both of you through the restaurant, two menus under her arm. You could tell this was a restaurant frequented by the corporate workers in the area. Everyone was ornate in suits and office wear, with discussions of work blaring in every side of your hearing periphery. It made you glad you wore one of your favorite pencil skirts, as it was this tight fitting skirt that complimented your legs. Despite this being somewhat of a work lunch, you were glad to look nice in a room of intimidation. 

During your escort, the two of you caught the eye of Nanami, Takada, and the clients in a long table on your own. Haibara allows the woman to finish guiding the both of you, before he quickly nudges for you to join him in greeting them. Your face pales at the thought alone of meeting highly respected clients, but a pair of familiar hazel eyes puts you at ease. 

Nanami was the first to get up from his chair, and walked over to the both of you. He was… wearing a navy blue suit, with a black tie. It had been since the first holiday party you spent in the Finance Department that you saw Nanami in such attire. Even now, he still looks ever so sharp, with the fabric struggling to stay together against the mountains of Nanami’s muscles. Even with your feelings in disarray, there was no denying the instant uplift in feelings from Nanami’s smile. 

He rests one of his hands on the middle of your back, feeling the light warmth of his palm. His smile towards you doesn’t flicker for a moment, hazel eyes warm and rich like chocolate. “This is my true assistant, Y/L/N-san. Although Takada shacho has kindly lent me his assistants, this woman here is the one who truly does it all for me.” 

A few of the clients rise and go towards you to shake your hand. You shyly put out your hand and curtly bow before each of them. “I’m so sorry to make you all stand up and greet me while you all are enjoying lunch. Please, ignore me and continue!” 

“We’d be crazy not to greet a woman who is highly regarded such as yourself,” one gentleman hums. He shakes your hand, allowing the hold to linger as he eyed you. “Nanami-san has told us plenty about your work under him, so it’s a pleasure to see the beauty behind his words.” 

You feel your cheeks warm, “a-ah, thank you very much! That’s very kind of you to say.” 

Another client chimes, “don’t be so modest! Sit and eat with us!” 

You look over quickly at Nanami, before you face the president of the company. You find an excuse to free your hand from one of the gentlemen before curtly bowing at Takada. “Good afternoon, Shacho-san. I apologize for interrupting your meal.” 

Takada smiles warmly up at you, gesturing for you to go over to him. You lament leaving the safety of Nanami’s hand on your back and go over to Takada. From his seat, he offers you his hand and shakes it kindly. “You are not interrupting a thing, Y/N. If you’d like to join us, you absolutely may. But as you two both have a reservation, I’d hate to take you from that. I assume you two have some work to be discussed?” 

Haibara coughs, clearly allergic to the word ‘work’ during his break. But you go along with it, using it as a hopeful excuse to not sit with them. “Thank you for thinking of me when making the reservation, Shacho. Haibara kacho just recently touched on my new assignment from Nanami kacho, so I was hoping to get more details about it during our meal.” 

Takada smiles up warmly, “such a diligent worker. Remind me to thank Geto-san, as he was the one who hired you. We should have a meeting soon to discuss your growth here in this company, Y/N.” 

>Insert Geto being the head of the Legal Department, and the man who scouted you initially to be his assistant.

Your stomach churns at the thought of being transferred again. Especially since you’ve found a comfortable flow within your department under Nanami. At least, when it was comfortable. 

“I’ll be readily available for that conversation, Shacho-san,” you shyly let out. 

With your nerves running high, you begin to really realize your setting and take note of a few things. One, all of the clients have kept their eyes on you the entire time. Two, Nanami was glaring at the client that just finished shaking your hand. And three, of all things, you noticed that Takada has 4 vacant seats near him.. 

“B-but, I do hope you all enjoy your meal!” You quickly spew out, returning to the topic at hand. “I apologize for not being able to greet the remainder of your guests, Shacho-san.” Curiosity truly bested you. 

“Ah, they are just my assistants that you’re already familiar with, Y/N,” Takada informs. “They’ve been happily helping us host our dear clients during this time. I hope they’ve given you the opportunity to have some space from your helicopter boss.” 

Takadas joke lands well with everyone except Nanami, who now holds a less content expression. He quickly makes his way towards you, his eyes filled with conviction. On his way, he pats Haibara’s shoulder before cementing himself by your side. But you hold no feelings towards Nanami, as you were busy not trying to take any offense. Although Takada offered and you weren’t expecting a seat during this meal, it was peculiar that Nanami made no effort to include you.

“As the both of us are here now, I’d like to take the opportunity to speak to Y/N-san regarding the assignment I recently sent to her,” Nanami hums, moving more in front of you now. You remained quiet, no words finding its way out of your mouth. Nanami looks over at Haibara, “I’ll be borrowing her briefly, if that’s alright.” 

Haibara looks at you but you make an effort to tame his worry. Reluctantly, he smiles and nods, “that's perfect. Let us dine to a successful collaboration!” Haibara riles the men, as they begin to beckon over waitresses for a round of drinks.

Nanami takes this moment to guide you away from the suddenly energetic table, and brings you towards an elevator. There, a guard stood, but moved the moment he saw Nanami. He taps the elevator’s button before moving aside, allowing you two to enter upon its arrival. You two stood in the brass elevator, your short heels digging into the tacky red fabric on the elevator floor. Silence sauntered between the two of you. 

But now in this limited space, you felt a sense of calm. Though your feelings were still in a ditch, you were giving them more and more thought. You’ve been more or less conducting yourself well, considering the couple of days that you spent crying over Nanami’s words. It draws the question of whether or not your feelings were true towards him. Or perhaps they are true, and you’re just feigning it to cope. 

Either way, you couldn’t help but envy Nanami’s indifference. Your eyes lend over to him, seeing his straight stature, and sharp appearance. Both hands were housed in his pockets, and his eyes focused strictly on the doors of the elevator. You couldn’t prove it, but you had a very strong feeling that this was not going to go well. 

The elevator halts, and the two of you free yourselves after the ascend. It was the top of the restaurant, which was entirely covered by a glass dome. But the beauty of the floor was its greenery. Trees, shrubs, and flowers alike flourished in this greenhouse-like environment. You were quite impressed that these greens could flourish while the restaurant still maintained a comfortable temperature. 

In the center of it all, was a humble bar. 

“Would you like a drink, Y/N?” 

You pause. “Do you have any more assignments for me today?” 

Nanami simply shakes his head, starting the stride for the both of you towards the bar. “Just the assignment I told Haibara to share with you.” 

“Then I suppose a few shots wouldn’t be too bad,” you say calmly, loosening your hair from the tight ponytail you had it in. You allow your hair to bounce freely, finding a lot of peace from the release of the pressure. “Are you paying?” 

Nanami shakes his head, “Takada rented out the space completely. It’s under the company’s card.” 

“6 shots of Anejo, please,” you calmly requested the dark tequila. The bartender nods before disappearing to find the very expensive liquor. 

“I didn’t realize you were a drinker, Y/N,” Nanami begins. He pulls out one of the seats and offers a hand. You take his hand, feeling the bursts of emotion in your heart from his touch. His palms were cold, dry, and ornate with callouses. But somehow, his fingers were soft as they delicately touched the top of your own. You carefully take a seat, keeping your free hand under your rear to make sure your pencil skirt didn't hike up. The last thing you needed was to flash the guy who rejected you. 

You shake your head, “no, no, ‘m not so much of a drinker. But I do have a preference for dark liquors.” 

“I’m shocked,” Nanami takes the seat to your left, “you’re someone with quite the sweet tooth for drinks.” 

“I’m not really crazy about drinking, but I do drink. I prefer to get drunk quicker with less, than to waste money getting drunk after 10 sweet drinks.” 

“It’s on the company card, you wouldn’t be wasting money of your own.” 

You shrug, “force of habit.” 

It felt good to talk like this. Not restricted at work, nor floaty from Nanami’s presence. Though, you had to admit that the only reason you could speak like this was because you haven’t met his eyes since you two got here. 

Before another word is exchanged, your shots make their way to your area. The bartender kindly splits it between the both of you, and three shot glasses sit patiently before you. You pick up one of the shots, with Nanami following your lead. With a quiet clank, you both down your shot. 

“Mm, before I forget,” you murmur, dabbing the loose liquor from your bottom lip. You dig your hand into your pocket, fishing out the flashdrive Haibara passed you. “Here’s the revised presentation. I tweaked everything regarding our company’s growth so far this year, the revenue, how we will benefit from this collaboration, and prospectively how our clients will benefit from it as well.” 

“You did that all just today?” Nanami’s words were imbued with surprise. He was impressed. 

You shook your head, “I’m not that amazing, Nanami kacho. I was already drafting it during your time with them. I’ve had a lot of free time, as you’ve sporadically given me assignments, or independent work I have long been ahead of.” 

He quickly takes the flashdrive from you, “I don’t even know why I ask– you’re excellent, as usual. With that said, I wanted to ask you the question I wanted to ask from the other day.” 

“Hm?” 

“I’ve been wondering why you’ve been addressing me with ‘kacho,’” Nanami asks simply. “This has been a sudden and recent development that I don’t quite understand.” 

“You’re my boss,” you urge, your fingers sliding your second shot closer to you. You could feel your heart get just a bit heavier. “These are the formalities we’re to have with one another.”

“Y/N, you have not called me that since your first month under me,” Nanami reminds you. “It’s perfectly fine if you would like to revert back, but I would at least like a heads up, or a reason why.” 

“Do I have to tell you why I’ve decided to address you more respectfully again?” You take the shot glass in your hand, ready to down it. “It's the expectation.” 

Nanami shakes his head, “it is not the expectation anymore when this is something we agreed to drop. When you started calling me that, I wasn’t sure what happened. Would you like me to also address you with honorifics again?” 

“If you’d like,” you spew nonchalantly. You down your second shot.

“Even the way you speak is different,” Nanami points out. He, too, drinks his second shot. He shakes slightly from the sudden strength of the alcohol. “All of this started happening since the day I came over to your apartment to work. If I may ask, did I offend you on my visit?”

”Does it matter?” 

“It does matter,” Nanami coos, “to me, it matters. The way we get along is very important to me.” 

Your heart threatens to flutter from his words. But your hurt feelings were riding your mind, and producing your words. “I’m just your assistant. I was forced on you by Takada shacho.”

“And where did you hear that from?” Nanami looks over at you, trying to find answers in your distant expression. “Did you hear that through a rumor? Our department's amount of gossiping is unbecoming of my expectations.” 

“You have been working with this company for a long time,” you begin slowly. “Within your tenureship, you haven’t had an assistant since Haibara was promoted. Why did you accept now of all times?” 

Nanami emits a sigh, his hand snaking towards the third shot, “I’ll tell you if you look at me.” 

A nausea surges from your stomach, and your body goes a bit cold from nerves. You were able to speak so boldly like this from not meeting those hazel eyes, and that handsome face. It was easy to speak this openly without staring at his neat, blonde locks or the way his suit hugs his maintained body. It was all easy when you weren’t facing him, and the reality of your situation. It was easy not to look directly at your crush, and the feelings that haven’t tainted, even after his time at your apartment. 

You down the third shot, gesturing to the bartender with a lifted finger spinning in a circle. He nods at your request for another round and clears your now empty shot glasses. You emit a struggling sigh, slowly turning your head to face Nanami. You bit your tongue, noticing the glimmer of hurt in his own eyes. But he smiles warmly still, despite everything. 

“You’re still a woman of trade,” he says, almost in a relieving tone. “This sounds like we need to air out a lot of things between us. So I suppose this is the best time to be honest with you, yes? Geto and Shoko have told me all about your talent from being both of their assistants since you started. So I… had known about you before you were assigned to me. Shacho spoke to me about it, and I was less reluctant because I had heard nothing but good when it came to you.”

This was interesting. You had not a clue who Nanami was, only that he was the head of Finance. You never interacted with him, simply only knowing him through passing words from Geto, Shoko and your fellow colleagues between both departments. He was somewhat famous within the company for being such a hard worker, someone who got promoted seamlessly to an executive position within a year's time. But you were here for a paycheck, and paid no mind to irrelevant people. But he knew about you. 

“So, you accepted me because you knew I was really good at my job?” You began, squinting your eyes curiously. 

“Rather, I wanted to see if you were truly worth what was said about you,” Nanami explains. “Your ability to excel in different areas of work intrigued me, and I wanted to see how you would perform in my department.” 

“So you wanted to test me?” You spat, “like some experiment?” 

Nanami felt a pit of regret in his throat. “No, no, please don’t take it like that, Y/N,” Nanami backtracks, “you have no idea how impressed I am with your work, and have no regrets taking you on as my assistant. But word of mouth alone doesn’t convince me of someone's greatness. I had to see it for myself, if that’s less brute.” 

“What, were you just bored then?” You couldn’t really understand him. This was all too new for you. “What did you gain from this? Satisfying your curiosity by expecting a 50% chance of me not being what I’ve been highly regarded as?” 

Shots joined the both of you, but the heat of the conversation made them remain in the background. Nanami rubs his eyes with dragging hands, “Y/N, listen to me good and well, because I’m not going to let you misunderstand me. I am extremely grateful to have gotten an assistant like you because I refuse to have anybody that doesn’t match my work ethic. Although I was not a fan of having an assistant, I only ever heard good things. I knew you’d be great, but you surpassed my already high expectations of you.” 

“Nanami kacho–” 

“Please, stop calling me that,” Nanami interrupts you. “I admit that it’s a bit upsetting for our relationship to revert back into a strict manner. I can accept that you’re uncomfortable with it, but I’d at least like to know why and if there’s any way I can mend it.” 

“Can you make it clear what sort of relationship we have?” You nitpick now. 

“What do you mean?” Nanami’s expression held genuine confusion. “You’re my assistant, and I’m your boss.” 

You could feel yourself wanting to cry a bit. “So why does it matter if I address you as kacho again?” 

“Because we established some comradery between us,” Nanami points out, “is it bad that I feel comfortable with you to drop honorifics and be less formal?” 

“Do you see me as a friend?” You ask quietly, trying your best to calm the coating of tears in your eyes. You were seeing him in a gentle blur, almost the physical embodiment of your current feeling of disconnect. 

“I… see you as one of my most trustworthy colleagues,” Nanami carefully places his words in his sentence. “We’re friend-ly, in a sense. I enjoy working with you.” 

You were coming to your limit. You finally found the deadend that you were trying to avoid for such a long time. But as you faced Nanami, seeing his cheeks turn a light hue of pink, you knew that your heart would always be right. 

You like Nanami. 

You like the fact that he’s a workaholic, but is always content whenever you are able to ease his workload. 

You like that he always shows his appreciation towards you, never forgetting to say thank you, or reminding you that you were an asset to him and the department. 

You like that he gets excited when you plan your shared lunch, and already know what he wants/would probably like. 

You like that he wears the same blue shirt. 

You like that he drinks coffee with half a fig in it. You love that he confided in you regarding the reason. 

But, even so. 

“Nanami, you did offend me when you came to my apartment,” you changed topics. Your heart was beating fast, your nerves making you want to shut up and run away. But it was time to clear the air. It was time to give the confession you deserved to do before a rumor forced you back into your shell. “It regards the rumor you heard about… me liking you.” 

“Oh?” He was surprised. 

“Those rumors are absolutely correct,” you admitted, though your throat was ready to close up and force your words back down. You grab one of the new shot glasses and down it. “Mm,” you hum, wiping some loose liquor from your lip, “I do like you, Nanami. I have had a crush on you for a while now, but after the way you reacted to just the rumor of it, I couldn’t go back to how we were.” 

Nanami looks at you, his eyes looking desperately around your face. It was almost like he was waiting for you to say ‘just kidding!’ and laugh it off like it was a prank. But you only continued to down your shots, waiting for any response. You found solace in the alcohol, allowing it to rebuild the little courage that was lagging. 

“Why… how come,” Nanami’s words were spotty, you finally had him speechless. If only the context wasn’t shitty. “How come you never cleared it up that day? Why did you go along with it?” 

“Because you looked so relieved when you believed it to be just a rumor, a lie,” you spouted. Tears were finally welling up in your eyes, triggered by the recollection of that day. “Almost as if you were glad that I didn’t actually like you.” 

“It is… easier for me to be on my own than to be romantically affiliated with someone,” Nanami admits softly. His words were still fairly cool, but his tone was low in an attempt to not offend you any more than he has. “I’m not… good with people having feelings towards me. It complicates things. Especially if it's a coworker.” 

“We spend more time with one another than with our friends or loved ones,” you rationalized, “it’s not foreign if feelings develop between us, considering how much we see one another.” 

“So explain why I don’t share that sentiment,” Nanami says coolly. You widen your eyes at him, your heart finally turning over in its grave. He quickly holds your elbow, noticing the agony in your expression. Warm tears spill down your burning cheeks. His touch feels like lava. “That’s not what I meant to say, Y/N, please let me fix my words.” 

You snatch your elbow out of his hand, “thank you for being honest with me about your own feelings.” You grab a tissue from the box at the bar, and blow into it. You could tell your entire face was red, which was embarrassing considering you had to go back to the office in a bit. “I apologize that my feelings brought us here.” 

Nanami quickly puts an arm between you and the shot glasses you were aiming for, “Y/N, I’m sorry for being insensitive towards you. I didn't mean to say what I said just now. At least, not the way I said it.”

You shake your head, your eyes giving him a pained gaze, “no, no, it’s better like this. You’re being direct with me… I’d rather that you don’t try to spare my feelings.” 

Nanami felt his world go dim. It was strange to confront you like this. You would not be the first woman who ended in tears upon confessing their feelings to him. And he would always attempt to soothe their hearts before paying the tab of whatever bar or dinner they were left to sob. But seeing the light leave your eyes, and your hollow expression left a mark in his memory. 

He wanted to respond, but his mouth went dry. It was like the alcohol was on your side, as his tongue couldn’t even bounce off the words he wanted to say. It bothered him that you looked away and have yet to look back, almost like you were ready to leave your feelings behind right this moment. As if… you were moving on right now. 

He didn’t want to let you go back, not like this, no. But he felt powerless now. And before he could respond with something, anything, you hop out of your seat. He notices the shot glasses were now empty, and keeps his gaze on you. “H-hey, don’t go back like this– please have a glass of water and calm down first.” 

Your body was warm and loose, but you weren’t eager to be near him any longer. You ignore his offer. “Don’t lose that flashdrive for tomorrow.” You properly put on your purse, and adjust your pencil skirt. Before you leave, you face Nanami once more. You see his flush face, a mixture of his own complicated feelings and the alcohol taking its toll. His hazel eyes were dark, their glow was fleeting. He looked lost, and felt distant. But, you lend him a small, weak smile. “Thank you for letting me like you. It’s been fun.” 

“Y/N,” your name leaves his mouth like a broken piano key. You curtly bow and turn around, allowing yourself to cry more aggressively (yet quietly) as Nanami watches your figure get smaller until you are completely out of sight. 

But he knew better than to think you’d be out of mind, too.

Taglist: [Now Closed]

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro

[luxdove]

Remember Me! Part 2

(Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader)

Thank you all for the support in the first part! It makes me happy that y’all actually enjoy the writing even though it really feels like I got no idea what I’m doing 😭

I’m very sorry that part 2 took so long I just couldn’t think of a way on how to end this part so it took literal WEEKS to get this out

Anyways if you haven’t seen part one here it is -> Part 1

As stated from the previous part, characters might be OOC but anyways enjoy the chapter!

CW: obsession(?)

You walked along the garden of the Spire of Knowledge, you went here to visit your dear friend Blueberry Milk Cookie- after all it’s been a while since you last seen him, always overworking himself to gain more new found knowledge for cookies to gain and learn

Perhaps you were too lost in your thoughts to realize a certain cookie creeped behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your dough when two hands were placed upon your eyes- not letting you see anything but darkness.

“Hmmm can you guess who I am?” A curious voice laced with teasing was heard behind you

“Hmm indeed I wonder who these unique hands were put upon my face belongs to” you said with a grin “Blueberry Milk Cookie perhaps? Or shall it be some mysterious other cookie with blue dough?”

“Why- I am offended!” Blueberry Milk Cookie said with a dramatic tone followed by some laughter “dear friend, why have you visited me? Did you miss me that much hm?” He asked with a smile full of grace

“Can I not visit an old friend?” You smiled back “my adventures have left me urging for more, but I shall not keep going without at least visiting my friends once more”

“Ah it’s those books that those cookies made” Blueberry Milk Cookie said, you have spoken to him that cookies from other kingdoms have been making books and out of curiosity you decided to read them thus inspiring you to adventure off and explore the new, that was your dream- to adventure the world and explore the new. “I can tell by your form of language dear friend, it’s been…modified in unique ways”

“Forsooth Blueberry Milk Cookie” you nodded with stars shined within your eyes. Blueberry Milk Cookie Smiled, that’s what always been unique about you, how your eyes would shine with stars in them whenever you were excited and how you would always be devoted to do things that would help cookies in need.

“Well it seems times do fly past by” Blueberry Milk Cookie said, it suddenly became night time; you guessed you were enjoying your talk a little too much to realized the time. “Perhaps I can offer you a room so you can rest here for the night?”

“Or we could talk more over some tea and then rest?” You smiled, after all you guys are Beast Cookies; you guys never require much sleep like regular cookies do

“Hmm, alright just try to find the dining room and I’ll be there shortly” Blueberry Milk Cookie said, after all the Spire of Knowledge is a pretty lonely place so he wasn’t even sure if he has a room ready, cleaned, or organized enough for you to be sleeping in.

You and Shadow Milk Cookie were walking in the gardens of the Spire of Deceit. You guys just came back from a trip because Shadow Milk Cookie wanted to pull a little….prank to a few cookie bystanders while you watched from a far. Anyways… this garden seems like nostalgia, but you can’t really put your crumb into why it is. You have told your old friend your adventures of Crispia so far, while Shadow Milk Cookie hums in acknowledgment, though at some parts he seemed to be concerned at what you went through since you fought some enemies like a regular cookie and not with your powers but since you’re still here in one piece he suppose he can glance over the issue.

