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just-some-random-blogger · 3 months ago

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Break Bones?

There has been nothing but tension between you and your ward, and Breakbones has only added to it.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has golden lannister hair, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this the '3rd part' to Seeing Red (1) and Seeing Green (2) but you dont have to read either to understand what's happening <3. Also, I think a lot of facts are skewed here in this fic but... Roll with it pls thx. I hope someone enjoys this because I do nawt 🥲

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat @dreamsandconstellations

@uniquecroissant @holdingforgeneralhugs @b00kw0rmsworld

Lunch was my favorite meal. This time of day was most pleasant, with the sun high in the sky and the birds singing. Normally at this time, whatever grogginess the morning gave me would long be gone. But today, it was not so.

Gwayne turns to me as I pointedly smack on my meal to annoy him. If my day is grim, then so should his.

He chews harder than he needs to then swallows, "I see frolicking with Breakbones has made you forget your pedigree."

I raise my brows, "nay," I set my spoon down, "my meal is simply so scrumptious that I cannot contain myself."

Gwayne releases a breath. I watch him as he reaches for his teacup. He looks as though he's using all the muscles in his body to withhold an eye roll. He takes a sip; the heat of the tea leaves his lips ruddy.

I watch him set his floral cup down. I watch him as he leans back on his chair. When did his get that long? The locks by his temples go past his cheeks now. A line forms on his face when I stare too long. I avert my gaze to my own teacup. The milkiness of his face is reflected in my drink. My stomach churns.

"So-" "How-"

We look at each other after speaking at the same time. I open my mouth, meaning to tell him to go first, but he cuts me off and simply speaks, "how is Breakbones?"

Offence latches on my being. How ill-mannered of him not to even feign the courtesy of allowing me to speak first. Irritation springs forth, so I quip, "what?"

Gwayne scoops some honey and stirs it into his tea. He licks what remained on the silverware.

I avoid his eyes as he does so.

"Your whereabouts have not gone unnoticed by me," he says dryly, "I am aware that you have since been accompanied by Breakbones to the market more than once."

A horrid scowl finds my features, "and just who is this foul creature?"

Gwayne's expression falls until my scowl is reflected on him. His jaw sets, "I can assure you; you have already wholly vexed me this morn; you needn't feign ignorance to add to it."

"But I am not acquainted to this brute who breaks bones," I hiss, "and I need not feign something which comes easy for me."

He realizes then that I was sincere in my own vexation when I heatedly continue.

"Your delusions of my character will not bleed into reality, Ser." I pointedly raise a brow, "whichever part of my body you think would associate with such people who garner such names would surely rather strike your cheek."

He furrows his brows as he tilts his head, "yet it seems you are ignorant to the fact Breakbones is your beloved City Watch commander."

My brows furrow. I am silent for a moment before speaking, "Ser Harwin?"

He scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, yes," he takes a sip of his tea, "the brute with such a name is the one you have extended such warm amity to as of late."

A moment of concern and even alarm floods me. But it is fleeting the next moment, and my expression falls. I huff. A pit grows in my stomach, "how acrid and crude."

Gwayne's brows quirk as he gulps his tea. The manner in which his lips curl pierce through my belly in the most unpleasant of ways.

"I am well aware that you and I have never met eye to eye, that you disagree with my interest in beautiful things-"

His expression slips.

"-but your want to deter me of my only companion here is repellent, even for one as you."

Companion? Gwayne's blood rises just as I from my seat across him, "such as I?"

"Such as you!" I maintain, chucking my table napkin onto my half-finished plate.

"I see your unfeigned ignorance has made you callous to my efforts to please you," he words harshly, slowly rising from his seat.

"But it is not your work to please me!" I snap, "your work is to keep me safe!"

"From library books?!" he raises his voice, "from cakes and dresses? What is your danger in King's Landing when not only do a thousand guards reside within these walls, but your own lord brother is seated upon the council of the king?"

My nostrils flare at his words. I decide to maintain my dignity by forfeiting my response. I gather my skirts and flee him.

He releases an irritated laugh, "oh, how very like of you!"

"Do not wait. I have errands to accomplish."

"Ha! Do accomplish them well with your beloved Breakbones."

I storm away from him. I storm and storm until my face rains. It annoys me how my breath shortens and how my throat constricts. I run off to my chambers and dismiss any ready servants there. I crumble to my bed and wring out my melancholy.

The letter I received late last night calls to me from my vanity. I sigh and reach out to it. I slide down my bed and will the contents of the letter to change.

It does not work. The words are as clear as they were last night underneath my lamp, if not clearer now in afternoon shine.

Highgarden would be honored to receive Lady Lannister. House Tyrell presently prepares its home in hopes it will be hers in the apparent future.

I rip the parchment to shreds, as if its riddance would destroy the reality it held.

It does not.

It comforts me, nonetheless.

I wash my face and reapply rogue before exiting my chambers. I begin to walk off but freeze when I see Gwayne at the end of the hallway. He does nothing. He says nothing.

I turn the other way.

I find myself heading to the guard's quarters, where I soon learned Ser Harwin was not. A guard informs me that he was in the training grounds, and so I promptly make my way there.

The moment Harwin catches the golden glint upon my head, he is distracted. He pays less attention to his pupils, offering me a smile and nod in regard. Soon, when I am close enough, he says a quick word before abandoning his post altogether.

Harwin struts up to me with another smile and nod, "my lady Lannister."

My heart swells at his kind regard, a stark contrast of Gwyane, "lord Strong."

"You must forgive my state," he wipes the sweat dripping from his temple, "an hour remains of our session, then I will be free to accompany you to the baker's today," he assures. He smiles but it quickly disappears as he adds, "after I wash and change, of course."

I press my lips tightly together, yet it does not contain my giggle.

Harwin crosses his arms at the sound, his own lips unable to contain his own giggle.

"I am in no hurry, commander," I clasp my hands together, "feel free to ignore me until you are ready."

He walks backward, "I pray you do not require me to do something impossible."

I chuckle at the sentiment, but I roll my eyes. I sit myself on a crate nearby and watch as the man instructs his pupils. He demonstrates the proper handling of a sword and strikes the dummy. For a moment, I think of Gwayne training.

Then suddenly, I remember our argument and find myself calling out, "break bones."

I watch as Harwin turns to me.

I flatten my skirts on my lap but do speak any further.

"You call, my lady?"

I straighten my back, slightly taken aback that he responded, and shake my head, "never mind."

Harwin does not think twice on it. He continues with his lesson.

Watching him teach was... titillating. His voice was rich and sure, his actions more so, and his demeanor was truly that of a commander. More and more, I thought of 'break bones' and continued to convince myself that this was not him. Soon, I was not enslaved to my thoughts and became thoroughly entertained by Harwin's instruction. It was almost a shame that the hour passed as quickly as it did.

Harwin quickly comes to me, announcing he will not take long to tidy up, then leaves just as quickly. Unable to help myself, I decide to ask a guard about this break bones fellow. Before I can even ask if that man was truly his commander, he's already droning about See Harwin Strong. Before he could finish, the said man was beside me, face and locks slightly damp.

Harwin and I make our way to the stables after and I immediately start, "I did not realize you had quite a reputation."

I watch my feet peak out from beneath my dress as we leisurely make our way to his steed. Harwin, with his hands behind him, turns to me with a quirked brow, "and what reputation might that be?"

"Breakbones," I look up.

He simply stares.

"I thought Gwayne thought it up to deter me from your companionship."

He purses his lip, "...does it?"

I give him an incredulous look, "perhaps if I had known it before I knew you. I was testing the name on you. I did not expect you to respond."

"Is it very ill-fitting?"

"Yes," I speak immediately. I tilt my head, "you are very gentle."

He laughs. It is quiet but hard enough that he must clutch his gut and take a moment to gather himself.

Though it was not like him to mock me, I could not help but feel perhaps that in this moment he was. A frown finds me.

I think of Gwayne and his condescending laughter. My chest tightens.

He breathes in deeply before finally calming. Harwin notices my dejected demeanor and it wipes the grin off his face, "forgive me. I laugh only because I have not yet been called gentle in earnest."

It does not rid my frown.

"It pleases me," he mutters.

I stop in my tracks when he reaches for my hand. My pulse quickens when he takes and lifts it.

"I am glad to appear as such to you," he speaks carefully, blue eyes locked on mine. He presses a chaste kiss at the back of my hand. He maintains his hold until we are in front of his horse.

Harwin helps me up the brown stallion. He maintains a respectable hold and even fixes my dress as I seat myself. I look down at him and his smile. I nod, indicating that he can now climb up.

He shakes his head, lips still curled upright, "I do not think it wise for me to ride with you today."

I furrow my brows, "why ever not?"

Harwin takes the reins of his horse, "well, I fear my hasty washing was not enough."

I roll my eyes, "I-"

"And I desire to uphold the gentle nature you recognize in me." Harwin begins to walk.

"I do not understand."

He snorts lightly, "I fear my softness will not remain if I ride behind you."

My brows only furrow deeper.

Harwin catches this and chuckles. He mumbles under his breath, "the lioness is but a kitten."

"I heard that."

He raises a hand, "a jest. An innocent jest."

I spent a good part of the afternoon scrutinizing cakes and frosting, meticulously ordering the perfect assortment to be delivered to me tomorrow.

By the time Harwin and I were back in the Keep, I could tell that he was worn, not only from being made a taste tester against his will, but also from walking back and forth.

Another image of Gwayne flashes in my mind. Guilt and dread threaten to spill from my lips.

Harwin helps me down his steed and softly smiles once I am stood before him. My heart stings at his drowsy expression. My forehead curls as I reach for his cheek, "you have been most patient and kind."

His face perks at my touch.

"I am most grateful," I brush his curls away from his face, "I would not have been able to accomplish what I have today without you."

Harwin straightens when I pull away, seemingly reinvigorated.

"Forgive me if my meticulousness cost us a longer trip than expected."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "you award me more credit than I am due. It is an honor to witness the care you put into your gifts."

I watch him as he leads the horse into the stable. Harwin continues once he's walking back towards me, "I am sure Gwayne's nameday will be heartfelt, knowing his lady took great measures to prepare her gifts for him."

The thought makes me want to pull my hair out. I sigh and simply walk off.

Harwin's expression falls. He follows after me, "is something wrong?"

I watch my shoes peak from beneath my skirt with my steps. I turn to him when he calls me by my name. Harwin has a look of concern upon him. I comb the tips of my golden hair in agitation, "I... do not wish his nameday to come."

A line forms between his brows.

I sigh, "surely you are aware that my move to King's Landing was to secure myself a husband."

Harwin did, in fact, not know this, but does not have the chance to say so.

"My brother says the only house interested in me is that of the Tyrells."

His brows quirk. A doubtful thought.

"I did not..." I turn to the ground, "think my demeanor so odious that I am able to attract but one marriage proposal. Surely my family name weighs more than that."

The thought makes Harwin's forehead curl.

"I am not due to leave for Highgarden until the next moon, but I figured if it pleases Gwayne, I would set him free on his nameday. Another gift for him."

Harwin frowns, "do you not think your decision rash?"

"Rational, perhaps."

He does not seem to like my resolve on the matter, and yet he does not press any further. The rest of our walk is silent, and soon we are in the hall to my chambers.

Both Harwin and I slow at the sight of Gwyane standing attention at my door. He shifts in his spot, turning to us. When we reach him, I notice the way his jaw feathers.

The auburn haired man lifts his nose slightly, "Breakbones."

Harwin nods, "ser Hightower."

"How kind of you to return the lioness to her den," he turns to me, pale blue eyes ripping into my flesh, "I do hope she did not bare her teeth and claws too much."

Harwin raises a brow, "her company is most welcome, teeth and claw included."

I turn to Harwin. He smiles at me. Gwayne watches. His blood curdles.

"She tells me tomorrow is your nameday," Harwin looks to Gwayne, "what plans have you made to celebrate?"

"Whatever my lady has planned for me," he chuckles dryly. His begins to turn red in the face.

My brows furrow, "worry not, Gwayne. There shall be no errands to attend to on the morrow."

"How magnanimous," he smiles, or rather sneers, "your commander seems to need the day off. See how worn you've made him."

"Enough," I quip.

"Agreed," he blurts, "you should retire," he motions with his head, "I will treat the man to some wine," he turns to Harwin, "and perhaps he will the same, as a nameday treat."

Harwin nods, "perhaps on your nameday itself. I have an evening patrol I must cover."

Gwayne's nostrils flare, "unfortunate."

With that, I thank Harwin for accompanying me and head inside my chambers.

Gwayne places a hand on Harwin's shoulder, leading him down the hall, "I must express my appreciation for lightening my load as of late."

"My duty is to serve, but it is a pleasure to do so for the lady Lannister."

Gwayne pulls his hand away then brings both behind him, "I'm sure for one who is daily surrounded by sweaty men, it truly is."

Harwin does not respond. They continue walking down the hall.

"I am glad to know she did not forget my nameday and neither of us will need to be worked by her tomorrow."

Harwin gives a lopsided smile, "if it comes down to it, ser, I will do any work she may require of you in your stead."

Gwayne's face twitches but he expertly covers it up with a low chuckle, "oh, how good. Do not deny me then if it happens."

The two men part ways at the end of the hallway. Gwayne heads for his chambers, feeling irritated and suffocated. He bathes but it does not soothe him as much as he hoped. The next morning, he wakes up groggy and attempts to bathe it away, but the water was as ineffective as the night before.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the solar. He stops in his tracks when he hears the ruckus from inside. It doesn't take him long to recognize the voices, which is why he decides to enter and interrupt the argument taking place inside.

I gasp softly at the sound of the door opening. The sight of Gwayne's concerned expression only makes the tears from my eyes spill further.

Tyland turns to him. He does not mask his ire, which is why he does not greet him. My brother simply quips, "you will not leave her today."

Gwayne turns from my brother to me. It takes a moment before he realizes it was an order, "of course, my Lord."

The master of coin sighs and heads for the door. Before leaving, he raises a hand, "a servant will come to deliver your nameday gift tonight or tomorrow. Lannisport has been overflowing as of late, but I was assured your delivery will be swift."

Gwayne nods, "you have my thanks."

Tyland leaves after this, and Gwayne walks over to me.

I pull away before he can touch me. I lean towards the table and push the assortment of cakes towards him, "you will not need to steal my sweeties today, ser."

I walk towards the window, turning my back on him, uncomfortable with the idea of the man seeing me in disarray. He is insensitive to this and follows after me. I move away, but he does not relent.

"You need not tend to me!" I snap, strands of gold sticking to wet cheeks. I brush my hair away and helplessly point to the table, "there is a box on your chair. Tend to it! I have no use of you."

Gwayne pulls his head back. The sentiment stung, but he decides not to take offence. He cannot, not with the red eyes staring back at him. He decides to walk off and head for his usual chair.

Sure enough, a smallish wooden box tied in a red velvet bow rests on the cushion. He sets it down on the table before seating himself. He turns to me then back at the box. He undoes the bow and opens it. He stares at it. His silence reads to me as disinterest.

"Gloves. Practical but stylish," I walk towards him. He turns to me as I pull the chair beside him. I sit down, taking one glove and the hand it belonged to.

Gwyane spares a moment to watch the red leather be slipped on him hand, the rest of his moments are spent observing the tear laced lashes before him.

After buttoning the glove in his wrist, he stretches his fingers, opening his closing his hand to test the fit. His eyes do not leave me as he does so, "it fits me perfectly."

"As it should," I say, reaching for the other, "I paid the artisan well for this."

He grabs my hand just before I can do that with his. I stare at the veins that run past his sleeves, "I am exhilarated by the knowledge the shape of my hands are known by you."

My lips part.

Had it been any other day, had the circumstances been different, I would have received that statement with offence, for it was one of clear mockery. Yet, with how his dimples vaguely made an appearance and how his lips pressed softly into a smile, it seemed... genuine.

And it seemed to make my heart skip.

I mutter, "I stole a pair of your gloves and had it fitted."

Gwayne chuckles.

My heart skips again.

"Clever girl," he releases my hand and removes the glove I put on him. He takes the ribbon on the table then turns to my hair, "red goes well with gold, wouldn't you agree?"

"... my hair is already made."

"You would be glad to know that I am skilled in unmaking it," he pulls my chair closer to him.

My body burns as he reaches for my curls. My hair was braided by the sides in a fashion I quite enjoyed; I did not enjoy the idea of him unmaking it.

"-just as I am skilled in braiding," Gwayne adds.

I knit my brows at the idea.

"Do not look so shocked," he chuckles, "my sister has as much hair as you, and I did not enjoy how it flew to my face when we were children."

Before I can speak, he grabs my shoulders and turns me away. He gathers my hair and my skin pricks at the feel of his fingers against my nape.

He is silent when he begins. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his light touch.

"I would braid Alicent's hair when she wept as well."

My eyes open. Oh.

"Thankfully, it was not a frequent occurrence."

I turn to my skirt.

"I do not tell you this to press you for answers," he softly clarifies, "merely to express how I think it comforted my sister... and how I wish to do the same for you."

I do not reply. My lips wobble.

"I was instructed not to leave your side today and I do not wish to add to whatever offense that could bring a lioness to tears."

I silently wipe my face.

Gwayne says nothing more after this, not until he finished braiding my hair.

He rests the braid on my shoulder. I inspect it, seeing he incorporated the ribbon into the pleats and even managed to make a small bow at the bottom. I look up at him. He frowns and reaches for my cheek, wiping my tears.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, "my brother received an offer for my hand."

Gwayne stills.

"Well," I turn to the box on the table, "he received multiple."

He leans on his elbow. He smiles, though against himself, "we came to King's Landing to find you a match, did we not?"

"It seems my brother has other plans," I mutter, "apparently Tyland means to use me as leverage for the crown. He wishes to wed me to the Tyrells so that he can have a firmer hold on Highgarden. Jason does not know this. He was led to believe I was simply going to King's Landing to purchase new dresses."

A line forms between his brows, "I presume Jason found out about Tyland's plot."

"Yes. Jason writes that I should put my dresses to good use and entertain any suitors that come to me whilst I am in King's Landing."

He nods curtly. He sighs and shrugs, "why the tears then? Does the idea of entertaining men upset you so?"

"..."

"... Tyland reminded me of what happened last time when I had many suitors at my beck and call."

Gwayne clenches his teeth. He rests his hand in front of me, "I swear on my life that no one will come close enough to take advantage of you again."

His hand itches to reach out, but he instead goes for the cakes, dragging it in front of him. He shoves a chocolate cake into his mouth and chews.

I watch him lick his lips. He notices how I lick mine. He speaks through a mouth half-full, "do not think I will share simply because you are sad."

I snort and roll my eyes. Gwayne is relieved this was the reaction he garnered.

"I had enough cake from tasting them with Harwin yesterday."

He stops chewing.

I notice the frosting on the corner of his lips and wipe it with my thumb, "enjoy your cakes."

Gwayne is perfectly still.

"Happy nameday."

#gwayne hightower #gwayne fanfic #gwayne x reader #gwayne fluff #gwayne angst #gwayne x you #harwin fanfic #harwin strong fanfic #harwin x reader #harwin strong x reader #harwin fluff #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower fic #gwayne hightower fluff #gwayne hightower x reader #harwin strong #harwin fic #harwin strong x you #gwayne fic

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vaile-elenya · 6 months ago

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listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:

i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.

last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!

it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻

In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.

Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.

“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”

Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”

For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.

“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.

“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.

“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”

Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.

Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.

“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”

“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.

“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”

Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.

“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”

“I would live for you.”

#elrond x reader #elrond peredhel x reader #elrond x female reader #elrond peredhel x female reader #elrond #elrond peredhel #elrond peredhel imagine #elrond imagine #elrond peredhel fanfic #elrond fanfic #rings of power #tolkien #trop #young elrond #vaile-elenya

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justlemmeadoreyou · 7 months ago

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3. protectively watchful (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here)

summary: you take up on the mantorship offer, but it creates more tensions and turmoil within you than were before. an incident in the kitchen makes harry go into protective mode, and you can't help but get turned on by this man more and more.

words: 4.8k

warnings: sexual tension (like A LOT), inappropriate behaviour, protective!harry.

***

"You wanted to see me, Chef?"

You gave a light knock on the open door of Harry's office, trying to sound polite and professional. It had been a few weeks since you had that talk with Harry about keeping things strictly business between you two. During that time, he had been a perfect mentor - giving you advice and guidance without any flirting or suggestive comments.

His coaching had really helped improve your cooking skills as you soaked up all his knowledge and experience. You were grateful to have a normal working relationship again, focused solely on culinary training. And yet...you couldn't ignore the faint lingering tension between you, that subtle underlying charge.

Harry looked up from the notebooks on his desk, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile when he saw you. "Ah, there you are. Come on in, have a seat."

You sat down in one of the chairs across from him as Harry neatened up the loose papers into a stack. Up close, you couldn't help noticing how well-fitted his black button-down shirt was, or how his tousled hair looked very touchable.

Firmly reminding yourself this was just a professional meeting, you averted your eyes politely until Harry cleared his throat.