However he also didn’t like the parts where you were spending time and bonding with his…false copy. Shadow Milk Cookie would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of such thing, but it’s alright now! He’s here! The star of the show! And you’re here along with him! The sidekick of the protagonist! So he will gladly take the chances to bond with you more whilst he has the chance.

He won’t let some weak measly cookies to mess up his script that he has for him and you. He didn’t noticed until now how his grip on his scepter hardened, he glanced at you since you’ve been quiet for some time. His face softens once more, your eyes shined with stars ;all though it’s a bit dimmer, (perhaps it’s because his hypnosis on you is still there? After all there is still blue swirls in your eyes) in them again as you looked around the garden, perhaps it was the nostalgia of how you and him used to walk in this very garden before he became corrupted and how you were gone on your adventures seeking more thrill than ruling a kingdom like how most of the others did.

Shadow Milk Cookie watched you as you seemed to get lost in the gardens wandering off too far like how a sheep would get lost in a forest, he chuckles as he guides you to where the door of the spire is. Even though it would have been a bit of fun entertainment watching you getting lost to the very same garden you used to walk daily, he would rather not let you get stuck and lost in the middle of nowhere.

You couldn’t help that you feel like all eyes have been laid upon you ever since you entered inside of the spire once more. The place has changed a lot since you were last here but then again the owner of the spire was gone for quite a long time neglecting its conditions. Only coming back sort of recently and the interior as well exterior of the place has significantly changed.

“Come on silly willy! I know you’re faster than that! Or has it been too long that you don’t remember your way around?” Shadow Milk Cookie smiled at you from the end of the hall, you were a couple feet behind him since you wanted to look at the changes.

“My apologies oh such knowledgeable sage” you said in a sarcastic tone as you rolled your eyes playfully “perhaps I should glue a map inside my mind so I know exactly where I’m going”

“Oh come on silly goose that’s not what I mean!” Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed

“Master! Who is this…special individual of a cookie that is here?” Black Sapphire Cookie asked as he rushed towards Shadow Milk Cookie noticing an unfamiliar presence inside of the spire.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Shadow Milk Cookie said as he wags his finger to Black Sapphire Cookie. “This cookie here! Is a special guest of mine! So you must treat them with the upmost respect!”

You stared at Black Sapphire Cookie awkwardly while he smiles at you back as he bows to you in a greeting gesture.

“I see…well my lord, Candy Apple Cookie is preparing for the next act,” Black Sapphire Cookie informed while Shadow Milk Cookie hums.

“How enlightening…yes yes it’s all following the script perfectly!” Shadow Milk Cookie smiled uncannily. “Well go on now! We don’t want our special actors left with nothing to do!” Black Sapphire Cookie nodded as he walks away seemingly fading away from the distance.

“Well now that is covered!” Shadow Milk Cookie said as he snaps his neck towards you “I assume you have some questions yes?”

“Indeed” you said vaguely, after all you weren’t really used to his corrupted form at all, but Shadow Milk Cookie is fine with that! He is really! It would just take time and patience for you to come back to his side where you belong! And he’s alright to spend his time with you even if you are confuse with everything, who knows maybe he should spill in a few more false memories into your dreams since you seem to be regaining them again.

He will use his advantage now that you’re in his spire; after all, he can control everything that is inside! What makes you think he can’t control your dreams? The longer you stay here the more disoriented your memories will be, and he will gladly take that chance to make the memories favorable to his side and not his fraud of a cookie (Pure Vanilla Cookie). All he needs is you to stay in this spire. Although…he does feel bad for doing this but he has too! He didn’t want to lose the very friend that has guided him and actually had a bond with oh so long ago.

You and Shadow Blueberry Milk Cookie…huh that’s odd you swore he had a jester outfit on not his pre corrupted sage uniform. Anyways you and Blueberry Milk Cookie walked inside of the Spire of Deceit Knowledge. Your eyes shined once more like how they used to as you happily asked your questions and continue to tell more stories of your adventures. Blueberry Milk Cookie hums while he smiles at you, he loves stories especially if it’s coming from you. You seemed to fall into the deception oh so easily…but that’s what he likes, since it makes things easier for him.

You failed to acknowledge that a few shadowy hands slowly started creeping over you as they quickly grabbed your limbs and dragged you into a pit of shadows. You screamed as saw how Blueberry Milk Cookie looked at you solemnly before your vision went black. This is for the best! He swears on it! You just need to drown into deceit like he has and everything will become perfect!

It was inevitable, after all it wasn’t like anyone would have known this would happen. You came rushing back once you heard the news of a huge war breaking out. A war against the Virtues.

You didn’t know how this happened, you believed your friends were all in good shape mentally and physically, so how did this corruption began? You did not know. One moment you were enjoying yourself when you visited them as often as you could, the next you see…all of this happening.

You finally made your way to the area and oh my witches was it terrible. It’s safe to say that jam of cookies littered all over the place, broken pieces of them too; all the while the Virtues were up in the skies entertained for what chaos they have started.

“My my if it isn’t Y/N Cookie that I see! Come, come! Join us darling!” Eternal Sugar Cookie said with joys as she smiled from her cloud

“Y/N Cookie…come join us…for resisting the fate in the end…will all be futile…for you shall see the harsh reality and accept such fate” Mystic Flour Cookie offered as her closed eyes gave out a small solemn smile

“It’s so much fun seeing them all crumble like little bugs! Join us Y/N Cookie! Together we will crumble anyone who passed by!” Burning Spice Cookie roared

“…” Silent Salt Cookie stared but you knew the meaning behind the silence, the silent message that spoke “yes…join us Y/N cookie, for we shall rule over the world and destroy the impurity that has corrupted the land”

“Come on silly Willy! Don’t you want some fun? This is an adventure you don’t wanna miss! Enjoy yourself! Let the corruption consume you!” Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed as he enjoys himself from the destruction they all caused.

You stared at all of them, you truly don’t know what to say for yourself. You shall not allow yourself to fall into corruption like your dear friends so you raised up your lance towards them. All of them shocked of such actions, indeed they thought just a few words of them would have at least convinced you to join them but it seems like they would have to put a little more work into it.

“Now now Y/N Cookie why don’t we put the lance down? You wouldn’t want to fight us would you?” Eternal Sugar Cookie asked as her half lidded eyes fluttered.

Your eyes focused on all five of them, truly you didn’t want to fight against them but it really seems like your only option. Although your eyes were focused and you were in battle ready stance, it was arguably noticeable that you were scared, fearing for your life, and being a coward of such. You failed to noticed your soul jam slowly changing

“Come on you silly goose! Surely you don’t want to fight all five of us? Whats the fun in that? Just put the weapon down and join us! We’ll have a huge celebration and I! Will show you a story of an adventure that is most ingenious to tell!” Shadow Milk Cookie tried to convince you, after all he was your closest dear friend! Surely he can get it through your head that you should just relax and join them! It really wasn’t that hard…really!

“No!” You exclaimed “I shall not be corrupted by such greed! If it’s a fight I must take then it’s a fight I shall have!” You exclaimed as you raised your lance “I Y/N Cookie declare upon my honor! That I will stop this blinded greed of all of you!” Your Soul jam, the virtue of ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ shined bright as you started heading towards them with your lance.

“Ya know, you could have gotten the easy way out…” Burning Spice Cookie grumbled. “But it’s alright, I’LL CRUMBLE YOU A BIT IF IT MEANS FOR YOU TO SET YOUR MIND STRAIGHT!” He laughed as he starts charging towards you along with Silent Salt Cookie who said no words but his actions showed what he wants to say.

“Hmph all actions are all futile…when will you learn to accept the truth Y/N Cookie?” Mystic Flour Cookie said as she also joins in the fight as well as Eternal Sugar Cookie, obviously hurt by your actions but they were all going to fight you if it means the possibility for you to join them.

But Shadow Milk Cookie stood there in the skies still, he didn’t have it in his heart to be one of the reasons why you would crumble right here and right now; it would break him even further. So all he did was watched as you tried your best to stand your ground as you fought the other Virtues.

Truly it was a miracle that you even survived this long in a fight with 4 other cookies that held the same power level as you. It had been days and nights and you all were still fighting. Grunting and panting as the exhaustion slowly creeped in for both sides, but it was evident that none would voluntarily falter.

It definitely took a very long time before your wounds started to take effect on you as you rested on one knee, one eye closed due to a head injury on that side of the head, wounds piled up one after another, jam slowly creeped out. You slowly tried standing back up with the help of your lance.

“I….” You panted as you slowly raised your lance towards them, they looked somewhat perfectly fine compared to you; The other cookies indeed have a lot of wounds on them but nothing as bad as your current condition. “shall not falter…” you whispered but they all heard it, but your legs trembled as you went back on one knee, head lowered as your hand glued your lance still.

“When will you get it through your head darling?” Eternal Sugar Cookie yawned as she glanced at you, surely you’re not dead yet right?

“Hm…why don’t you accept reality Y/N Cookie? After all it’ll all be futile no matter what you do…” Mystic Flour Cookie said ashamed that you still haven’t joined them

“Y/N Cookie” Shadow Milk Cookie finally said sternly, as you tried to raise your head to look but you really couldn’t; Shadow Milk Cookie sighed as he floats towards you, putting his hand under your chin so you can look at him. Dear witches were you in critical condition, he started doubting that you would even survive after this- you were spilling a lot of jam but nothing too concerning. “It really isn’t that hard to fall…won’t you join us for the adventure dear?” He said with a sly grin, but you barked in empty laughter.

“I may have falter now…but I’m willing to risk my condition to have you all fall!” You said with a solemn smile as you stabbed your lance on the ground. Suddenly forks began falling upon the other Virtues, all chained together as a seed of a silver tree began growing to fully seal them inside of an everlasting prison.

Days, weeks, months have passed by. You have visited your once old friends that you betrayed them by helping the witches to seal them inside of a tree that will always be guarded. In mind, you knew this is what was best, that they were too far down and corrupted to see the faults in their decision.

Yet in your heart, it was filled with heavy guilt. You spent your passing days in an endless cycle of the guilt following behind you like a parasite. You decided that perhaps you should do something about it.

You begged the witches to remove your memories of your friends, and erase your mind of such guilt of the past. Let your mind be filled with dreams full of joyous adventures; ones that were piled with laughter and chivalry to keep. And that you shall be sealed inside of a tower in case you somehow become corrupted just like your friends have.

Thus the witches out of sympathy, granted your wish. Informing the faerie cookies to seal you inside of a tower that was full of books up to your liking, so when you wake up knowing nothing; your mind have been filled with adventures of rich stories and the blissful ignorance of the truth.

Of course your voluntary imprisonment inside of a lonely tower was interrupted one day by a group of adventurers breaking down the poor door…

“You…COOKIES have ruined my script once again!” Shadow Milk Cookie said in pure angered as the cookies have found a way to bring you back in their side.

To say the least it wasn’t an easy process considering you were spoon fed with lies upon lies by Shadow Milk Cookie. Drowned in too much deceit to the point you couldn’t tell what was the truth or not. But worry not! Pure Vanilla Cookie had a plan, of course he felt bad that he had to trick you, a fellow friend of his, but it was for a good cause- and rightfully so, because he was able to show you the real truth and get you to come back.

“Shadow Milk Cookie Esquire…” you started, the language of the old rolls off of your tongue just perfectly as the day before you lost your pure innocence of your past truth. “Thy must pondered such a question once more” Shadow Milk Cookie looking confuse as you continued. “Although…I lost such memories and received them once more I shan’t off the feeling of continuing such adventures-“ you couldn’t even finished your sentence before Shadow Milk Cookie flew at the speed of light and started gripping your shoulders firmly as if he didn’t want you to leave.

“No…NO!” Shadow Milk Cookie yelled in your face, it was from pure anger yes but you can hear the slight worry. “You…and your dreams of adventures! Look where it landed you Y/N Cookie don’t you see it?!” Shadow Milk Cookie yelled louder trying to make a point clear as sugar glass. “The dream is dead- it was- it was just mere pure delusions! there is no point of continuing further! Why on earthbread would you want to adventure more! Have you not seen the damage it has caused?”

“Tis was a dream we all cherished hast it not?” You asked with a smile, indeed- although the dream wasn’t an adventure, the dream was to have the reality where all cookies were equal and lived with harmony. All Virtues agreed to such a sweet innocent dream- yet unfortunately all have fallen to corruption except one, you. Shadow Milk Cookie couldn’t believe such words, it was a foolish dream to wish upon anyways…yet a small part of him does wish that dream to become possible. For he too, had a dream- all the virtues had their own separate dream. While yours was to seek and embark an adventure to live to tell the tales no cookie would ever venture off to. Shadow Milk Cookie’s dream was to have a friend…a friend who would understand him and cherish him for being himself- not as a person who knows all knowledge and was faced with the harsh reality constantly…just a simple friend who would understand him as himself…and that person was you. Oh how his heart would shatter if perhaps one day he sees you again but in extremely poor and vulnerable conditions or well dead perhaps…that one day you couldn’t do anything- he just wanted to save you and not go through the sufferings and consequences of having a dream. For he knows such small dreams can’t come true, for they were all foolish to think and believe it would.

“Let thy continue forth, the adventure of achieving the dream…the dream that twinkles oh so far, far away- where stars align and where it’s believed to be impossible to reach,” you spoke in a soft voice. “While the end is…inevitable…and thy might be a fool and it could all end to be hopeless…shan’t it be foolish of me to not try and believe to continue down the righteous path of the journey?”

“Hah…” Shadow Milk Cookie started chuckling. “AHAHAAHAHAA” he placed his hand over his eyes as he hunched over and laughed. “Well if you say so…I won’t stop you Y/N Cookie,” he smiled but then looked at you sternly “why don’t we duel to prove your strength in that dream then shall we? Just like old times hm?” He smiled uncanny as the other cookies started to get ready but you held out your hand to signal them to pause.

“No my friends…” you started “this is a duel I must fight by I alone,” you readied up with your lance.

“My name is Y/N Cookie! And I, Y/N Cookie, declare upon my honor: this lance shall end that hopeless, forgotten dream!!” You raised your lance, your soul jam shining once more,and started running towards Shadow Milk cookie as he readies his staff and starts attacking you.

(Bear with me I can’t do fighting scenes 😭) the fight continued days and nights on end, never ending it seems, each beam targeted to you was deflected; yet every stab of your lance was dodged easily. Exhaustion slowly started hitting yet your thirst of the dream was your motivation, the hope that made your heart beat and it was your strength to keep pushing forward. Shadow Milk Cookie slowly showed clear signs of that exhaustion.

“Hah…hah…” Shadow Milk Cookie panted, it was clear from the appearance he was tired yet you stood there sternly, prepared for any incoming attacks. Shadow Milk Cookie looked…conflicted to say the least, he wants you to come back to his side but he’s not that powerful as of right now. After all he went through all this trouble and he finally met you again! He didn’t want to lose that chance again, he would be oh so lonely…and you were the only cookie that truly understood him more than anyone! So what’s the other better option?

“Y/N Cookie…I WILL come back…this won’t be the last time we meet and next time I’ll make sure…nothing would trick you into coming back to their side…” Shadow Milk Cookie said tiredly as a portal opened behind him as he and his followers left. The group cheered in celebration, yet you stood there and slowly turned towards them so you can face them.

“I shall introduce to thee once again…my name is Y/N Cookie! And I, Y/N Cookie shall embark the journey and dream to become the best knight of all of earthbread!” You smiled as your eyes shined along with the stars once more with your hand gripped your lance as firm as possible.

Fin

I would be lying if I said I finished a good majority of this like weeks ago but I couldn’t figure out how to type out the last section so I apologize 😭 I must admit this isn’t really…the best

Epilogue -> here

Tag list: @donnie-is-da-best @floweriya @haveneulalie @isak-sillydemon @f4nd0msl0v3r @sillysprinkel @kur1kur1chan

[houseofthedragonn]

MY LIEGE I HAVE RETURNED, day two of requesting CREGAN STARK MY BELIVED (you’re gonna be sick of him if I have my way 😈). PLEASE follow upmyour AMAZING PIECE OF ART where it’s like the day after or smth and Cregan goes, “oh wait what about honor” and kinda feels guilty because “technically” and on paper he just took readers maidenshead or smth (boo period typical sexism but whatevs) and some shenanigans happen and they get married or smth PLEASE IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY and like reader gets picked up by her brother and Rhaenyra goes, “where have you been” and reader just goes, “secured the troops, got married, the usual” so casually that the Queen just… blanks, and goes, “wait WHAT”. AND THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN FOR BLESSING MY TIMELINE AHSHDGDJJSHSHS

if i’m your liege you’re my favorite vassal and cregan is our beloved NEVER sick of him ever i dare you😈 and thank you! oh i can see this… part 1 not necessary to have read but find it on my masterlist !! EDIT: my asks are still open for requests :)

THE KING, Cregan Stark x

jace’s older sister!reader

“I want to be the king of your heart…”

SYNOPSIS / (part 1) rhaenyra hounds jace about your whereabouts after bribing him to leave early so you could be alone with cregan. flying to winterfell themselves, they see you did not need saving, and are rather at home there—with your future king consort…

WARNINGS / smuttttttttttt, breeeeeeeeeediiiiiiinggg

MASTERLIST

“GODS BE GOOD… WE CAN’T AGAIN, LOVE,” Cregan tried to no avail in dissuading ourselves from pre-marital sex, again. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I just cannot control myself around you, gorgeous…”

Utterly ravenous for one another after our first time together last night. And my first time with any man like that. I knew he worried about my maidenhead as he spent all night long into the morning, in between fucking me, apologizing for ruining my honor. Stark insisting he just could not help himself under my spell. Which I used to my advantage again and again.

“Cregan, never apologize… not for making me feel so good. Besides, I lost my maidenhead years ago from horseback riding. But I’m honored you were the first man to bed me. I want no one else to have that honor but you alone. So please do not feel guilty…” I pleaded with Stark, running my hands through his long dark hair he had untied. The half he had tied back before now falling in his handsome face all loose.

Just like our limbs in his big featherbed, under the wolf’s fur blankets. Keeping us warm in Winterfell’s cold, with the large, crackling hearth in the corner of his spacious chambers. As Lord of Winterfell and Warden—Wolf—of the North, Cregan got to do as he pleased. And if that meant staying in bed with me all day after the long carriage ride back from Castle Black, his servants did not bat an eye. Even at the curious fact that the alleged Velaryon Princess of Dragonstone now seemed to be the de facto Lady Stark of Winterfell. Who they greeted and tended to just the same, as their future queen. Their lord in like to be my King Consort.

“Alright… but what if you’re pregnant? Surely you might be after how many times we…” Cregan trailed off, tracing the flesh of my breasts with his fingers again, distracted.

“You’re right, I may be… so what are you proposing, my love?” I teased, rolling on top of him to straddle his hips with mine.

Before sinking back down onto his cock after just having finished what must have been our fourth or fifth round since the first last night. Losing count. Not stopping until the sun came up, and still going even now. As sunlight crept in through cracks in the wooden shutters of the windows to his chambers. Casting shadows on the cold stone floors. Stark moaned my name as his hands gripped my waist. I rolled just how I learned he like in that short time. Mere hours we spent tangled up in each other felt like years and seconds all at the same time. And all I knew is I wanted it to last decades. Forever if it could. I stayed like that and didn’t move until he answered.

“Gods! I’m proposing we do not raise a bastard… let us get married, my love… marry me, my pretty Princess, please…” Cregan practically begged as I rode him. My hands pressing against his muscled chest and I lifted myself up and down on his hard, wet cock with my gushing cunt. Only getting wetter at the sound of him begging me to marry him.

“Fucking hells, yes! Of course I’ll marry you, my handsome husband…” I whined, rutting my hips against his, still wanting more, wanting to drain him dry. And felt like I was with how hard I clenched around his cock as he came again after a while from how sensitively overstimulated we both were, coming so many times in a row.

Stark sat up and held me tight, with me still sitting on his cock, sat in his lap. Cregan could not help fucking up into me from that new position as he rode out both of our highs as mine came crashing down soon after. With his strong arms wrapped around my waist and lower back, holding on for dear life. I brought my hand down to my clit after he whispered in my ear.

“Touch yourself for me, my wife…” Stark snarled, hot breath on my neck as he attacked it with more love bites bruising my neck.

I did, just how I liked when his fingers did, circling my clit. My orgasm was reached soon after, crying out Cregan’s name as I squeezed him tighter than I had the whole time we spent in bed together. My nails dragging down his back turned red and raw after I did so all night long.

“Seven fucking hells… yes, Stark! Fuck me hard like how you fight…” I panted as my pussy went numb from how hard he pounded into me. My head falling on his shoulder I bit to try and ground myself, Cregan not minding at all in the slightest. Actually getting rougher, harder, and faster in his thrusts when I did as he loved it. Loved looking down to see the marks we both left on each other.

“You’ll never want for that, my wife. You shall have it, always. As now our only job is to breed our heir…” Stark said with a wolfish grin bigger than any smile of his I had ever seen.

“Breed me then, husband…” I smiled down at him as I felt another orgasm of his building by how he twitched in me. Cregan let go at my words, and his warmth washed over my insides as he pressed his hand down on my belly to feel how deep he reached. Making me let go like a river washing over him. We rode out our highs like a pair of rabbits before messily climbing off of him and collapsing to lie beside Stark again.

“I plan on it, wife…” He breathlessly teased. “I never thought I could marry for love. Not until I met you, Princess… I always thought duty is sacrifice and love the death of duty but you’ve shown me… we can have both. My grey beards are well-honed and they will fight hard, like Northerners, for your mother… for you. Even more so after we marry. After you are their Princess of Winterfell.” Cregan rambled with a smile and I swore it was the most I heard him speak since meeting but mere hours ago. Love at first sight.

“I like the sound of that proposal, pretty boy…”

And so we did just that. Eloping in a small ceremony in the godswood. With only our servants and my handmaidens as witnesses. Weeks after meeting, neither of us caring how sudden it all was as we were certain we were right for one another. Enjoying our honeymoon alone in his chambers, where we most often found ourselves no matter the time of day. He pulled me in for another kiss as his pounded inside my pussy for hours on end.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking tight every time, love, gods…” Cregan cooed in my ear as his muscular chest pressed against my back, pressing me into his featherbed. Fucking me like a mad dog. Sounds of our skin slapping against each other echoing off the stone walls of his chambers.