"So as you know, the big Martin gala fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks," he began, shuffling through some folders. "It's one of the biggest events of the year for underprivileged culinary education programs. I'll be preparing the featured dish for their live auction, and I'd love for you to assist me on it."

Your eyes went wide with surprise at this prestigious opportunity. The Martin gala was a hugely famous event in Chicago's culinary scene, attracting all the wealthiest and most notable diners. For an up-and-coming chef to collaborate on the centerpiece dish was an amazing honor and chance to get exposure.

"Wow, yes of course!" you replied enthusiastically. "I would be absolutely honored, Chef. Thank you for this incredible opportunity."

Harry's dimples deepened as he smiled approvingly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll be under a huge spotlight to deliver an amazing showstopper dish. I expect you to rise to the challenge."

You quickly nodded. "You can count on me to give it my absolute best effort. I'm ready to do whatever work is needed."

"Excellent," Harry said in a slightly lower, huskier tone. "That's exactly what I like to hear."

For a moment, his voice had a heated quality that hinted at other situations where your eagerness might be welcome. You ignored the shiver it sent through you, reminding yourself this was strictly business now between you two.

Harry seemed to realize he was skirting the line, as he abruptly straightened up and all hints of flirtation disappeared as he switched fully into mentor mode. "Right, well let me walk you through my basic vision so far..."

You leaned forward attentively as he outlined preliminary ideas for a highly ambitious and avant-garde dish blending molecular gastronomy techniques with classic French cuisine fundamentals. It was wildly cutting-edge, even for a showpiece event like the Martin gala. But the more details Harry provided, the more that same thrill of adrenaline rushed through you whenever presented with a new culinary challenge to conquer.

For the next hour, the two of you bounced ideas back and forth in that unique creative flow state that chefs share. Harry's presence was magnetic, but you refused to get distracted by more physical aspects - like the stretch of his biceps against his crisp sleeves, the hint of toned abs beneath his open collar, or the raspy timbre of his voice dipping into that lower register as he passionately discussed certain techniques.

And oh, his damn tattoos.

No, you sternly told yourself as the conversation began wrapping up. Those days of getting flustered around him were over. Harry had made it clear where you stood, and you fully accepted those boundaries. Anything else was just self-torture.

"...but of course, those are just preliminary thoughts," Harry was saying as he collected the scattered folders into a neat pile. "We'll have plenty of time to refine the details over the next couple weeks."

You nodded, filing away the mental notes you'd taken during the discussion. "Absolutely, Chef. Just let me know whatever you need for prep or testing different ideas to get a head start."

"Will do." With an air of finality, Harry gathered up the pile and rose from his seat. You quickly stood up as well, not wanting him to loom over you in the enclosed space. For a beat, you both hovered awkwardly, the air seeming to thicken between you.

"Well then," Harry said, making no move to step past you towards the door. "I'd say this calls for a drink to celebrate our new collaboration, wouldn't you agree?"

Before you could reply, he turned and went to a small antique cabinet tucked in an alcove you hadn't noticed before. With a practiced hand, Harry selected a heavy glass decanter and two tumblers, placing them on the cabinet and expertly twisting off the stopper.

"Let's go with Lagavulin," he mused aloud, carefully pouring two generous glasses of the amber scotch whisky. "A good Scottish whisky seems appropriate for the occasion."

"I really shouldn't, Chef," you said reflexively, already picturing your lightweight self getting sloppy and unprofessional after even a single drink.

But Harry just chuckled softly. "Loosen up a little. It's a celebration, after all."

He emphasized this by bringing one of the heavy tumblers over and pressing the cool glass into your hand. You frowned down at the coppery liquid, worrying your lower lip uncertainly. But before you could protest further, Harry gently clinked his glass against yours in a silent toast before taking a sizable sip.

The whisky's smoky, peaty aroma seemed to wrap around you intimately. Despite your hesitation, you couldn't help giving an appreciative inhale before taking a small, tentative sip yourself. Bold, layered flavors of vanilla, caramel, and charred oak underscored by an earthy smokiness burst over your tongue. You let out a soft sigh of indulgent pleasure at the decadent taste.

"Good, isn't it?" Harry's gravelly voice made you start slightly. He was watching you with amusement, whisky glass dangling casually from those large, handsome fingers. "It really hits you in the back of the throat, makes you slow down and savor it fully."

You suddenly realized the suggestive implication behind his phrasing and felt a flush of heat bloom across your face and chest. Harry watched the play of emotions flickering over your features with relish before taking another indulgent sip. This time, you noticed the way his full lips pursed delicately to drink, the tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he savored the flavor before swallowing.

Unconsciously, your eyes tracked the mesmerizing flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hint of stubble grazing along his chiseled jawline. A twinge low in your abdomen accompanied the thought of feeling that scratchy burn of beard between your thighs, that talented mouth working magic elsewhere on your body.

Mortified, you shut down that wayward trail of thought through sheer willpower. Your cheeks grew even hotter as you realized Harry had caught you staring, his own gaze darkly amused.

"Easy there," he murmured huskily, stepping a bit deeper into your personal space. "This dish is a marathon, not a sprint. Best to learn to savor every indulgent morsel along the way."

With a pointed look and arched brow, Harry raised his whisky to those plump lips once more, holding your gaze as he placed the rim against that full lower lip and let out an obscenely gratifying groan of pure delight.

Moments after, the tension had subsided, but the flush and blush that had creeped up your cheeks wasn’t going away anytime soon–you were sure of that.

***

You tried to push aside the lingering thoughts about the “Celebration” that were now implaed into your mind, and the way tiny droplets of the drink remained on his lips till he licked them off with his tongue–

You wanted that tongue to be yours.

Shaking your head, you focused on prepping the ingredients for the evening service. The dinner rush would be starting soon and you needed to have everything ready. As you worked, you were vaguely aware of the dining room filling up with patrons being seated. The sounds and aromas of the bustling kitchen surrounded you in a familiar, comforting way.

You were so engrossed in your tasks that you didn't notice the man approach until he cleared his throat loudly. Looking up, you saw a smartly-dressed diner smiling at you in a way that made you instinctively uncomfortable.

"Well, hello there," he said in a syrupy tone. "I was just admiring the delicious-looking fare over here." He raked an obvious look up and down your body. "The menu selections have my mouth watering already."

You stiffened, recognizing the overly familiar leer. This wasn't the first time you'd dealt with an obnoxious patron hitting on you. Keeping your expression neutral, you replied in a polite but firm tone. "I'm afraid you'll need to return to the dining room, sir. The kitchen is off-limits to guests."

Rather than taking the hint, the man leaned nonchalantly against your prep station. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I was just hoping you could suggest something...special for me to sample tonight." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

Suppressing a grimace, you turned away to continue your work, hoping he would give up and leave. No such luck. The lech sidled closer until he was nearly pressed against you. "What do you say? I'd love for a tasty little thing like you to--"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen area immediately." Harry's firm baritone cut across the man's words like a whip crack.

You looked up in relief to see your boss standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched as he glared at the offending patron. Even from several feet away, you could sense the potent force of his displeasure rolling off him in waves.

The diner seemed to shrink slightly under Harry's censorious scowl. "Oh, uh, my apologies. I was just trying to get some personal recommendations--"

"The kitchen is off-limits and you're making my staff uncomfortable," Harry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't ask again. Return to your table or you'll be asked to leave the premises."

Looking sufficiently cowed, the lech swiftly retreated with some mumbled apologies. You exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the anxiety brought on by the unpleasant encounter. Harry stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked you over with concern.

"You okay? That asshole didn't go too far, did he?"

You managed a faint smile, oddly touched by the protective edge in his voice. "I'm fine, Chef. Just another boorish customer thinking the uniform is a dinner invitation."

His jaw tightened again as he scowled in the direction the man had gone. "That type of behavior is completely unacceptable. You let me know right away if anyone hassles you like that again, understand?"

Nodding, you found yourself blinking rapidly against the unexpected prickle of grateful tears at having Harry firmly in your corner, despite the complicated dynamics between you lately.

For a long moment, he watched you carefully as if gauging your equilibrium. Then Harry surprised you by reaching out and briefly squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The warmth of his large hand seeped through your uniform, leaving a tingly imprint even after he pulled away.

"I've got your back, [Y/N]. You focus on doing your job and let me deal with any assholes who get out of line."

The gruff tenderness in his words made your heart do a traitorous little flip in your chest. You nodded again, not trusting your voice enough to respond properly.

With one final pointed look, Harry turned and headed back out to his front-of-house duties. As you watched his broad-shouldered form disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen, you felt a complicated tangle of gratitude, protectiveness, affection...and yes, a lingering undercurrent of attraction that you couldn't seem to fully extinguish despite your best efforts.

You spent the rest of the dinner service determinedly pushing aside any lingering thoughts about Harry or the earlier incident. Focusing fully on your work was the only way to get through these confusing emotions that had you all over the place..

The rhythm of prepping, plating, and coordinating with the other line cooks settled into a familiar, reassuring routine. The constant flurry of chopping, sautéing, and barked orders provided a sort of meditative escape from your muddled headspace.

By the time the last diner had been served and the kitchen was winding down for the night, you felt pleasantly drained in that satisfying way that comes from a job well done. As you began breaking down your station for cleaning, Harry emerged from his office looking satisfied.

"Excellent work tonight, everyone," he called out in that effortlessly commanding tone. "Front-of-house said the new salmon dish was a huge hit. We'll definitely want to keep that one on the seasonal menu."

A chorus of tired but pleased murmurs went around the kitchen at the praise. Harry's eyes found yours amidst the small crowd, holding your gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary before moving on to the other cooks. You tried not to read too much into it.

With the nightly pep talk concluded, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white chef's coat, joining everyone in the evening breakdown and cleaning duties. You watched surreptitiously as he expertly broke down one of the grill stations, muscles in his broad forearms flexing enticingly with each efficient movement.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, quickly refocusing on scrubbing down your own prep area. This was exactly the kind of distracted, unprofessional behavior you were trying to avoid lately around Harry.

Despite your best efforts, however, you couldn't fully ignore him moving about the kitchen, checking in with each station to oversee their sanitation. At one point, he paused to examine some utensils that hadn't been properly cleaned, tsking in displeasure before batting them aside to be re-scrubbed.

"That's never going to meet inspection," he chided the sheepish-looking young line cook in his trademark gruff tone. "Do it again, and do it properly this time. We're not running a greasy spoon here."

As much as his uncompromising attitude could be intimidating, you also found it oddly...thrilling to witness Harry taking charge so authoritatively. Not to mention the visual of those powerful hands deftly at work was sending your thoughts in an unprofessional direction yet again.

Sternly redirecting your focus, you turned your back to give the area behind the grill station a thorough scrubbing. You were so engrossed that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Harry's low voice sounded directly in your ear.

"Everything looking good over here?"

You whirled around to find him looming directly behind you, near enough that you could smell the spicy notes of his subtle cologne mingling with the lingering kitchen aromas clinging to him. Up this close, you couldn't help noticing how the top buttons of his coat had come undone at some point, offering a teasing glimpse of the toned chest beneath.

Trying not to stare, you quickly averted your eyes as you nodded. "Y-yes, Chef. All clean on this side."

"Hmm." His assessing gaze slowly raked over your work before returning to your flushed face. The tiniest of smirks played about his lips as if he could read the direction of your thoughts.

"Well, then. Carry on," was all he said before turning and strolling unhurriedly back towards his office, burgundy cargo pants slung enticingly low on those lean hips.

You let out a shaky breath, mentally cursing how easily flustered you still became around this man, no matter how much you tried to enforce boundaries. Resolutely, you refocused on finishing your cleaning tasks, determined to get out of there before any more distracted lapses in professionalism.

By the time the kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, you were one of the last few staffers remaining. Wearily peeling off your apron, you were just reaching for your bag when Harry reappeared, looking unhurried and relaxed now that the nightly duties were done.

"Heading out?" he asked as you approached, one thick eyebrow raised questioningly.

You stifled a yawn with the back of your hand. "Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna try and get some extra sleep before the morning prep shift tomorrow."

He made a noncommittal sound, falling into step beside you as you headed for the employee exit out back. For a few moments, you walked in silence, oddly aware of the warmth radiating off his body this close to yours.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what you expected. "You did good with that asshole customer earlier."

Your steps faltered slightly at the praise before quickly recovering. "Oh...uh, thanks, Chef. You really didn't need to step in like that."

"The hell I didn't," he countered gruffly. There was an edge to his tone that made the tiny hairs at your nape prickle. "No one treats my staff like piece of meat, especially not in my own goddamn kitchen."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the very idea, causing a lock of mahogany hair to fall rakishly across his furrowed brow in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was.

Swallowing hard, you refocused on the matter at hand. "I've dealt with guys like that before. Just comes with the territory sometimes, y'know?"

"That doesn't make it acceptable," he insisted, mouth setting into a grim line. You found yourself unable to look away from the sharp angles of his frowning profile, chiseled jaw ticking faintly with irritation, that he tried to mask.

He fixed you with those intense pale eyes, all traces of humor gone. "No one - and I mean no one - gets to treat any of you with disrespect while I'm in charge around here. I won't stand for that shit under my roof."

The ferocity in his tone sent an involuntary shiver rippling through you, though from wariness or...something else entirely, you couldn't say. All you knew was the low, authoritative resonance of Harry's voice carried an unmistakable air of command that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact you were walking in such close proximity out of public view. Or hell, maybe it was just the sheer presence of this man who could flip between stern taskmaster and something rawer, more carnal in the blink of an eye.

Whatever it was, you felt that subtle spark between you ignite and suddenly, you desperately needed to be alone to process the yearning that flickered to life low in your belly. Before you could consider the impulse further, you were blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Well, thanks again for that. And for the whole mentorship thing too. I, uh...I actually have some errands to run, so I'll just catch you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

You didn't even give Harry a chance to respond before ducking through the exit, muscles taut with confused tension. As the cool night enveloped you, you drew a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to steady yourself.

Whatever weird atmospheric flux had momentarily enveloped you back there was too dangerous, too distracting from the tenuous balance you and Harry had only just reestablished. No, it was better to put some space between you before things got muddied again.

With a fierceness born of sheer force of will, you wrestled your turbulent, wandering thoughts back under control. You were a professional, with goals to work towards. Getting pulled into Harry's electrifying orbit again would only derail you.

Still, as you hurried to your car, his shape-shifting countenance kept flashing unbidden across your memory - the dazzling smile, the brooding intensity, the simmering promise of authority barely restrained. All of it provided an infuriatingly potent combination that had your body humming with repressed longing despite yourself.

This was going to take more effort than you'd anticipated.

***

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of grueling practice runs and preparation for the Martin gala. You and Harry spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen, iterating endlessly on his showpiece dish concept.

With the prestigious event date rapidly approaching, any lingering awkwardness or tension between you had been shifted firmly into the background. The shared urgency of perfecting this culinary masterpiece became an all-consuming focus that left little room for anything else.

Still, that didn't stop you from noticing...things.

Like how the sleeves of Harry's whites had an endearing tendency to get shoved up his forearms in a way that displayed those tanned, sinewy muscles to distracting effect as he worked. You definitely didn't linger over the sight of his strong hands deftly wielding a knife, making precise, practiced cuts. And you absolutely did not imagine those dexterous fingers trailing across your skin instead of the cutting board.

At least, that's what you sternly told yourself in an ongoing effort to maintain focus.

For his part, Harry was all business during these preparation sessions - issuing clipped instructions, evaluating ingredients with a critical eye, pushing both of you relentlessly to get every component just right. Only rarely did you catch hints of something more underneath that professional veneer.

Like the time you were bent over a burner, carefully spooning out the orbs of flavored olive oil onto the waiting plate. Harry stepped up behind you to examine your work, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. As he leaned in closer to inspect the delicate orbs, his low murmur caressed the fine hairs at your nape in a way that made you shiver.

"That's it...go nice and slow with a deft touch," he rumbled in that raspy timbre that never failed to send tingles shooting straight to your core.

Heart pounding, you risked a sidelong glance to find his pale eyes already locked on yours, glittering with an intensity that contrasted sharply with his deceptively neutral expression. A charged moment stretched between you as that underlying spark you'd been determinedly ignoring flared, sudden and molten.

Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust, Harry blinked and cleared his throat brusquely. "Carry on, then," he instructed in his normal crisp tone before turning away to focus on another component.

You stood motionless for several heartbeats, fingers clenched around the spoon, skin flushed and tingling in equal measures of arousal and disbelief. Did that really just happen or had the endless hours in the kitchen started affecting your mind?

Too skittish to ponder it further, you dove back into your tasks with even more single-minded focus, the uneasy moment shelved and locked away tight. No matter what fleeting tension arose in isolated pockets, you couldn't afford to unpack it right now - not with the enormity of what was at stake.

The days ticked down in a relentless march until finally, you and Harry stood in the solitude of his spartan office the night before the big event, taking a breather from your marathon final prep session.

An ungodly number of mise en place containers filled every available surface, each holding fussed-over components of the highly elaborate and conceptual dish that would make its debut tomorrow. Harry had pushed you both to your physical and creative limits, drilling the execution repeatedly until he was satisfied you could plate it flawlessly under the anticipated scrutiny.

Now, having quality-checked and prepped every last possible element, there was nothing further to do except rest up and bring your sharpest mental game tomorrow. Harry seemed to deflate slightly as the backdrop of mounting pressure decreased for the first time in weeks.

Propping his hip against the desk with studied nonchalance, he quirked one eyebrow in a sidelong glance. "You ready for this?"

Despite your weariness, you felt that familiar thrill of adrenaline stir at those simple words - as well as a contradictory quiver of nerves. This event was a make-or-break opportunity of the highest magnitude, especially for someone like you just starting out. Either you nailed your responsibilities tomorrow, or it all came crashing down in front of Chicago's most elite gourmands.

Shoving aside the sudden flutters of doubt, you met Harry's inscrutable gaze head-on, straightening your spine. "You know I am. We've put in the work, and this dish is gonna blow them all away."

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth as he studied you appraisingly. "That's what I like to hear. Just remember - all the technique practice in the world won't mean a thing if you panic out there."

The subtle warning made you bristle defensively, never one to back down from a challenge. "I'm not going to panic," you scoffed. "I eat massive amounts of public pressure like this for breakfast."

Harry's eyes danced with amusement, and not for the first time, it struck you how effortlessly he could switch between imposing and playful. "Is that so?" he drawled easily. "In that case, would you care to make things a bit more interesting?"

Before you could respond, Harry kicked off from the desk in one sinuous motion to prowl closer. Despite your weariness, you felt your heart rate kick up several notches as he invaded your personal space, long body coiled with a loose, predatory grace.

"Let's say we raise the stakes a little," he proposed in a tone of studied nonchalance that was completely belied by the heated glint in his eyes boring into yours. "If you can prove you've got the chops to keep a cool head under fire tomorrow, I'll take you out afterwards to celebrate. Just you and me, anywhere you want to go."

Your mouth went instantly dry at the implications behind his offer. Were those...the unmistakable undertones of flirtation coloring his invitation? After the weeks of him keeping things strictly professional between you, the sudden shift was dizzying - and left you dangerously intrigued.

"And what if I choke?" you heard yourself countering recklessly before you could reconsider. "What do you get out of it then?"

His answering smile was pure blistering sin. "Oh, sweetheart. If that happens...I get to take you out too - but somewhere a bit more private."

Harry paused to let the suggestive proposition linger, backing it up with a slow, heated raking of his pale eyes over your body that left zero doubt as to his implication. Heat bloomed furiously across your cheeks as forbidden images flooded your mind unbidden - flashes of tangled limbs, straining muscle, sweaty exertion of a far different sort...

Then, just like that, the provoking spell was broken. Rocking back on his heels, Harry shrugged one broad shoulder in an easy, dismissive gesture. "But that's not going to happen, is it? You've got all the skills, you've put in the time - no reason to buckle tomorrow."

He threw one final weighted glance in your direction before pivoting on his heel towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll see you at the venue early to do our final walkthrough before we get this show on the road."

And with that parting comment, Harry strode casually out, leaving you rooted there in dumbfounded silence. What the hell had just happened? One moment, you'd merely been steeling yourselves for tomorrow's high stakes challenge - and then suddenly he was issuing some bizarrely flirtatious...proposition.

Or was that really what it was? As you stood there chasing replays of his words, his tone, his body language - the whole previous interaction kept taking on a slinkier, more salacious cast. Like maybe your presence of mind was slipping already, causing you to read into things that weren't really there.

No...no, you decided as you hefted your bag, determined to put it all out of your head for now. Harry was just his usual aggravating self, trying to rile you by dangling some imagined reward or punishment to keep you on your toes before the big event. This whole...suggestive semiflirtation thing was just the product of your own exhausted mind playing tricks.

Firmly shoving aside all unsettling thoughts, you focused on the immediate challenge awaiting tomorrow. You would plate Harry's showpiece dish to absolute perfection, prove yourself under the brightest lights, and decisively seize this career-making opportunity.