“Seven fucking hells, you’re just so big, Cregan…” I whimpered into the fur blankets and pillows I bit to tether myself to reality as everything spun.

I felt every inch and vein of Stark’s cock moving inside my pulsing walls. Milking his throbbing, thick length of every drop of his seed he gave him with each release every time we came. Crying each other’s name as he chased our climaxes and rode out our highs. Bringing his hand around to circle my clit and squeeze my tits. Kissing the back of my neck and biting my shoulders in return. Until we were all fucked out. And took a nap. Only to start again when we woke up tangled in each other’s limbs. Still covered in each other’s come. Sliding his cock back in me, we got a rhythm going. Chasing our umpteenth orgasm of that hour alone. Pulling him in for a kiss.

Until we were rudely interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Gods, who fucking dare disturb us?” Cregan growled in my ear, before the door swung open.

“Brother! Mother…” I embarrassedly greeted them, pushing Stark off of me faster than I ever have, usually never wanting him to leave my walls.

“Apologies, my Princess, they barged in with their dragons and insisted we show them to you…” My poor handmaid explained as I held up a hand to stop her, as it was not her fault.

“Don’t worry, Wylla… just leave us, please, I’ll call if I need you.” I excused her before starting to get dressed. In only Cregan’s cloak and my chemise underneath. Whereas he hurriedly in a panic pulled on his tunic and trousers under his featherbed’s fur covers.

Dishonoring the Queen’s daughter was not the first impression he would have liked to make on his mother by law.

“So this is where you have been… in some great Lord’s b ed when we are at war!” My mother chastised me before I could tell her the good news.

“Aye. Lord Stark and I have been sharing his bed. After we got married and I secured you your troops you need to win the war. Which you’re welcome for, mum…” I would not let them make me feel embarrassed before my husband in what was now our chambers.

“Well, the least you could’ve done was send a raven to let us know you’re alive, sister!” Jace added onto our mother’s scolding, before my words finally hit her.

“Married?!” My mother incredulously could not believe the news, as she always believed me to be too headstrong and stubborn as she was. Believing I would never marry as she did not, if I could not for love. But now I could.

“Yes,” I said proudly, grabbing an abashed Cregan’s hand, his handsome face red. His beard finally having started to grow back in some stubble on his chiseled chin. “Married…”

“It’s true… I never wished to dishonor your daughter, Queen Rhaenyra. It’s just… we fell in love.” Cregan could hardly meet my mother’s gaze, but Jacaerys and I could not help but find the whole exchange amusing.

“Fell in love or lust at first sight?” My mothered demanded an answer, and I could not help but roll my eyes.

“Can’t it be both?” I jested, as that was the most honest answer, my honorable husband already rubbing off on me.

“Well, yes, I supposed it can be…” My mother relented after a while, and after seeing how clearly in love we were. If the state of our messy chambers smelling of sex was any indication. “And I suppose a well done is in order, seeing as you single-handedly secured Stark troops to fight against the Greens. And made a formidable political marriage match all on your own. I am truly happy it is also for love, my daughter.”

“As am I,” I smiled up at Cregan, forgetting of my mother and brother in the room once more as I pulled him in for that kiss before we were so rudely interrupted.

[op814kitty]

Red Lights - Lost the Breakup Part 1

Ex!Lando Norris x Reader, Oscar Piastri x reader

“You’re not exhausting.” He couldn’t stop himself. “You’re like a sip of cold water on a hot day. You’re the feeling I get sitting on the grid, waiting for those red lights. You’re exciting and terrifying and I’m sorry I waited so long to say it but…” 

A/n: Hiiii guess who's back pookies, I totally not have an anatomy paper to write and procrastinated by writing this

Next Part

“Being in a relationship while being in F1 is exhausting.. That could just be me though. “

Lando  said the words so offhandedly that you’d almost missed them, but the meaning couldn't be interpreted any differently. You were exhausting. You could see his PR person gently hit his arm at the statement and he quickly changed the subject. 

The silence in your shared hotel room wrapped around you and before you knew it you had begun to pack your suitcase. Lando wouldn’t be due back for a few hours at least and that was enough time to pack up and get to the airport. 

Your phone buzzed as you were wheeling your suitcase to sit next to the door of the room. 

OP81:  I know you saw the interview. Are you ok? 

Y/n : No.

Y/n: Did you know that he felt that way? That I’m exhausting and he’s not in love? 

OP81: I was as blindsided as you. I thought you guys were great. He always talked about how he couldn't imagine life without you. 

OP81: Have you spoken to Lando? 

Y/n: No and I'm not planning to, I’m about to head to the airport. 

OP81: Need a ride? 

25 minutes later you are sitting in the passenger seat of Oscar’s hire car on your way to the airport. He hadn’t said anything the whole ride, just peeked at you periodically as you stared at the passing cars on the highway. 

“If you’re planning on jumping out, just know I already put the child lock on… and besides a guy who thinks you’re exhausting isn't worth jumping onto the highway” He says, glancing over again. 

“Duly noted.” you say, not even glancing towards him. 

“What are you going to do when you get back to Monaco? It’ll only be two days and Lando will be back, do you have somewhere to stay?” There’s a hint of worry in his voice. You realise that you didn’t know he cared that much. 

“I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I can stay in a hotel for a few days.” 

“You can stay at my place, if you want?’ Oscar suggests, “I’ve got more rooms than I know what to do with” 

You nod slightly, “That would actually be really good, I don’t think I can face being in our flat right now.” 

Oscar smoothly pulls up at the departure gate. He pulls the suitcase from the back for you. He looks at you, his expression blank but his eyes showing a hint of concern. Oscar pulls a set of keys from his pocket. 

“Here, I’ll text you the address.” He presses the keys into your hand. “Just…”  His hand comes up to wipe across his face, “Take care, y/n” 

You nod and pull Oscar into a hug. “Thank you,osc”,  you begin to tear up, “for everything. I know he’s your friend.” 

“He may be my friend but you’re my friend too,” He says into your shoulder, “ You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Oscar leaves a gentle kiss on your cheek, and heads towards the car. You give him a tight smile and wave after him as he drives off. 

–

It was thankfully early when you arrived at Oscar’s Monaco flat. You really didn’t need any more attention on your relationship than you’d had in the past 4 hours. 

After the flood of twitter and instagram notifications regarding the comments Lando had made, it had been easier to deactivate your social media than have to look at the messages from Lando’s fans. Some were nice, sure, but the majority, or what felt like the majority, were people saying that they knew you were never good enough for him. That you’d been using him for attention or money. 

There were two messages from Lando. 

Lan: Oscar said he took you to the airport

Lan: Don’t you think you might be overreacting? 

Oscar’s flat was quiet, aside from the humm of Monaco nightlife. You never understood why New York was “the city that never sleeps” when Monaco was constantly alive from early morning cafes to midnight casino’s to the drunken groups stumbling back to hotels at 4am. 

You hadn’t left the flat for two days by the time Oscar got back on Monday morning. Curled up in bed, sporadically getting up for cups of tea before stumbling back to bed to continue the routine of crying and staring at the ceiling of the spare room. 

He knocked gently on the doorframe, leaning against it with an unreadable expression. 

“I won,” He stated. 

Your head snapped towards him at the sound of his voice, “Osc” You rasped,voice hoarse after days of crying. “What?”

“I won,” He repeated, “for you.” He cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t intended to say the second part. 

“For me?” You questioned. 

“You’re not exhausting.” He couldn’t stop himself. “You’re like a sip of cold water on a hot day. You’re the feeling I get sitting on the grid, waiting for those red lights. You’re exciting and terrifying and I’m sorry I waited so long to say it but…” 

He trailed off. “I’m sorry. I know this isn't the right time.” He turned and retreated into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

You stared at the ceiling of the room. How could you have not noticed? Every interaction with Oscar flashed in your mind. First meeting him while out clubbing with Lando after hearing so much about Lando’s new teammate; To late night runs to get ice cream cause Lando didn’t want to ruin his diet, that became habit on a Thursday night as Oscar needed his ‘secret weapon for the weekend; to the words Oscar had just breathed into your room.

You’re exciting and terrifying and I’m sorry I waited so long to say it but…

But what?

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Act Two

Tommy Shelby x Nina Ferrante Shelby (OC)

Where The Shadow Is Cast

CHAPTER 1 ~ Secrets

Summary: Tommy’s secretive behaviour puts Nina on edge.

Warnings: arranged marriage, age-gap (Tommy’s in his early 30s, Nina is in her early 20s), talks of past sexual harassment, English is not my first language.

A/N: The second act takes place during season 2*. You can read it even if you haven’t read the previous one, although you might miss some information here and there. What you need to know for context, is that Nina Ferrante is Tommy’s Sicilian wife, and their marriage put an end to the war between the two families. They join forces against Sabini. *This specific chapter takes place a few months before season 2.

ACT ONE MASTERLIST || ACT TWO MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

Nina watched Tommy sleeping next to her, his lips slightly parted, eyebrows lowered in a subtle frown.

She didn’t have the heart to wake him.

The previous night had been horrible for him. He had woken up again and again, covered in sweat, shaking, slurring incoherent words she could not understand. Then he held on to her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she tried her best to ground him, only for it to start all over again. It took him hours to finally fall into a somewhat peaceful sleep.

It wasn’t the first time it happened. She had learned about his nightmares a few days after moving into their new house, on Watery Lane. Although Tommy had warned her about them, she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t unsettled her to see him so scared. To get a glimpse of the monsters that lived inside his head. Monsters she couldn’t protect him from.

The awareness she couldn’t take his pain away was crushing. Even when he seemed happy, even on the rare times a laugh escaped his lips, the heavy veil of sadness was always there, draped over his shoulders like a coat, weighing him down. She wished there was a way to take a bit of that burden upon herself and carry it with him, if only to bring him some semblance of relief.

“You’re staring.”

Tommy’s raspy voice broke the silence, pulling her from her thoughts. Warmth flushed to her face, and she was thankful he still had his eyes closed. Two months into their marriage, and she still blushed like a schoolgirl when he caught her looking at him. Pushing back the embarrassment, she took on a playful tone. “Does it bother you?” she taunted, quirking an eyebrow.

Tommy’s lips curved upwards. “No.”

His eyelids fluttered opened, sleepy blue eyes looking back at her. “Good morning, love.”

“Morning.” She reached out her hand to smooth a stray lock of hair off his forehead. Her fingers travelled down to his cheek, knuckles tenderly brushing against his freckled skin.

Taking ahold of her hand, Tommy brought it to his lips, placing a sweet kiss on it. “I’m sorry for last night,” he murmured, his gaze filling with regret.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I told you already, I can sleep on the sofa-”

“No,” she interrupted him, unwilling to listen to the umpteenth attempt on his part to convince her that it would be better for her if they slept separately.

“Nina-”

“Not a chance,” she said firmly. “You will not keep me away.”

Tommy pursed his lips, and for a moment he seemed about to say something. Then resignation flashed across his eyes, and no word left his mouth. He knew better than her he had already lost that battle.

With a soft grunt, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to him, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I wanna stay in bed with you.”

“Then do it.”

“I can’t,” he mumbled, a hint of frustration in his voice. “There’s things I need to get done.”

“They can wait.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Oh, tempting you is my precise intention.

It had been so long since they had spent a day together, just the two of them. She knew he had business to attend to, but she missed him. And she could tell his habit of overworking himself was taking a toll on him.

She inhaled deeply, pondering her words. “You can take a day off. It’s not like you have to answer to anyone.”

“This time I do,” he shook his head. “I’m going to London to meet your uncle.”

Oh.

Uncle Antonio would not be pleased if Tommy didn’t show up to the meeting. And with the circumstances of their marriage still being a sore spot for everyone, it was better to be careful. Although Antonio and his sons were not involved with what had happened back in Italy, word had traveled, and he had found himself in the painful position to take a side in the quarrel between his two brothers. Vincenzo’s side, to be exact. For the sake of peace. It wouldn’t be wise to inconvenience him further.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” he said, a bit too quickly for her taste. Then, as if reading the suspicion on her face, he added, “It’s business as usual, nothing to worry about.”

Nina furrowed her brows, studying his face. There was something in his expression that told her he wasn’t being completely truthful. That there was something he wasn’t telling her.

She decided to leave it, at least for the moment. The truth would come out anyway.

“If you say so.”

As she washed the breakfast dishes, Nina looked onto the grey streets, muddy from the rain. Autumn had arisen in all its might, bringing storm and a pungent cold she wasn’t sure she had ever known. It was probably still sunny, back home. In Sicily summer was always reluctant to leave.

Home. She wondered what her family was doing, if they missed her, or if some part of them was secretly relieved she wasn’t a nuisance anymore. What she had done to all of them was not something that could be easily forgotten, or forgiven. The shame she had brought upon them was a stain that could never be washed away. She wouldn’t blame them if they still harboured resentment towards her.

As for Agnese, Nina wasn’t so foolish to think she could ever have her forgiveness, nor her uncle and aunt’s. In their eyes, she had viciously stabbed her cousin in the back, and robbed her of a suitable marriage out of sheer selfishness. She just hoped uncle Mario would forgive her father for acting behind his back. It was for the best, anyway. Had it been up to her uncle, their peace with the Shelbys would’ve gone up in smoke, and they would’ve been alone in the war against Sabini. Instead, since the two families had joined their forces, Sabini’s attacks at the Ferrante’s restaurants had ceased.

However, it wasn’t her parents’ resentment she should’ve been scared of, nor her brothers’ anger, and not even her uncle’s fury. They were no actual danger to her. What she should fear was the wrath of someone far more vengeful. Someone she had scorned. Because there was nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man.

A chill ran down her spine. She thought leaving Sicily would mean leaving Stefano behind. That what he had done to her would pass, that the mark he had left on her would fade, that his nasty gaze wouldn’t burn her anymore. She couldn’t have been more wrong. He was always lurking in the shadows, watching her every step. He was everywhere, because she was carrying him inside herself. She’d have to learn how to carve him out.

A loud meow put an end to her musings. Curled up on a chair, Winston was staring at her with his yellow eyes, impatiently waiting for her to acknowledge him. He had been seeking her attention more, since they had left. The big change had bewildered him, too. There were no gardens in Small Heath, no tree branches upon which he could climb, no sunny spots to sleep in. She felt guilty, for taking him away from that. But no one in her family would take care of him, not like she did.

He’d get used to it in time. Hopefully, she would too.

She never thought she would miss home. It was rather funny. She had spent her whole life wishing she could escape from that place, and now that she had, she was searching for it in every corner.

A sense of uneasiness began to grow in her chest. A feeling she was all too familiar with, one she thought she’d left behind once she had stepped on the boat for England.

No…

No. She shook her head, snapping herself out of the spiral she was on the verge of falling in. She couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t let her restless mind ruin what she was trying to build.

But as she scrubbed the plate with more energy, she could have sworn she saw her mother’s face in the reflection in the window.

The betting shop was still deserted when Nina walked in. It looked so different in the early morning, without the hustle and bustle of the men at work, and the rowdy gamblers cramming in to place their bets. That was why she preferred to arrive early, and plan the day before the shouting and the smoke made it too difficult for her to fully concentrate.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t quite like the betting shop, though. It was different from anything she had ever known. A small world of its own, made of bets, numbers, and strategies. It was stimulating, to say the least. In that chaotic place, she could escape the stillness she had despised all her life.

She sat at one of the desks, then proceeded to set out the things she’d need. The betting book, the agenda Tommy had left her, her notebook, and a small calendar. Tommy would be away for a week, at least, and if she had to cover his work as well, she’d have to make a schedule. She took in a deep breath, staring to parcel out the tasks to be done in the next few days.

Ten minutes or so into her work, she was distracted by the sound of heels clicking across the wooden floor. The figure of a woman walked in front of her with quick steps, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke as she passed.

There she was. Polly Gray.

Nina knew immediately she was in for a long, long day.

Ever since the matriarch had laid her watchful gaze on Nina for the first time, she had been nothing but stern to her. She observed her, studied her. She cut her into tiny pieces to figure out what she was made of. It was unnerving, sometimes.

Polly dropped her bag on one of the desks on the opposite side of the room. “Tommy went to London,” she said, finally turning to acknowledge Nina’s presence.

Good morning to you, too.

“Yes. He said something about a meeting with my uncle.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Is there anything else to know?”

Polly sighed, stomping her cigarette before taking a seat. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

God, it was serious, if even his aunt knew nothing about it.

Nina shook her head. “He’s been acting strange, lately.”

“Sounds like Tommy.”

“More than usual,” she clarified. “He says he’s just worried about business, but I can tell there’s more to it.”

Polly’s head shot up to look at her. She visibly pondered her words, until something clicked behind her dark eyes. A look of realisation flashed across her expression. “You have no idea, do you?”

Her statement left Nina confused. “Of what?”

The shadow of a smirk grew on Polly’s face. She pursed her lips in an attempt to hide it, but Nina didn’t miss the mixture of smugness and amusement filtering through her features. “It’s not my place to tell you, love. Tommy entrusted me with this information long ago.”

What information?

Nina clenched her jaw, careful not to show how much Polly’s demeanour was actually getting to her. The condescending note in her voice was what made her blood boil the most.

It wasn’t the first time she needled her with the implication that her husband kept secrets from her, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. Polly made no secret of her determination to maintain her primacy as Tommy’s most loyal confidant. But Nina knew it was also her way of assessing her, of knowing just how much she could pull before the string snapped.

She’d have to pull, and pull. And even then, she’d end up disappointed. Nina was way too good at letting certain things roll off her back.

Polly Gray’s little jabs were nothing compared to her aunts’ and cousins’ nasty jokes and judgmental glances. If she thought a few subtle taunts would be enough to make her step back, she couldn’t be more wrong. And truth be told, Nina drew a bit of satisfaction from the knowledge her presence made the older woman feel threatened.

Before either of them could say anything else, the double doors that separated the kitchen from the shop swung open, and Arthur’s boisterous voice resounded in the room. Nina didn’t understand a single word that left his mouth, but from the look on Polly’s face, it was safe to say it was for the best. His accent was so thick it often took her a while to pick up on what he said. Sometimes she got the impression he accentuated it on purpose, when he spoke to her.

Another way of Tommy’s family of reminding her she was a stranger. The daughter of a foreign enemy.

“Nina, do me a favour and check me addin’ up, eh.” Arthur dropped a heavy book on her desk.

“This is the Garrison’s book,” she frowned.

“Yeah, I brought it ‘ere so ye could take a look at it.”

“I already checked it two days ago.”

His heavy hand came to pat her on the shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Money’s flowing in, sister.”

“And flowing out, I see,” she noted, scanning through one of the most recent pages. She squinted her eyes, pursing her lips as her a specific figure caught her attention. “There’s something wrong here.”

“That’s why I came to ya’, luv,” he brushed her off.

Of course.

She couldn’t understand why the Shelbys kept on relying on Arthur for keeping the pub’s book. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford to pay someone to do that for him. He didn’t even try. And she was the one who ended up fixing his mess.

Arthur’s steps echoed in the almost empty shop as he started to walk towards the door, making her snap her head in his direction. She leaned back in her chair, calling after him. “What’s the magic word, Arthur?”

He stopped in his tracks, keeping his back turned. “I ain’t got no time for this,” he said gruffly.

She raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can check your numbers on your own, then.”

Arthur’s fists clenched by his side. His shoulders raised as he inhaled deeply, visibly pondering his next move. When he turned to her, his lips were pressed together in a fake smile. “Please,” he stressed, exaggerating a deferential gesture with his hand.

Nina tilted her head, unable to hold back a satisfied grin. “See? It wasn’t that hard.”

A snarling sound was the only answer her provocation received before Arthur left, slamming the door behind him. It seemed like his mood had been ruined by their little altercation.

Serves him right, she thought. She wasn’t going to tolerate disrespect.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw Polly’s piercing gaze looking up and down at her, and she could swear she was trying to hide the hint of a grin.

Shaking off that impression, she began to examine the book in front of her. If she wanted to get it done by the end of the morning, she’d have to start right away.

“More like ‘do the adding up all over again’,” she murmured to herself, flipping through the pages.

That was going to be a long day, indeed.

Sitting on the sofa, Nina tried to concentrate on the novel in front of her, but her brain apparently had no intention of cooperating. Polly’s words were still haunting her.

You have no idea, do you?

She was right, at last. Tommy kept secrets from her. Two days had passed since he had come back from London, and still no word had left his mouth about what business he was taking care of, exactly. All she could get out of him were half-truths and non-answers.

The whole situation was beginning to get on her nerves. She had been patient, she had waited for him to be ready to open up to her, but nothing had come out of it. Absolutely nothing. And as if being kept in the dark wasn’t enough, she had to deal with Polly’s habit of adding insult to injury.

She was living in a country she didn’t know, speaking a language that wasn’t hers, surrounded by people who never missed the chance to remind her she didn’t belong there, and she didn’t even have her husband on her side. She couldn’t trust him to tell her the truth. She felt completely, utterly alone.

She was so deep in thought she almost jumped when the front door opened and shut. “Love?” Tommy called from the entrance.

A wave of irritation surged through her. The unspoken words that had been plaguing her mind had made her anger bigger, heavier, and she wasn’t sure she could pretend everything was fine for another night. When he walked into the living room, she didn’t even raise her head from the page in front of her.

“Hi, love,” he greeted her, leaning in to kiss her, only to be left hanging when she turned her head the other way.

“Dinner’s in the oven,” she said coldly.

Tommy froze in his place, his mind working behind his orbs as he processed her reaction. “What’s wrong?” he asked, jerking his chin. When she refused to even look at him, he rested his hand on the back of the sofa, caging her with his body. “Eh?” He raised his eyebrows.

Nina gritted her teeth. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A flare of awareness cracked through Tommy’s imperturbable façade, but went away as quickly as it came. He stood straight, taking a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hell no.

Nina slammed the book shut, finally raising her gaze on him. “Don’t give me that shit,” she snapped, getting up from the sofa. “Don’t fucking give me that shit,” she approached him with a long stride, pointing her finger at him. “I’ve given you time, and space, and plenty of chances to tell me what you’ve been up to. And now I’m tired.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t waver, pinning him with her fierce stare. “So what is it?”

Tommy’s eyes traveled over her face, his mask cracking once again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, searching for his next words. “I’m planning an expansion,” he said carefully, testing the waters.

“Where?”

“London.”

It didn’t take long for Nina to understand what he was implying. But if her immediate instinct was to shake him and ask him if he had gone mad, the last shreds of patience she had left prevented her from possibly making him close up again. “Go on.”

“It was one of the reasons why I came to Sicily,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “The deal was, I helped your family against Sabini, and in turn your family would help me take him over.”

She stayed silent, digesting the information. She wasn’t stupid, she knew Tommy had his own interests besides simple survival when he proposed to join the families. But he had kept it from her for months. It had been his plan all along, and he never told her. “And the thought of telling me never crossed your mind?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s… it’s complicated, Nina.”

“It always is,” she scoffed, shaking her head.

Tommy tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, I knew you wouldn’t like it-”

“Of course I don’t like it!” She furiously shrugged his hands off, her voice raising again.

Tommy raised his hands in surrender, backing away as his own frustration became evident.

“There’s no need to start another war, Tommy!”

He cursed under his breath, pacing a few steps. “For fuck’s sake,” his voice rose. “Your family’s already at war with Sabini.”

“He has stopped his attacks.”

“For now. But what happens next, eh?”

Nina had no reply to that question. As much as she hated to admit it, Tommy right. There was no way of telling whether Sabini had surrendered or simply taken a step back before striking again. It was a standoff situation which had everyone holding their breath.

A heavy sigh left Tommy’s lips. “It’s decided, love,” he said lowly, regaining his composure. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“When?”

“In February.”

February.

So everything was ready. Mapped out. And she was finding out about it just now.

She felt so stupid.

She nodded, feeling all energy drain out of her. “Alright,” she murmured.

Her sudden lack of resistance caught Tommy off guard. He blinked in confusion. “Alright?”

“Yeah. Alright.”

She didn’t want to fight anymore; there was no point in it. And she was tired. Turning her back on him, she headed toward the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”

“Nina, wait…”

Tommy’s words fell on deaf ears. Without sparing him another glance, Nina left the room.

The mattress sank under Tommy’s weight as he slid into bed. Nina stared at the wall in front of her, a faint sense of relief filling her at the realisation he’d be home, that night. When his strong arm wrapped around her from behind, she was tempted to move away, to remind him once again of how much he had messed up. But even the most stubborn part of her couldn’t help but surrender to him.

Tommy’s chest vibrated against her back when he spoke. “Still angry?”

“No,” she shook her head.

It was true. She was upset, and disappointed. But she wasn’t angry anymore. As good as she was at holding a grudge, she could never stay angry at him for too long. And she needed him more than she needed her anger, in that moment. Her hand found Tommy’s, and she intertwined their fingers together. She felt him relax behind her at her gesture. His arm flexed as he held her tighter, pressing his lips on the top of her head.

“Tommy?” she called him after a while.

“What?”

“No more secrets.”

“Yeah.”

She spun around to face him, the warm light of the bedside lamp allowing her to look him in the eyes. “I’m serious, Tommy.”

“I know-”

“I don’t need you to know, I need you to understand.” She took his face in her hands, thumbs rubbing up and down his skin. “I have no one but you here. If you can’t be honest with me, then I have nothing.”

Tommy’s ice-cold features softened, and something quite similar to guilt made its way on his face. His knuckles reached to delicately stroke her cheek. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, a deep sincerity seeping out of his words.

Nina closed her eyes, fighting against the tears threatening to spill out. “Don’t keep me away.” She couldn’t help the pleading note in her shaking voice. She hated to feel so vulnerable, so weak. And she hated to make him see her like that. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hey, c’mere,” Tommy pulled her closer, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “C’mere.”

Nina buried her face in his chest, the last one of her defences crumbling at his show of affection.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, gently threading his fingers through her hair.

She snuggled closer to him, letting his reassuring smell comfort her, and the regular beating of his heart lull her.

It was going to be alright. They were going to be alright.

“No more secrets. I promise.”

Heart, Body and Sould tag list

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

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General Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat @areyenotfondofmelobster @red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator @lunarubra @rangerelik

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes @bellabarnes1378 @jbrownta

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[visionofhope04]

Viper (Part 1)

Batfamily x Batsib!Reader

Part 1 (here) Part 2 (coming soon!)

Ages(probably not accurate, just go with it please): Alfred (Immortal), Bruce (45-ish), Barbara (30), Dick (29), Cass (26), Jason (26), Stephanie (21), Tim (20), Reader (18), Damian (16)

Warning(s): cursing, explosions (not detailed), speak of poison and poisoning, (very) minor violence

Part 2 of this headcannon

A/N: Sorry this took so long 😭. So in the preview I posted I said I'd try using third person and they/them pronouns. It hasn't been working out which is why I didn't post this sooner, I'm sooooo sorry :( I've switched it back to using you because I figured it's still inclusive. Hope you guys enjoy this tho! I’m ngl I had a heart attack bc I thought this draft got lost to the void and I was abt to post it.

—

Your boots pounded ferociously on the concrete as you ran and made a sharp right turn into another alleyway. He wasn't far behind you, it would only be a matter of time before you were caught. You had to lose him, fast. Your heart beat against your ribcage, your breaths came out in pants from your nose. You were sweating, and not just from the physical effort. Despite being a trained assassin, you were nervous. Getting caught would change everything, but you were confident in your abilities. However, that did little to stop the lingering feeling of dread you felt every time he got a little too close. You sped up and turned right again into a narrow alley. The Red Hood, who was chasing you, did not expect this and couldn’t slow down, and passed the alley. Frustrated, he backpedaled and ran down the alley he saw you go into.

He reached the end of the alley and slowed to a stop. The alleyway opened up to an empty street, and there was no sign of you anywhere. All he saw was the odd stains on the alley’s walls, a dumpster, and garbage bags strewn about. He lost you.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, then kicked the dumpster for good measure.

You jolted in your hiding spot, hopeful he wouldn’t notice the extra weight when he kicked it. Your heart began pounding harder, as if it was trying to escape your body, if he found you, you honestly thought it might. Blood rushed in your ears as you waited with bated breaths. Would he open it? Find you? Compromise everything you’ve worked so hard for? You wouldn’t go down without a fight, but with the Lazarus pit in his blood and not much of it in yours, you doubted you’d be able to take him with strength alone. You’d have to be smart about it, as always. Though you didn’t know how your poisons would affect someone the Lazarus pit had such a strong hold on, you’d stupidly never tried it before. You doubt your mother or grandfather would’ve approved of it, as they would’ve been the ones you tested it on (never Damian, you’d never do that to your precious little sibling), but the knowledge would’ve been helpful at the moment. You desperately hoped that he wouldn’t find you, so you wouldn’t have to find out on him. You didn’t want to kill him after all, he’s a part of Damian’s new family. You couldn't ruin your little sibling's chance at a family, at least one of you could find happiness.

After agonizing moments that seemed like years with your overactive brain, you heard him mutter a few more profanities and his footsteps receded. You held your breath as you waited and observed the sounds you heard. Water dripped from somewhere, most likely a roof, and then rustling. Your heart began to pound harder, assuming he was searching, only for you to hear a quiet ‘meow’ and instantly relax. Once you were sure no one was there, you carefully lifted the dumpster lid and peeked. No one. Perfect. You slinked out of the dumpster and grimaced at the smell. Gross, yes, but it worked. It wasn't by far the worst place you've hidden in, but you'd definitely need to shower as soon as you got back to your hideout. The things you do for this job. You trudged in the direction of your current main base of operations, taking great care to stay out of everyone's sight, especially Oracle's.

—

That was your first run-in with Red Hood. It took him longer than expected to figure out what was going on. Took him even longer to find you. You didn't mind though, it gave you more time to work with. It wouldn't be long before Red Hood kept failing to catch you and decided to involve the Big Bad Bat, though. With Batman would come Robin, then Red Robin, and then Nightwing. If Robin found out, it would ruin the whole plan.

The plan was simple, really. Take over Gotham's underground unnoticed, gather members and create a gang, find a perfect time to cause a gang war to distract the Batfamily, and then Talia would initiate her plans to take over Gotham while the bats are busy. Well, that's what the agreed plan was. You'd always been a loose cannon. Since Red Hood had been so close to catching you, the "unnoticed" part had been foiled, albeit a bit later than anticipated. 

"Hey boss, what brings you in today?" Your loyal henchman, Hopper asked you.

"We've got a job to do. Grab some explosives. We're sending a message."

—

“These places feel haunted.” Willow, another one of your most trusted henchmen, said as she placed one of the four explosives into place. 

“It’s probably the Joker’s victims’ souls, he loves warehouses, like typical villains. Maybe they’re here to warn us, ‘Don’t go into the basement, that’s where we’re buried!’. Or maybe they’ll kill us, who knows.”

“This isn’t a joke, you’re scaring me Tina!”

“You guys done?” You ask impatiently, but reluctantly slightly amused.

“Yup.”

— 

"Seven simultaneous explosions have just been spotted around the perimeter of the city."

"Head to the site closest to your current location. If you're paired with someone, split up. Oracle, call in Nightwing and Red Hood if possible. Do not engage with anyone, survey the damage only. "

"Yes sir!" Chirped Spoiler.

— 

After two hours, at 3 am, everyone returned to the cave.

“I take everything I said about explosions back, I hate explosives.”

“Welcome to the club, Timmy! I’ve hated explosives ever since-”

A chorus of groans resonated throughout the batcave, “We know, Jason!”

“You’re not special Todd, most of us here have died in one way or another.”

“Yeah but have you-”

As Damian and Jason began bickering and the whole group headed to the lockers, Dick pulled Bruce aside. 

“B, I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but I think something bigger is going on. I found these objects around the warehouse I investigated.”

Batman took the bag Nightwing offered and observed the strange objects. Metal letters. Two A’s, one I, one L, and one T.

“It spells Talia.” He observes.

“She would never do something like that if she was behind it, and she wouldn’t leave a calling card, especially not in that form.”

"I know. Hmm. The damage seemed deliberate. It only destroyed the warehouses on the edge of the city. It caused minimal to no damage to surrounding properties."

"You're saying whoever did this is sending a message, about Talia." Nightwing inquired.

"Precisely."

“But who would do this? And why would they warn us? And what exactly are they warning us about? They must be close to her to have an idea of what she’s planning.”

“We’re going to find out.” He says, then turns to Tim, who had just exited the lockers. "Red Robin, check all security footage at all explosion sites and around them, report back all your findings."

Red Robin nods and heads to the Batcomputer to get to work.

—

Dun dun dunnnnn! So how'd you like it? It's been a while since I've wrote anything and it's because I hit a MAJOR writing block. Hope you enjoyed! I was fighting with these tags fr

Tags: @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @rosemary1225 @azazel-nyx @chevelledahuman

@snowcatlove

@danonered @cantbecreative

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Pinky Promise 2

Pinky Promise Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Part 2 of Pinky Promise. The two of you become close friends, but one night shows Jake just how much you trust him.

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Hi friends! It’s been a hot minute since I have put something out but I promise you I have a good reason for it! I just had a baby and haven’t had time to sit down and write. But hoping to put out more content here soon! Thank you all for reading!!! - C

It was an ungodly time in the morning when you heard the doorbell ring. It took more will power than you would like to admit to even sit up in bed, head pounding with the slight elevation change. You wiped the sleep and last night’s makeup from your eyes, most likely smearing streaks of it across your face. And you sat there contemplating all of your life’s choices up to this point.

The doorbell seemed to yell at you, telling you that whoever was on the other side must have been impatient. A quick glance at the clock said it was 8:30 and you had to take a deep breath to not hurt the person who was making you get out of bed.

A few stumbling steps later, you opened the door to find a delivery guy with a bag of food. While you took the bag from him, the confusion was pretty clear. Even the guy who was turning to walk away could see it. “There is a note on the receipt.” And then he was gone.

Between the hangover from hell and very few hours of sleep you got; you were slow moving to get back inside. To anyone walking by you must have looked like you lost your mind with the amount of time you spent looking at the bag. But by some miracle, your legs took you back to bed while your mind was still reeling.

The bag didn’t have any sort of logo or name on it, but it did smell good. You opened it up and reached for the receipt first, trying to find answers.

The tacos I promised you. – Jake

A laugh came out as you put the piece of paper aside, making your way to the things that were making your mouth water. Breakfast tacos greeted you and suddenly being woken up was not a bad thing anymore.

You went to reach for your phone to thank the blond-haired pilot but stopped when you remembered exactly why you now had tacos. Your drunken self called your brothers most hated teammate last night because you didn’t want to get your brother involved. You winced at the thought of him finding out and pulled your hand back.

You dreaded looking at your phone, knowing Bradley most likely had blown it up after last night. So, instead of being a responsible adult who answered for her own actions, you turned your phone over. What you couldn’t see meant it wasn’t there. Denial was one of your favorite places to live in.

Jake seemed friendly enough, offering help whenever you needed. He also wasn’t quick to judge you like others. It wasn’t lost on you that Bradley had most likely told his teammates how “reckless and wild” you were, already painting a bad picture of you. But Jake didn’t make you feel that way. He actually made you think that you might be able to call him a friend, even if he didn’t see eye to eye with your brother.

Jake heard a knock at his door and tried to think who would be here at this time of night. The confusion only grew when he opened his door to find you walking past him and making yourself home on his couch.

“Ever think about how dumb Tuesdays are? Like the only thing they are good for is tacos.” Jake had to blink a few times for his mind to catch up to what was happening.

“I can’t say that I have. Did that burning question drive you all the way over here?” He closed the door and walked to the adjacent couch to sit. He had a feeling this was going to be a long visit.

“I had to thank you in person for the tacos since I’m ignoring my phone.” Jake’s eyebrows rose that comment and pushed you on it. He watched as you played with your hair, giving him a hint at one of your tells. You were either uncomfortable or nervous about your answer and he locked that piece of information away for later.

“Look, my brother can be a bit much sometimes and I didn’t have the energy to deal with him this morning. Then this morning quickly turned into this evening, and I figured it’s a lost cause now.”

Jake bit back a smile, “So, you thought ignoring him was your best option?” He thought back to his conversation with said pilot at work this morning and was surprised when he saw a new side of him.

Bradley at first apologized for “having to deal with you.” But once he realized he didn’t mind making sure you got home safe, he thanked him and said it won’t happened again. Jake brought up his sisters and how he would want to make sure that if they needed help, someone would be there regardless of how good of terms he might or might not be with that person. This seemed to clear the air between them a bit, making work a little easier.

“I know it isn’t exactly my smartest idea, but you can only be called irresponsible so many times before you lose it. Was he mad at you this morning?” Jake shook his head, “Thankful for getting you home. That’s all.” He watched you nod your head but could see you didn’t fully believe him.

“You pinky promise I didn’t make things worse for you at work?” Jake laughed at yet another pinky promise.

“Yes, I pinky promise. Have you eaten dinner? I have leftovers I was about to heat up.” And with that offering, it opened the door to a new friendship.

Jake often found himself answering the door to you, texting you at random hours of the day, and always making sure you made it home safely. The two of you quickly became good friends, making the random house visits become a normal thing. He started to look forward to you coming over, knowing that your carefree way of life would bring him some sort of interesting story.

Until tonight.

The knock on his door was a little later than normal. Typically, you made your way over right after he got home from work. But tonight, it was hours past that time. Jake opened the door expecting you to waltz right in, but instead you were stood rooted in place with your head down. Red flags instantly went up as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

“Hey darlin’. How about we head inside?” His heart dropped when you lifted your head up. A bruise was starting to form around your right eye and by the way you were holding yourself, he knew it was from something bad.

A million different scenarios went through his mind, each worse than the last. But until he could get to the bottom of it, he needed to make sure you were okay. The ever so confident girl he had come to adore was nowhere in sight as he fully took you in. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, almost as if you were trying to be as small as possible. Despite the swelling from the bruise, he could see redness around your eyes from crying.

He moved to the side as you slowly made your way in allowing him to close the door and give you his full attention. “Sweetheart, what happened?” You flinched as he moved his hand towards you, making him stop his motion and put his hand up.

“You know I would never hurt you. I just need to look at that eye.” He waited for you to give some sort of okay before he tried again.

“I had this date and he wanted to go back to his place. All I did was tell him no.” Your words came out as a near whisper, but Jake heard you loud and clear. He had to take a second to calm himself down to not scare you any further.

“Can I give you a hug?” His words surprised you. The two of you were never one to show affection but for him to ask permission before doing it solidified why you chose to come here. A small head nod and he pulled you into his chest.

“I am so sorry you had to go through that. No one should ever have to feel that kind of fear.” And that simple gesture pushed you to your breaking point. The tears started all over again, but this time you felt a sense of comfort as you let them out. He continued to hold you for a few minutes and when he let go, you could see just how much this had affected him too.

He couldn’t help but think about his sisters and what he would do if they were ever in this situation. To have someone hit them simply because they said no made him sick to his stomach. Which is why he knew he needed to let your brother know.

“Sit down on the couch and I’ll grab you some ice to help with the swelling.” You did as he said, and Jake walked into the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen vegetables for you. While he was in there, he sent a quick text to Bradley telling him he needed to come over now. Jake knew he would do it based on the zero interactions they have outside of work. Bradley would know something was wrong.

He walked back out and saw you curled up on the couch, wiping a few tears from your face. When he picked you up from that bar a few weeks ago, he never imagined the two of you would be here. But he was glad to be that person for you.

“Put this on your eye for fifteen minutes and it should help numb the pain a bit.” You took the bag from him and did as he said. “Also, your brother should be on his way.”

The look of panic crossed your face, and he knew there was a chance you didn’t want your brother to know.

“I know you don’t want him to find out, but this is something your brother would want to know. I promise you that.” He watched as you played with the ends of your hair.

“He is going to try and say it’s my fault.” Jake knew the two of you had a bumpy relationship with just how different your lives were. But he didn’t for one second think that your brother would ever blame you for this.

“Let me get one thing straight. This is by no way your fault. A man should never lay his hands on a woman no matter what the reasoning. You said no and he needed to respect that. End of story.”

A knock on the door made you jump, and Jake waited a second before he went to open it. He gave Bradley zero warning on what he was walking into, and you weren’t in the best headspace to begin with. He knew there was a chance this wasn’t going to go well, but your brother couldn’t be left out of this.

Jake opened the door and said, “Try and keep calm.” Bradley walked in and took one look at you and pushed Jake up the wall. “The fuck did you do, Bagman?” Jake knew the initial reaction was going to be rough, but he was hoping he would still be able to fly tomorrow.

You stood up and quickly tried to push your brother away. While he didn’t budge, you at least got his attention. “He didn’t do this. I didn’t know where to go so I came here.”

Bradley looked back to Jake for confirmation and then backed off. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked between the two of you. “Someone needs to start explaining. Now.”

Jake looked over to you to see what you wanted to do. He had no issue telling Bradshaw the whole story, but he didn’t want to step on your toes. You didn’t tell him the two of you were friends for a reason, and he wasn’t sure how much you wanted to explain.

You took a deep breath and tried your best to answer, “Ever since the night Jake gave me a ride home, we’ve been hanging out. He’s been a good friend, one that I probably don’t deserve, but someone I know I can go to. I had a date tonight and it clearly didn’t go well. I was going to go home but I knew it wasn’t the best idea. Here was the next best place.”

Bradley shook his head, “Why here? Why not to my house? You know you can come to me for anything.”

You looked down as you said, “You always say how reckless I am, and I didn’t want this to be another huge disappointment for you.”

You heard Bradley curse under his breath but couldn’t find the courage to look up. Which is why you let out a yelp when he put a hand on your shoulder. “I know I’m hard on you but that’s because you’re the only family I have left. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me for things. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. But this? This is something I need to know, and I would never say it’s your fault. Something like this shouldn’t have happened and you best believe I am going to kill the guy who did this to you.”

You gave him a small nod and he turned your head to get a better look at your eye. “This is going to be a nasty bruise. Did he get you anywhere else?”

Jake watched in curiosity when your eyes seemed to light up some. “No. I stopped him before he could do anything else. Didn’t hurt as bad this time either.” The two pilots were confused until Jake looked down at your hand to see some slight bruising.

“Looks like you got him good.” Bradley caught on but then asked what you meant by “this time.”

You looked over to Jake for help explaining. “Killer over here has a nasty right hook. Said you taught her how to throw it.”

Bradley slowly nodded his head and almost looked excited when he asked if you used it on Jake. “You wish.” He chuckled some and then looked over to his teammate. “Thanks for looking out for her. Clearly you are doing a better job at it than me.”

Jake smirked, “Just one more thing to add to the list that I’m better at.”

A/N: Thoughts? Still deciding if I am going to add another one of these to the mini-series. Thank you so so much for reading!! - C

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy @alldaysdreamers

[author-kweenyluv]

... Ghosts pt. 1 ...

pt. 1 || pt.2 || pt.3

[It’s difficult to grieve someone when the reminders of them haunt every corner of your life. It’s even harder to grieve them when they decide to come back from the grave] [...otherwise known as ‘I decided to reread the Dead Nightcrawler Comic (Amazing X-Men 2014, #1-5), and imagined what might happen if I/a reader-insert was also in the story after reading that the Bamfs showed up almost immediately after the school was rebuilt post Messiah Complex/Kurt dying’, and then made myself sad. Buckle in everyone, this is a long one] [First multi-parter, whoo!]

The Bamfs moved into the rebuilt and newly minted ‘Jean Grey School for Higher Learning’ as soon as construction was finished, not too long after Kurt.... after he.....

The Bamfs showed up without much preamble, and despite the mystery around them and their appearance, no one at the institute had the heart to try and make them leave. They looked... they looked so much like him, like what you thought....

You nearly screamed the first time you saw one roaming around the school, falling back against a wall and calling for the nearest... anyone, as you curled onto the ground. Chest heaving and mutterings of ‘I’m going crazy I’m going crazy I’m going crazy I’m going crazy-‘ falling from your lips on repeat as you sat on one end of the room, the confused Bamf sitting on the other and blinking owlishly. It was Hank who found you, and it took him nearly ten minutes to convince you that no, you hadn’t gone crazy, and yes, the Bamf was real.