Everything else could be dealt with later.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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shuastar · 5 days ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 10.2k (oops) warnings: cursing? hot wonwoo, obsessed wonwoo, a lot of tears (this entire thing is more of an angst than anything); y/n acts kind of annoyingly but its all for the plot i promise ᴀ/ɴ: i'm flying back and forth to and from korean rn bc i'm done w midterms rn!! sorry for the delay!! ALSO IM SO PROUD OF SEVENTEEN FOR WINNING 2 DAESANGS OMG; im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

No, of course not. Why would he be when he could have everything he wanted in the palm of his hands? When he was the Archduke?

But the sight of her in the winter market roads, dressed too-thinly for the cold biting air of the evening pushes into his chest a stabbing sort of pain he cannot really place. And the sudden tension he feels from her presence, does nothing to ease the tsunami of emotions crashing into his chest.

The festive winter market of the Capital. The common festive winter market of the Capital. Never had he ever thought of bumping into y/n in the streets of the Capital – without a guard, no less. Although, he thinks, Mingyu serves more than enough of a guard for tonight. He knows that his thoughts are too bitter – too bitter, considering everything she has said, everything she has gone through because of him. Yet, he cannot stop the bile rising in his throat and his fists clenching by his sides as he only watches from the side.

The familiar, homey scents of warm cider and baked pies mingle with the cold evening air and sprinkles of snow fall around him, yet he can’t seem to pay attention to the stand owners who call for his attention.

He swallows as Y/n moves from the winter flower stall to a jewelry stall. He tries to ignore the way Mingyu laughs at her side, shoulder bumping hers and hand going up to pull her cloak over her head. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flame of what seems to be anger, regret, or something in between, stoke the fires of his heart, as Y/n simply laughs. And it hurts. It hurts so much because she never laughed like that around him. At least, not since his return.

He cannot even begin to put into words how gorgeous she looks under the yellow lantern lights and the blinkings of the market stalls. He has just barely enough capacity to recognize how the deep greens and golds of her dress blend in rather unassumingly with the commoners also walking the snowy road. How different she looks when she is far from the palace walls that seem to have always guarded her independent spirit. How joyous she looks when she stares at a piece of jewelry in her hands, fingers running over the blue sapphire in the middle. The gem hangs from the thin gold chain delicately and he can’t help but think how pretty she would look in it.

He can’t hear the conversation, but he can see Mingyu lean down (curse him for his height), and also inspect the necklace that she is now holding up to his face.

When Y/n tilts her head, a soft smile gracing her features, Wonwoo’s heart clenches. Almost painfully. Painfully because he recognizes that smile – the smile that used to be locked away only for him when they shared late night tea in his parlor, when he gifted you a diamond-encrusted bangle for your eighteenth birthday, when he danced with you for your debutante, when he went boating with you on a random Thursday afternoon.

Painful because now you are staring up at Mingyu with the same look, some kind of unspoken familiarity in your eyes that he seems to have missed because it sure as fuck wasn’t there when he had left.

At your head tilt, Mingyu leans forward and says something too quiet to catch. But it makes you laugh – loud, brilliant, clear-cut like the most expensive of diamonds. It catches the attention of the people around you and they smile too. And he would if not for the twisting feeling of a knife in his gut because your carefree laugh he only ever heard in the privacy of the night, days ago, flows so naturally when you are with Mingyu.

What the fuck did he even say?

It’s a bitter sort of rage. More directed towards himself than anything. But he pins the blame on the prince, opting for an easier way to divulge it fully. It’s easier that way – anger to yourself is easier to let out when directed another way.

The knife’s presence exponentially sharpens and his throat feels weirdly scratchy when Mingyu gently touches your hand, taking the necklace out of your palm and placing into it a more extravagant piece. Your fingers brush. He can see it from where he is. And he can also see you look up at Mingyu in surprise at his sudden touch – no gloves, too. Were you worried about scandals with Mingyu? He wants to scoff at himself at being this ridiculous, but some shallow part of him wants to yell out your name and whisk you away. Away from Mingyu, away from the market, away from the Capital. To somewhere he can take a deep breath and just let you know. Let you know how much he-

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh.

Wonwoo is surprised at how close his feet had led him to you. If he takes a couple more steps, he can reach out and brush your hair from your shoulders.

Mingyu just smiles, canines biting down into his bottom lip. “What do you mean? It’s gorgeous. Matches your eyes ‘n everything, duchess.” He gives you a small little wink. It’s teasing, Wonwoo knows. It’s done in passing, which he also knows. But it stirs the pot of bubbling frustration (and jealousy) in his stomach like nothing had ever before.

And it doesn’t simmer, especially when you just laugh at Mingyu’s words, leaning into his presence to roam your eyes around on other jewels.

The only thing good to come out of that was your hand slowly letting the bracelet you were holding slip back onto the table.

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways.

You need something less flashy. More elegant and timeless. You are breathtaking enough.

He only watches, under the pretense of his hood and perusing through an antique stall, as Mingyu hands you another piece, fingers brushing. Again.

Wonwoo grits his teeth.

It’s something small – something that would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. But to him? To him, it feels mocking, almost patronizing and belittling.

You could have been in his place, it almost says. You could have been the one brushing fingers, tossing an arm around her shoulders, teasing her, laughing with her, buying her jewelry in the Capital night market. Buying her anything she wished for.

Mingyu’s ease with you, the natural way you just take up the space next to him, grates on Wonwoo’s nerves to the last degree.

Do you two even realize how you look to others? To him?

Do you realize how his heart clenches at the scene of Mingyu repeatedly suggesting jewelry Wonwoo knows you don’t like, only for you to laugh off his sulking comments about how you and he just don’t have the same taste in exquisite things?

Have you realized the meaning behind his flowers? His three words he had finally finalized in writing after countless sleepless nights’ worth of letters and love-essays?

The urge to step forward claws at him – to insert himself, force himself, into the situation – to reclaim some part of your attention he is vying for. But he can’t. He can’t bring his feet to move from their place nor his eyes to move from how you just glance back at your original necklace you chose, studying its gem and masterful metal work. He can’t. Not here. And definitely not now. Still, the thought of walking away feels equally impossible, as if leaving would signify some sort of defeat.

Wonwoo’s breath clouds the cold air, but he doesn’t notice. He has to force himself to take a step back – back and back and back until he has some reasonable amount of distance between you and Mingyu’s merry little party of two. His gloved hand raises to his chest and pressed hard, as if doing so would stop the chaotic, frantic beating of the muscle. His fingers curl into his coat and he desperately wants to hand you his jacket – wants to place the thick fur over your slightly shivering shoulders (something he tells himself Mingyu would not do, except he knows Mingyu would) – wants to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close until your cheeks flush in embarrassment at the proximity. He wants to embrace you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder as you ramble on about the kind of jewelry you like, without knowing that he already knows. He wants to kiss you dizzyingly under the soft snow and cut off your pure sort of laughter. He wants to make you smile and laugh and then smile again just because you were with him. He wants to buy you bouquets of flowers just because he thought of you and send them to your royal advisory meetings. He wants to do those things and more, yet he wills himself to keep composure.

Not the time, he repeats to himself. Not the time.

She deserves her laughter, he tells himself, though the thought is bitter. Even if it’s not mine to share yet.

And although he wishes it would, the pain does not fade. It lingers in his chest cavity, raw and all-consuming, all-knowing, as he stands there, watching your joy seep into someone else’s laughter. And as Mingyu leans in even closer (terribly ungentleman-like, Wonwoo convinces himself), offering you yet another comment that coaxes yet another bubbly laugh, Wonwoo finally forces himself to turn away.

He feels a tightness in his chest and a strange thudding in his heart as he stands there, fists clenching as he tries to forget.

Forget the pain, forget the tears building up, forget what your absence turns him into.

The crisp night air bites at Wonwoo’s cheeks as he and Soonyoung approach the royal mansion. He would have much rather preferred if Seungcheol had held the Charity Ball in the actual royal palace, but the king had decided to move the venue to a “less extravagant” area, which was only a street down from the palace. So Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what Seungcheol was trying to accomplish except to freeze his palace guests to death as they walked over to the mansion.

As the tips of the open arched gates could be seen through the winter night’s haze, a warm glow upon the two of them, the mansion’s many windows spillions beacons of golden onto the welcoming courtyard, frozen over with snow. Already, there were many footprints that lined the fallen white carpet, melting the small ice flowers into water again.

The manor’s golden warmth made the cold knot in his stomach twist further. Beside him, Soonyoung walks with an easy stride – seemingly unaffected by the wintry air or the tension Wonwoo knows he is radiating.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight” Soonyoung suddenly says, tone half-teasing, words hanging in the air for Wonwoo to jump and catch in his mouth. “Trying to strategize your grand entrance?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, focus already blurring at the edges. His fingers toy with the edges of his scarf.

Soonyoung casts a sidelong glance at him. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles as he simply flashes his royal knight badge at the soldiers guarding the gate, strolling along. The white of the falling snow blends in nicely with his blonde head of hair.

“Are you not looking forward to another night of forced smiles and silent judging on your part?” Soonyoung cracks a teasing grin, bumping Wonwoo’s shoulder.

However, when Wonwoo stays silent, face shadowed as his gaze locks on the mansion, Soonyoung’s grin falters.

“You okay?” A slant of worry in his voice does not escape Wonwoo and he feels almost guilty for worrying his closest friend.

Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head as if that would wake him from his trance. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Why would I not be?” He forces a laugh from the confines of his tight throat. It sounds almost hysteric to his ears – as if he was on his last straw. Soonyoung knows, too.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he places a firm hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, stopping him in his place. He turns Wonwoo to face him. “Why? Is it because of her?”

Wonwoo falters in his forced grin. Just barely. But it’s enough for Soonyoung to notice.

“Ah,” Soonyoung sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I’m right.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes lighting up in interest but it drops when he realizes the tightness on Wonwoo’s face. “Why the-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Wait, please don’t tell me you did something stupid.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, lightly shoving Soonyoung away. “Shut up, man,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’m going inside.” Wonwoo resumes his walk down the snow-ridden aisle, down the middle of the courtyard.

Soonyoung groans. “Wonwoo!” His footsteps are light against the snow as he jogs to catch up with Wonwoo’s wide strides. “You did something, right? What did you do? Huh? What was it? You were literally with me for the entirety of last week!” Soonyoung whines, almost hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm, earning another eye roll from Wonwoo. “Was it bad? How did she react, huh? Why, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

Soonyoung jabs his finger at Wonwoo’s ribs, repeating the same phrases over and over until they reach the entrance of the mansion, huge golden doors guarded by two valets.

Wonwoo sighs, massaging his temple. “Will you shut up, please? It’s nothing, okay?” To the valet, he hands two pieces of papers, written on them the required name and title announcements of the night.

Soonyoung stubbornly shakes his head. “You did something. What was it?” he presses as the valets swing open the doors.

Wonwoo is quiet as his name, along with Soonyoung’s is read out loud for the entire mansion to hear. From his position at the front door, he can see how Seungcheol had turned the entire first parlor of the mansion into a ballroom of sorts. Near the end of the welcoming hall are the charity auction items – the blue sapphire jewelry set and the gold-set ruby diadem. At the call of his name, everyone stops, briefly, before staring up at the entrance balcony where he and Soonyoung are.

“What was it?” Soonyoung hisses, jabbing an elbow at Wonwoo’s ribs. Wonwoo grits his teeth at the sharp pain, throwing a side-ways look at Soonyoung.

“Jewelry,” Wonwoo grits out, pushing Soonyoung to start walking down the stairs into the chamber.

Soonyoung gasps, as if Wonwoo had just said something more scandalous like lingerie or an estate. “When?”

“Last Friday.”

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He clutches his chest in faux astonishment, eyes blown wider than necessary. “The great Archduke Jeon gifting jewelry – and flowers, I imagine – to a woman he claims doesn’t even-”

“-I don’t need your commentary, thank you very much,” Wonwoo interrupts, voice hard as he and Soonyoung reach, almost, the bottom of the staircase. His eyes scan the open chamber for a familiar face that almost taunts him like a dream. He can’t even control it. It’s natural, instinctive, almost. He needs to see her. He needs for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, just in case this time, she leaves him. Like he left her.

From next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung lets out a rather loud sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters under his breath. “You send her gifts in secret, pine after her like a lost puppy, and then show up to events like this – which you don’t even like – expecting… What? That she’ll somehow tap into her telepathic reserves and read your desperate mind?” Soonyoung tuts, shaking his head, starting to part with Wonwoo. “Man up, Wonwoo, come on. If you want her that bad, do something.”

Wonwoo says nothing, his jaw tightening painfully as his teeth grit against each other and his fingers fist at his sides.

If Wonwoo had to see another fucking interaction between you and Mingyu that ended in laughter from your side, he was going to bust a vein. Most likely the one that was likely protruding from his neck. If he had to sit in the stupid fucking ballroom watching your gorgeous face scrunch up in delight at what someone else says to you, he was going to lose his shit. Here and now, no regrets.

Well, maybe a little regret. But mostly no regrets.

His eyes trace your figure as you return back to your table, draped in a rich crimson cloth, occupied by a small group (that deep-down, he felt hurt not being invited into): Joshua’s wife, laughing and fan fluttering in animated conversation with Seungcheol, Joshua, who simply leans back in his chair, arm draped over the back of his wife’s chair, you, with your dazzling twinkle in your eyes and the way the light reflected – refracted – off of almost every part of you, and Mingyu.

Mingyu makes him freeze. The prince leans in ever-so-slightly, a teasing smile dancing on the corners of his lips as he whispers something in your ear that makes you blush like a virgin, lightly slapping his upper arm in protest at his words. Wonwoo tries his best to not walk up and intervene because who was he to decide what you do with your life? He didn’t see you as a duty, thus he doesn’t need to intervene whenever someone is-

Mingyu leans back in his gold-draped chair, a casual arm thrown over the back of your. It’s not the act in itself that bothers Wonwoo (although it does), it’s the way Mingyu’s fingertips drum against your upper arm. Your bare upper arm. Your bare upper arm that should be clean of anyone’s touch (except for his). The prince reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing something akin to a box – neatly wrapped, twinkling under the low light.

Wonwoo can’t really see your face from where he is – on the other side of the shorter hall, arms crossed, and leaning against a wall – but he can see that you tilt your head, a scrunch of your brows as you probably ask Mingyu what he was giving you.

Mingyu shrugs, an easy grin on his face, and places the box in your hands, opening the top. Wonwoo sees your eyes widen in surprise, which makes Joshua, his wife, and even Seungcheol lean forward to see what it is that Mingyu had the audacity to give you.

When you bring it out of the box, Wonwoo has to admit the quality of the gift. It’s a handkerchief, embroidered with amazing detail and an intricate floral pattern. He can make out your initials on the corner and the studded pearls that line the other corner in small mother-of-pearl flowers.

For a while, you’re silent and Wonwoo thinks you’re going to shove it back in the box and place it back in Mingyu’s pocket. Because that’s what you would do – at least with him.

But then your lips slowly curve up into a soft, genuine smile – the whites of your teeth poking out – and you launch out of your seat, arms suddenly thrown around Mingyu. And Wonwoo can see all of this unfold in absolute slow motion. It’s all in slow motion — from the way you jump up with a small clap to the way you bring Mingyu in a hug that’s so unlike you that even Joshua’s wife blinks in surprise at your sudden movement.

Wonwoo can hear your delighted laughter and “Thank you!” even from where he is. Mingyu looks rather flustered at your sudden embrace but seems to brush it off with a quick laugh and a sheepish grin, mumbling something like “if I knew you would like handkerchiefs so much, I would’ve bought more, duchess.”

God. Wonwoo’s nails presses painfully into his palms when Mingyu leans in again and steals another bout of laughter from your precious mouth. Wonwoo’s chest tightens at the sight. The sight of your joy, so free and unguarded, so genuine, should have been more beautiful. And it is. He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to ever walk this planet and any other – your warm eyes, your pouting lips, your blushed cheeks, your gorgeous peals of laughter, the way you blush under any of his heavy stares. But this time, looking on at you and Mingyu, it filled him with such a shredding visceral sense of loss. A sense of loss at the time he willingly gave up – what you could have been – what you are to him now – what he is to you – what he wants to desperately shout out for the entire world to hear.

The undulations of the orchestra notes slowly faded out gradually as Mingyu stole more laughter from you. And Wonwoo barely even recognized Soonyoung standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying something. But his voice sounds muted, almost like he’s underwater and she’s the only source of pure oxygen that he needs to inhale to live. All he can see is you. You, you, you, you, you. Just like always. Except this time, Mingyu’s next to you, elbowing you, bumping shoulders, brushing fingers, twirling your hair, gifting you handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake.

And he suddenly finds himself pushing off the wall (and consequently Soonyoung’s arm and his concerned words of “Where the fuck are you going?”), and slowly walking over to the crimson table. He doesn’t notice the curious glances of the other guests as his growing presence becomes the source of whisperings between tables. All he can he is you. You, leaning towards Mingyu, the faintest of blushes barely visibly but fucking unmistakeable. You and red. Dark red as some carnal part of him – a desperate part of him drowning in jealousy – takes over, flashing warning signs across his brain.

With every step he took closer to the two, the room seemed to shift around him – air growing heavier and thicker with tension. Before he could stop himself, Wonwoo was two steps away, jaw clenched, head slightly tilted down, arms crossed. The table instantly falls silent when Joshua looks up and blinks, almost surprised at Wonwoo’s intrusion. Seungcheol straightens in his chair, throwing a questioning mouthing of words at Wonwoo (that he completely misses), and Joshua’s wife darting a glance between himself and Mingyu.

“Is this really necessary?” Wonwoo’s voice is low but it carries. Each word, though he means to not make it so, is clipped and sharp, precise knife points nicking parts of your plush skin. His stormy gaze flickers briefly to Mingyu before fixing on you. It’s easier like this. It feels like he can still reach out and know you’re there. He knows what he might look like – a man without a warrant. And technically, he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have an extravagant excuse as to why he is suddenly intervening except for the fact that he felt jealous.

The only thing that falters his confidence is the way your face almost immediately drops at his words. Instead, your expression is replaced with something he can’t quite place – surprise, deliberate coldness, and maybe something sharper. Slowly, you rise, your silk gown flowing down your form. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look tonight – how the sage green suits you exceedingly well, how the pearl-drop earrings blend in perfectly with your braided hair tonight – but he notices the necklace that sits in between your collarbones – it’s small, but it’s there. The necklace with the crafted jade and pearl flowers. The one you had periodically gone back to at the Night Market. The one he had, after not-so-deliberate thought, gone up and bought before the end of the night and slipped under your door along with a single tulip.

“I am confused as to why any of this is your concern,” you say evenly, voice quiet but steady.

Those words threaten to crack Wonwoo’s composure. He can feel his jaw tighten because he doesn’t know why it is his concern. “This-” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He tries his best to swallow down the tightness of his throat. “This act, this pretense with him-”

Your laugh cuts him off. It’s nothing like the one you give Mingyu. It’s sharper, more combined with a set of unshed tears. Wonwoo wants to punch himself. “Pretense?” You whisper, voice cutting through his words like they were made of the thinest grass. It is sharper than the cold air outside, more biting with unsaid disbelief. Your eyes narrow and he can so clearly see the anger simmering inside of them that it takes him off-guard. You take a step closer. His breath catches.

“You are no one who should be talking about pretense, your grace,” you hiss. And Wonwoo tries desperately to keep his tormented eyes to rest on your eyes, but they flicker hesitantly to your lips, down to your necklace, and then back up to your eyes. “Is this-” you gesture vaguely to the entire group, “part of your duty too? Are you afraid of someone snatching up your convenient little wife before you can call it official?” Your voice slowly rises in pitch the more Wonwoo’s eyes wander. And he swears, it’s not on purpose, but he can’t bear to look at your glassy, tear-covered orbs because he knows then that he will break. He’ll break and bring you into a hug and start murmuring apologies for everything he’s ever done.

“What is your-” you stop yourself and he knows immediately that you’ve seen his eyes flicker to your lips. You scoff. It’s loud, haunting, taunting. “Fucking look at me,” you snap, hands balling into small fists by your side. Wonwoo looks up into your eyes and it feels like a part of his heart shatters at the sight of your faint dark circles and redness of your eyes. “Your grace, I’ve said this once and I’ll say it only one more time,” you whisper, stepping just one more half-step closer to him. He can feel your dress flutter against his skin and your expensive Capital perfumery perfume waft towards him. “If duty is all you care about,” you choke out, and he can see the way your bottom lip trembles as you continue, “get the fuck out of my life.”

The words hit him squarely in his chest. He can feel his constructed walls tremble under the weight and restrained emotion of your words.

He swallows down his own set of tears. It’s infuriating, really, having the one person you care about the most strike you down before you can even say anything. It’s frustrating when even he can’t decide to let you be or if he needs you – needs you the breathe, to sleep, to help the blood flow in his veins.

Around you, the ballroom almost holds its breath. Of course, the dancers still twirled, the string ensemble still played on, but in the one meter radius of you, every table feels frozen, watching a scene unfold that no one dares to interrupt.