To both your chagrin and despair, the Bamfs seemed to have a particular affinity for you— the little creatures seemed to have a knack for finding you, even when you didn’t want to be found. No matter where you were on the grounds, the Bamfs would find you. And after a while... after a few weeks you gave up trying to hide among your friends to stay away from the small reminders of your dead lover. Of the little glimpses of what you could have had with him if he hadn’t been taken from you so soon.

. . .

It was the end of the school day, classes had ended a few hours prior and now you were curled up on the floor of your room— knees pulled tight to your chest, ears filled with static, your crutches dropped haphazardly onto the floor just out of reach and shoes kicked off —with your hands clutching one of Kurt’s old uniforms to your chest and crying into it. While this wasn’t your best moment, it certainly wasn’t your worst either. No, that had been when you’d first learned about Kurt’s death.

Your worst had been when you nearly destroyed the safehouse you were staying at with the children you were meant to be watching over, and then later when you had lost it at the funeral. That... that had been far from your best moment, it had taken Logan to force you to calm down enough to be present, and even then you hadn’t been able to muster the strength to speak, getting too choked up just seeing the coffin. So here you were now, months after Kurt’s death, clutching one of the last pieces of him you had left while sobbing on your bedroom floor.

One of the Bamfs found you like that not too long after, when you had just about run out of tears for the day and were left with your head in your knees and Kurt’s uniform nearly tearing in your grip. The little thing made its way over slowly, chittering and mumbling quietly as it crawled closer to announce its presence. It didn’t... It didn’t do much, when it finally made its way over to your side, sitting quietly by you without a peep.

As you slowly uncurled you registered the small form beside you, still clutching Kurt’s uniform tight as your hands fell to your lap and you glanced down at the Bamf. The little creature looked up at you with big, sunset yellow eyes, tail curled loosely around itself and sitting sweetly by your hip.

“Bamf?” The word was said quietly, a gentleness in it’s voice that wasn’t usually present in it and its brethrens’ boisterous calls. The little Bamf placed a gentle, three-fingered palm against your leg, a soft, inquiring look on it’s face. It was so... it looked so similar....

The familiar look of concern that you’ve seen so many times, although on decidedly larger features, is what breaks you. You reach out a hand to the tiny lookalike as more tears well in your eyes.

“...I miss him.” Your voice breaks as you get the words out, the Bamf grabbing hold of your hand and climbing gingerly onto your lap to settle itself on Kurt’s uniform. You curl around the little creature and hold it close as you fall apart once more, clutching the Bamf like a lifeline. More Bamfs show up after that, the first apparently having sent some kind of message to the others now curling around your sides and on your shoulders, seemingly trying their best to hold you together with their tiny, achingly familiar hands. Your voice breaks when you choke your words out next. “I miss him so much....”

After the funeral you’d forced yourself not to dwell on the broken space inside your chest where Kurt was meant to be. You forced yourself to swallow down the grief and the emptiness that had threatened to consume you, refusing to allow yourself to lose control like that again. You plastered on brave faces and small smiles and false hopes. Lied and promised and swore that that you wouldn’t succumb to the aching sorrow gnawing at your mind. You knew Hank and Logan and Ororo could see it, could see the tension in your shoulders and the insincerity in your eyes. You knew that your family knew you were lying, but you couldn’t- you couldn’t let yourself feel it. You couldn’t let yourself break under the weight of Kurt’s death when deep down you knew part of you wouldn’t come back from it.

Now though, surrounded by tiny reminders of the man you’d lost, the fraying edge of your will to swallow back the emotion slipping through your fingers at the ginger touch of dozens of tiny, familiar blue hands, you supposed... you supposed that now was as good a time as any to let yourself grieve. If at least for just single a moment in the in the poor imitation of your lover’s embrace.

. . .

Months later, when the staff were informed that something had happened in the basement with the Bamfs and the school suddenly went into lockdown, you gently guided the student’s you could to safe rooms and stood guard like the other teachers who stayed behind. The little Bamf, the one that sought you out all that time ago and who you’d taken to calling Blueberry, had become your second shadow. The little one showed up on your shoulder now in a puff of sulfur, tail curling around your shoulders and eyes boring into yours.

“Bamf.” Blueberry sounded... stern. Determined and almost... final, in its seriousness. Its little hands reached out to guide your face, tilting it down until it could press its forehead to yours, wide eyes closing. You closed your eyes as well, a shaky sigh slipping from your lips as your fingers tangle with the little creature’s swaying tail and it speaks again. “Bamf.”

“Something’s happening, isn’t it?” You say softly, pulling back after a moment to look at the Bamf. “...go. Your brothers need you, don’t they? The team says you all have pulled some stint in the basement, that’s what all the commotion is about, right?” Blueberry nods and guides the fingers wrapped around its tail up so it can hold your hand in its small ones. You give the hands a small squeeze, and keep your voice soft. “Go, I’m sure whatever’s happening, the X-Men will need your help more than me little one.”

A weary smile pulls at your lips and you lean your head against the Bamf’s once more. “...I’ll be okay Blueberry, I promise.” The little Bamf gives you a last glance, before pressing itself harder against you for a single moment, and then disappearing in a flash of light and a puff of smoke the next.

pt. 1 || pt.2 || pt.3

[ro-is-struggling]

The Princess and The Wolf || PART 3 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Geralt returns to see his princess once again. Only this time he is not alone and after a year without communication he does not know if he will still be welcome.

Warnings: slow burn, grumpy x sunshine (or more like grumpy x disney princess lol), miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, me trying to write domestic stuff, mentions of past trauma (for both Ciri and the protagonist/reader), Geralt Ciri and reader being a family, canon typical violence, my attempt at creating an original monster, some very long dialogues (sorry! I hallucinated half of the story and I couldn’t leave any part out apparently), FEM READER (the protagonist is referred to as woman/she-her/princess/sunshine)

Let me know if I missed anything! (I definitely did, I've been writing this part for so long there's probably a lot of stuff I forgot lol so just lmk)

English is not my first language

Word count: 21.800 (I'm not even sorry)

Notes: I’m sorry it took me so long to post this! I promise you I’ve been working on it since the moment I posted the last part but everytime I wrote a scene a new idea came to mind and I just had to add it so here we are. That moment with Ciri wasn’t in my original idea but I just had to include it cause that poor girl needs a hug! Besides, it was a nice way to explore a little bit more about the protagonist background 

I have a few ideas for the next part but please send me yours! (SEE THE END OF THE POST FOR MORE)

PART 1 || PART 2

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The cat was the first to sense his presence. Even before he knocked on the door or the sound of the horse's footsteps echoed through the hut, the cat was already meowing and pacing back and forth, going from the door to the window and back to the door. He always did that when he felt Geralt was near. He was possibly the only cat on the continent that didn't hiss and hide in the presence of a witcher, quite the opposite in fact. The feline knew he was good and trustworthy because she trusted him, so he ignored all his instincts and gave Geralt a chance. They became friends almost immediately —even though the witcher used to pretend otherwise. The cat loved Geralt as much as his owner, and had missed him almost more than she had.

More than a year had passed. A year without news of him, without a visit or a letter to let her know he was well. A year of uncertainty in which the mind of the poor princess had done nothing but think about what might have happened to him. On good days, she accepted with a broken heart that he was not going to visit her again after the disaster that turned out to be their travel together. It pained her to think that she had missed her chance with him. She felt alone and lost, but that was better than thinking that his absence was because something really bad had happened to him. Dark were the days when she woke up wrapped in sweat, with images of Geralt bloodied fixed in her mind. She had lost count of how many nightmares she had had about it, how many different monsters had been responsible for ending his life and taking away the man who made her happy and gave her purpose. So when that was the alternative, convincing herself that he had simply stopped loving her was more bearable to her poor tormented mind.

“It's not him, darling. He's not coming back here” she spoke to her cat, bending down to stroke his head. The feline meowed, as if to answer her, and jumped up onto the window sill. She let out a tired sigh and pulled back the curtains to open the latch to let the animal out.

It was then that she heard the murmurs and footsteps of a horse in the distance. The cat meowed once more and jumped out of the window, running into the darkness of the night. She followed him with her eyes, looking for him in the shadows to try to find out what it was that had him so agitated. In the distance, moving through the bushes and trees, she recognized the unique white hair of the man who had occupied almost all of her thoughts for the past year. She ran to the door, flinging it open and taking a few steps outside to ensure that her eyes were not deceiving her.

Geralt was there, not looking a day older than the last time she had seen him. She noticed that he didn't look hurt or in bad shape, so she couldn't help but wonder what was the reason for him showing up at her house after such a long time of complete silence. Though her questions were pushed aside when his eyes made contact with hers. All the pain, fear and uncertainty she had accumulated for almost two years dissolved the moment she felt his warm gaze rest on her figure. Her heart began to beat faster than it had in a long time, her stomach, full of butterflies, was twisting and turning because of her nerves.

She realized then that she had no idea how to react to his presence. What was she supposed to say to him? Was she supposed to pretend that she hadn't had the worst year of her life? Was it worth scolding him for his absence when he had finally decided to come back? Happiness and anger began to fight inside her with every step the witcher took towards her. Memories of them being happy were followed by images of the nights she had cried herself to sleep because of him, creating a conflicting narrative that did nothing but confuse her.

“Geralt...” She called his name when he was close enough to hear her. “What are you doing here?” The question sounded more accusatory than she expected, but she didn't have time to take it back —or double down on her complaints— because he stepped aside, revealing the figure of a young girl. It took the woman a moment to focus her gaze on the child since she was almost entirely hidden behind Geralt's broad shoulders. She had long blonde hair and pale skin, though her nose and cheeks were reddened by the cold wind of the approaching winter. In her hands she carried her cat, who purred happily at the gentle caresses she gave him.

The confusion about her own feelings was soon replaced by confusion about the girl and her relationship with Geralt. Her eyes traveled back and forth a couple of times, trying to piece together the reasons behind her presence and the explanation as to why Geralt was traveling with the girl. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, so it was hard to imagine that he had decided to travel with her of his own accord. Not after the things he had said to her on their journey together. She thought then that perhaps it was someone he had saved along the way, a young princess he had to rescue from the clutches of a monster or a poor girl who had gotten lost.

Whoever it was, Geralt didn't feel the need to tell her. “We need a safe place to stay.” Was the only explanation he provided her. She didn't insist either, ultimately she didn't need a reason to let him into her home. She stepped aside without a second thought, making room for them to enter and making sure to lock the door behind her back.

“You know, for someone that claims to not have friends you sure do have a lot.” She laughed and Geralt gave her a rather unamused look. “Who's this beautiful young lady?”

The girl looked up at Geralt, wide eyes looking up at him for his approval. The witcher nodded his head, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. She only picked up on it because she knew Geralt so well and was already used to that kind of reaction, which told her that the girl knew him very well too. It was as if they communicated without speaking, just a quick glance was enough and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. It was impressive and she hadn't seen anything like it before, especially not with Geralt. It only increased her curiosity even more.

“I'm Cirilla.” The girl introduced herself with a shy smile, lowering the cat from her arms.

It took her a few seconds to understand why that name seemed familiar. When reality hit her, wide eyes flew to Geralt with an expression of confusion and surprise mixed together. He had once told her about the feast Jaskier had dragged him to and the way the event had ended. The last time they had talked about his child of surprise he seemed to want nothing to do with that matter. When she had presented her concerns to him he had told her that he had assured the child's family that he would not claim her. And honestly she had thought it was for the best. With the way Geralt approached life she couldn't imagine him raising a child.  That's why she didn't understand why he was now showing up at her house with her. What had made him change his mind?

She managed to compose herself quickly from her surprise, her eyes returning to Cirilla almost immediately so as not to make her feel uncomfortable. “That's a beautiful name, Cirilla!” She complimented her with a smile. “I'm sure you must be cold! I can run you a hot bath and then we can eat something. What do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Cirilla's eyes lit up at the mention of the bath, desperate to feel the hot water against her cold skin. Since she had met Geralt her situation had improved considerably, but the cold outdoors was still something she was having trouble getting used to.

After leaving Cirilla alone in the bathroom with everything she needed to clean herself and restore her tired muscles, the young woman returned to the table where Geralt was sitting, ready to answer the thousands of questions he knew were swirling around in her head. Some of them —especially the ones about Ciri— were easy to answer, but others... he did not even want to think about it.

“I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with her.” she said, dropping into the chair across from him. “What made you change your mind?”

Geralt hesitated before answering. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her that the last few months he had spent running away from her had been the most miserable of his life. That every day he spent away from her was agony. That he woke up hearing her laughter in the wind, missing the warmth of her body, longing to smell the perfume of her hair. He believed it was best for both of them if he stayed away. They could never be together and persisting in that fantasy would only hurt them. He thought he could do it, that he could forget her if he spent enough time away from her charms. He knew it wouldn't be easy and that it would hurt, but he was convinced that it would be the best for both of them in the long run.

However, months passed and the emptiness in his chest only grew heavier with each passing day. Geralt couldn't close his eyes without seeing her smile. He couldn't sleep without dreaming of having her by his side. He couldn't see a deer in the forest or a rabbit hopping around without thinking of her, of how happy he would be in her company, of the way she would take the animal in her hands and make him stop to play with it. His days were gray and dull, cold even under the hottest summer. Without her —without the promise of feeling her hands on his body or the hope of hearing her sweet voice call his name one more time—  life lost some of its luster.

He realized then that he could never forget her. She was the woman he loved, the only one who occupied his mind and heart, the only one who could make him seriously question his future as a witcher. She was his destiny, their paths had crossed for a reason that day in the forest. They were bound together by ties stronger than their own will, so there was no point in fighting against it. It was not worth running away from destiny if the only thing he gained was to deepen the emptiness that pressed on his chest. And she was his destiny, as well as Ciri was. He realized that if he wanted to stop feeling so miserable he had to stop fighting against what he could not change and face what destiny wanted from him.

But instead of admitting his feelings and being vulnerable in front of her, Geralt chose the easy answer: “Her kingdom was invaded. All her family was killed. I just couldn't leave her alone after that. She's in danger, she needs my protection.”

“So why bring her here?” She snapped back at him, sounding harsher than intended.

She wasn't upset with his presence, in fact she was glad to know that he still saw her home as a refuge where he was willing to bring Cirilla to make sure she was protected. All she wanted to know was why it had taken him so long to show up. Was he angry with her? Was their relationship broken beyond repair? Had he been preoccupied with his travels? Had he been avoiding her? Did he still love her? Those questions had been eating her up inside all these months. She thought she would never see Geralt again, so she had tried hard not to think about it. But he was there with her now and she needed those answers in order to ease her mind.

“I'm bringing her to Kaer Morhen with me, she'll be safe there. But she was getting tired and cold and since we were close I thought... We will leave in the morning if our stay causes any trouble for you.” Geralt assured her, trying not to cause a disturbance.

He should have figured that he couldn't just reappear in her life and wait for her to welcome him back with open arms. She had every right to throw him out if she wanted to, he had behaved like a complete bastard. But when he decided to seek refuge in her hut, Geralt wasn't thinking of him or her, but of Ciri. But now he understood that maybe he was asking too much of her. He was so used to using her home as a shelter that he didn't consider that the doors might be closed to him one day.

“I don't want you to leave. I want you to tell me why it took you so long to come back. I want you to tell me that there is a good reason for leaving me in the dark all this time, wondering what could have happened to you and if I was ever going to see your face again.”

“Sunshine, I...” Geralt tried to respond, but stopped in mid-sentence. He couldn't find the words to express how he felt, to explain to her how stupid he had been and how sorry he was for his mistake in a way that wouldn't make things worse. He didn't want to hurt her, even though he knew it was a little late for that.

She felt her heart squeeze at the mention of that nickname. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing his voice calling her by that name until that moment. It reminded her of the simpler, happier times they had shared, of long nights spent sleepless as they talked about life. It reminded her of how much she loved being called that by him and how her heart had skipped a beat the first time he had used it. She never knew what had prompted him to call her that in the first place —and she'd always been too embarrassed to ask—, but she was glad he had. It made her feel special, loved.

“Forget it.” she said as she noticed the internal conflict reflecting in Geralt's eyes. She didn't know what was making him so hesitant, but she began to think that maybe she didn't want to hear the answer to his question. Maybe it was better to live in ignorance after all. Maybe living on happy memories and moments that would never get back was better than living in harsh reality. All this time she had thought the uncertainty had been the worst, but seeing the doubt in the witcher's yellow eyes made her think that maybe the truth could be worse. She didn't know if she was ready to know that he didn't love her.

“Tell me about Cirilla. You said she is in danger, why?” She sought to change the subject, desperate to find a topic of conversation that would quell those thoughts.

“There's people after her, a black knight that has been following her since the fall of Cintra. She dreams about him every night.” Geralt explained, remembering the way the little girl tossed and turned in her sleep because of the nightmares.

“I can give her something to help with the nightmares so at least she can have one good night of sleep.”

“That's not all... she has magic.”

“Like her mother?” the woman asked curiously. She still remembered the details Geralt had told her about the feast that night where his and Cirilla's destiny had been linked. The magic that the young girl's mother had demonstrated was something she had never even heard of before in her life.

“I don't know what the extent of her power is, she doesn't talk much about it.”

“And you want me to do all the work for you, huh?” She guessed before Geralt could even hint at it. It was a long shot, but if anyone was going to be able to break through the barrier Ciri had created around her to protect herself, it was her. People always tended to open up to her, her sweet and charming nature sparked trust in even the most reclusive and distrustful person.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I just... she's scared, I understand that, but I can't protect her if she doesn't tell me the truth. I thought that perhaps you could get through to her better than I can. You have magic too, maybe she'll be more inclined to talk about it with someone that understands what she's going through.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She promised him, unable to refuse to help a frightened little girl who had lost everything.

The young woman couldn't help but notice the protective way in which Geralt spoke of Ciri. She wasn't sure how long they had known each other, but from the way he cared for her she would say quite a bit. The witcher's trust wasn't easy to gain —it had taken her a while even after saving his life—, but the girl seemed to have done it in record time. It was heartwarming to see the way they acted around each other. She always looked at him before answering some of the questions the young woman asked him during dinner, as if she needed Geralt's confirmation to reveal certain information about her. It was clear that they trusted each other, in a way reminiscent of a father and daughter. Which made Ciri's reluctance to open up to him even stranger.

It was strange to see Geralt in such a position. He always acted so tough, like a lone wolf who didn't need anyone's company. Seeing the way he cared for Ciri —how he urged her to take the sleeping potion she offered her, warning her how important it was for her to get a good night's sleep— was almost jarring. Even in her wildest fantasies she hadn't imagined Geralt being a father. Now that she saw it, though, she liked it. It suited him. She only wished he had given himself the chance to explore that side of him much sooner. She couldn't deny that it pained her to know that she had always been right, the two of them could have worked out if only he had let it happen.

After they had dined and chatted for a long time, she, like the good hostess she was, escorted Ciri to the extra room she had unoccupied, telling her that it would be her space for as long as she wished to stay there. “Any friend of Geralt is a friend of mine. You're welcome to stay for as long as you want.” She smiled sweetly, trying hard to show the girl that she could trust her. Ciri thanked her before she closed the door behind her, making sure she knew she appreciated her hospitality.

When she left the girl's room, she didn't find Geralt anywhere. She didn't worry too much about it, assuming he would be out with Roach or securing the perimeter of the property to make sure Ciri could get a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep. She let him do his thing, opting to tidy up the house and get ready for bed. She waited for him in bed, one last candle burning as she read a book. She assumed he would come to sleep with her as they had always done. Now that Ciri was occupying the only free room, the other alternative was to sleep on the floor. But time passed, the night grew dark and cold, and Geralt did not come. So she put on a cloak and went outside to look for him.

It didn't take her long to find him, she just circled the property and stumbled upon him in the makeshift stable she had at the side of her garden. He was sitting on a pile of hay, chatting with Roach while stroking the animal's fur. He had his back against the wooden wall and seemed to be settled there, as if he had no intention of moving. When she approached, he fell silent, so she couldn't hear what he was saying to the horse, although she had a good idea.

“What are you doing out here? It's freezing!” She said, crossing her arms under her cloak to keep her body warm. While it hadn't yet snowed for the first time, there was an icy dew in the air that looked a lot like it. And while she understood that Geralt had a higher tolerance for extreme weather thanks to his mutations, that didn't mean she liked the idea of him being cold in the stable when there was a warm bed waiting for him inside.

“It's not that cold.” he replied and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not believing for a moment that he truly didn't feel the cold. She had been outside for a couple of minutes and could already feel the cold starting to dig into her bones. “I was taking care of Roach.”

“She seems fine. Come inside before you freeze to death.”

“You know that won't happen.”

“Geralt, please.”

It was a gentle plea, with a hint of desperation. All she wanted was to have Geralt by her side during the night again. She wanted to lie down and find that she felt the same comfort she always had, that his presence made her feel as safe and comforted as she remembered. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrap around her at night and know that the doubts were only in her head and completely unfounded. She wanted to know that he still loved her and that it had all been a big misunderstanding. She was desperate to find a way to move on, to let go of all the pain that had haunted her. But she was terrified to talk about it, so all she had left was that. If Geralt didn't accept her offer then she knew all was lost.

“I don't want to impose...”

“You're not,” she interrupted him before he could blurt out any excuses. “I'm asking you to come inside with me.”

Geralt couldn't refuse that request. Even though things between them were weird, he still couldn't resist her charms. There was something in the way she looked at him, a glint of desperation growing in her eyes, that made it impossible for him to say no to her. It gave him hope. He thought she was angry with him, and she was, but inside her still burned the flame of love they had once shared. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he could still make things right.

He followed her back into the house, pulling off his wet cloak and muddy boots before entering the room. It looked exactly as he remembered it, not a single object out of place. It was as if time had not passed. The flowers on the window sill were still as colorful and full of life as in the spring, the books stacked in the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed did not seem to have changed their order. The air smelled of her, that intoxicating mixture of floral perfume and wet earth that he had come to miss so much.