“You still think you’re part of my-” Wonwoo starts, but the way you stare at him almost chokes him out of the rest of his words. He couldn’t even argue against the truth of what you said. On the probability that you had figured out the flowers and necklace were from him, it would have only worked against him in ways he had not properly thought out or even intended. He wishes he could just scream out the words.

You take a shaky breath, expression almost forcefully hardening as you lift your chin. “Don’t question me, your grace, when you’ve made it crystal clear that your reputation and your title mean more to you than anything else.” He can hear the wavering undulations of your voice, but your resolve, whether forced or not, held firm. It held the entirety of your sentences together. “So yes. I’m going to keep up with whatever it is you think is pretense and you…” you trail off as your eyes rake up and down his body, finally landing on the crest of his duchy by his shoulder. You scoff, “should stick to what you think is best for your Archduchy.”

Wonwoo feels almost wronged at your words. Is that really what you see him as? Did you really only see him as someone who would do something if it meant for a greater reward for his duchy? His heart thuds in his chest, except this time, it’s in dread. The sting of your words root him in place and the crowd blurs into a scene of motion and moving colors.

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, but you hear him.

Your hand flies to finger at your necklace, smoothening over the jade pieces. You look down. “A mistake on my part,” you whisper, voice shaking now. Your finger suddenly undo the clasp at the back and the necklace falls into your palm. The jade flowers sit there, like a dejected piece of artwork. Without any more words, you drop the necklace into his palm. The stones feel much heavier than when he bought them – as if they had absorbed some of the weight of your words. He looks up at you – mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. He can’t even believe it. This feels as if you were finally ending everything. Because you knew the flowers, the jade, were from him.

“Wait-” he hurries, fingers clenching over the jade. But before he can say anything else, you turn around and Mingyu stands. Wonwoo can only watch as you turn away from him, back straight and head held high, as you walk towards Mingyu, who rests a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Perhaps, Archduke,” Mingyu says softly, though Wonwoo can hear – loud and clear – the unmistakable warning, “it would be best to just let her be.”

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides. He has to be trembling from the pure forceful restraint he held all night now fraying exponentially at the edges. His gaze lingers on Mingyu’s hand, on the easy familiarity between you and him, on the jealousy that gnaws at his insides.

Wonwoo can’t bear to speak. The faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, almost like a cruel reminder of your presence even as you move further away from him. The orchestra swells with the tsunami of his emotion. The triumphant notes almost feel like mockery to the hollowness of his chest. The ballroom returns back to life but Wonwoo can’t seem to remove himself from his position, until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung. “Wonwoo, come on. You’re making a scene,” Soonyoung whispers, pulling his arm.

Wonwoo stumbles after Soonyoung, feet not leading him in any way. He wants to scoff – to go back up to his room and cry. He had told himself that he could handle this – seeing you, being near you without tapping into any of the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress. But now, at your words, faced with the stunning reality of the depth of your scar, the realistic distance, of you being able to continue life without him, a tsunami of loss threatens to drown him. Because he can’t. He can’t live without you. Because he had underestimated, severely, the pain of it.

And for the first time, being pulled out of the ballroom by Soonyoung, he wonders if he has lost you for good. If he has no chance anymore of pulling you close to him and kissing you under the starlight again. If he has no chance anymore of you returning his deep-rooted affections.

y/n

It was kind of sad to see the royal gardens cloaked under both night and the snow. Your hands brush against the winter rose bushes as you walk along the path to the atrium, outfitted with a dying fire in a hearth and hot tea that steams under the wintry temperature. You smile softly at the memories flooding your mind of running through these very gardens when you were younger, laughing and tumbling with all your friends. Smiling during a time that seemed so carefree.

You wish you could go back. You wish you could go back and experience the carefree again. You miss it. You miss being able to fall asleep at night without trouble, being able to wake up in the morning without cold sweat in a nightmare, being able to go about your day without the constant plaguing thought of him wandering the confines of your mind.

A soft crunch of a branch startles you. You turn.

The sight in front of you makes you stumble back in surprise.

Wonwoo steps up to you hesitantly. It’s more so the expression – the emotions – clouded with something so raw it seems almost not humane in his eyes that stutter your breath in your lungs. Under the moonlight, way past the time both of you should be outside, he looks vulnerable. Much more vulnerable since the last time you saw him at that stupid charity ball two nights ago.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It’s quiet but it rings through the empty garden. You want to laugh at how much your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. You fidget with your fingers as Wonwoo stares at you with an unfamiliar intensity. The rosiness of his cheeks make you wonder if he’s slightly tipsy.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he rasps, voice a low murmur that carries to your ears, stabbing a long knife in your lung.

You want to scoff but the deep tenor of his voice stops you from actually doing so. Your arms instead cross over your chest. “Why?”

You’re not quite sure if you want to hear the reason, lest all of your walls come crumbling down, but you ask anyway.

Wonwoo steps closer, movements slow as if to not spook you. “Because there are things I need to say – things I should have said years ago.”

You swallow, head tilted up to look into his eyes. Behind his glasses, tears swim unidentified in his eyes. Rather late of you, you want to say. Instead, you opt on “Say them,” you whisper. “What is it?”

His jaw tightens. You want to reach up and kiss his worries away. You do, really. For a second, it seems as though he is regretting ever bumping into you, but then he speaks, voice trembling with the weight of all of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, hands reaching for yours. You give them up without hesitation – as if your body was acting on its own habitual wants. “I made a mistake. I left because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I thought I could protect you by staying away – by returning to you with some sort of success.” He falters. “But I was wrong, y/n. I’ve been wrong about so many things.”

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking.

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n.

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. But you don’t pull your hands out of his caress. “You’ve said enough. I want to be with someone who doesn’t disappear the moment duty calls.”

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath. You can almost feel the unspoken accusations swirl between you.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Wonwoo's words sound almost bitter. “That I left without caring? That I would risk everything just to avoid you for the time being?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Wonwoo?” You snap back, your voice rising. You wish desperately for him to leave. If you talk about this any longer, you were going to break. “You left without a word, without confidence in me, and then waltzed back into my life expecting everything to be as it was! But people don’t just fucking stand around waiting-”

“-You have no idea what you’re saying, y/n.” Wonwoo’s voice is dangerously low now. He steps even closer and you finally register something in his hand. “Do you think I do all of this because it’s convenient? Because it’s an obligation?” he asks. It hurts to hear your words used against you. It hurts even more to hear the pure anger in his voice.

“Isn’t it, though?” you whisper, stepping back defensively, hands slipping out of his hold. “Wonwoo,” you murmur looking down at your feet briefly, “ the only reason we’re even speaking is because of a scandal. We are simply solutions to each other’s inconvenient situations! What part of that do you not get?” You slam a hand on your own chest. Your breaths come out as puffs of white in the air. You can feel your tears welling up in your eyes.

Wonwoo stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe he’s hearing you right. His hands curl into fists.

The next words he utters are low and full of just pure fury (at you or himself, you’re not too sure). His next words almost punch all the breath out of you.

“If you think I’d waste my fucking time, my life, on anyone I didn’t want – on anyone who didn’t mean everything to me – then you never even knew me at all.”

His words hit you square in the face. It’s so vulnerable, the most emotional you’ve seen him, that it incites another spark in your chest. “But you’ve never been here, Wonwoo. You always leave! You’ve left once and you’ll keep on leaving.” Your own words are a desperate attempt to keep your walls up. You can feel your tears poke and prod and threaten to fall. You can hear your voice shake and your bottom lip tremble at your words. Actually, more of his words. You want to keep arguing. You want him to leave – leave you, leave the Capital, leave your life, but you desperately need him to stay – stay with you, stay in the Capital, stay in your life until you die.

Wonwoo shakes his head as if he doesn’t agree with you. “You can call it duty all you want, y/n. But it doesn’t change my heart. It doesn't change what I feel towards you. You think I really wouldn’t have stayed if I could help it? You think I’d willingly let someone else have what I’ve always needed more than my next breath?” Wonwoo’s hand comes up to caress your cold cheek, thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“Don’t say that shit to me,” you whisper, glassy eyes gazing up at his. You can see the tears that are welling up near the corners of his eyes and if you didn’t have the last remaining thread of resolve left in you, you wouldn’t have kissed his tears away.

Your shattered heart jackhammers in your chest as Wonwoo stares into what feels like your soul. It makes you feel bare – naked, almost. “Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I came back for you.”

You don’t make a move to leave his warmth, but you look up at him with your own air of defiance. There’s a confusing sort of wreath of emotions that circle your bruised heart, and the words escape you before you can stop them. “You’ve left before. And I would be a fool to not believe you’ll leave again.”

Wonwoo’s hand stills on your face and he looks so pained for a moment that you wonder if continuing your facade is really a good idea. If it’s better to just give in. “I left to protect what matters, y/n, you have to understand,” he almost begs, desperate for you to just know, “To protect you.”

You bite your cheek, a single tear falling from your eyes. It’s immediately rubbed away by Wonwoo’s thumb. “And what do you want me to do, Wonwoo?” you whisper, voice bordering on hysterics. “Wait around until you leave me? Again? Do you know the pain of your heart shattering when someone like that just up and leaves?”

A few more tears fall from your eyes. You can’t even help it anymore. You feel the tightness of your lungs come back again. You can feel yourself start to choke up on your own tears. You can feel yourself start to break down – unwind completely under the softly falling snow.

“No, no, no,” Wonwoo murmurs, cupping your face, brushing away all your tears. “Y/n please, I left because I had to. But now I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t leave,” he whispers, breath fanning over your lips.

“I’m convenient, Wonwoo,” you suddenly cry, tears streaming down your face. “You need a partner, not me!” You want to look away, run away, but Wonwoo’s caress on your jaw holds you still.

Wonwoo’s face contorts painfully with hurt. And you wonder if you have finally pushed him out. But then his jaw sets, like every time he is ready to argue in the royal court. Like every time he is ready to prove his point. “If I had wanted convenience, I’d have chosen anyone but you. This,” he gestured between you two, “is the furtherest thing from fucking easy.”

You open your mouth, but you can’t find the words to express anything you’re feeling. The pain, the hurt, the resolve you are trying desperately to keep up. Wonwoo watches you with such sharp eyes it sends you into another spiral of being flustered.

“I’m giving you my heart, y/n,” he murmurs. One look into his eyes tells you everything you need to know. “It’s terrifying – more than any battlefield I’ve seen,” he admits, “but for you? For you, I’d face any danger, any fear over and over again, even if it means standing in front of the love of my life, knowing you don’t believe me. Even if it means standing in front of the one person I would give up my life for, knowing she doesn’t want me like I want her.”

Your eyes blow wide and a stuttered gasp of a breath feels punched out of your stomach. For a moment, it seems deathly quiet – even the winds seem to soften around you two. And then memories of the nights of your sobs, of your broken heart, scattered into the smallest of shards on the floor, taunt you like a haunted nightmare, circling over and over again.

“Maybe you should have given it to someone who wouldn’t have questioned it,” you whisper, placing a hand over his. “Do you think your proclaimed love is enough, Wonwoo, to erase my pain? My memories? That you can come here and confess and it’ll fix just about everything?”

You know. You’re being overly critical. You’re being annoying, you’re being frustrating. You know he means every word he utters because he’s Jeon Wonwoo. If he didn’t mean it, he would have not even said it. But even you can’t help the words that flow out of you, fueled with bitterness and pettiness.

“No,” he says softly, interlocking your hands together. You almost pull away. “I don’t even expect forgiveness, Y/n. Hell, I don’t even deserve it. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t fucking love you. Like I don’t want you by my side for every passing hour. That I don’t want-” his voice breaks and you flinch in surprise when a single tear rolls down his cheek. “That I don’t love you ‘till my last breath.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

You shake your head, pulling away from his reach, frantically brushing through your hair. “This is unfair, Wonwoo. You can’t just- just come back and say that you love me.” You sound desperate even to your own ears. You will for Wonwoo to stop there. Please.

“It’s all I have, y/n,” he admits, voice cracking at your name. The way he utters your name, it carries such unrestrained emotion that it makes you shudder. “It’s all I’ve ever had.”

Your knees give out, and you sink into your skirts, arms caging your body close to your legs. You rock yourself back and forth gently, eyes trained on the white snow beneath your feet. “What am I supposed to do with that?” You whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it catches Wonwoo’s ears.

He kneels in the cold snow, brushing hair out of your face. “I’m willing to wait, y/n, you have to know. There is no one else. There never was and there never will be. And when you are ready to believe that – believe me – I’ll be here. Always. I’ll wait. Even if it takes fifty years. I’ll wait.” He tucks the strands of curled hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your temple. Another hand rubs your shoulder. “And I’m sorry, y/n,” he continues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself for all those years. I really am.”

You can’t bear to look up because you can already feel two warm teardrops on the back of your hand that Wonwoo holds close to his face. Because you know that if you look up and see his desperate, dejected eyes, it’ll haunt you forever. Because if you look up and then match his expression to his vulnerable words, laced with such truth, you’ll break.

“I don’t know if I can, Wonwoo,” you finally murmur.

“That’s okay. I’ll wait,” he responds. His words are full of such conviction they almost reassure you.

“Don’t say that.”

“Y/n,” he laughs, tears falling down his face. “I’m not giving up on us.”

“You should!” you sob, burying your face into your palms. “Wonwoo, just give up on us! Please!” You don’t mean it. Not even one bit. But you say it because you can’t live through him leaving again. Because if, in the chance that he does, leave again, you don’t think you can bear it. You know your heart won’t be able to bear the brunt force of it.

Wonwoo shakes his head. You know he knows. Or at least can tell. “I can’t, y/n. Not when you mean so much to me. Not when it doesn’t feel like living when you’re not close to me – when you’re not next to me,” he replies. His voice is much calmer than yours and holds to it a sense of firmness in his decision, like nothing could convince him out of it. He pulls you up by your arms, holding you at arms-length, almost inspecting your face for something. Some emotion he may be losing in the heat of everything.

“Wonwoo, please. Let me just forget,” you murmur, nails biting into your palms.

Wonwoo shakes his head again, tilting your face up. He swallows. Your red eyes, swollen from tears, close briefly at his warm hand. “You know I can’t, y/n. You mean everything to me.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Maybe. But you should be too.”

“Wonwoo…”

“Y/n, I’m not demanding an answer right now. I know the pain I’ve caused you. I know the-” Wonwoo stops suddenly when he sees you biting your lips, teeth clenching down hard on the flesh until you can feel a thin sheen of iron against your tongue. His brows furrow and his thumb gently pries your lip from your teeth, letting out a small sigh. “You don’t ever have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I need you to know how much I love you.”

Wonwoo ends with a certain sort of flourish you remember from when he would conclude a debate in the National Academy, or when he would argue with his father. It was with a conviction that he knew the other person could not argue against. And you couldn’t.

“Don’t do this to me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. Your heart clenched and you could feel the cold start to seep in.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened at your tears. You stare down at your feet as his hands work to unbuckle the fur cloak from his shoulders. In the next second, your body is engulfed in a familiar sort of warmth and the scent of a more familiar cologne. He adjusts the cloak around your shivering frame. Warm fingers brush your tears off your skin and your hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.”

Your breath hitches at the nickname. The nickname that took you three years to get over – to forget and partially forgive. The nickname that felt so wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth. You look up, warm tears pooling in your eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” you whisper and you know he can hear the pure pain in your voice. “Don’t-” you hit his chest with your fist, though lightly, “fucking call me that,” you choke out. Your forehead rests on his chest, tears falling freely down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. You can feel the gentle pressure of Wonwoo’s chin on your head and the way his hesitant arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his embrace – pulling you closer to his comforting warmth.

Wonwoo presses his lips together, inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am. You don’t have to answer,” he confesses, more desperate this time. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait and wait until you’re ready for me, whenever that is. And if you accept only for one day, that’s okay too.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fix the cloak around your shoulders and they falter when they brush gently against your empty neck. There is a pang of guilt when you realize it’s because of how you shove the necklace he had gifted you back into his hands on that night. But he doesn’t linger, opting to pull away.

“It’s all okay, y/n. It’s okay. And I’m sorry,” Wonwoo murmured one last time, before he pressed a fleeting kiss – gentle, warm, so him – against your forehead. Before he turns away and steps through the snow-covered walkway, back towards the warmth of the palace, leaving you with your own bubbling thoughts.

There is a tightening sensation in your heart that travels along the arteries and veins and seeps into your lungs, then the rest of your chest, until you find yourself slumped on a bench, tears soaking your handkerchief and sobs echoing through the otherwise quiet garden.

Approximately two days later, Joshua comes to visit you in your Capital estate, hands laden with gifts sent up from his wife who had gone down early to their country duchy.

Your parlor is warm, lit by the steady glow and crackle of the fire that dances within the ornate hearth. Darkened drapes are tied back, letting the minimal winter sun seep into the room. A soft atmosphere of silence wraps itself around the room, broken only by the soft clinks of your cups as you and Joshua both sip on the tea laid out in the tea table in front of you.

Joshua sits opposite you in a high-backed chair. His usual easy demeanor around you belies the sharpness of his attention. You can see it just from how his brows scrunch and his eyes dart from your face to your wringing hands in your lap. His coat is draped over the arm of his chair, leaving him only in a simple waistcoat. He cradles his own teacup with the same kind of quiet thoughtfulness that seems to define his entire being in times like this.

The tension only grows as you slowly get more anxious at your senior’s silence and Joshua grows more wary of your wandering eyes – how your gaze flickers to the flames and then to the ceiling and then back to your hands, never truly focusing on anything.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Joshua asks, voice gentle but firm, how it’s always been with you. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually saw himself as more of your father than your older brother.

You hesitate to respond. Should you tell him? No, you want to argue. But technically, if Joshua was already asking you if you had anything to tell him, that meant that he already knew something happened, or he already knew what happened and wanted to hear it from you. Either way, it leaves you with no choice but to answer him.

“Why?” you choose to respond, setting your teacup down.

Joshua shrugs, stirring his tea. “Just a hunch,” he hums.

You’re quiet. And Joshua indulges in your voluntary silence. But only for a minute, as it has always been. Joshua Hong is only patient when he wants to be.

“Y/n, what happened between you and Wonwoo?” he finally asks, ripping the coarsely-placed bandage off of your wound. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

You sigh, slumping down in your chair. Your hand pulls at your hair. “What didn’t happen,” you mutter.

Joshua sighs, tapping your foot. “Not an answer. Come on, y/n. I need you to tell me so that I can help you or something.”

You falter at his words. It was curious, really, how Joshua knew exactly the perfect time to come and visit you. How he knew exactly when you needed help.

You finally give in.

“He said he loves me,” you whisper. You cringe at your own words. They feel foreign leaving your own mouth, and maybe it’s because you haven’t even given yourself the time to wrap your own head around it. But in any sense, you say it.

“So he finally confessed,” Joshua muses, as if he already knew your little tidbit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, really. He had a knack of finding things out before you could properly process what was happening. But it does annoy you, just a little bit. It’s the same thing, you guess, as Seungcheol asking you to weekly afternoon teas to see if everything in your life is okay.

“If you put it that way,” you mutter, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering over to the window.

There is a thick sheet of silence that lands heavy between you two as Joshua chooses not to respond. Instead, he sets his cup down on the small table between you with deliberate care. He studies you for a long moment and for a second, you think you have biscuit crumbs on your chin or something.

“I feel like I can guess what you said to him,” Joshua finally says, leaning back on his chair.

You nod hesitantly. “I just-” you sigh, sinking further into the chair, “-I don’t want to be the convenient choice so that he can fulfil his obligations. What if he doesn’t choose me if he had the option?” you ask quietly. An edge of bitterness and underlying hurt seeps into your tone even though you try to mask it. And you know Joshua picks up on it too.

“If that’s what you believe,” Joshua says, voice low and deliberate it almost scares you, “then you don’t know him as well as you think.”

You blink at his words. The certainty in his words – almost like he knows because he’s talked it over with the person in question – throws you off. It’s rather unlike Joshua to frequently give relationship or love advice, seeing as how his own marriage came to fruition.

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues.

“Wonwoo’s never taken the easy path,” he says, “Not once. Not in the National Academy, not in society, not in the knight corps, and definitely not when it comes to you. Actually, the man probably takes the hardest route whenever it comes to you.” His words hang in the air, laden with something akin to a heavy truth that makes your chest tighten. No tears though, which is good, considering the considerable amount of tears you’ve accumulated over the past couple of days.

The glow of the firelight lends a warmth to Joshua’s face that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze. You want to desperately argue, to push back against the certainty of his words, but the sheer conviction in them, as well as Joshua’s rare sure relationship advice, has you basically grasping for words.

“He’s struggling too, Y/n.” His words are quiet but firm enough to pierce the silence.

You laugh, tears stuck in your throat. “Oh, I bet,” you mumble.

“The weight of duty, of everything, it’s heavier on him that anyone else realizes,” Joshua hums, pausing for a bit when he sees your frown, “But you can-”

Suddenly, the doors to your parlor swung open, followed by hurried half-yells of your estate staff asking the prince to “Please wait outside, your highness!”