However, the reality of the situation hit him as he laid his head on the pillow. There was no goodnight kiss or silly talk before bed. She simply laid down on his side of the bed and settled down with her back to him before blowing out the candle that lit the room. They were only inches apart, but Geralt had never felt so far away from her before. Even when he was miles away, purposely avoiding her, he still felt close to her. How could he not when images of her wouldn't leave his mind? He kept seeing her in his dreams, reliving their happy moments every time he closed his eyes, fantasizing about hearing her laughter and feeling the warmth of her body once more. But now that he had her by his side, he felt nothing but a cold emptiness pressing on his chest.

He wanted to reach out to touch her. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to wrap her in his arms and never let her go again, but he didn't know if he could —or if he should. He understood her hesitation, she had every right to be angry with him after the way he had reacted. He wanted to give her some space, some time so they could get their relationship back on track. He didn't want to pressure her, so he kept his hands to himself even though it hurt. He had to think of her first. He had no right to suddenly come back into her life after he had unilaterally decided to leave her, and demand the same treatment from her as before.

But what Geralt didn't know was that she wasn't avoiding him on purpose. She wanted to run into his arms, curl up on his chest and sleep wrapped in his warmth. But she didn't feel like she was the one who had to make the first move. Her feelings for him had never changed. She had been the one who had tried to make their relationship blossom. She had tried so hard to show him that they could have a future together. Geralt had been the one who had run away without explanation, so he should be the one to make the first move if he wanted to. She didn't want to pressure him, to make him feel like he had to do or say things he didn't want to just to protect her feelings. If he reached out to her, she needed to know that he was doing it because he really wanted to.

That was why his distance hurt her so much. Clearly there was something broken in their relationship and the most heartbreaking thing of it all was that she didn't know what to do to fix it —or even if she could.

The morning brought more pleasant weather conditions with it. The silent tension that haunted Geralt and the princess disappeared almost completely, mainly because they both sought to focus their attention on Ciri to avoid dealing with their own problems. Looking for an excuse that would give her the opportunity to spend more time with the girl, she asked Ciri to accompany her on a walk through the forest to replenish her collection of medicinal herbs. The winter was fast approaching and soon there would be nothing left but the plants she grew stored inside her house. Ciri agreed and Geralt joined them under the guise of hunting their lunch, although he had the decency to keep his distance so that they could get to know each other better.

It was a beautiful morning. Even though the autumn sun was not strong enough to counteract the cold breeze, there was no freezing mist that morning and that was already a reason to celebrate. Besides, Ciri was no longer wearing wet clothes and was well rested and fed, so she felt capable of accomplishing anything. The young woman guided her through the forest, telling her the details of the plants they needed to collect —their appearance, their medicinal uses, the potions and ointments she created. Ciri listened to her intently, fascinated and intrigued with the new information she was being presented with, wondering if she would be able to accomplish something like this someday.

“So you're a mage then?” Ciri asked, looking up at the woman walking beside her smelling a white flower.

“Not exactly.” she replied, earning a look of confusion from the girl. “I have an aptitude for magic, but I wasn't officially trained. I was taught by a healer everything I know, but magic is far more complex than what I know or the things I can do.” She hastened to explain as she knelt down in the dirt to pick up a couple of valerian leaves and put them in her basket.

“Is that how you met Geralt? Through your powers?”

“My abilities did play a part in the story of how we met, yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking.” The princess lost herself in her memories for a moment, images of that day flashing before her eyes. It felt so close and yet so far away at the same time. It was amazing to look back and see how far she had come both as a person, as well as their relationship. “He didn't tell you about us, huh?”

“He said you were an old friend, but didn't answer any of my questions. He's not particularly chatty.” Ciri said with a chuckle and she couldn't help but laugh too. If there was anyone who knew how difficult it could be to get a topic of conversation out of Geralt, it was her. She could almost imagine the girl's effusive curiosity running into the witcher's frustrating monosyllabic responses, just like it used to happen to her.

"Oh trust me, I know."

Geralt could hear them talking, but decided not to intervene. Instead he watched from a distance as they laughed together, feeling happy that they were getting along. Not that he thought it would be difficult, Ciri was a lovely girl and his sunshine was one of the sweetest and nicest people that existed on the continent. But still, it was nice to see them conversing so comfortably. It made him feel a strange warmth inside, a strange feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he liked it, he found it comforting.

“We met after I escaped my home.” The princess began to tell her story, thinking carefully about every word before she said it. It was a great opportunity to build trust with Ciri, to let her know that she could understand her better than anyone else since she had also been a child frightened by her own powers. “You see, a long time ago I was a princess, just like you, trapped in a kingdom that had forbidden magic long before I was even born. I had to learn everything I know in secret, hiding from my parents and my own kingdom. Ruling wasn't my calling, especially in those conditions, so one day I decided to run away.”

Ciri's interest was piqued, her eyes growing wide with curiosity as she listened intently to the story the young woman told her. She told her about the monster that prowled the forests of her kingdom and how she used it to fake her death so she could escape a future she didn't want in a kingdom that didn't appreciate her. She also told her that was the reason Geralt showed up at her town, having been hired to kill the monster and avenge the death of the princess. But instead of encountering a beast, he found the young woman hiding in the forest.

“He could have taken me back to the castle. My parents probably would have paid him more to return their presumed dead daughter and heir to the throne home, but he didn't... he listened to my pleas and had mercy on me. He saved my life... everything I am today, everything I have, I owe to him. Geralt gave me a second chance in life and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

The princess smiled, remembering the details of their first meeting. Geralt had truly saved her life. She had failed to properly prepare for her escape, acting hastily and recklessly after an argument with her father that ended with him yelling at her that she was a disgrace to his family for not wanting to marry a lord who didn't love or respect her and only saw her as a way to gain more power. No matter how well she knew those woods, she could not have gotten very far on her own. And if anyone else had found her, they would have returned her to her parents without a thought, condemning her to a life of misery.

But Geralt had not done so. He had taken pity on her, putting her well-being above gaining greater wealth even when he did not know her. He had given her the opportunity to discover herself in complete freedom, far from the demands and mandates of her parents. Everything she was, was made possible by him. That's why she was always willing to help him, no matter how angry or upset she was with him. She couldn't let go of the hand of the man who had taken hers and pulled her out of the dark pit that was her former life.

“He saved my life too.” Ciri said with a sad smile on her lips. “He's the only family I have left.”

“I'm sorry about that,” the young woman offered a smile, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder and giving it a supportive squeeze. “You shouldn't have to go through all that violence and pain, no child should. But you are in good hands with Geralt, he's going to take good care of you. Don't let the big, grumpy frown and the stories about witchers fool you, he is a big softie with a heart of gold.”

They shared a few chuckles and continued on their way, searching for the herbs they had yet to gather. The princess told Ciri about the Celandine plant and its medicinal properties —telling her to keep her eyes open in case she saw a four-petaled yellow flower—, and about the Eyebright plant and how it had cured an eye infection in a girl's eye in the village. She also shared with her some of the stories of her life, how she had practically grown up in the forest and the peace she felt when she was in contact with nature.

Ciri liked to hear those stories, especially when she told her about the difficulties she faced in understanding and learning to control her powers in the beginning. It made her feel less lonely to know that she wasn't the only one who had to go through something like that alone and without much guidance. It gave her hope for her future. Watching as she bent down to heal the broken wing of a bird on the side of the road, Ciri thought that if she had managed to understand and control her powers then there was still hope for her too. Maybe one day she would stop being afraid of her own abilities. Maybe she would come to understand what was wrong with her and the purpose of her powers.

“Why did they prohibit magic in your kingdom?” the girl asked curiously, marveling at the healing capabilities of the runaway princess' powers. It only took a touch of her hands and the utterance of some words she did not understand for the bird to recover, flying from her hands to get lost in the treetops. Ciri could not understand how something as wonderful as that could be seen as a bad thing. Her powers were nothing like hers, so it was hard for her to think that they would be viewed as displeasing to anyone.

“No one really talked about it, and I was always too afraid to ask. But from what I understand, magic ran in the royal family, but it had never brought the kingdom any luck, only chaos and destruction.” she explained returning her attention to Ciri now that the bird had disappeared from her vision. “Apparently it made people too unstable to rule. My great grandmother was the last one to have magic before me and she was the reason it was banned, but no one really talked about it so I don't know exactly why. For the most part everybody just pretended magic didn't exist, especially my parents. I think they knew that I inherited my great grandmother's abilities and they thought that maybe if they didn't mention it might go away. But the only thing they accomplished was to isolate me.”

She paused in her story and Ciri could notice in her eyes the pain those memories caused her. The joyful and sweet expression that graced her face was replaced by a sad and melancholic look. It was only for a second, but her face changed so much that she looked like a completely different person from the one who was standing next to her minutes before. Ciri wondered what kind of horrors she would have had to go through in her old home and if that expression was so different because it belonged to the princess she had left behind.

“When I started showing the first signs of chaos, I didn't know what was going on with me. I was terrified.” She cleared her throat and then her face lit up with its usual sweetness again. “If it wasn't for the new court physician I would have never learned the truth. She was a mage on the run, hiding in the last place she thought they were going to look for her. She noticed the signs immediately and took me under her wing, taught me everything I know... how to control my powers, how to use them in the art of healing, and more importantly, she taught me to not be afraid of them, to not let the fear of others influence me.”

She gave Ciri a small smile, hoping she understood the meaning behind her words. She wanted to be that positive figure in her life, to pass on to Ciri the knowledge and confidence that had been passed on to her in her training. It wasn't much compared to what other mages could teach her, but it was a start. She was willing to be the guide she so desperately needed, if Ciri would let her.

“Were they afraid of you because you were different?” The girl asked, looking at her with wide eyes full of curiosity. It was a question she was asking both the woman beside her and herself. The princess recognized that, so she stopped in her tracks and turned to look Ciri in the eye. It was important for her to hear and understand what she was about to tell her.

“Probably, yes.” she admitted with a sigh. Ciri lowered her gaze and she took a step forward, reaching out to grab her chin and make her look up. “But you have to understand that fear is one of the most common reactions people have to the unknown, to that which they don't understand. It's not personal, they just can't help it. One important thing I learned over time is that reaction is something you can't control, there is nothing you or I can say or do to stop those who don't understand magic from fearing it. But what we can control is our own fear. And it is important not to let the fear of others affect one's perception of oneself.”

“But what if they are right?” Ciri's voice was close to a whisper, almost as if she struggled to utter those words aloud. As if she was afraid to admit what her mind had been repeating to her since the fall of Cintra, fearing that saying it would make it real. “What if magic only brings death and destruction?”

It was clear to the princess that Ciri was referring to her own powers. She didn't need to know her too well —or even know the details of her powers— to understand, she could see it in the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It broke his heart to see the little girl in that state. She was just a child, it wasn't fair that she had such dark thoughts clouding her mind at that young age. Fate had been very cruel to her, taking away her family and home in a single act of terrible violence that she had had to witness without being able to do anything to prevent it. Not only that, but now she had to face her future and the development of her powers with no one to guide her. No child should have to go through something like that. All she wanted to do at that moment was to hug Ciri and tell her that there was nothing wrong with her, to assure her that everything would be alright and that her life would get better. But before she could even utter a word, a strange sound echoed throughout the forest, distracting her attention from the girl.

Her gaze instinctively searched for Geralt, who was already alert. His eyes searched the surroundings as his hand slowly approached the handle of the sword resting on his back. She felt Ciri's hand squeeze hers and returned her gaze to the girl. She was met with her expression of terror, which only got worse as the rumbling of what could only be described as a deafening shriek was heard.

“Geralt!” The woman called his name, hoping he would give some sort of explanation for what was happening.

Though he didn't need to say anything, because at that instant a figure came into view in the distance. It was a monster, but not one like anything she had ever seen or read about. It was large, with multiple legs and eyes, and a long tail that ended in a sharp point. It was like a strange, disgusting mix between a scorpion and a centipede, a large creature that towered tall above them. It stood still for a moment, keeping a relative distance, as if searching for something specific. The princess pushed Ciri behind her, instinctively seeking to protect her. The creature shrieked again and Geralt pulled out his sword.

“Run!” He commanded them before advancing towards the beast with his sword held high.

The princess hesitated for a second, feeling the need to reach out to him to help him, but Ciri tugged on her hand and reminded her that she needed hisprotection. They ran through the forest holding hands, helping each other keep their balance when they stumbled due to their nerves. She tried to keep Ciri safe, positioning herself a few steps behind her to protect her from a possible surprise attack with her own body. From time to time she looked behind, searching the horizon for the figure of Geralt or that monster to know in which direction to flee. But it was difficult to follow the fight when she was also worried about looking after Ciri. She needed some sort of vantage point that would allow her to observe the enemy so she could prepare for its attack.

“Is it gone?” the girl asked in fright as she tried to catch her breath. They had stopped momentarily when they saw that the monster was no longer at their heels. They couldn't hear it screeching either, so they thought maybe Geralt had taken care of it.

“I don't know.” she answered honestly, pushing Ciri against a tree to hide in case he came back. “I don't see Geralt anywhere.”

“Should we go back to look for him?”

“No, that's too dangerous... we need to get to higher ground.”

Before she could say another word, the beast made its presence known again. It came out of nowhere, screeching and moaning, no doubt hurt by the witcher. But in spite of that, it rushed towards the direction of the two princesses with the same voracious determination. Ciri screamed and grabbed the hand of the woman at her side to start running once more, but she stayed in place.

There was no sign of Geralt anywhere and given the amount of legs that beast had, it was clear that they couldn't outrun it. Ciri wouldn't be able to escape from there without someone to give her a head start.

“Run north, up the hill and hide there. Don't look back!” she ordered and the girl looked at her with confusion.

“What about you?”

“I'll come look for you, but I need to buy you some time to run.” She explained quickly, keeping her eyes on the beast that was getting closer and closer to them. “Go, Ciri! Now!”

The girl hesitated, finding the scene all too familiar. The number of times she had had to leave someone behind to save her life was more than she would like. It never ended well and she felt responsible for all the lives that had been sacrificed to get her there. She hoped Geralt's friend wouldn't join the list, she didn't know if she could tolerate one more death on her conscience.

As soon as Ciri started to run, she concentrated on attacking the monster that was chasing them. She moved out of the girl's way, seeking to draw the beast's attention to her to distract it. But to her surprise, it didn't seem to care. It continued on its way in the direction of Ciri as if she were not in that forest. And if it wasn't because she invoked the sign of Aard the beast probably wouldn't have bothered to attack her. It was clear that its target was Ciri, although she could not understand the reason.

She used what little knowledge she had of magic outside of healing to attack the monster. She relied on the Quen sign to protect herself when the beast came too close, just as Geralt had taught her. And she summoned Aard's power to throw the beast away from her, slamming it into every tree and rock she could find in hopes the impact would stun it and give her a chance to escape. She put up a good fight, but it was clear that she couldn't beat him with her limited skills.

Luckily, she didn't have to. Geralt appeared just in time to save her, crossing his sword with the beast's pointed tail before it could hurt her. They shared a simple, quick glance, but that was enough for them to communicate. Geralt's eyes assured her that he would take care of the beast and asked her to protect Ciri. She nodded to him, letting him know that the girl's safety was her priority before running after her.

It didn't take her long to find Ciri, she knew that forest like the back of her hand. She was hiding in the bushes, ready to attack anything that came near her. The girl almost hit her in the stomach with a log when she approached her hiding place, fearing it was an attacker coming to hurt her. She stopped just in time though, wide eyes looking at the woman in front of her with surprise. She hadn't expected to see her there —not after learning the fate of all those who had stayed behind to give her a chance to escape danger—, but she was glad she was all right. Ciri felt safer with her by her side.

“Where is Geralt?” asked Ciri worriedly, looking behind the woman's back for her protector's white mane.

“He's fine.” she assured her, approaching the edge of the hill to look down for movement that would indicate Geralt's whereabouts. But she saw nothing. Nor did she hear the shrieks of the beast pursuing them. All was quiet, almost too quiet. It gave her a bad feeling. “Come on, we have to keep moving.” She indicated to Ciri, taking her by the hand once more.

But before they could get more than a couple of steps away, the monster reached them, cornering them against some rocks and the ledge. It was so sudden, that the princess could do nothing more than create a protective energy field, enveloping her and Ciri's figure in a semi-transparent whitish bubble that kept the beast away from them. She pushed the girl behind her and told her to prepare to run when she gave the signal. Ciri protested, refusing to let her face the beast alone, but she assured her that she would be fine. The truth was that she didn't know, but she had no choice but to stand between the monster and the girl it so desperately sought to attack. She was going to fight to her last breath to protect it because it was the right thing to do —and because it was what Geralt expected of her.

However, her countdown only reached two before a sword pierced the beast's body. It let out a shriek of pain and tried to lunge at its attacker, but Geralt plunged his sword even deeper, giving it one last thrust before withdrawing it to let the creature bleed out. The beast collapsed to the ground, spreading a viscous dark green liquid oozing from its mortal wound onto the earth. It writhed a couple of times until it stopped moving, signaling that life had left its body.

The princess let out a sigh of relief, breaking the energy field now that it was safe for Ciri. The relief didn't last long, however, because Geralt collapsed next to the beast, dropping his sword with a loud clang. She and Ciri ran to him, calling his name with concern. He was still conscious when they knelt beside him, though he looked weak.

“Let me see.” she asked when she noticed Geralt squeezing his thigh with one hand. He moved it, allowing her to inspect the wound closely.

There was a tear in his pants and beneath it the skin of the witcher's thigh was swollen and reddened. There was a puncture wound that leaked drops of blood mixed with a thick black liquid. Making a closer inspection, she noticed the small black lines branching out, veins standing out on his skin as they slowly began the work of spreading the poison through his system.

“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath as she tore a piece of the skirt from her dress.

“What?” Ciri asked worriedly, watching as she tied the piece of cloth around Geralt's thigh, just above his wound, and tied a tight knot that caused the witcher to groan in pain. “What is it?”

“Poison.” she replied simply, picking up Geralt's sword from the ground and using it to cut the stinger from the tail of the monster lying lifelessly beside him. Then, she removed her cloak and used it to wrap the tail in it, making sure it was safe to carry without coming into contact with the poison the stinger held. If this was a new monster —or at least, one she didn't know about— she was sure that having the direct source of the poison would be of vital importance to save Geralt's life.

“We need to get him back home. Now.”

Luckily, Geralt was still lucid enough to walk. The slow beating of his heart and the tourniquet she had improvised with part of her dress helped keep the poison from spreading through his body quickly, but it still needed to be treated urgently. Ciri helped her carry him, each of them putting one of Geralt's arms around their shoulders and holding him tightly to help him move with more ease and speed. They were not far from the hut, but it was not easy to travel with Geralt in that state, so it took them longer than usual to get there.

Once home, the princess settled Geralt on the bed, just as she had done so many times in the past, before running to get her potions and ointments to treat the wound. Ciri sat beside him on the bed, looking at her protector with concern as he mumbled in pain. She noticed that the wound on his leg was getting worse with each passing second and for a moment she was afraid that something bad was going to happen to him. She couldn't lose him, not after going through so much to find him. Geralt was the only thing she had left, her only hope, she couldn't lose him.

“Ciri, could you help him drink this?” The woman asked, handing her a small glass vial with a yellowish green liquid inside. The girl was grateful to have been entrusted with a task, something she could do that would help her feel her presence was useful. “It will help his body battle the effects of the poison.”

Ciri took the bottle with one hand and Geralt's head with the other, lifting him slightly off the bed so he could drink the potion. While she brought the bottle to his lips, the princess tended to the wound on his leg. First she carefully washed it, using warm water and a clean cloth to remove the blood and drops of poison that remained on the skin. Then, she spread an ointment of her own creation on the wound while uttering an incantation in the ancient tongue.

She concentrated all her energy on him, repeating the incantation with increasing strength and conviction. She was treating it as she would any wound infected with poison, but the reality was that she didn't know if that would work. The creature that had attacked him was new to her, so she didn't know if its poison would respond to conventional treatments. So she devoted all her energy to him in the hope that it would be enough to save him. And while arranging some herbs on the wound before bandaging it, she prayed to the gods that her beloved would wake up.

Geralt heard her sweet voice in the distance, and felt the warmth of her fingers brushing the skin of his leg. He tried to let himself be carried away by the warm energy that she transmitted to him, to drown the pain he felt in the peace that her voice awakened in him. He tried to concentrate on her so as not to faint, clinging to the scent of her skin and the melody in her voice as if his life depended on it. But even his stubbornness and unwavering willpower were not enough to combat the effects of the poison. And though he fought against it, eventually his eyes closed and everything went black.

The last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the sweet voice of his sunshine telling him, “rest.”

Ciri did not move from Geralt's side. She insisted on taking care of him and controlling how his condition was progressing while the princess investigated the stinger she had extracted from the beast. She began by extracting some of the venom that was still inside it, being very careful not to let it come into contact with her skin while she transferred it to a glass vial. She did some tests with it, studying how it reacted when in contact with different herbs and medicinal plants, as well as some of the potions she had in her catalog. None of the results she got were what she expected, so she began to worry. Maybe this thing was different after all. Maybe she couldn't save him this time.

“I think something is wrong!” Ciri suddenly exclaimed, breaking her concentration. The princess didn't ask her any more follow-up questions, she simply followed her into the room and approached Geralt to examine him.

He was definitely not looking like he should. He had been resting for a few hours, yet his physical appearance had worsened. He looked paler than usual and his breathing was irregular. A thin layer of sweat adorned his skin, and when she reached up to touch his forehead she discovered that it was hot.

“This is wrong.” she muttered to herself, undoing the bandage so she could examine the progress of the wound on his leg.

“What's wrong? What's going on?” Ciri questioned the woman, desperate to hear her professional opinion.

Lifting the bandage, she discovered that the wound had only worsened. The skin was swollen and hot to the touch, and the black veins stood out even more against the pale skin, extending until they were lost under the tourniquet that was still tight around the witcher's leg. “He's getting worse...” she murmured, concern and confusion mingling in her voice. “He's not responding to the treatment.”