Both your and Joshua’s heads whip towards the sound, the tense atmosphere now conveniently broken. When you turn towards the oak doors of your parlor, Mingyu stands in the doorway, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. He looks rushed, almost distressed – hair sticking out of his fur hat, cloak lopsided on his shoulders.

Joshua opens his mouth to speak but Mingyu beats him to it.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he breathes, ripping his hat off of his head as he bends forward, hands on his knees as he tries to collect himself.

You turn your wide eyes towards Joshua as if he can give you an answer. Joshua only shrugs, confusion marring the space between his eyes.

“Your highness, what is this about?” Joshua asks, standing up as Mingyu makes his way over to the long couch, collapsing on top of it.

Mingyu heaves in another breath. “He left,” he states.

“What?” your voice is sharp with annoyance. Really, the men in this kingdom need to learn how to talk in full sentences. How is anyone supposed to understand who “he” is when the speaker doesn’t clarify it with any proper noun? “Speak properly, Mingyu.”

Mingyu looks up from his position on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. “Wonwoo, Y/n,” he sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch. “He was commissioned to the north. Again. He left at dawn yesterday, apparently.”

Mingyu’s words are like a bath of cold water that is thrown on you. They crash over you like an unwanted gasp of air. It threatens to break you. You can’t breathe and you don’t know why. Your body suddenly feels like it isn’t yours. You feel like your lungs are caving in themselves and you can feel your heart punching at your ribs, threatening to break the bones. You clutch at your chair, gasping in inhales of oxygen like you are a fish out of water. Like you were some sort of broken machine that needed fuel. Like you had just heard a world-ending news.

He was gone.

“Left?” you croak out and a gasp of air follows, which clearly worries both Joshua and Mingyu because both men either stand up or sit up, heads whipping towards your weak voice. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Mingyu’s eyes blow wide and he’s hurrying over, dabbing your tears off with his handkerchief. You want to push him away – let yourself mingle in with another set of tears – but the only thing that you can think is that his cologne is too strong compared to Wonwoo’s. The only thing that you can think of, while your eyes drift towards the open-curtained windows and watch the thick snow fall down from the dark skies, is that Wonwoo left. Again. Wonwoo left you again. And he’ll have to ride through the thick snow of the Capital and then ride again through the thicker snow of the countryside, and then fight in the thickest snow of the north. That he’ll face another battlefield – a battlefield you knew, from Soonyoung’s letters – that he hated with all his being. That he’ll most likely get injured while fighting for the king, for the kingdom, for you, apparently. That he might-

“Oh my god,” you breathe, shooting up and out of your seat with a speed that scares both Mingyu and Joshua, who are staring at you like you’re going through a life-changing crisis. “Oh my god!” you choke out, steadying yourself with your chair. The three words just fall from your lips like a mantra as you pace back and forth through your parlor, pulling at the ends of your hair and biting your lips. And through everything – Mingyu glancing over at Joshua and Joshua trying to get Nai to bring you some chamomile tea – the only thought in your head is the singular worry that gnaws and teeths at your entire soul: what if he dies?

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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bellamioneotp · 6 months ago

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Most Famous Bellamione Fics

This fic list got voted on my poll, so here it is! The fics that the Bellamione nation was built on.

All fics are on Fanfiction.net as it was the OG site for our Bellamione foundations.

Those Gilded Chains we Wear- This fanfic was published around 2012 and basically launched the Bellamione fandom into the stratosphere. The popularity of the ship began to pick up and more long form fics began to be published. It's considered a cornerstone of Bellamione culture and has inspired countless fics no doubt.

Impossible- This fic predates Those Gilded Chains and is very well written as well. It leans a bit more heavily on Hermione and Bellatrix not getting along at the start but still presents growth in their relationship. I feel this fic does not get as much recognition in the community despite it being one of the rare long fics in 2011 for the ship.

The Dark Corners of the Earth and Murder Most Horrid- Both written by the same author, this writer is still present in the Bellamione community today and writing more. The first fic presents eldritch horror in it and the second one is detective story. Both stories are long and include much worldbuilding. They kept the Bellamione community fed for long stretches of time.

Fractures, Fractures The Last Champion, and Turn Time Series,- All written by the same author, the first and second one feature the OG professor Bellatrix and student Hermione relationship that was fully fleshed out. Their back and forth was always a treat a read, as was the competition and the plot around it. The Turn Time series is also a fun read and though it can be confusing at times trying to figure out what is going on with the plot in connection to all three fics, that is part of the appeal.

Our Mercurial Selves- No longer up, RIP.

No Good Deed- No longer up on any site, this story was intense and very well written. There was always a lot of interaction between the characters and the story unfortunately cut off at a really good climax point.

Lotus Flower- A soulmate AU that sadly is not finished. But it had a good amount of tension in it that would made seeing it unfold fun to read.

Metamorphosis- A fic that has similar vibes and shares story beats to Those Gilded Chains in a good way. It is completed. Not as super popular as the other ones but still worth a read because the reveal of Hermione dating Bellatrix is satisfying.

Future Shocks- Very action based and not much Bellamione until the end, but it still packs quite a punch when reading it. A good example of how to write the horrors of war.

Reign Down- I consider this the dark au fic of all dark au fics. The world building is fantastic and reading the story unnerves me which means it's doing a great job with how it's unfolding. It has not been updated in a while but if you're looking for how a dark au should be structured for Bellamione, this is it.

Time Heals All Wounds- This fic utilized Time Travel in a way not seen in Bellamione fics before and popularized time travel fics as a way to help redeem the relationship between the two of them.

#bellamione #harry potter #bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #bellatrix x hermione #helena bonham carter #emma watson

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dollwrites · 2 years ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 — 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ this is a dark fic! smut ( minors dni ), fem!marleyan!reader, noncon ( and eventual dubcon ), virgin!reiner, gagging, size kink, noncon oral sex ( f! ), lots of manhandling, overstimulation ( him ), noncon creampie and dubcon breeding mention, tension between marleyan & eldian obviously, spoilers for late s3 / early s4, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ originally posted on 01.01.2023. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ unholy by hey violet

he was watching you again.

it seemed like he always was. quietly ogling from the corner. you knew, of course, and every now and then, you would cut him a glare that seemed to burn right through him. the furrow in your brows brought forth the memory of a soreness in his jaw, that he discreetly reached up to rub with the back of his hand— the sensation of your fist making direct contact with it wrenched to the forefront of his mind. you’d decked him, hard enough to dislocate it, because you’d woken up to find one hand inching up under your shirt. he hadn’t been able to control the urge to touch you any longer, and although his fingers had not made it far above your belly button, he’d paid for their misdeeds severely: first the punch from you, and then a savage beating dealt from the hands of your peers— Marleyan soldiers.

but maybe he was lucky.

had he been any other Eldian, anyone of lower ranking, he would’ve been beaten to death for touching you. but did that stop him from wanting you so bad it tortured him? did that stop him from thinking about you late at night, from gripping the sheets of his bed so tight in one hand and himself in the other, whispering your name under his breath and trying his best to imagine it was you wrapped around his hard and desperate cock instead of his fist?

not even for a second.

“Going home,” Zeke announced his presence as he approached, the cherry of a cigarette burning and a dull, gray trail of smoke following him, “are you excited?”

“Yeah.” a pathetic excuse for a reply, actually, but Zeke hadn’t seemed to expect any less. he didn’t bother following Reiner’s eyeline, he already knew where it would lead, and that you were on the end of it. Reiner hadn’t even looked away when Zeke approached, so the War Chief was aware he was deep in his hapless abyss of desire for you.

Zeke sucks on the cigarette, and the end singes furious red as he draws in a deep breath and contemplates the silence between them.

but Reiner wasn’t. he was lost in his thoughts of you. the shape of your body, how effortlessly enticing you were just sitting there with your comrades. that damned unreadable expression you always wore— and that fiery hatred in your eyes when he caught them. did you loathe the weight of his gaze so much? did you feel every ounce of lust he poured into it, tracing each curve of your figure, wishing he could kiss every inch of you? you never held his gaze long, just enough to grimace in disapproval, stare down your nose at him.

it should’ve turned him off completely.

it didn’t.

because Reiner was convinced that, if he could just get you alone, if he could just get his hands on you, he could make you like him. he could rip away that hatred, and replace it with affection.

or, maybe it was just wishful thinking, and he didn’t care to talk himself out of the lie he fed himself because his time was running out and he needed to feel you ( even just once ) before he passed his Titan down.

as if fate was winking her eye at him, you said farewell to your peers and got up from your seat, disappearing behind a closed door. it wasn’t to go to the bunker, he knew that. behind that door was a small room where you spent most of your time— a broad desk in the middle of the room and maps spread out. you were in charge of reading them, marking attack points, rendezvous, and escape points.

and, more often than not, you were alone in there.

Reiner’s hands clenched into fists, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

Zeke glanced at him, eyebrow quirked, and murmured, “What if I ordered you against it?” Reiner didn’t have to tell Zeke what he planned to do, it was painfully obvious already.

“I would tell you to have me punished for insubordination after we reach home.” Reiner didn’t mince words or intentions, and pushed himself off the wall. this was, quite possibly, the only opportunity he’d have to catch you alone, as he watched the other Marleyans filtering towards their bunks, leaving your little office completely unguarded.

Zeke pondered his response.

Reiner seemed decided already, and he knew that he couldn’t be swayed. so, the chief sighs. “Then, I’ll order you not to get caught this time.” Zeke said, instead. he knew he shouldn’t allow Reiner out of his sight, and especially not to disappear behind that door, but Reiner also wasn’t a child anymore. he wasn’t so easy to control. “I need my Vice Chief alive.”

Reiner blinked, expecting more resistance, but when it wasn’t pressed, he didn’t look at Zeke. he nodded, and crept off, slinking through the shadowy corners until he reached the door.

Reiner slipped inside, but made no real efforts to hide his arrival, staring at your back. you were standing at the desk, both hands on the maps, and you don’t say anything to the intruder. his eyes don’t leave you, hand drifting to the push the lock on the door into place.

“The war’s over.” he mutters, and he watches your shoulders stiffen. you hadn’t expected it to be him, it seems. “You can stop staring at those maps.”

you don’t look back at him, and he uses the opportunity of stealth to reach up and grasp his armband, his marker as an Eldian, and snatch it from his bicep as he approached.

“As long as Eldians exist, there will be other wars.” you spit in return, but your eyes widen only slightly when you hear how close his footsteps have gotten. your heart skips a beat, and you stare at your own fist on the table. “Get out of here.”

“No.”

a lump forms in your throat— he was right behind you. when he whispered it, his breath shifted the hair that rested against your ear, and the heat from his breath sent a shiver up your spine. did he… did he say ‘no’? to a direct order from a Marleyan?

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” he added, and you felt the sturdiness of his body against your back; his head dips low, so he can breathe your scent in deep.

your fist flew back towards him as you started to turn to face off with him, but he must’ve been ready for it, because he caught your arm at the wrist and bent it up behind your back until you cry out, “Son of a —!”

your expletive is muffled, and you gag on the taste of cotton. for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s shoved in your mouth, until he cinches it in a tight knot behind your head, pressing his weight on you, and you realize it’s his armband. rage fills your stifled obscenities as you writhe, desperate to get free, and stomp your feet, hoping to catch his toes under your boots. “I didn’t want to do it like this,” he growled in your ear, bringing his knees up into the back of yours, bending you over the tabletop with a rough shove. one, massive fist secures both of your wrists together at the small of your back, “but, I’m almost outta time. And I can’t wait on you to come around, anymore.” the more you wiggle, the harder he squeezes your arms, and you bite down hard on the gag. you were no match for his strength, and you knew that, but your pride wouldn’t be easily broken.

you kicked and flailed as wildly as you could, blindly, screaming slurred and incoherent about all the gruesome, bloody ways you would make him pay for this if he didn’t get off of you, but even that didn’t stop him.

his free hand grasped your belt and the hem of your trousers at once, jerking them down your thighs. leather screamed until it pools with your pants at your ankles, restricting them, and Reiner sucks in a breath behind you. “I really wanted to take my time with you,” he husks, placing his powerful palm on your ass and digging his fingers in, groping rough handfuls. you bite down to push a moan back into your throat, brows furrowed. both of your fists uncurl, and you hook your digits into the waistband of your panties, instead, in a vain attempt to keep him from tearing them off of you. it doesn’t matter; Reiner’s calloused fingers seemed to rip right through the cotton and shred them until they sagged in threads against your thighs. and then, he lets out a low, awed moan, squatting down to stare at your core, inches from it.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this? Imagined how sweet your pussy must taste?” you shook your head, gurgling in defiance— demanding he not even dare, but it was too late. your fingers push at his forehead, hoping to pry him away, but his mouth was already sealing against your netherlips, suckling on them. you pushed your tongue against the gag to keep yourself from moaning; you couldn’t admit to him how good it felt, especially when his tongue slipped between his lips and flicked your clit to life. the throbbing nerve swells against his tastebuds and he snorts like a beast in rut, lapping at you. his mouth then travels over one ass cheek, sinking his teeth in deep, sucking on the skin to leave his signature on you. you squeak, clenching your legs together, but it hid nothing from his devious mouth. “I’ve never felt a cunt tremble in my mouth before, soak my tongue…” he admitted, panting already as he gets to his feet, “how does it feel having the first and last pussy I’ll ever kiss?” and, then you felt the firmness of a solid cock through the trousers he was working down against your thighs, his mouth finding the back of your neck. “The first and last pussy I’ll ever fuck?”

you squirm underneath his weight, muffled screams of protest hoping to reach outside the door dying in the room you’re trapped in, and before long he grabs hold of the base of his massive cock at its thick base, worming it between your folds until they stretch and slot around the swollen head. you could tell his hands were shaking, his breath ragged and excited against your neck. “You’re wet,” he breathes in awe, and you shake your head, crying out the word ‘no!’ as loud as you could, but it was ultimately a lie. you were dripping, coating the tip of his cock as he rubbed it back and forth against your sex. “Wet enough to take me right now.” the way he said it, with his voice uneven, you knew it wouldn’t matter if you hadn’t been.

he wasn’t giving you a choice, and any preparation was better than none at all.

your palms press flat against his clothed abdomen and you squeal in fervent protest when he jabs his way inside of you— it’s none too gentle and his size is enough to have you coming out of your skin. your walls flutter and scramble to stretch wide enough to allow for the intruder’s rough entry.

it isn’t long before Reiner, grunting and groaning, has fallen into a brutal, greedy rhythm.

crying out, drool soaking the armband digging into the corners of your mouth, you push with your hands, blindly, as hard as you can, to try and push him out, and you squirm atop the table, hoping to wriggle free, but once he’s fully nestled inside, Reiner takes your wrists in each hand. your hands ball into fists again as he uses your arms like levers, pulling your body back to meet the mighty snapping of his hips. each thrust fills you entirely, hard and fast. he’s not saving any energy, or trying to make the sensation last— deprivation has clearly sank into him, and he couldn’t control himself.

“So— so tight,” he moans, nuzzling into your neck, “so warm.. so… fucking… good!” your vice tightens around him when he hits your limit, and his hips stutter; Reiner elicits a broken, gurgling moan that churns your stomach, “Oh, fuck, right there? That’s— that’s what I want— tighten up—!“ shifting with all of his weight bearing down on you, his palms pin your arms to the table, and he pounds that same, sensitive spot relentlessly. his brutality encourages your body to clamp down harder around him, shudder and spasm. you scream and beg him to slow down, but your resolve is weakening, and the screaming is starting to shift into moaning.

no, you didn’t want this.

you didn’t like it.

was he simply breaking your body into submission, and in turn, your mind?

“Close,” he stammered through grinding teeth, “so fucking close.”

for a moment, you mewled; the prominent vein massaging a delicate knot of nerves inside you as he plows against your hips. your eyelids fluttered, and you didn’t hear his warning. his rhythm didn’t change; it remained as cruel as one could be, battering your insides, but that nerve bundle was screaming each time he rammed it. your toes curled in your boots, and you moaned out loud.

and that was when Reiner lost it.

you hadn’t had time to react before he buried himself as deep as he could go, pumping you full of warmth, and you snap out of the pleasure trance too late to utter a disdainful but weak, “Shtp…“ amongst his huffing and puffing. your feet stomp against the floor, but sluggish.

your thighs quaked. your head was spinning. your stomach was tied up in knots. and your walls were trembling and sore from being stretched and abused. but Reiner was still rock hard inside of you. he’d cum, but he was still solid and bulging his shape against your belly.

“I need more.” Reiner grunted, and before you knew it, you were being flipped over. he did it with so much ease that you must’ve weighed nothing at all to the brute, and somehow managed to keep his cock deep inside of you. the breath is knocked from your lungs when your back makes contact with the desk, and your head rolls to one side, as if admitting your defeat. you didn’t want to look at him— you knew if you took one look at his red cheeks, or saw the sparkling sweat against his temple, or even caught a glimpse at his eyes, pupils blown out until they’re all black, you would want him. “Fucking you once was never going to be enough.” his hips were already rocking again, finding a deep, hard rhythm, and his own release frosts his length and dribbles out from your core when he retracts, then squelches when he drills his way back inside. both of his hands flee to his own body first, making short work of the buttons on his shirt before he peels it off of himself, and it flutters to puddle at his feet.

when his hands found you again, he started by pushing your legs open and down against the table, but when he saw that you weren’t going to fight him, he released them, and you kept them spread for him to violate you however he wanted. “Good… Good girl…” he panted, one hand reaching up to grab your face and turn it back to him. this time, you did make eye contact, and you moaned through the gag when you saw the pleasure you were giving him on his face, “Take it, just take it for me.” his fist wraps around the armband and he yanks it down, leaving you sputtering and puffing. “You want it, now, don’t you?”

for a moment, you just glare at him, or try to, but your eyes are becoming harder and harder to keep open. Reiner caresses your cheek, possibly tracing the irritation caused by how tight he’d tied the gag, but the gentleness of his touch was a startling juxtaposition to just how fervently he fucked into you. he was staring into your eyes, too, combatting the ferocity you tried to pour with pure adoration, the kind that must’ve even diluted his mind.

you didn’t answer, and he didn’t seem to care either way, because his hand travels south over your heaving breasts and down to your cunt, strumming experimentally. you pant, your eyes averting from his when he finds your engorged clit and presses the rough pad of his thumb on it to rub it hard. you couldn’t stifle your moans anymore, no matter how hard you tried, and let them punctuate each, maddening slam of his body into yours. your eyes trained on the muscles in his arms, veins bulging, everything pulled taut like a rubber band ready to snap. you wanted to reach down and push his hand away from your bud, the sensations overwhelming you, but decided against it. he’d overpowered you in every aspect of the word so far, you might as well take the role of the weaker, helpless one. your hands lay up near your head, backs of them resting against the table, and your legs were splayed wide, cramping from the position, and you whimpered. your back arched when his thumb pushed in just the right way, and you knew he’d rip an orgasm out of you if he didn’t ease up.

and he didn’t.

when he felt you pulse, when he saw your back arch, he rubbed more furiously in the same spot, and pistoned his powerful hips until you were babbling and squirming and coming undone on his cock, and he was panting and gripping your hip with his free hand, murmuring about how beautiful you were and how much he’s always wanted this.

his second climax wasn’t far behind yours, and he traded his fingers pinching your clit for both hands gripping your hips and pulling them to meet his reckless fucking. “I love you,” he panted when he was right on the cusp. “I love you so fucking much.” and somehow, even though lust might’ve been puppeteering him, you believed it. Reiner was obsessed with you, infatuated, since before he left for Paradis Island, and now he was finally getting to force that obsession on to you. with no more resistance. no one there to stop him or beat him for laying his hands on you.

it was only after he’d pinned you to the table with his whole weight that he whispered in your ear, “I want to give you babies.” your eyes widened at that, “I want to see your belly swell, and I want to know that you’ll bear my children, it’ll make giving over my Titan easier…” a couple of deep, slow pumps and he’s filled you once more, this time the excess spurts out around his base and dribbles down his thighs, too, as he moans and pulls back, to smother your mouth in a sloppy, needy kiss.

you should’ve turned your head, pushed him off and told him that you would rather die than birth and Eldian bastard, but you didn’t do any of those things. because you weren’t entirely sure if that was true anymore.

#reiner braun #reiner #reiner x reader #reader x you #reiner smut #reiner braun x you #Reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut #attack on titan x female reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #attack on titan imagine

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erebusbabylon · 2 months ago

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My Heart (RoP Celebrimbor x F! Reader)

As promised I am posting my Ao3 fics to Tumblr! This is the first one!

Summary: Some douchey elf named Thuriéal drunkenly hits on you. Celebrimbor gets angry and protective. Angsty fluffy comfort one shot.

Notes: No warnings. I proofread but I am only human (derogatory) so I probably missed something! Also, coming up with a male elf name was difficult for me. I settled on Thuriéal but its low key goofy. Forgive me.

My Heart

“What has happened?!” Celebrimbor asked with a twinge of fear in his voice.

You burst into the forge, tears glistening in your eyes, struggling to keep your composure in front of the other smiths.

“Oh, my love.�� You whispered, reaching out to him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his embrace firm and reassuring. You sniffled against his chest, the warmth of his presence providing a momentary comfort.

“It’s Thuriéal… he’s… he’s…” you stammered, glancing around as if the walls themselves might overhear. “Actually, let’s not speak here.” Celebrimbor nodded, concern etched on his features as he led you into a small storage area at the back of the forge.

The moment the large wooden doors of the storage room closed, tears rushed forth from your eyes and you began to sob.

“What in Aulë’s name happened? You’re scaring me, beloved.” He said embracing you to his chest.

“I was in the great hall with Thuriéal. We were discussing some of the translation works I’d recently done for the High King. He was praising me for how quickly I managed to complete the translations, and how he was impressed with my knowledge. He had been drinking… a lot of wine.” You emphasized the last words, your voice trembling. "He began rambling about how I was not appreciated in Eregion, and that perhaps my knowledge would be better used and appreciated in Lindon. I tried to brush him off and end the conversation. I told him I had a meeting I needed to attend soon. As I turned to leave he grabbed my arm and pulled me into him.” Your voice broke and you put your hand over your mouth almost as if you were trying to stifle vomit.

After a moment you composed yourself and spoke again “He tried to kiss me but I pushed him off me before his lips could meet mine. I asked him what he was thinking and he began professing feelings for me. I told him to stop talking but he kept grabbing at me as he spoke. I was terrified.”

You stretched your arm out and showed Celebrimbor a scratch that went down the length of your forearm. He scratched me as I struggled from his grip.” you whimpered.

Celebrimbor's finger delicately trailed over the scratch on your arm. His expression shifted from concern to a simmering anger. “Where is he? Tell me!” He demanded, eyes blazing with the infamous Fëanorian fury his kin was known for. “Is he still in the great hall?”

As Celebrimbor’s fury simmered, he took a deep breath to steady himself, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect you. “Stay here.” He instructed, his voice low but firm.

He turned on his heel and pushed through the storage room door, striding purposefully back into the forge. He walked across the floor of the forge trying to keep a calm face so that the other smiths did not sense an issue. He left out the front doors and walked across the courtyard. His pace quickened with each step he took. When he reached the great hall he entered to the sound of laughter and music. He spotted Thuriéal across the room, laughing heartily with a group of elves, oblivious to the turmoil he had caused. Celebrimbor's heart pounded as he approached.

“Thuriéal!” He called, his voice cutting through the noise. The laughter faded as the other elves turned to watch. Thuriéal turned, a smirk on his face, until he saw the expression in Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“Celebrimbor! What brings you here?” Thuriéal asked, feigning nonchalance, though the tension in his posture was evident.

“We need to talk. Now.” Celebrimbor hissed through gritted teeth.

Thuriéal’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged glances with the others, who began to back away, sensing the brewing conflict. “What’s the matter, old friend? Can’t a friend compliment —”

“Enough!” Celebrimbor's voice rose, fiercer than he intended. “You crossed a line with her. You know what you did.”

A murmur rippled through the small crowd, and the other elves began to disperse. Thuriéal's bravado faltered. “I—”

“You tried to force yourself on her!” Celebrimbor interrupted, his tone sharp as steel. “She told you to stop, and yet you continued. You terrified her.”

Thuriéal’s arrogance crumbled. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was just—”

“Just what?” Celebrimbor stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “Confessing your feelings while disregarding her wishes? You think that’s appropriate behavior? You think manhandling the Lady of Eregion is an acceptable way to conduct yourself?”

Thuriéal swallowed hard, the realization of his actions dawning on him. “I… I am drunk. I didn’t mean to—”

“Drunk or not, your actions have consequences.” Celebrimbor’s voice dropped, filled with a chilling calmness. “You will apologize to her, and you will ensure she feels safe within these halls. If I hear of any further advances, I will not hesitate to take matters into my own hands.”

Thuriéal nodded, visibly shaken. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I’ll speak to her.”

Celebrimbor's gaze softened slightly, but his resolve remained. “You will do it now. No more excuses.”

With a hesitant nod, Thuriéal moved to follow Celebrimbor, who led him back to the storage area where you remained, anxiously waiting. As they entered, your eyes widened at the sight of Thuriéal, and you instinctively stepped closer to Celebrimbor.

“Don't worry, beloved, he has something to say.” Celebrimbor said, his tone softer now, but still firm.

Thuriéal looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and shame. “I… I’m truly sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was foolish and… drunk. Please forgive me.”

You held his gaze, your heart racing as you processed his words. Celebrimbor’s hand rested protectively on your back, a silent reminder of his support.

“It’s not just about being drunk, Thuriéal.” You replied, your voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath. “You disrespected me, and by extension your Lord, Celebrimbor.”

Thuriéal nodded, shame washing over him. “I understand. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Celebrimbor’s hand moved from your back and slipped around your waist , a silent vow that he would always protect you. “Make sure your actions reflect your words.” He warned, his tone stern.

As Thuriéal stepped back, you felt the weight of the moment settle around you. Celebrimbor turned to you, his expression softening. “Are you all right?”

You nodded, though the fear still lingered. “With you here, I feel safer. Thank you for standing up for me so fiercely.”

He smiled gently, relief evident in his eyes. “I will always be here for you. You are my heart."

#celebrimbor x reader #celebrimbor #trop #the rings of power #celebrimbor/reader #trop fic

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webslingingslasher · 2 years ago

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would make peter go camping with me because he’s head over heels in love and also he’s strong (spider man duh) and then i’d just be like :) the whole time (i’d totally ask him to pick up heavy logs and stuff just because)

everytime i go camping i wish i had a peter parker

“Don’t forget that log, looks like a good one!”

Peter looks up at his girlfriend sitting in her green rocking camping chair, a cold can of alcohol in her hand, he can’t decipher if it’s a white claw or miller light based on the distance. The other points to his left, the setting sun hits the crown of her head and dances over her features, for a moment he forgets how to breathe and takes a lopsided inhale.

It was your idea to take him camping, you were the master. You grew up doing it and always talked about it, always swore you’d take Peter and give him the glamping experience. You set up the trip as an anniversary gift, and Peter doesn’t think he’ll enjoy it half as much as you but seeing you so happy makes him match it.

Peter’s hand cups over his forehead to look at you in the sun, “awfully demanding today, aren’t we?”

He’s not wrong, you have been bossing him around the whole time. But, it’s your favorite activity and he was doing it, and you’ve been together long enough that he’s not doing it because camping will be his new hobby, but because you love it and it makes you happy.

And his red flannel looked awfully lumberjack like on him, his biceps straining the fabric when he moved totes from your car full of heavy accessories. It got even better when you made him help you set up the tent, you gave light instructions and worked on your side but got distracted when your boyfriend crouched on one knee and had his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he focused on connecting the poles.

You were left scrambling when his eyes shot to yours waiting for you to finish your half, he didn’t catch onto your greed. “I thought you’ve done this before, slow poke.”

Struggling, his side full of tension, “I didn’t know it was a race.”

It got worse when Peter noticed your struggle and came to pull your side taut, his back flexing under his down vest.

You nearly slingshotted the tent into the woods.

“Here, baby. I got it.” Peter placed the rest of the poles and you were able to catch your breath in time to hammer the stakes in. You rest your fists on your hips as you look up at the sky, due to flooding in the main roads it had taken a bit longer than you expected, night was approaching.

“We don’t have a lot of daylight left, you wanna grab some firewood and I’ll finish setting up camp?”

Did you give him the man's job? Yes.

Logs were heavy, plus bugs crawled all over them and not to mention the splinters.

You had the camp ready in ten minutes, leading you to relax in your camping chair watching your ripped boyfriend trot back and forth from the campsite with handfuls of stems and logs. At first the tugged a fallen tree over to you which sent you running towards him pushing at his chest to throw him back in the woods whisper shouting.

“That’s not even remotely funny, Peter! Do you know what will happen if a park ranger catches you? They have eyes everywhere.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I dragged it like, ten steps.”

You shoo him, “back it up ten, and get real campfire wood. I’ll get some fire starter.”

Thus led you to watching with a careful eye and directing him, you’ve done this a million times and now you have someone else to do it, who also happens to be your super hot, loving boyfriend.

“Love you, honey!” You called out the praise, hoping it would erase your demands from his mind. It works, he blows you a kiss and picks up the wood you called out for. He’s gotten more than enough for the night, and you stand before gesturing to your seat.

“Take her for a ride, mama’s gonna make you a fire.”

Careful eyes watched you, you could sense that Peter was ready to jump up and save you from a swallowing fire at any second. You talked through the process and into the night, where you then had Peter make you every s’more you wanted.

Peter likes being out of the city and loves being around you with no distractions.

He doesn’t think he minds camping half as much as he thought he would.

Until you wake him up at three in the morning and ask, no, force him to get out of bed to walk into the woods with you so you could pee. You squatted behind a tree and had your arm wrapped around to the other side where it intertwined with your boyfriends.

“Okay, turn around.”

Too scary.

“Wait, let me hold your hand.”

Too quiet.

“Can you hum or something?”

It is currently three in the morning and Peter is in the middle of the woods, back to a tree with his arm twisted wonky to hold hers, and he’s humming the star wars intro but can still hear you stream clearly and won’t tell you.

“Okay, done.”

Your boyfriend fumbled with his waistline, his hand pulling it down swiftly. You get a peek of his lower half and squeeze your eyes shut, your hands cover them on instinct. “Yuck!”

Peter has no regard, proudly pissing inches from you.

“What, I have to hold your hand and sing and you can’t stand here?”

“I’m in the splash zone!”

“Oi! I’m aiming away, I’m not a mongrel.”

A snap of a branch, rustling of bushes sent the hair on your neck straight up. Normally you’d think it was a squirrel, it’s almost always a squirrel. But this sounded big, in an instant you jumped on Peter’s back, giving him no time to prepare and he was sent slightly stumbling while trying to tie his pajama pants back up.

“It’s a fucking bear, is it a bear, can you smell if it’s a bear?”

Peter hiked you further up his back and walked back towards your site, “it’s not a bear.”

Your arms lock around his neck so tightly he has to tug at arm so you could loosen your hold, “it could be a bear and you’re trotting slowly.”

“Baby, if a bear comes up and starts a fight, help the bear.”

“‘Cause that bitch gon need it,” you grunt in his ear. He tapped your leg in appreciation to the reference.

You yawned when you laid back down in the tent, shuffling a little closer to Peter than the first time. He can say what he wants, but you’re the woodsy person and you’d give your right arm on a bet that was a bear.

Loud ruffling near your tent sends you clinging to your boyfriend.

“It’s the bear.” Your words are almost mute with how quiet and slow you were speaking.

Peter doesn’t even open his eyes, his arm opens and tugs you into him. “It’s not a bear.”

Another branch snaps, you’re nearly on top of him, he grunts with the new weight on him. He doesn’t even need to see to know what you’re about to say.

“It’s not a bear.”

A lazy grin forms when he feels puffy air on his neck as you grumble, “it’s totally a bear.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x you #my writing

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r3dcherri3s · 9 months ago

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Between Duty and Love

pairing: Kate Bishop x fem! reader

warnings: angst, arguing(?) reader gets mad, fluff at the end (I think that’s it? let me know if I missed something! This is my first time posting here</3)

word count: 921

summary: Kate has been spending all her time at work and has been accidentally ignoring y/n.

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Kate Bishop sat at her desk, surrounded by the remnants of her latest mission. Papers scattered, her laptop screen glowed with reports, and her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. Kate took a moment to rub her tired eyes before diving back into the pile of paper work on her desk. It was another late night of fighting off random criminals, and going back to the compound to finish up stacks of paperwork.

Meanwhile, in the shared apartment that she and her girlfriend shared, the air hung heavy with tension. The clock struck midnight, and the front door slowly creaked open, revealing her girlfriend on the other side of the door, Y/N, with a look of frustration etched on her face.

"Kate," Y/N said, her voice tight with anger.

"You promised you'd be home hours ago. What happened?" Kate looked up, guilt written across her features. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, babe. There was just this last-minute thing I had to take care of but this is important, Y/N.” Kate breathed in. “There's been a surge in criminal activity, and the team needs me—"

Y/N interrupted, her voice rising, frustration boiled over, the pent-up emotions finally bursting forth. "The team always needs you, Kate! But what about us? What about our plans? Every time we try to spend time together, you're off on some mission or buried in work."

Kate's heart sank as she realized the toll her actions were taking on their relationship. "I'm trying to keep the city safe, Y/N. You know that." Her eyebrows furrowed as she huffed out.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood still, the anger and hurt swirling inside you like a tempest. "I need someone who's here for me, not somebody who’s constantly gone. I can't keep living like this. I’m going to stay with a friend for awhile."

Kate's heart sank as she watched you turn away, the pain in your voice cutting through her like a knife. "Wait, Y/N, please. Let's talk about this."

But you were already halfway to the door, your footsteps echoing in the empty apartment. With a heavy heart, Kate sank back into her chair, the weight of your words bearing down on her like a crushing weight.

Days turned into weeks, the silence between you and Kate stretching on like an endless abyss. Each passing moment only served to deepen the rift between you, the pain of your separation a constant ache in both your hearts.

Alone in your friends apartment, you couldn't shake the memories of your time together. The laughter, the shared moments of intimacy, the feeling of being truly seen and understood. But alongside those memories lurked the pain of feeling abandoned.

Unable to bear the weight of your emotions any longer, you made a decision.

You made your way to the Avengers headquarters, where Kate had been spending most of her time lately. The familiar sight of the towering building filled you with a sense of apprehension, but you pushed forward anyways. As you approached a familiar office, you could hear the muffled sound of voices from within. With a hesitant knock, you pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kate's eyes widened in surprise as she caught sight of you, her expression a mix of hope and trepidation as she quickly shot up from her seat and made her way towards you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. "I came to talk, Kate. I’m sorry." For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. You continued speaking. “I know this job means a lot to you, I know what I signed up for when we started dating..”

Then, with a resigned sigh, Kate gestured for you to take a seat next to her.

The words poured from your lips like a rushing river, the pent-up emotions finally finding release. You spoke of your hurt and your anger, of feeling neglected and unimportant in Kate's life. But beneath it all, there was a thread of love and longing, a desperate hope that things could still be salvaged between you.

Kate listened in silence, her expression pained as she took in your words. And when you were finally spent, she reached out, taking your hand in hers.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I never meant to ignore you. I've been so caught up with work that I didn’t realize I was hurting you.” Tears welled up in Kate's eyes as she spoke, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.

With a shaky breath, you reached out, cupping Kate's face in your hands. "I love you, Kate. But we can't keep living like this. We need to find a balance to make time for each other."

A flicker of hope lit up Kate's eyes as she leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours. "I promise, Y/N. From now on, I'll make sure to balance my job and to spend time with you.”

You smiled softly and pressed your lips against Kate’s, which she happily accepted.

As the days passed, Kate kept true to her promise. She made a conscious effort to prioritize your relationship, carving out time in her busy schedule for you. Whether it was a quiet dinner at home, a simple stroll in the park, or simply curling up together on the couch to watch a movie. Kate made sure that you felt loved and cherished.

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AAAA sorry this was short 🙏

#marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop #kate bishop mcu #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop x y/n #Kate bishop angst #Kate bishop fluff #mcu fic #marvel fic

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jobean12-blog · 1 year ago

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Driven By Desire

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Mechanic AU)

Word Count: 3,300

Summary: Your car breaks down but you’re lucky enough to be close to a mechanic who’s going to help you out...in more ways than one.

Author’s Note: This is a completely self indulgent fic that I didn’t even have planned but then my sweet friend Cia @holacia3 shared a pic and it all snowballed from there haha YAY thank you so much! I love it! This is only my second time doing his AU but it’s so fun and I feel like Joel fits well with it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy!

Warnings: it’s super fun and flirty and there’s lots of tension, reader is fiery and c-u-rs-es a lot but Joel loves it and he doesn’t hold back either so there’s a lot of back and forth fun. Light d-ir-t-y ta-l-k and o-r-al and f-i-n-ge-r-in-g.

Joel Miller Masterlist

You slam the car door so hard you’re surprised you don’t break something else before you stomp toward the garage, thankful the doors are still open.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the lighting and your ears to the blaring music. You look around, trying to focus on finding someone who works here. Finally you spot a pair of long jean clad legs sticking out from under one of the cars.

One booted foot is tapping in beat to the music and you slowly walk over.

“Excuse me,” you say.

No response. Nothing.

“EXCUSE ME!” you yell, trying to be heard over the music.

Still nothing so you kick gently at the boot.

He flies out from under the car so fast you startle with a shriek, careening backward in your heeled feet. Large hands shoot out automatically, catching you by the waist to stop your fall.

“What the fuck?” you screech.

“Alexa, turn down the music,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice, his hands still on your waist.

Your ears are still ringing when he asks, “what was that darlin’?”

“I said,” and you proceed to press your palms against his hard chest and step out of his grasp, “what the fuck?”

“Sorry darlin’” he murmurs but his eyes are sparkling. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock!” you retort.

“Wow, what a mouth on you,” he throws back but from the smirk pulling at his lips you can tell he’s anything but annoyed.

He tugs an old rag from the back of his jeans and wipes his hands. Your eyes fall to the action and you can’t help but remember what those hands felt like warm and strong on your waist just a moment ago.

You let out a long exhale. “My car started stalling. I barely made it in here. Can you take a look at it?”

“We’re closed but just for you, I’ll take a look,” he winks.

He holds out a still greasy hand and motions for you to walk. You start toward your car, peeking over your shoulder to see if he’s following. He is and he’s doing nothing to hide the way his eyes slowly slide down your body.

“Here it is,” you say as you lean against the door, glaring at him.

He gives you a lopsided smile and steps in front of the car to open the hood. You take the chance to get a good look at him and you like what you see. A lot.

His jeans are tight enough to show off long legs and thick thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed so that every time he twists or pulls something you see the cords of muscle flex. And when he bends over the hood you get a good glimpse of his round ass.

“Looks like it’s the transmission,” he says, standing and looking your way.

“Hmm?” you ask, still recovering from your perusal of his body and now studying the handsome features of his face.

His dark hair is mussed in way that tells you he keeps running his fingers through it and his sharp jaw is lined with a dark shadow of scruff peppered with patches of gray. Dark chocolate eyes stare right back as his full lips twitch with a smile.

“The transmission sweetheart. You’re not drivin’ this home.”

You have to stop yourself from letting out a whine and stomping your foot.

“For fucks sake!” you mutter.

“There’s that mouth again,” he teases, but there’s an underlying heat to his words.

You smile wryly, ignoring the unexpected charge in the air and the way it zips down your spine.

“Excuse me, I just need to make a call,” you explain before pulling out your phone and stepping away.

After you call your best friend you walk back to your car, taking another chance to check him out before he stops tinkering with something under the hood.

“My friend is on her way…thanks for taking a look at it.”

He nods and closes the hood before leaning against the front and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You can leave it with me. I’ll get it fixed for ya.”

“How long do you think it will take?” you ask, mentally going over your schedule.

“Depends on parts. If I need any could be up to a week, if not should only be a couple of days.”

He whips his cell out from the other back pocket of his jeans.

“What’s your name darlin’? he asks.

You give him your name and number.

“Joel,” he says when you look at him expectantly.

“Well, thanks Joel and sorry for cursing at you.”

“Don’t be,” he grins. “I like it.”

Rachel pulls up before you can give him a sassy reply and you tear your gaze away.

“Hey,” she says once the window is down. “You good?”

She looks at Joel then back to you.

“Fine, just fucking pissed!” you say, throwing up your arms.

You can hear Joel’s chuckle.

“I’ll call you,” he says when you turn around. “Get home safe.”

“Thanks,” you say as you plop down in Rachel’s car.

When the window is up and she’s out of the parking lot you continue your rant. “Fucking car! It’s probably the transmission and who knows how long that will take!”

“I’m sure hot mechanic guy can fix it right up for you,” she giggles.

“Was he hot?” you ask with a roll of your eyes. “I didn’t notice.”

“Yes you did!” she scoffs. “You were practically eye fucking him when I pulled up.”

“I WAS NOT!” you screech.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she laughs. “And don’t worry he was doing the same thing.”

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter before closing your eyes and leaning your head back along the headrest.

“Hey darlin’” he drawls when you get out of Rachel’s car. He’s smiling and it makes the little sun kissed crinkles around his eyes pop out.

You realize he’s waiting for you to say something so you clear your throat with a greeting.

“Your car’s ready and good as new. Come on.”

You follow him to your car and try to pay attention as he explains what he did. He’s half under the hood when he crooks a thick finger at you, asking you to bend down and take a look. Despite your surprise you do as he asks and can’t help but admire the new shiny whatever it is he put inside.

“That looks like it will work better than whatever piece of shit was in there before,” you grumble.

He turns his face to look at you, smirking again. “You bet it will.”

“What’s that?” you ask, touching the object next to it.

Before he can answer you pull your hand back and see your fingertips are covered with grease.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“That’s the oil pan,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “Pretty filthy.”