“There must be something we can do!” Ciri insisted and the woman looked at her, not knowing what to say. She didn't know of any other ways to treat a wound as such, at least not ways that weren't pure legends. She could always research and try some alternative method, but she wasn't sure she had enough time for that.

“Kaer... Morhen...” Geralt stammered weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Vesemir will know what to do.”

She just gave Ciri a look and the girl ran off to the stable to prepare the horses for the journey. She stayed behind with Geralt, grabbing a couple of her remedies and the beast's tail before carrying the witcher on her shoulder once more, dragging him with some difficulty to the door. When Roach saw the state his owner was in, she lay down on the ground to allow him to climb onto her back more easily. She gave the mare a few gentle pats and kind compliments before helping Ciri mount Brego, the horse she had personally raised after finding him badly injured and forgotten on a road. Once the girl was safe and settled, she mounted Roach behind Geralt, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place as she took the reins and they set off.

She didn't know the exact road to Kaer Morhen, only that it was south of where she lived. She had a few clues that gave her more details from the stories Geralt had told her about his life, but that was all. She had never asked him much about it, she knew that after being attacked the witchers kept to themselves and she didn't want to pressure him to reveal those details. She thought that maybe, if someday he felt comfortable enough with her to tell her about his home, he would. But now she was regretting not being more nosy.

Geralt was going in and out of consciousness, so while he could give directions from time to time, he was not the most reliable source. Ciri also didn't know the way since she had never been there before. However, Roach was a very smart horse who had traveled those roads many times in the past. So when they came to a crossroads, the mare advanced along the left-hand path with confidence. And before they knew it, they had reached Kaer Morhen.

“We need help!” she shouted and a middle-aged, white-haired man ran to meet her, startled by the commotion. His eyes fell on Geralt and she noticed the concern in them as he reached out a hand to touch the witcher's forehead.

“What happened?”

“He was attacked by a creature. He's been poisoned and I don't know how to stop it from spreading.”

“Get him inside!” At his command, a group of men grabbed Geralt and carried him inside. The young woman grabbed Ciri, holding the girl against her body so as not to lose her as she very timidly followed the others.

Both she and Ciri refused to leave Geralt, so Vesemir —the name given to them by the man who received them— had to work under the watchful eye of the two. He asked them about the attack and the young healer explained as best she could the details of the beast that had chased them. She didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified to discover that an experienced witcher like Vesemir didn't seem to know what kind of creature she was describing.

“This may help.” She said, pulling the beast's tail covered in an old cloth from her bag. “I tested the poison against every plant and healing element I know of and nothing seems to work.”

“That's not the only problem.” the man said, gesturing for her to come closer. “You see this inflammation here? It's full of the creature's venom.” Vesemir lightly pressed the lump on Geralt's skin and a couple of black drops escaped from the puncture wound. “The venom is lodging there for some reason, spreading slowly to maximize the damage. No treatment is going to work until we extract it.”

“How can I help?”

“Hold him still.”

Vesemir rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a leather bag containing a couple of syringes, needles and other useful artifacts for healing a witcher's wounds. He took the middle syringe, with a relatively long needle, disinfected it and then rested his gaze on the young woman in a silent way of telling her to get ready. She nodded slightly, tightening her grip on Geralt's leg to make sure he didn't move it. Vesemir then inserted the needle into the wound very carefully. It was important that he didn't accidentally burst the bubble of poison that had been created under the skin or it might end up spreading faster.

Geralt mumbled in pain and his body twisted as Vesemir began to extract the poison, but the young woman kept a firm grip on him. And when that wasn't enough to keep him still, she resorted to talking to him, just as she always did when he showed up injured on her doorstep. She murmured sweet words of encouragement and her soft voice seemed to be enough to bring peace to the witcher. His body stopped writhing and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

When Vesemir finished extracting the poison, the young woman watched in horror as the dark liquid almost filled the syringe. She wondered how that beast had been able to inject so much poison in such a short time and worried about Geralt's condition. How much poison had made it through his system? She liked to think not too much since he was still breathing, but the amount of viscous liquid trapped in the syringe worried her. Vesemir didn't seem particularly worried, but she wasn't sure she could read the expert witcher's emotions as easily as she could read Geralt's.

She watched him rummage through a cabinet full of elixirs until he came across a dark-colored one. He ripped off the cap with his teeth and poured some of the contents on the wound on Geralt's leg, who groaned in pain but did not open his eyes. Then he passed the bottle to her.

“Make him drink this.” Vesemir instructed him before disappearing out the door.

The young woman was assisted by Ciri in the task. The little girl helped her hold Geralt's head high enough so that he would not choke on the liquid while she parted his lips and placed the spout of the bottle between them. The witcher coughed a little as the liquid touched his throat, but it was only for a moment.

“It's alright, you're alright... everything is going to be fine.” She murmured words of encouragement as she emptied the elixir down his throat, though she wasn't entirely sure to whom she was directing such phrases, Geralt or herself.

When Vesemir returned, two other witchers accompanied him. At the man's request, they took Geralt and led him to his quarters to rest.

“Is he going to be alright?” a very worried Ciri asked as she watched the weak and fainting body of her only protector being carried away.

“Only time will tell. The next few hours are critical, if he makes it through the night I'm sure he'll make a full recovery.” Vesemir was honest, perhaps a little bit more than he should have been with a girl like Ciri. He was already busy analyzing the extracted poison and the tail of the beast that had attacked and almost ended the life of one of the best witchers left on the continent, so he didn't realize the impact of his words on her until he turned and met the expression of fear and worry on the girl's face.

“Geralt is strong, he's not going down without a fight. I've seen him pull through worse things.” He tried to reassure her. “You are invited to stay here, if you are friends of Geralt you are always welcome. Although I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you, I have to study this thing in case Geralt's condition gets worse.”

“I can stay with him.” The young woman offered. “Keep an eye on him and call you if anything feels off.”

“Sure, that will be of much help. Thank you. Just ask one of the boys to guide you to Geralt's chambers.”

The young healer was very interested in learning about the elixirs and other things Vesemir had in that room. Some things she could recognize, some she had an idea of what they were and some were completely new. She was a curious person, especially when it came to her area of expertise, so she had a million questions to ask Vesemir. She would have loved to stay and see what tests he conducted on the poison and what things he looked for in the animal's severed tail. But her priority now was Geralt. She needed to know that he was okay and she wouldn't rest until she saw him open his eyes again. So she took Ciri's hand and headed for the door, but not before thanking Vesemir for the hospitality.

At first Geralt thought he was dreaming. His eyelids felt heavy and he was disoriented. The world around him was a blur and he could hear a ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, and the harder he tried to recall any images of the last few hours, the more difficult it became. It was like trying to remember a dream, the blurred and confused images escaping from his mind as he struggled to capture them. Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos that was his mind at that moment, he found her. She was lying next to him, curled in on herself in the small space on the bed that he did not occupy. Her beautiful, delicate face was partially covered by her hair, but he didn't need to see it to know she was asleep. He found her before anything else, a beacon of clarity in the midst of the darkness clouding his mind. Only then, his mind decided to cooperate, recognizing images and patterns around him that helped make sense of where he was.

And yet, Geralt remained focused on her. If the dizziness didn't make him feel like in a dream, seeing her like that, so relaxed and peaceful next to him, definitely did. It was a scene that almost didn't seem real after a long year of distance and yearning. It was a sight he hadn't had in a year, her curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully next to the warmth of his body. There was no weird tension in the air or unspoken discomfort like that other night. She genuinely looked comfortable and calm next to him and Geralt couldn't help but smile.

But beyond that, her figure sleeping next to him was a beautiful sight he had never had the pleasure of having in his own home. Their encounters always occurred outside, in the maelstrom of the real world or in the calm of her hut in the forest, but never in his home. Geralt had awakened many mornings with the young woman in his arms, but none had been in his own bed, covered by his own blankets, hidden in the safety of his own room. He discovered then that he liked the feeling of sharing that space with her. It made everything he felt for her feel more real. It made his longing to stay by her side seem more feasible. She was there with him, caring for him and keeping him company, and the world seemed right again.

Geralt tried to sit up in order to better admire her beauty, but instantly regretted it when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He let out a low grunt, bringing his hand to the bandage wrapped around his thigh with a grimace of confusion. Then flashes of the last few hours overwhelmed his mind. He remembered fighting the monster that chased them in the forest. He remembered the sharp sting of its tail and the burn of its venom. He remembered Ciri's worried look and reaching Kaer Morhen. But most of all, he remembered the gentle touch of his healer on his fevered skin and the sweet sound of her voice lulling him to peace as she always did. Her voice echoed in his mind and the mere memory seemed to be enough to silence the ringing in his ears and ease the pain in his weak and tired body. That didn't surprise him, though. Geralt had long since ceased to be amazed by the effect she had on him. He had learned to accept it, just as he accepted the day turning to night or the winter turning to spring. She was his light, a warm sun on the first day of the equinox that lengthened the day and melted the ice to allow the fields to bloom. She was his sunshine and he realized now that he had spent the last year living in an eternal winter to which he never wished to return.

The movement of the bed beside him brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He leaned over just in time to see his princess open her eyes as she stretched slightly. He could admire the confusion in her expression for a few brief seconds as her sleep clouded mind struggled to figure out where she was. Then her eyes opened wide and her gaze fell upon him. He was glad to see a glint of joy in them at finding him awake and had to bite the inside of his lip to hold back the smile as he saw her jump up in bed.

“Geralt! Are you okay? How are you feeling?” She questioned him with a strange mixture of excitement and concern in her voice.

“As if I had died and was brought back.” He replied with his classic dry humor, though it wasn't that far from the truth. His injured leg still ached when he moved it and his muscles felt tired as if he had spent all night battling a striga.

“You're not that far off.” She shrugged, rising from the bed to pour him a glass of water. Geralt accepted it gladly, drinking the contents in a couple of long sips. Boy was he thirsty!

“How long was I out?”

“Considering you've been in and out of consciousness since the attack, I'd say almost two days.” Geralt was surprised by that answer. In his mind it had only been a couple of hours, but apparently he remembered less than he thought.

Then, Ciri's worried face presented itself in his mind. “Ciri!” He exclaimed, jerking upright. He regretted moving once more, though, when the pain forced him to let out a grunt.

“She's alright!” The young woman hastened to say as she helped Geralt sit up. She took the pillows and stacked them carefully against his back, giving him a softer surface to lean on. Then she helped him recline on them, taking advantage of the moment of proximity to run her hand over his forehead and check for fever. “She's sleeping in the room next door.” She explained as she arranged the blankets so he wouldn't be cold. She knew he had grown up there and was probably used to the cold temperatures, but boy was the witchers' lair cold! “That girl refused to leave your side! I had to fight her to get her to go to sleep. She wanted to be here when you woke up, but I didn't want her here in case...” she trailed off. In case he didn't wake up was what she was going to say, but she couldn't bring herself to utter those words. Although she didn't have to, Geralt knew it when he noticed the sudden sadness that flashed across her face. “Anyway, I had to promise her that she would be the first one I would look for when you woke up to get her to go to sleep. And even then she stayed for another hour here.”

Geralt laughed, that sounded like Ciri. “Thank you... for keeping her safe.”

A silence formed as she took it upon herself to check his vitals. His breathing seemed normal, the same with his pulse —well, normal for a witcher. He no longer had a fever and when she uncovered the wound on his leg she noticed that the skin around it was in better condition. There were no more black lines or reddened areas. It was still somewhat swollen, but the skin was no longer warm to the touch, which was a good sign. Geralt enjoyed feeling her hands on his body, traveling from his forehead to his cheeks and gently brushing the skin of his leg. He swore the warmth of her fingers was all he needed to make the pain in his body go away. He felt a little more alive with every caress, every accidental touch. The magic of her touch slowly melted the hard layer of ice that had formed around him after a long year of harsh winter, but this time Geralt didn't fight it. He wanted her to do it, he wanted her light to finally allow spring to come. He was done running away from her.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice as she changed the bandage on his leg. “I should have done more to help you... I just... I didn't know what to do.”

It took Geralt a few seconds to understand what she was saying, not because of the low volume of her voice, but because he found it incredible to hear the guilt in her words. “You saved me.” He pointed out as if it were obvious and she let out a snort.

“You almost died because of me!”

“I almost died because I was too slow and I got attacked by an unknown creature. I didn't expect you to know what to do, even I wouldn't have known what to do. But you brought me here in time and you keep Ciri safe, that's all that matters.”

The young woman smiled, not as big of a smile as Geralt had hoped, but enough to know that his words did have some sort of effect in easing the guilt that for some reason he didn't understand, she felt for what had happened. “That's nice of you to say.”

“It's the truth.”

“Whatever,” she said as she put away her leather case of ointments and healing potions. When she sat back down on the bed, Geralt noticed she had a nervous look on her face. “I would like to stay here with you and help you get back on your feet. I feel like I owe you that. It wouldn't be for too long, I mean, you had a great recovery so far and I'm sure you'll be alright, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you before I know for sure that you're okay... I know this place is... special, I guess, and that you don't let many outsiders in... and I wouldn't want to intrude, but I just couldn't leave without making sure you're okay.”

Geralt found her nervous rambling adorable. He would like to say that the feeling she felt was unfounded, but after how he had treated her he understood why she would be uncomfortable talking about such a thing. The last time she had made an effort to bring their worlds together he had rejected her. And not only that, but he had completely disappeared from her life for a year. He completely understood her nervousness and felt terrible knowing it was his fault.

“I want you to stay.”

Those simple five words were enough to arouse a sense of joy she had not felt in a long time. Those were the words she had waited all this time to hear, the confirmation that Geralt was willing to share some of his world with her after all. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel somewhat special. She knew that not many people had the privilege of walking through the gates of Kaer Morhen not having been raised there and she felt honored to be one of those few. A small smile tugged at her lips and Geralt knew then that his words had had the desired effect.

“Besides, I think your presence can be a good influence on Ciri. You can help me guide her on the right path and keep her safe.”

“I'll try my best, but I don't know as much about magic as other mages.”

“That's not the only thing you can teach her.” 

Geralt knew very well that she had not been professionally trained. She had never gone to Arethusa to have her talents molded and sharpened, but that wasn't important to him. Geralt valued her for more than her magical abilities, he always had. For him one of her best traits was her personality, her way of facing the world with courage and optimism. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he wasn't sure she knew it. Ciri needed someone like her, someone who could guide her through the dark shadow of tragedy and loss that clouded her path to reach the side of light. He could give her the tools to defend herself and face her fears, but she could teach Ciri to see the world from another perspective, a more positive and joyful one, something she desperately needed.

“I think it will do her good to have someone like you around.” Geralt smiled, his hand reaching for hers on the blanket. He felt the energy coursing through his body as they touched, her warmth melting the ice around his heart. The atmosphere in the room changed, suddenly more intimate and special. He wanted to tell her that her company was good for him too, but regretted it at the last moment. He didn't want to overwhelm her or sweet-talk her into forgiving him. If she decided to stay by his side, he wanted it to be her own decision.

The moment was cut short when the bedroom door opened, revealing a freshly awakened Ciri. The girl's eyes lit up with joy as they met the figure of a very lucid Geralt sitting up in bed. She uttered his name in an exclamation of surprise and crossed the room in a matter of seconds to throw herself into his arms.

“Careful!” the young woman warned her, “He's still hurt.”

“You were supposed to call me!” Ciri ignored her, choosing to scold her for not waking her up.

“I was just about to come get you.” She laughed, stepping aside so the girl could sit next to Geralt on the bed. “But since you're here, I'll go let Vesemir know Geralt's awake so he can come take a look at him.”

Contrary to popular belief, witchers were capable of feeling human emotions. That was something the young woman already knew, although living in Kaer Morhen surrounded by the last remaining witchers on the continent allowed her to appreciate the degree of emotions they felt. They were a strong brotherhood and cared deeply for each other, as evidenced by the tree of the fallen, as she called it. A place where the medallions of all the witchers who had perished hung, with more being added with each passing winter. But besides that, she learned that they were quite a fun group. Perhaps it was because they were in the safety of their home, resting after long months of hard work, but their attitudes were not at all what she expected. They kept telling jokes and playing tricks on each other, admittedly rather ordinary for her taste in some cases, but they didn't fail to make her laugh.

They were respectful to her —she suspected Geralt had something to do with that—, but still made her feel welcome in their home. She found it interesting to be surrounded by the most intimidating and roughest looking men on the continent and feel as safe as she did in her own home. She was sure that if her first encounter with many of them had occurred outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, her opinion would be different. Just as when she first met Geralt, it was very likely that the imposing figure of the witchers would have intimidated her and it would have taken her a long time to discover that they were actually very nice people. Lambert and Coen were her favorites, their constant bickering always amused her greatly. Although sometimes she had to confront them to make them be nicer to poor Ciri. They were training her along with Geralt just as Vesemir had trained them and it was the woman's job to remind them that she was just a child.

Vesemir was very good to her as well. Not only had he not complained when Geralt announced that she would be staying with them, but he agreed to indulge her curiosity. He let her watch him work on the analysis of the tail of the monster that had attacked them, even asking for her assistance in some things. They did not reach any satisfactory conclusions, but it was interesting to participate in the process. She learned a lot about the witchers and their creation from Vesemir, as well as the elixirs that helped them on the battlefield. He was a very wise man, and she was honored that he trusted her with his knowledge.

However, her favorite thing was seeing Geralt so relaxed and free, laughing with his siblings and acting like a father to Ciri. It was a side of him she didn't know. Of course he laughed and had fun with her when they spent time together in her hut, but that was different. Their encounters were always filled with this... tension in the air, tainted with unspoken feelings and silent longings. It was a constant countdown, the black cloud of reality always near no matter how hard they both tried to ignore it. From the moment Geralt walked through the door of her home, she knew that the clock had started ticking and that the happiness that was invading her at that moment would come to an end sooner or later. But there was no such thing in Kaer Morhen. There was no rush and no time, so Geralt could relax and be himself. And thanks to that she had discovered a much more... playful and joyful side of him. And she loved it.

What she also loved was the nickname that others had for him. The first time someone had called him wolf, she thought she had heard wrong. They were eating at a table all together and the shouting made it hard to even hear Ciri sitting next to her. But the next time it happened there was no noise to block her hearing. She and Geralt were in the kitchen since this time it was his turn to prepare dinner. He had gone hunting in the morning and now he was in charge of skinning the animal for her to cook. She didn't pay much attention to the conversation Geralt had with Vesemir when he appeared in the kitchen, focused on cutting the vegetables for the stew without hurting her fingers. But her ears pricked up when she heard him utter that nickname.

Wolf

The word echoed in her mind for a while, drowning out whatever was going on around her as she cooked. It was a fitting nickname for Geralt now that she thought about it. Everything about him screamed wolf, both externally and internally. Beyond his imposing presence, great hunting skills and impressive agility, he often hid behind a cold and hostile appearance. When he entered a room he could evoke the same fear and respect in people who did not know him that a wild wolf evoked in a traveler who stumbled upon it unexpectedly on his journey. The witchers had a certain reputation among the common people, built on myths and lies long spread across the continent. And while they were not true, Geralt found them convenient. It was easier to travel the world when people feared him —at least, most of the time. But that cold attitude was a sham, a shield protecting who he really was. He liked to present himself as a lone wolf who didn't need anyone, but in reality he cared about people, especially those closest to him. And just like a wolf protecting his pack, Geralt was willing to do anything to care for those he loved the most. Sometimes she thought that was exactly why he decided to stay away from people. He cared too much and that could be terrifying, not only because of the state of vulnerability it left him in, but also because of the degree of atrocities he would be willing to commit to protect his own.

“Wolf, huh?” She muttered as Vesemir left. She discovered she liked the nickname even more as she uttered it aloud. It was sweet and it felt good to finally have something to fight back with when he called her sunshine. “I like it,” she smiled, ”It suits you.”

“How so?” Geralt arched an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag before taking a few steps towards her. The woman pushed aside the knife she held in her hands, looking up to stare at the witcher.

“Well, you're imposing and agile as one... you're incredibly observant and great at hunting... and you're willing to fight tooth and nail to protect your own.” She spoke thoughtfully, listing characteristics as they came to mind. Geralt admired her with a slight grimace of amusement, thinking how much he missed having those kinds of conversations with her. “You're like a big scary white wolf who acts all tough but that's all for show, lots of bark and little bite.”

Geralt let out a snort. “It is?” he inquired and she nodded, even though she knew it wasn't technically true. He was quite capable of actually following through on his threats when he made them, but it was much more fun for her to tease him about his soft side.

“Yes! I mean, it took me a couple of weeks to earn your trust and then you were rolling over and showing me your belly like a dog asking for pets.”

Geralt let out a sarcastic laugh, but the truth was he couldn't quite say anything to contradict her. He wished he could wipe the smug smile off her face, but she was right, he had taken a liking to her rather quickly. And worst of all, it had happened without him noticing until it was too late. He became accustomed to her company — to wake up to the sound of her voice and listen to the sweet melody of her laughter— to such an extent that when she was gone the world felt wrong. He could not pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her, one day she was a frightened girl asking for his help in the forest and the next she was the ray of sunshine that brightened his days. Just like that, without warning, she had made a place in his heart that she refused to give up no matter how hard he tried to push her away.

“But it's okay, I like that duality.” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You're my big, scary, but surprisingly gentle white wolf.”

The young woman smiled tenderly as she used her fingers to push a lock of hair away from Geralt's face. It was an unconscious thing, a movement engraved in the memory of her muscles after having done it so many times in their long nights of conversations. When she realized it, she felt the urge to move her hand away, embarrassed by her audacity. Their relationship was in a very gray area, things were not clear at all. She was no longer angry with him, but things between them had not yet returned to normal, so the intimate gesture seemed out of place.

Or at least that's what she thought until she saw the way Geralt leaned over her hand. It was probably an unconscious movement as well, but she used the moment to test the waters. She let her fingers trail along his temple, slowly making their way down to his cheek. She did not dare to look him in the eye, so she focused her gaze on the movement of her hand, admiring the marks and scars that adorned the witcher's skin. She noticed that there were a couple that were new and couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. What kind of adventures had he had while he was distanced from her? What monster could have caused those injuries? How had he healed them? Had it been him or maybe it was someone else's work? Had someone else taken her place in the time that had passed?