“Yeah, I can see that” you answer sarcastically as you try to wipe your fingers clean. “Fucking grease…”

He hands you his rag, folding it to the cleanest side and trying to hold back his smile. With a quiet thanks you take it and try again. It’s really no use so you sigh and give it back.

“It’ll come off with some soap,” he grins.

With one last check he shuts the hood and ushers you into the small office in front of the shop.

“Thanks for fixing it for me so fast and at such a good price,” you say.

“My pleasure darlin’.”

You fidget under his intense gaze, mindlessly rubbing at your cheek.

He chuckles and steps closer, lifting his hand slowly, the question of whether you’re going to stop him filling his steady gaze.

“You just wiped some grease on your cheek. A smudge. Right here.”

“For fucks sake,” you mutter.

He cups your jaw, swiping at your cheek with a delicacy you don’t expect from his rough hands. You feel singed in the wake of his calloused thumb.

“Did you just wipe more grease on me,” you say, trying to sound pissed but it comes out breathy instead.

“Maybe,” he answers, looking smug.

He dips his head, still cradling your jaw as he moves closer.

You lean forward slightly and lick your lips, your body acting on its own accord.

His eyes track the movement and he inches closer still, the electricity buzzing between you.

Rachel’s shrill voice breaks the moment and you rock back on your heels, looking over Joel’s shoulder to see her standing in the doorway.

Her smile widens as she looks between the two of you.

“So,” she says. “You all set?”

“All set,” you mirror, your eyes still on Joel.

Rachel slides up next to you, resting her elbow on your shoulder.

“You know Joel,” she starts. “We’re going for drinks tomorrow night at the dive bar in town. You should totally join us.”

Your eyes go wide and you open your mouth to protest but Rachel cuts you off with, “I mean she really owes you one anyway,” and she points her finger in your direction. “You fixed her car so quickly and all.”

You turn and glare at your friend, narrowing your eyes until you can barely see.

“I’m sure Joel has other plans,” you grit out.

“Actually I don’t,” he answers, keeping his eyes on you. “Text me when and where.”

You let out a little huff and he laughs, leaning toward you and placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “See you tomorrow night darlin’.”

He walks back into the garage and you stand there, pressing your greasy fingers to the spot on your skin where the feel of his lips lingers.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee,” Rachel squeaks as she pulls you out by the arm.

When you pull up to the bar you don’t see Joel yet so you sit back and text Rachel one more time to ask where she is.

Your phone rings.

“I’m not coming,” Rachel says before you can say hello.

“WHAT?”

“I’m sick,” she explains with a cough.

“I swear I’m going to fucking kick your ass girl,” you hiss.

“No you’re not. You’re going to thank me tomorrow morning. I promise. Now have fun and be safe. Call me if you need anything. Love ya!”

With her last sing song words she hangs up and you’re left staring at your phone dumbfounded, several expletives flying out of your mouth. The screen lights up with a text from Joel telling you he’s arrived and as you’re typing a reply that you’ll meet him by the door you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

You see him striding toward your car, his dark eyes full of promises.

He runs his hand across the hood the way you want him to run it over your skin as he comes to the window. With a smile he opens your door and holds out his hand. You look down at it, clean and free of grease.

“Told ya soap does the trick,” he says with a waggle of his brows.

You can’t stop your laughter as you take his hand, letting him pull you from the car. His eyes are locked on you, tracing down your body and when they lift to yours again, he’s daring you to call him out on how he’s blatantly checking you out.

Your smile falters as he pulls you closer, letting every inch of you line up with the hard planes of his body.

“You look gorgeous,” he says. “You ready?”

Once you’re seated at the the bar he finally asks, “where’s Rachel?”

“Do you always sit like that? Manspread like…”

Your eyes fall between his legs before you can stop them.

“Like?” he asks, spreading his thighs wider.

“She’s not coming,” you deadpan, answering his original question as your eyes move up to his. “She’s sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies with a smile as he grabs your stool to drag it closer.

“Fucking bullshit!” you scoff. “You’re not sorry at all.”

You reach out and whack his thigh.

His large hand settles on the spot you just hit before his fingers spread wide and he rubs them over his jeans.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Now that’s fucking bullshit,” he counters with a wink. “And you can hit me all you want. I’d say or do just about anything to have your hands on me darlin’.”

Your lips part with a small gasp and his eyes drop to your mouth.

“What? Got nothing to say to that?” he teases.

The bartender interrupts the moment by setting your drinks down. Joel grabs his without taking his eyes off you and takes a long and slow sip. You’re staring contest is broken when a man you don’t know walks up next to Joel.

“Well, well if it isn’t Joel Miller.”

Joel’s eyes squeeze shut at the sound of the man’s voice and he slowly turns on his stool to face him.

“Dave,” Joel says, tone flat.

‘Dave’ smiles widely and then his eyes fall to you.

“And who do we have here?” Dave asks, trying to sound smooth.

You’re trying so hard not to roll your eyes as you hold out your hand and give him your name.

Joel and Dave exchange some small talk that you can see Joel is struggling through, his attention constantly pulled to you and just when you think Dave is going to leave he asks, “mind if I join you two for a drink?”

“Actually,” Joel says. “I do.”

Joel gives no further explanation but you can see his jaw twitch with barely controlled restraint.

Dave’s face falls as he mutters something you don’t quite catch. He recovers quickly enough continuing to mumble as he walks off looking like a scolded child.

“You’re so friendly,” you poke. “Joel Miller.”

You laugh at your own dig, drawing out his first and last name as you watch his lips lift into a grin. “Does everyone address you by your full name?”

He waits a beat before answering, taking another sip of his beer then licking his lips clean.

“First of all darlin’” he croons, “I don’t’ share.”

He let’s his words settle in the small space between you, ignited and ready to explode.

“And second, you only have to scream out Joel. If you can get my whole name out, I’m not doing my job.”

Your thighs press together and you look down at your drink, chugging the rest of it before you answer.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out.

“That’s the plan. “If you’ll let me,” he shoots back. “And that mouth of yours too. Been wanting to shut you up with my cock since the moment you walked into my shop.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and your lashes lower, the thoughts running through your brain only making your skin burn hotter. Your mouth is full of choice words for his bold admission but you want him to do it. All of it. And as if sensing your inner thoughts, he stands slowly and drains what little is left of his beer, stepping into your space as he waits.

You move with him, tucking yourself into his side as he pulls you out of the bar.

He leads you toward his truck, backing you up, two small steps of give, before your spine meets the cold metal and his mouth covers yours.

There’s nothing soft about his kiss. It’s demanding and devouring and when he nibbles your lip, you gasp and leave his mouth to bite the skin of his neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt to expose more of it.

He hisses out your name, holding you in place while you suck gently to soothe the sharp nip. His hands mold over your body, learning every curve as he captures your mouth again.

Your hands slide around his neck, your fingers curling into his hair at the nape before you drag them through his soft locks.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna come in my damn jeans right here if you don’t stop.”

You don’t stop, your hips grinding into his and your fingers scorching over his skin. He growls low and pulls away just enough to open the driver’s side door.

“Get in.”

He helps you up and you scoot into the passenger side, barely clicking your seatbelt before the engine roars to life.

When he pulls up to the garage you’ve barely unbuckled your seatbelt before he’s at your door pulling you out.

“I live upstairs,” he says as he tugs you to the side door. He opens it and you start up the flight of steps.

You don’t get very far before his hands are on you, his fingers digging into the back of your bare thighs and teasing along the soft skin at the edge of your dress, dipping underneath when you push your ass toward him.

He presses a soft kiss to the skin just above the back of your knee, teasing you with every whisper of his lips.

“More,” you demand. “I want your fingers.”

You can hear his chuckle as he keeps tracing along the hem, getting closer and closer to your panties. He shoves the dress over your hips and you spread your legs wider, an invitation, one he accepts by grazing his thumb along the soft skin peeking out.

The material is wet and sticking to you. “Fuck, that’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Before you can comment on his curses and how he’s going to outdo your dirty mouth, he moves your panties to the side and buries his face between your legs.

You whine his name as he wraps his arm around your thighs, holding you against his mouth, the beard lining his jaw scraping your skin in the most delicious way. Your moans get louder the closer you get to coming but he takes his mouth away before you can scream his name and turns you in his arms, sitting you on the step and spreading your legs.

“I need to see you,” he murmurs, easing one thick finger inside you.

You sigh like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and you can see his jaw clench hard. He adds another finger, pumping them in and out while you meet him with every thrust of your hips. And when he brushes his thumb over your clit, you come, crying out his name just like he said you would.

He continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers, dragging out your pleasure until your breathing steadies. He leans forward and licks lazily over your clit to taste your sweetness, his fingers still buried inside you.

You make happy noises of praise and melt against the stairs.

When he pulls his fingers free he pushes them into his mouth and licks them clean, humming at the taste.

“You’re fucking delicious darlin’.”

He helps you to stand and then up the rest of the stairs, his mouth on as soon as he has the door open. You barely get a look at his place as you kiss your way down the hall to his bedroom, your knees hitting the back of the bed as you fall onto it.

You watch as he drops his hand to his jeans and makes quick work of the button, shoving the material down along with his underwear to free his cock. He pumps his hand up and down his thick length and your mouth waters.

“I want that,” you purr as your legs fall open.

“Goddamn, I’m going to fuck you so good,” he growls out in answer.

@sstan-hoe @hallecarey1 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @pedritosdarling @hiddles-rose @justkinsey @beccablogsthings @laineyreads @kmc1989 @lorilane33

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #mechanic!joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #mechanic!joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #mechanic au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (15/22)

Chapter summary: You make a decision about Vision, the video, and your lingering feelings for your ex-wife

Chapter word count: 6.6K | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: If you decide to yell at me after this chapter, I guess this is a good time to tell you that I'm smol.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Sixteen

Fifteen

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer - David Kushner "Daylight"

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over.

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart.

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers,"

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had.

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law.

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment.

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this, I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag.

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine."

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it.

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena.

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie.

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move.

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground.

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down.

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game.

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins.

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far.

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular.

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes.

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret.

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return.

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth.

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh.

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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estrellami-1 · 1 year ago

Text

If I Should Stay

Holy fuck, yall. SO MUCH happened. Had to delete Tumblr for a day (or, as it turns out, like, 8) but I’m back!! Y’all get TWO parts today and then another in two days to keep us on schedule.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27

Dinner is filled with raised voices, back and forth, thinking of and discarding plan after plan, until an agreement is reached. Joyce takes her kids home soon after, and helps ferry some of the other kids as well. Nancy takes Mike and Robin. Steve winks at Robin as she leaves, resulting in her sticking her tongue out at him.

Then it’s just Steve and Eddie, Alli having given Steve a look before taking her leave and heading upstairs to her room.

“So,” Eddie says with a grin, holding up his lunchbox.

Steve swallows the noise that wants to come out. “Please,” he says instead, leading the way to the back door before freezing just inside, realizing what had happened just a few days ago. “Um,” he says embarrassedly, “how do you feel about roofs?”

Eddie gives him an odd little look before replying. “In general?” He asks, though his smile reveals he knows what Steve means.

Steve chuckles. “Y’know what? If you have actual opinions, I want to hear them.”

“D’you know they’re made differently depending on where you are? Because the type of weather? They’re steeper here than in, say, Florida, ‘cause we get snow and Florida doesn’t, and snow is heavy and can cause your roof to cave in if too much settles on top. Also if you live in areas that get a lot of snow, don’t grow weed in your attic, ‘cause the heat will cause the snow to melt on just that one part of your roof.”

Steve blinks. “That’s… actually really interesting.”

Eddie grins. “Isn’t it?” His grin falls when Steve opens the door to his room. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, Stevie-boy, ‘cause I’ve got opinions on your room.”

Steve sighs. “I think I’ve probably heard it all before, but go right ahead. Surprise me. You’re good at that anyways.”

Eddie gives him another odd look before looking around. “Seriously, if you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t. I mean, it’ll be hard, but-”

Steve snorts. “No, go ahead, I wanna hear it.”

He wanders over to the desk, picks up the phone, and brings it to his ear before saying to Steve, “the seventies are calling. It wants…” he gestures around, “all of this back.”

Steve snorts, drawing a hand over his face to hold in a laugh. “That all you got?”

“Hey, that was a good one,” Eddie retorts, then looks around again as his smile falls. “I dunno, man. I get that I don’t really know you, but… this doesn’t really feel like you.” He tilts his head. “Besides maybe that car,” he gestures to the picture, “but… is that the stock photo?”

Steve hums. “Probably. My mom decorated it. I didn’t have much say. Well,” he considers, “any say, really.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Can I ask about them?”

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

“Oh.” Steve shrugs. “Sure. There’s not much to say. They’re not terrible, just… absent. I mean, my dad can be an asshole sometimes, but that’s just dads, right? But he’s always gone on business trips and my mom thinks he’s cheating on her—she’s probably not wrong, by the way—so she goes with him.”

Eddie blinks. “Your dad sounds like a dick.”

Steve snorts. “Well, his name is Richard.”

Eddie’s eyes light up. “His one redeeming feature.”

“His name?”

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Eddie nods.

He’s so earnest, so ridiculous, Steve can’t hold back the laugh. He leads Eddie out onto the roof, extending him a hand as he crawls out the window and staying behind him as they crawl up, a misguided hope of being able to catch Eddie if he were to fall.

They make it up unscathed, however, and Steve watches as Eddie lights a pre-rolled blunt, taking the first drag and releasing it—and the tension in his shoulders—before handing it over to Steve, who inhales deeply before immediately coughing. “Fuck, man,” he says, laughing, “I forgot I haven’t smoked much yet.”

Eddie raises a brow. “Yeah? You do it a lot in four years?”

Steve shrugs. “Not a lot, maybe, but definitely more.”

Eddie hums in response before accepting the joint back. “So tell me,” he says after a few minutes. “We’re actually friends? Or ‘s this more of a keep your friends close and your enemies closer type thing?”

Steve huffs a laugh. “I can definitely see how you’d think that,” he admits. “But no, this is… it’s friends. We’re friends. Or I’d like to be, at least.”

Eddie grins at him. “You don’t seem too bad,” he teases. “I guess I could stand being friends with you.”

“Oh, well I’m so glad I meet your standards.” He grins lazily before taking another hit. “If it makes more sense to you this way, we can just say this is reason enough,” he says, holding the joint up. “Cause man, I tried another dealer, and I dunno what he had but it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

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#stranger things #if i should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual steddie #yall we’re getting SO CLOSE #I can’t wait for y’all to read what I’ve written #but I’m BEING GOOD and WAITING #bc ik if I don’t I’d post it all right now and then have nothing for y’all later #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fix it #starambles

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naughtyneganjdm · 1 year ago

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Naughty or Nice - Chapter 3

Summary: Tensions grow higher at the Greene farm when Negan learns the woman he had an affair with is the younger sister to the woman that he is dating.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), Maggie, Greene Family, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51464518/chapters/130700899

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, angst, smut, etc.

Notes: I was trying to have some fun with this one. Thank you to those that read this! I appreciate all of you!

“I don’t understand,” Negan stammered to find the right words, his eyes shifting between both Y/N and Maggie. There were so many unanswered questions that were swirling around in his head. “How did you not know that your sister was my boss? And the two of you have different last names…”

“I use my mother’s last name,” Y/N informed Negan which ultimately made sense after all she told Negan when they were together last night. Huffing out, Hershel made his presence known and didn’t have to say a word to make it clear he hated that. With each passing second, all of the questions Negan had started to answer themselves. After spending such a small amount of time with Maggie’s family, by putting it together with the information he learned last night he was able to make sense of a lot of things. Maggie was the older sister that was the favorite. Y/N was the middle sister that was looked down upon and not well liked. Negan saw it in Hershel’s actions. Y/N was right about everything she told him about her family.

“You’re still using her last name?” Hershel retorted, a snarl expanding over his features at the idea. Y/N had a hard time looking at Hershel and when she did, Negan could see all that bravery and strength he knew in her from the past leaving. This man really did a number on her.

“I like the way it sounds,” Y/N explained feeling small. The last thing she should have felt was small with everything that she accomplished. Maggie stepped in beside her, offering up a weak smile. And that’s when things got worse for her. Now, not only was she dealing with the uncomfortableness from being around her family again, but she had to think about how the man she had an affair with last night was dating her older sister. Her older sister that she hadn’t seen in years. There wasn’t enough strength to muster up the words that were needed right now. So all she could do was focus on her father and what he said about her using her mother’s last name professionally. “I just was more comfortable using it.”

“It’s disrespectful,” Hershel chastised her response, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m not surprised though. You were always eager to get away from this family.”

“Daddy,” Maggie interrupted Hershel trying to make things less confrontational in the best way that she could. Rolling his eyes, Hershel’s hands settled at his hips and he turned away from them. Turning her attention back to Negan, Maggie was still thinking about how Negan asked her that she had no idea that Y/N was his boss. “Y/N and I haven’t talked in a very long time. Originally, she was living somewhere else. I had heard she moved to the city, but I never really learned much more than that. If I would have known she was your boss, I would have said something. Obviously.”

“Why did the two of you stop talking?” Negan pointed back and forth between the two of them. It made Y/N frown and look down toward her feet. “It’s just…you’re both so different and…”

“You’re acting weird,” Erin commented, tugging at Negan’s jacket to get him to look down at her. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Negan scrambled to find the right words reaching down to pick Erin up in his arms. “I’m just surprised to see that the woman I work under is related to Maggie. That’s all. It’s something you think I would have known.”

“You are acting kinda weird,” Beau piped in, whispering low enough for his father only to hear. Tension filled his father’s body and the way that Negan was talking was the way he would talk when he was flustered or worried. “What’s going on dad?”

“These are your kids?” Y/N inquired trying to change the subject to take the attention off her and Negan in this moment. Of course they were his kids. They had dimples just like him and the boy looked like a younger version of Negan. Stepping forward, she extended her hand out before Beau and offered a weak smile. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“Beau,” Negan’s son accepted the gesture and shook her hand. “And you’re Y/N? We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I assume not always the best things,” Y/N suggested, but Beau immediately shook his head, his hand still shaking hers.

“No, it’s always been good things,” Beau denied her negative thoughts and Beau wasn’t wrong. Negan wasn’t the kind of man to come home and vent to his children about the job that he wasn’t given. If anything, he talked about his projects and never went into detail about the things bothering him at work.

“I’m Erin!” Negan’s daughter immediately blurt out, her dimples sinking in when Y/N turned her attention to her. Y/N assumed that other than the dimples and the smile, Erin’s blonde hair and green eyes matched Negan’s late wife. Holding her hand out, Erin shook Y/N’s hand enthusiastically before burying her head against the side of Negan’s neck.

“I guess this is very awkward, isn’t it?” Maggie southern drawl brought all of the attention back to her. “I think we all have some catching up to do here.”

“Is now a good time to come out?” a voice interrupted them and it finally drew attention to the man that was slowly stepping out of the car. Maggie hadn’t expected someone to be there causing her to jump, slipping with her footing and the man caught her before she fell. Maggie clung to the jacket that the man was wearing and he let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry about that. I just, I didn’t know when I should come out and introduce myself.”

“It’s…okay,” Maggie’s head tipped to the side looking into the big brown eyes of the man clinging tightly to her. Once he made sure she was okay, he helped Maggie up into a standing position before stepping beside Y/N. His fingers hooked with Y/N’s and Negan shook his head.

“I’m Glenn,” Y/N’s fiancé held his hand up to wave and he was awkward. It was obvious that he wasn’t much of an outgoing personality. Glenn’s cheeks flushed over, his tanned flesh turning red while they all stood together in the group quiet. “I’m Y/N’s fiancé. I was told that people knew I was coming. I’m so sorry for interrupting whatever was going on.”

“No, of course!” Annette stepped forward to reach out to grab Y/N’s free hand. Tipping up, she pressed a kiss over the side of Y/N’s face and then hugged Glenn eagerly. “Y/N told me all about you. I’m so thankful that the two of you made it here. We were hoping you would.”

“It’s been a long time Y/N. You snagged yourself a cutie,” Beth interrupted moving in to introduce herself to Glenn and to give her sister another big hug. “I can’t wait to catch up. I need to have you tell me all about how you met this guy.”

“It’s not that big of a story,” Glenn chuckled shifting on his feet nervously before her family. Glenn was certainly uncomfortable and he showed it with everyone paying attention to him. Letting out a winded exhale, Glenn waved his hand about in the air. “Thank you for letting me be here with you on the holidays everyone.”

“Your face is red daddy,” Erin informed her father, stroking down over the side of Negan’s cheek. Trying to relax his expression, Negan knew that he likely had his face scrunched in jealousy and upset. Of course his face was red. He just found out the woman that he thought he connected and bonded with more than anyone since he lost Lucille was related to the woman that he was dating.

“I think it’s just the cold baby,” Negan tried to explain hearing Hershel grunt out and motion them forward.

“We’ll show you all to your rooms so you can get settled in,” Hershel urged them to follow him toward the large home. It was a charming, older home at the center of this land and Negan was sure it was beautiful on the inside, but it was so different from what he was used to.