She didn't like where her thoughts were going, so she covered the marks with her fingers, cradling Geralt's cheek. Then she mustered up the courage and looked up, curious as to what might be going through his mind at that moment. She found the witcher's golden eyes were fixed on her, admiring her with longing and, dare she say it, love. There was a warmth in his gaze that drew her to him. It made her feel seen in a way she hadn't felt since the moment he left. He was the only one who could make her feel that way, so safe, so desired... so loved. And he was the only one she wanted to look at her that way.

She didn't realize how much closer she had gotten to Geralt until she felt his nose brush against hers. His warm breath mingled with hers as it escaped her half-open lips, caressing them with the promise of that long-awaited kiss that never came. She wanted to move, to close the little distance that separated them and finally discover what it would feel like to kiss him, but it was impossible for her to do so. She was trapped under Geralt's intense gaze. Like a moth to the flame, she was lost in the golden glow of his eyes, waiting expectantly for his next move.

But the kiss never came. Only this time it wasn't because she backed down or because he regretted it at the last second as had happened in the past. This time it was Ciri's interruption that broke the moment and forced them apart.

“Lambert sent me to help you because he says you're taking too long so- OH! Sorry, sorry!” The girl blushed upon finding them in such a compromising position. She instinctively backed away, ready to run out the same way she had come, but the woman stopped her.

“It’s fine, Ciri! Stay, please. I’m definitely going to need some help cooking enough food to satisfy those gluttons out there.”

“Come on, focus! I know you can do it.” The woman tried to encourage the girl, who was having trouble generating any kind of magical reaction from the moment they had started the lesson.

She didn't know much about magic outside of healing, so that was her starting point. From what Geralt had told her about Ciri, the girl had much more power than she did, so she figured that teaching her to channel her magic in one aspect gave her enough tools to begin to control other aspects of her powers. She began with easy lessons, remembering the things her mentor had taught her when they were just starting out. She had previously told her about the potions she made and the type of plants she needed for each as a way of easing her way into things. But several lessons ago she had moved on to more complicated things that involved more active use of her powers.

They were sitting in the common room, near the fire. It was a cold day, though that hadn't stopped Ciri from going out to train with her wooden sword. Geralt was the one who had to drag her inside to meet the healer for her magic lessons, and she didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. For that very reason she had given the girl a relatively simple exercise, the same one they had been practicing for two lessons. In a pot was a dried plant. Its stems were still green in some places, but much duller, and the leaves were withering more and more with each passing day. The goal they were working towards was to revive the plant, although she would settle for any kind of progress. The woman remembered that the same exercise had taken her quite some time, so she showed patience to Ciri. But on the other hand, the girl was supposed to have much more power than she did, so she was slightly concerned about the lack of response.

Ciri snorted. “I'm trying! It's not easy.” It was clear that she was frustrated but she had to keep pushing if she wanted to get any kind of reaction from her.

“Not hard enough!”

She was not referring to Ciri's efforts in her lessons, it was clear that she gave everything she could. The problem was that she always arrived tired, if she arrived at all. She wasn't giving her magical training the attention it deserved, preferring the sword and the training ground outside to mastering her natural abilities. She understood it to an extent, it was easier to train the body than the mind, but she needed to see how important it was to learn to manage her powers. Those were the ones that would be with her for the rest of her life, the ones that could save her in a situation of extreme danger, and she needed to know how to use them to her advantage.

“You're focusing too much on learning how to fight when this is just as important.”

“Maybe I am because at least that's where I'm making progress.”

“I know it's hard, Ciri, but you have a responsibility. Your powers are something extraordinary, but you owe it to yourself and everybody around you to learn how to control them.” Her voice was not accusatory or dismissive. On the contrary, she made an effort to sound soft and empathetic. She wanted to make the girl understand the importance of her lessons and knew she would not succeed by making her angry. Besides, she knew very well how frustrating it could be when things didn't go as expected, she had gone through that too when she was the one learning to handle her powers.

However, Ciri didn't take it as kindly as she had hoped. “What do you know about responsibility? You abandoned your own people! At least I'm trying to fight to avenge mine!” The girl raised her voice, jumping up from her seat and giving her mentor an angry look.

“Ciri!” Geralt, who was sitting in the corner of the room fixing his armor, wanted to intervene. However, the woman waved him to stand aside. She understood that it was misplaced anger and didn't need him to jump in for her.

“It’s fine. You are right, Ciri. I abandoned my own people because it wasn’t a safe place for me… or anyone like me, if I’m being honest. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make… Realizing that my own home wasn’t safe for me was heartbreaking, but strangely liberating.” The girl's gaze softened and she resumed her place beside her. “I was trapped in that place, surrounded with people that hated me for who I was, for things I couldn’t control. My own parents thought I was a disgrace… they hid me, silence me, broke my spirits in the hopes I wouldn’t become my great grandmother. And for the longest time I let that get into me. I let them define who I was. I hated myself and my powers because everyone else did… and the more I tried to ignore them, the more I tried to suppress them, the worse they got. I had to learn to let go, to stop focusing on the negative things because it was doing me no good.”

Ciri looked at her with glazed eyes, the anger in her expression slowly morphing into sadness. “How do you do it?” her voice was almost a whisper that broke the woman's heart. She could hear so much pain in those simple words that she couldn't help but reach out to entwine her hand with hers. Suddenly, the girl's inner struggle was evident on her face. She could feel the sadness and weariness that overwhelmed her. She had been through so much at such a young age, it wasn't fair. “I can't let it go.”

“You don't have to… you just have to take control of yourself and stop letting your fear and anger control you.”

“How can I do that when everyone I love is dead… when everywhere I go I bring blood and destruction?”

“You make a choice about who you want to be because you are the only one that has the power to do that, to define yourself.” The woman moved a little closer to Ciri, lightly tightening her grip on her hand in support. “You see, magic is extremely connected to our emotions, to our most instinctive reactions. If you see it as a bad thing, as a burden, a curse… if you see yourself as a monster, a murderer that can only create chaos and destruction, then you are letting your fear define who you are. You are limiting your abilities and the chance to explore your potential.”

“How are you so sure that I'm not… a monster?” 

A tear rolled down Ciri's cheek and the woman was quick to wipe it away with her thumb. She had to hold back her own tears, focusing on being a support for the girl at that moment. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't able to see herself in the frightened eyes of the young princess. She knew that fear very well, she had experienced it firsthand and that's why she wanted to help her overcome it. It was not fair that she was going through it, no one deserved to go through the horrors she had gone through at such a young age. Ciri was alone, homeless, without family, and forced to discover the terrifying foreign world at the same time she was discovering herself. It was an extremely vulnerable position to be in, but the witch would try her best to accompany her every step of the way. She didn't have to go through it all alone.

“Because nobody is born a monster.” The girl said with gentle simplicity, a sweet smile growing at the corner of her lips. “I grew up ashamed of who I was. My parents dreaded the day I was old enough to take over my kingdom. They couldn't wait to hand me over to the first nobleman who seemed competent enough, so that if one day I became unstable and dangerous because of my powers he could stop me from destroying everything they had worked so hard to build... No matter how hard I tried to make things right, they trusted a stranger more than their own daughter. Most of my childhood was clouded by this dark shadow of sadness and loneliness, until I realized that was exactly what they wanted. They wanted me to be afraid, to be alone and ashamed because then they could control me, mold me into whatever they wanted me to be. Choosing something else... choosing to be happy with who I am, choosing to help others and use my powers for good was a decision I had to make... it's a decision I make every morning when I wake up, and it's not an easy one. The easy thing is to be consumed and paralyzed by fear. Seeing the good in life and in yourself is a conscious decision that you have to make. It is one that only you can make, but I promise to be there for you when you need me. You don't have to be alone in this.”

Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms and she held her tight against her chest for as long as she needed. She buried one hand in the girl's blonde hair and gently rubbed her back with the other until she could no longer feel her sobs against her shoulder. Her eyes searched Geralt's with a worried expression. Ciri had so much bottled up inside her that suddenly the potential danger of her unexplored and uncontrolled magic ceased to worry her. However, when her eyes met the witcher's she found nothing but calm in them. He admired their embrace with a knowing smile and she knew then that he approved of the way she had handled the situation.

Seeing the way Ciri opened up to her, Geralt was glad he had asked for her help. Swallowing his pride had definitely been the right decision. The girl didn't just need protection. She needed guidance, support and an understanding that he, as much as he wanted to, could not give her. But his sweet sunshine could, she was always open to help whoever came to her door. Geralt knew from the start that he had to take Ciri with her, not just because of her knowledge of magic or her empathic abilities, but because she was the one he always turned to when he needed guidance or a reason to keep fighting. She had a way of brightening people up that was unique. He used to think it was part of her nature, her warm, positive personality that was finally able to shine through once she was out of the prison she used to call home. Although after hearing what she told Ciri, he realized that brightening others and making them feel at peace was an effort she made every day precisely because she knew the dangerously cold and dark depths to which the mind could descend when there was no such support.

“You can rest for now, my dear. It's fine, you have done enough for one day.” The sweet voice of his sunshine brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He watched as she patted Ciri's back as the little girl wiped away her tears.

“No, it’s okay. I want to try it one more time.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can continue the lesson tomorrow after you have a good rest.”

Ciri insisted so she stepped aside to let her proceed. The girl took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her emotions as her mentor had taught her. She raised her hands to the plant that withered with each day she failed and closed her eyes. She tried her best to quiet the voices that always echoed in her mind, the ones that scared her and held her back every time magic was mentioned. She erased the images of Cintra in flames, the figure of the dark knight chasing her and the horrors that followed her every time her powers were activated. She replaced those dark visions with her mentor's words of encouragement, repeating them over and over in her mind as a way of convincing herself that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.

Then she felt a warmth tickling her fingers and heard the gasp of the woman sitting next to her. She opened her eyes instinctively, concern already written in her expression as she looked around for answers —and to make sure she hadn't hurt anyone. The woman smiled at her and motioned with her head to look at the potted plant resting on the table. The plant itself hadn't changed much. It still looked dry and dull, but the stems were a brighter green and some of the leaves had turned from dark orange to an almost greenish yellow.

“You did it!”

“I did it!” Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms once again, only this time with a big look of happiness on her lips. When she pulled away, she took the pot in her hands to admire her work more closely. “Geralt, look! I did it! I finally did something!”

Geralt joined in the celebrations, giving Ciri a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement to let her know he was proud of her unbreakable spirit. She fit in so well with the rest of the witchers that he was starting to get a little scared. She was as stubborn and broken as most of them. But she was also as hard working and fierce as they were. He could see a lot of himself reflected in her, in fact. She had the same eagerness to go out and prove herself in the real world that both he and his brothers had when they were just starting their training. That same impatience that Vesemir had fought so hard to quell and that reality had finally destroyed. He had to keep an eye on that.

When the moment of euphoria was over, Geralt sent Ciri to rest. “You have done enough for one day” he told her and this time the girl disappeared up the stairs with a smile on her lips, happy to have proven herself.

“I was nice what you said to her.” Geralt spoke once he was sure Ciri could not hear them.

“I just told her what I wish someone would have told me when I was her age.”

“You never told me about it… what your parents did to you.”

“Well... it's a part of my life I don't like to remember often.” She shrugged, leaning her hips back against the table as she stared at a fixed point on the wall in front of her, lost in thought. Geralt admired her delicate profile, and with a heavy heart he wondered what kind of sad memories might be swirling through her mind at that moment. “Although, in a strange way, it made me who I am today, so I guess something good came out of all that shit in the end.” She also thought that thanks to her parents' mistreatment —and her consequent escape— her path had crossed Geralt's and she would always be grateful for that. However, she decided not to mention it.

“Just when I thought I couldn't love you anymore, I discover that your act of rebellion against the world that treated you horribly is to be the kindest, sweetest person on the continent.” Geralt let out a laugh, returning his attention to his half-repaired armor that had been left forgotten on the table. But she remained silent, frozen in place.

Geralt had not thought carefully before speaking —something that happened to him more often than he would like to admit when he was with her. He didn't even realize the implications of his words until it was too late. He just stated a fact, a simple fact that had been on his mind ever since he had overheard her talking to Ciri: finding out that after all the bad things she had been through she was still the sunshine she was, made him love her even more. Geralt had always known that she was a strong and extremely brave woman, but this was the first time he really knew the extent of that strength. He had seen honest men be consumed by resentment and hatred for far less, so the fact that she strove to be a source of light and positivity not only for herself but for everyone who crossed her path was a reason to admire her.

He was so entranced by her that he didn't notice what he said —what he inadvertently admitted— until a few seconds later, when he wondered at her sudden silence. When he looked up, he found her eyes fixed on him. Those beautiful eyes that normally brought him peace, now put his insides in knots. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Geralt was paralyzed. His mind was completely blank, not knowing what to do or say, as he waited for some sign from his sunshine.

“I-” She started to speak, but before she could say anything else the doors to the hall opened, ushering in a group of noisy witchers who had just come in from hunting for dinner.

After the moment was broken, neither she nor Geralt brought up the subject again. They both thought about it countless times, wondering in the nights before bed what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. However, they were too afraid to face the situation, so they let the tension linger in the air, increasing with the growing list of unanswered questions.

Another great thing she had discovered about living in Kaer Morhen was that there was a pack of wolves nearby. The first time she had seen them was one afternoon walking around the fortress with Geralt. He hadn't let her get close, of course, claiming it was too dangerous since they were wild animals. That hadn't stopped her at the time and luckily it had never resulted in any injuries, but one never knew when their luck might change.

“That's why you're here,” she had replied, ”you'll save me if they try to eat me.”

“I don't know, will I?” He had joked in his characteristic dry tone. “If you get hurt after my warnings it is entirely on you.”

She snorted and punched him in the arm, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course you will! You can't live without me.” She had said that as a joke, but it was much closer to reality than she probably imagined. He was willing to do anything to keep her safe because he truly couldn't live without her. He had tried for a year and had been miserable every second he was away from her.

After having to drag her away from the wolves that day, Geralt really shouldn't have been surprised to find her playing with them weeks later. He knew her and the effect she tended to have on animals, but even so, he found it impressive the way the wolves reacted to her touch. She was sitting on the cold ground covered by a thin layer of snow. Next to her rested an adult wolf who closed his eyes with pleasure every time she stroked his head. In her lap a puppy let her scratch its belly, stretching out on her with every movement of her fingers as if preparing to take a long nap. In the distance the rest of the pack watched the two brave –or foolish— enough to approach a human, making sure they were safe.

She was speaking to them, Geralt could see in the distance that she was moving her lips, and hear the whisper of her voice on the wind, but he could not make out what she was saying —though he could almost imagine it, he had been through a few similar situations with her in the past. He was lost in thought as he admired her playing with the wild animals like they were mere domesticated dogs. A smile formed on his lips as he thought that at least he wasn't the only one completely enraptured by her aura, the entire animal kingdom joined him in that sentiment. Even his own horse loved her more than him. But he understood Roach, she was someone special and he had been lucky to cross her path.

“I see why you like her.” Vesemir's voice startled him, when had he arrived there? “She is a lovely woman.”

“She is indeed.” Geralt agreed without looking away from his princess, who was now laughing in amusement at something the wolf cub in her lap had done.

“Are you sure you're doing the right thing?” The older witcher spoke again and Geralt's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. “Are you sure she is compatible with our way of living... with our life's mission? There's less of us every winter and something big is coming, I know it... I can lose you, wolf.”

Geralt was silent for a moment, contemplating Vesemir's words. The gods knew that he had asked himself that same question multiple times since he had met her. The answer always changed depending on his mood. Sometimes —especially when he spent a lot of time with her in her hut— he was sure that his future was at her side and that nothing could ever keep him away from her. Other times, when the pressures of reality forced him to abandon his fantasies, he recognized that their relationship was complicated at best and impossible at worst. But all that had changed after she was attacked by a Bruxa.

After failing to protect her that time he convinced himself that their relationship should end, not because it was incompatible with his life itself, but because he was too afraid of losing her. The images of that attack had not left his mind in the year he had spent away from her. It plagued his nightmares when he slept and his thoughts when he was awake. He was so horrified at the thought of losing her because he was unable to protect her from danger that he was willing to endure a life of misery just to make sure she was all right. In his experience, missing what could never be was better than mourning the loss of those who were gone and could never come back. So he endured the gray days and sleepless nights, finding comfort in knowing that his princess was safe and sound in her hut, far from the danger he represented.

Geralt had convinced himself that this was for the best because it was the simplest option, the clearest solution to his problem. Keep her safe by staying away from her and wait for the time to pass and help him forget about his feelings. But now he was not so sure. Maybe it was the thrill of being reunited with her after yearning to feel her touch for a year. Or maybe it was the optimism of his sunshine speaking through him, but Geralt was beginning to consider that maybe there was a future for them where neither of them had to suffer. It probably wouldn't be easy, but life's hardships hadn't stopped her before, so why should they stop him?

“We can make it work.” He finally said and for the first time since she had entered his life, Geralt felt a sense of certainty as he spoke those words.

Vesemir didn't answer him, although Geralt didn't give him much time to do so because seconds after those words left his mouth, he was walking towards her. When he approached her, the first thing she did was make excuses for what she was doing, expecting Geralt to scold her for not listening to his warnings. But he wasn't interested in that, he had far more important revelations to share with her.

“I know what you are going to say, it's dangerous and all that, but they came to me for help!” she hurried to say while petting the wolves to make sure Geralt's presence didn't disturb them. “This little one was hurt! I couldn't let him die, he's too adorable and fluffy! I saved his life and now they like me.”

“Do you remember what you told me when I arrived at your home with Ciri?” Geralt ignored her rambling. She looked up from the puppy gently nibbling her fingers to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure if the look of confusion on her face was due to his sudden question or because she didn't know the answer, so he continued speaking. “You wanted to know why it took me so long to come back... I've been thinking a lot about that, especially after hearing you talk to Ciri the other day.”

The woman rose on her feet from the cold ground, leaving the wolf pup next to his brother. “Geralt, what is this about?” she inquired, wide eyes watching him curiously and somewhat warily, like a deer startled by the presence of a noisy stranger.

“All my life, the one I remember at least, I’ve worked towards one goal and one goal alone… kill all monsters on the continent. It’s what I was trained to do and I never questioned it… I never wanted to do anything else, until I met you. What I feel for you…” 

Geralt paused, struggling to find the right words to describe the way his day brightened with her mere presence, how his mood improved if he saw her smile.

“I never felt anything like that before,” he let out a sigh, resigned to the fact that he could never explain in simple words what she made him feel without even realizing it. “That scared me. I was scared of what it could mean for the future, but more importantly, I was terrified of losing you. So I convinced myself that running away from you, from what I felt, was the right thing to do to protect you and keep you safe from all the shit I bring along... Now I know I was just protecting myself. You tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to listen.”

She took a step toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes that sparkled in the weak winter sun. “Geralt, what are you saying?” She needed to hear him say it. After so much time of feelings left unsaid, she needed to hear the words coming out of his mouth so there would be no more conflicts or misunderstandings. She needed to be sure of what he felt.

“I'm saying I'm sorry... I'm saying I love you and I want you at my side, If you still want me too.”

She replied in the most direct way she could without using words. With a quick step, she closed the distance that separated them and joined her lips to Geralt's. As much as she had longed for that kiss, it was a timid one. Her lips barely brushed his, their noses brushing against each other as they leaned in a soft, intimate caress. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth that flooded her body as she felt Geralt reciprocate her kiss immediately. Their lips moved slowly, savoring the moment. It didn't last long, but it was enough to take her breath away.

When they pulled apart, she looked up at Geralt through her eyelashes. She met the amber of his eyes shining in a way she had never seen before. His hand rested on her cheek, calloused fingers caressing the soft skin. It was nothing new, yet the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. There was a softness in his eyes that she did not recognize. He admired her as if she were a lost relic, something of priceless value that he couldn't believe he had in front of his eyes.

And in a way, that was true. Even though he had just bared his soul to her. Even though she had kissed him. Even though deep down, he always knew his feelings were reciprocated. Despite everything, Geralt still couldn't believe that a woman as wonderful as her would choose to love him. Of all the people on the continent, of all the places that existed, she loved him and wanted to be by his side. As happy as he was that she did, it didn't feel real. Geralt did not feel worthy of the love of such a good woman, but he was willing to work hard every day of his life so that she would not regret her decision.

Geralt was the one who initiated the second kiss, which was much more confident than the first. His hand remained on her cheek while the other found its place on her waist, holding her close against him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, like a summer morning breeze —just as he had imagined them. When he sucked on her lower lip, she let out the subtlest moan, her hands clinging to his shoulders for support. Geralt became addicted to it instantly, feeling a strange sense of pride at having elicited such a reaction from her. He repeated the action, taking a mental note of the way she reacted to every little movement of his lips. He was desperate to know more about her, to find out the other sounds she made and the various ways her body would respond to his touch, but he restrained himself from deepening the kiss any further. They would have time for that.

“That was...” She tried to speak when they broke apart, her mind clouded with euphoria struggling to find words to describe what that kiss made her feel.

“Late.” Geralt finished for her, resting his forehead on hers.

“I was going to say 'better than I imagined', but 'late' works too.” She let out a chuckle. “So, what now? How do we go on from here?” It was a genuine question she had. She had fantasized many times about this moment —the big confession, the first kiss, the way it would all feel—, but it never got any further. It felt so far away, so impossible, that she had never really spent time thinking beyond happily ever after.

“Well, we can start by getting you out of the cold.” Geralt smiled, finally pulling away from her to start his way back to the fortress. He took her hand and noticed how cold it felt against his own.  “Come on, we need to get you inside so you can warm up.”

She smiled playfully. “Only if you help me.”

I hope you guys liked it! Sorry for the long wait, but it wil probably happen again lol

I have a few ideas for the next part. Without spoiling too much, I think it's time Yen makes an appearance to explain some of the gaps it the timeline when Geralt was away... so, lots of jealousy and angst coming!

BUT I'm not 100% sure of how thing are going to play out, so if you guys have any ideas of things you would like to see in the story (for this next part or future ones!) please drop an ask/message/comment thank youuu ily