“And then afterwards we can give you the tour of the farm,” Maggie moved in beside Negan to give him a small nudge. Giving her an unsure smile, Negan looked beyond her to see that Glenn was helping Y/N gather her things and he sighed. Shit, this whole weekend just got so much more complicated. All night, all Negan could think about was Y/N and now he was going to be forced to keep his feelings for her hidden.

Once inside, Hershel led the kids to their rooms first. Negan was surprised that they had a room for both Beau and Erin. Beau’s room had an old arcade game inside of it that immediately drew his son’s attention. Erin’s room had a lot of stuffed animals and toys that Negan assumed likely belonged to the girls when they were younger. Beau stayed with Erin to help her unpack while Hershel led them toward another room.

“I’m sure you know where your room is honey,” Hershel pointed to one of the doors that was closed and Maggie headed toward it. Going to follow Maggie, Negan heard Hershel clearing his throat to get Negan’s attention and Negan looked back over his shoulder. “Not in my house.”

“Sorry?” Negan was surprised to hear that comment from Hershel. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“You’re still sticking to that? Why am I not surprised?” Y/N chuckled to herself, clinging to her things when Maggie stopped in front of her door to hold onto the handle. Disgust filled Y/N’s face and Negan clung to his things still unsure of what was happening. “We’re adults dad. I’ve lived with Glenn for months. You’re going to separate us into different rooms?”

“Daddy, come on,” Maggie pouted, pushing open the door and reaching for Negan, but Hershel immediately shook his head. “I’ve stayed at Negan’s place plenty of times. I have room for him to stay in there with me. I promise we’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Oh, you’ve had her over your home plenty of times?” Hershel repeated those words and suddenly Negan felt very singled out. His Adam’s apple bounced in this throat and he frowned. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

“I’ll just go and share a room with Beau. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Negan suggested pointing back toward the rooms where his children would be staying. “I feel more comfortable being in the same area as my children anyways.”

“Your children will be perfectly safe. And don’t be silly Negan, you’re a grown man. You need a bed for yourself. With your important job, you’ll need your own space,” it felt like Hershel was almost mocking him and he waved Negan on. First Hershel showed Glenn to his room leaving Negan and Y/N as the last two people with him.

“I’m sure you remember where your room was? Unless you erased that from your memory too,” Hershel turned on his heel to stare out at his daughter.

“You mean you didn’t turn it into the junk room like you promised you would?” Y/N brought back tense memories that obviously happened between them when they were younger.

“Come on Negan,” Hershel waved Negan on, ignoring Y/N when she went for the room that was obviously hers in the past. When Hershel started to lead him toward some stairs, Negan let out a hesitant sound. “You’re going to be staying in the attic.”

“The what?” Negan followed Hershel up the stairs and into the attic. There was a big window that let in a large amount of light that was almost blinding. But he did notice once they were up there that there was a bed prepared. There were dressers, mirrors and things set up to make it feel homey, but at the end of the day…it was just an attic. With every second longer Negan spent with Hershel, he was noticing more and more that Hershel’s favorite was Maggie. Also Hershel was making it evident that he hated Negan for dating his daughter. “Are you sure we can’t just bring this bed down and put it in the room with Beau?”

“So neither one of you have enough room to move?” Hershel leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing out at Negan. If looks could kill, Negan would be dead. It left Negan wondering what to say and really what to do. “Do you not enjoy the setup that we have done here for you?”

“It’s wonderful Hershel, but as a father, I’m sure you know how I feel wanting to be close to my children,” Negan reasoned with Maggie’s father, setting his things down on top of the bed and throwing his hands up in the air. “My children mean everything to me.”

“Which is why I picked this room for you. It’s right above the rooms that they will be staying in,” Hershel informed Negan, tapping his foot on the old wooden floorboards. “It’s spacious, you have your own space and you are right over your children.”

“I kind of feel like we started off on the wrong foot here Hershel,” Negan insisted rubbing his hands together. Stepping forward, he could tell by the look on Hershel’s face that he wasn’t going to change his opinion on him. “I very much like both of your daughters. One of them is my boss and the other has been in my life for about six months. I’d like to be able to get along with you sir because both Y/N and Maggie are important people in my life. And I think you’re important to them. So I’d really like it if you gave me a chance to prove myself to you.”

“Negan, I appreciate that you’re a good father,” Hershel looked down after Negan held his hand out in attempts to have them shake it out. “That’s something I admire about you. I see that your children love you. That, I will nod my head to. But the fact you’re dating Maggie is not something that I can accept. My daughter never wanted to be a city girl. She goes out there to test things out because of her sister and then she meets you. After she meets you, she decides that she wants to stay out there in New York City all alone. It just doesn’t sit right with me. A woman giving up her life for a man.”

“When I met Maggie sir, she was in an apartment of her own. She seemed very much moved in at that point,” Negan thought back to when he first met Maggie. Making it sound like Negan was the reason Maggie was in the city was kind of absurd. “I swear to you that I would never force your daughter into something that she didn’t want. I promise you that I didn’t soil your daughter.”

That was truthfully an understatement. Even when they had sex for the first time, it was Maggie that had dragged Negan back into the bathroom with her. Maggie seemed very comfortable with the idea of fucking a stranger she had just met and fought with. So it wasn’t like Negan got his claws into her and brought her to the dark side. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell her father that though. Her father thought Maggie was an angel and Negan was an evildoer that turned his daughter against him.

“I just want us to be okay,” Negan reasoned with Hershel, wanting nothing more than for things to be comfortable at least while he was here. Having the two women in his life having their father hate him was not something he wanted. “For Maggie. For my children.”

“I’ll be as friendly with you as possible Negan, but I don’t like you,” Hershel declared letting Negan know there wasn’t much of a chance between the two of them to lose the tension that was undoubtedly there. “Y/N might respect you. Maggie might be dating you. But I know the kind of man you are. And I just don’t see this whole thing working. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Lowering his hand, Negan huffed and shook his head when Hershel left him alone up in the attic. Walking around, Negan wondered what it was about him that made Hershel hate him immediately. Heading for the window, Negan stared out it to get a feeling for where he would be staying. At least the view was pretty enough. It would be a pain in the ass in the morning when he was sleeping with the sun rising, but he would have to just deal with it and find a way to make things work.

Maybe sometimes he would just sneak down to be with Erin at night because this was strange. Sure, it was quiet enough for him to work, but being alone in an attic while his children were downstairs left him feeling uncomfortable. He was separated from everyone. Even Glenn got his own room.

Instead of unpacking, Negan just headed downstairs to be with Beau and Erin. They were in the room that Beau would be staying in and they were both already at the old arcade game playing with it. They both seemed amused that he was staying in the attic, more so Beau because he understood that Negan was in hot water with Maggie’s father.

“Have you ever played something like this? This seems like it’s from your time period,” Beau glanced over at his father while in the middle of playing the game. It made Negan place his hand over his chest and let out a dramatic sound. “I’m just saying, it seems old.”

“And there it is, my boy calling me old,” Negan stood up from the bed that they had given Beau and moved in beside his children to look at the game. “See, I would play, but I’d just be so good at it that I would destroy your record…so…”

“Oh, yeah? Okay old man,” Beau teased his father hearing the snort that followed from Negan.

“I’m going to go check in with Maggie really quick. I’ll be right back,” Negan squeezed over Beau’s shoulder before peppering a quick kiss over Erin’s cheek and then going to the room they had left Maggie at. Knocking on the door, Negan heard Maggie call out to him to have him enter and Negan gave her a grimace when he snuck into her room. “Will I get shot for coming in here?”

“Depends on his mood,” Maggie half laughed motioning Negan into her bedroom as he closed the door behind him. Hopping onto Maggie’s bed, Negan grunted when he heard the squeak of a stuffed animal that he sat on. Digging underneath him, Negan lifted the stuffed animal out and wiggled it at Maggie noticing the color that flooded into her cheeks. “I know, I know.”

“So this was your room, huh?” Negan looked around the space taking in all the things that were there. Gazing from the posters on her walls, to the bookshelf and what was on her dressers Negan couldn’t help but snicker. “Did you sneak a lot of boys in here when you were younger?”

“Enough to give my daddy a heart attack,” Maggie set down what she was working on to sit on the bed with Negan. Extending her fingers out, she brushed them through Negan’s hair and led him to her lips in a lingering kiss.

“You should have warned me I was going to be a target coming in here,” Negan’s laugh vibrated against her bottom lip, leaning back enough to gaze over her. “Your dad hates me. Y’know he put me in the attic? While it’s a nice space, it’s still an attic with a lot of dust and you know I have really bad allergies.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Maggie frowned brushing his hair back, leaning in to press a stronger kiss over Negan’s lips. It took a minute, but she giggled when she pulled away. “Did he really put you in the attic?”

“He sure fucking did,” Negan laid back against Maggie’s bed, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Your family is intense.”

“We’re really not that bad,” Maggie suggested laying in beside Negan and placing her head on his shoulder. Hooking her fingers with Negan’s, she cuddled her head in closer to him and heard the snicker that followed.

“There are a lot of things to unravel here Maggie. You have a younger sister who is my boss and you had no idea she was my boss,” Negan pointed out with a huff, his mind still lingering on Y/N. “And your dad visibly hates her. You haven’t talked to her in years…”

“How did you know she was my younger sister?” Maggie wondered, lifting her head up to stare out at Negan with curiosity in her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure when you went to introduce us you said she was your younger sister,” Negan reasoned with Maggie and she shook her head. “Well, then it’s probably me putting two and two together. We talked about her family at one point and she mentioned being the middle child.”

“You talked about her family? About us?” Maggie lifted her head enough showing her surprise in knowing that her sister talked about their family to Negan. “I didn’t think your boss even liked you.”

“Yeah, well we had a heart-to-heart last night after finishing a project she had me working on all night,” Negan explained knowing that calling it a heart to heart may have been a good explanation for the first part of their time together, but there was also that other thing that they did together. That thing he wasn’t about to tell Maggie. Not when he was in the same house as her hostile father that would likely kill him if he found out he had an affair on Maggie.

“What did she tell you about us?” Maggie inquired, her eyebrow arching in curiosity and Negan didn’t know if talking about that would be right since it was the two of them bonding. “I can’t imagine it’s been good things since she’s been away from this family for so long. Things just got so difficult in the past with her and my dad.”

“Why did you stop talking to her?” Negan pushed knowing that he didn’t see Maggie as the type to turn her sister away. He wasn’t about to talk about the things that they went into last night. Especially not in depth. It was really none of Maggie’s business what they talked about.

“It’s complicated,” Maggie sat up enough to brace her weight while her fingers traced over the center of Negan’s chest. “Her and daddy had a fight. Y/N and I were always very close, she just had a really strong personality. We all loved her. I do love her. It just made it hard staying close to her when she left. Daddy got mad every time we mentioned her and then she moved away. I guess I just got used to her being gone.”

Maggie took her time to contemplate things letting out an extended sigh the longer she thought about things, “She’s actually the reason I finally took a chance on the city. I went out to New York because of her and I stayed because of the things she told me. She was always the more adventurous one. The real leader of the pack.”

“And you never tried to call her?” Negan was surprised to hear all of that, his hand reaching up to brush some of the hair that fell in her face away. It had Maggie reaching up with her other hand to caress over his. “You just don’t seem like that kind of person Maggie.”

“I think we both got lost,” she reasoned with Negan, her eyes shifting off in contemplation while her thumb caressed at Negan’s pulse point. “I need to talk to her again. Make things right. I know daddy was hard on her with things.”

“And you were…are…his favorite,” Negan noted lifting up enough so that he was close to her on the bed. “I think if anyone could have a good influence on your father to fix things for them, it’s you. The only thing she said about this family is that her father was really hard on her. I can see that. And that her older sister was his favorite. That’s clear as day. Especially in the way that man hates me.”

Both of them snickered when she pressed her head forward to rest it against his, “I’m sorry Negan. My father has some issues. With me caring about you, I would have hoped that he would have given you a chance. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Negan caressed his fingers over her jawline letting out a long sigh while he nuzzled his nose in against hers. It was sad because Negan really liked Maggie. They had a decent relationship, but he loved her more like a friend. So in a sense, he loved her, but it just didn’t feel like he was head over heels in love with her. “I do think you should try to fix things with your sister. She’s a good person. But I think she’s sad.”

“Sad? She’s the strongest person that I know,” Maggie tipped her head back enough, her lips parting when Negan swept his fingers in over her jawline. “I could never see her being sad.”

“I think she feels lonely,” Negan reasoned with Maggie, his head tipping from side to side while he thought about the night before. Sad understood sad. That’s what Negan tried to explained to Y/N last night. Maggie wasn’t sad, so it was harder for her to understand when someone was lost in themselves like both Negan and Y/N were.

“Why would she be lonely?” Maggie questioned and it made Negan sigh when her palm slid in over the side of his face. “She has an incredible job. If she’s your boss, that means she’s rolling in the dough. She’s engaged…she has the life a lot of people would want.”

“Sometimes…when you’re lonely…it doesn’t matter how good your life is in the eyes of others,” Negan thought back on his own life, his chest aching when he thought about the pain and anguish he had over being alone. “Sometimes when you are lonely, you make choices that don’t make sense to you because you never want to feel lonely again. Look at me. I have the two best kids I could ever ask for. An amazing job, a beautiful apartment in the city…but the loneliness, the sadness…it ate me alive for almost two years. And to this day…that darkness still engulfs me. I think it bothers her that she no longer has her family. She told me that her dad thought he was poisoning her sisters’ minds.”

“I can see how she thought that,” Maggie acknowledged, her thumb tracing over the side of his face through his short beard. “Why don’t you tell me that you feel that way Negan?”

“Because I try to hide it. I have two kids to keep happy. They don’t need to see that side of me. And you…you’re always smiling and happy,” Negan began shaking his head knowing that it probably wasn’t the best time to be telling Maggie these things. “Like you said, I should be happy. But I’m just not. And that scares me sometimes.”

It seemed like there was so much that Maggie wanted to say, but instead she moved forward to give Negan a hug. Something like that? That was the kind of affection Negan appreciated. Just having someone to talk to and hug him? A lot of the time, Negan didn’t think Maggie would be able to understand his feelings, but having her hug him like that was nice.

“I just want you to be happy Negan,” she whispered, pressing a loving kiss over Negan’s cheek, nuzzling her nose in against it. Pulling back enough, she dragged her thumb over Negan’s bottom lip which made him take in a long inhale. “No matter how angry you make me sometimes.”

“That happens a lot,” Negan joked with her, his nose wrinkling in amusement. Even though they did have a decent relationship, he could easily piss Maggie off and push her buttons. At least they were honest with each other about that. Closing his eyes, Negan felt Maggie pressing in closer to him. With her lips hovering over his, Negan hummed when she brought their lips together. Kissing her back, Negan’s fingers brushed into her hair, his fingers caressing over her scalp while she crawled in closer to him. Grunting, Negan felt her moving in over him, her hands cupping his face in her hands as her kisses grew in strength.

“Apparently dad is calling for us,” Y/N’s voice spoke up when the door pushed open and it made Maggie slightly pull away from Negan with a wet sound, her hands still cupping Negan’s face. Grunting, Negan could tell by the expression that flooded over Y/N’s face that she was upset catching them like that together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you, dad just wants us to take the kids and the boys on the tour of everything.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute,” Maggie assured her sister with a half-smile, her finger sweeping over Negan’s jawline. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Be careful with that,” Y/N circled her finger out toward them, her eyes locking with Negan’s. Noticing that Negan was breathing heavily, she wondered how far things would have gotten if she wouldn’t have walked in on the two of them. “You don’t want dad to bring the shotgun out.”

“Right,” Maggie snickered when Y/N closed the door behind her. Panic flooded Negan’s veins when Y/N left. Seeing that she looked upset bothered him. Then again, there was a mention of the shotgun and Negan deeply considered that.

“He really wouldn’t pull a shotgun out on me, would he?” Negan was hesitant in the way he laughed, but when he actually noticed that Maggie was contemplating that question, he felt his pulse leap. “Maggie? Would he?”

“It depends,” Maggie thought about the question and it put a look of fear in Negan’s features. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m gonna fucking worry about it,” Negan urged Maggie from over his hips to get her to sit down on the bed beside him. Getting up from the bed, he dragged his palm down over his face in a moment of tension. “That’s kind of a big deal Maggie. I don’t need your father shooting me dead with my children here.”

“He’s only pulled out the shotgun once before with one of my boyfriends when I was a teenager Negan,” Maggie reasoned with Negan hearing the worried sound that fell from Negan’s parted lips. “I’m an adult now Negan. My daddy wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I don’t know Maggie, by the way he’s acting toward me—I think he very much is capable of that,” Negan doubted what she was telling him. “I��m not going to get shot at on this trip, am I?”

“I think you’re going to be fine,” Maggie promised, stepping before Negan after getting off the bed. Caressing over the sides of his face was her attempt at calming him, but it wasn’t working. “Come on Negan, you shouldn’t worry about that kind of stuff.”

“After meeting your dad, yes. Yes, I fucking should,” Negan bickered with her more, but by the time that she was dragging him out in the hallway with her, he could see that the kids were outside talking to Maggie’s youngest sister who was showing them something.

“They are going to show us the horses,” Erin was excited to tell Negan about what was in their future when she turned away from Beth to run up before Negan. “I’ve never really been around horses daddy. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Of course it is baby girl,” Negan gave his daughter a wink, looking back when he heard the sound of a door opening. Seeing that it was Y/N heading out of her room, Negan lifted his finger up and motioned for them to go ahead without him. “I forgot something up in the attic. I’ll be right out. Okay? Watch the kids for me for a minute, would you Maggie?”

“You got it babe,” Maggie pat Negan on the chest before following Beau and Erin to the stairs.

Once they started heading down, Negan felt Y/N brushing past him to follow them. Before she could reach the stairs, Negan curled his fingers around her wrist to bring her to him. The nearest room for them was a bathroom and he pulled her in with him, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell?” Y/N gasped when Negan pushed her up against the door, his hazel eyes hooked on hers. Negan’s breathing was heavy, his lips parted while he stared down at her. “What the fuck are you doing Negan?”

“I’m sorry,” Negan apologized, his hands pulling from her shoulders and he rest his hands on his hips while he stood before her. “When you came into the room and saw Maggie with me like that…”

“Why are you apologizing to me because I walked in on you kissing your girlfriend Negan?” Y/N challenged, her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. Throwing her hands up in the air, she sighed loudly and shifted before him. “I’m the one that is engaged to Glenn. I can’t get upset with you for being handsy with your girlfriend. I told you last night was just a high from the sex and confusion from the alcohol.”

“But it’s not,” Negan was adamant, shaking his head when she denied what they had last night. “All I’ve been able to think about since last night is you. I keep thinking about how you made me feel. Not just about the sex, but the connection that we have.”

“What connection Negan? You’re my sister’s boyfriend and you’re my co-worker. I’m your boss,” she reminded him, the hitch in her voice giving away that she was actually upset about everything. “This would have never worked in the first place. But now that you’re Maggie’s boyfriend? There is no fucking way Negan.”

“Why?” Negan frowned, attempting to reach out to touch her, but she grabbed his wrists and lowered them down.

“You know why Negan,” Y/N hesitated, her fingers squeezing slightly at his wrists. “There are so many reasons why none of this will work for us. We had a moment. We enjoyed each other very much, but it was a onetime thing. It can never happen again. You’re with Maggie. I’m with Glenn. We have to forget about it.”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Negan pled with her, stepping forward to slam the door shut when she opened it to try to leave. Trapping her between him and the door, he took advantage of the small space that was there capturing her jaw between his thumb and index finger with his other fingers curling around the side of her neck. The warmth of his breath lingered over her lips drawing her eyes to fluttered to a close, her head tipping up toward him. “No, the chemistry between us is too strong Y/N. We both know it. We can’t pretend like it never happened.”

“Negan, please,” she whimpered right before his lips claimed hers. Placing her hand at the center of his chest, she could feel herself weakening at the knees with the way he was kissing her. Kissing him back was almost involuntary because her body knew even against better judgement that she loved kissing him. It felt good. Negan could sweep her off her feet with his kisses. And even though she tried to convince herself that it was a momentary lapse of bad judgement from being drunk, the response her body had to him kissing her was proving to her that wasn’t true. Purring out, she sank her fingers into Negan’s hair, her lips parting almost begging for him to reward her with the tender sweep of his tongue against hers. When he gave her what she asked for, he pressed his body against hers, his fingers growing tighter around the side of her neck. God she could get lost in this. Yet, it was the sound of movement outside the door that alerted her that she needed to stop this. Tearing her lips away from his was the hardest thing she could have done in that moment. Breathless, she knew that she needed to get her shit together. She was in her father’s home. Maggie was there and so were Negan’s children. They couldn’t do this shit. “This has to stop.”

“Wait,” Negan begged, but she pushed away from him and headed out of the bathroom. Trying to follow her, Negan got down the stairs with her. “Please, just wait.”

“Negan, enough,” Y/N didn’t stop or wait for them to even talk. Swiftly moving throughout the house, she pushed open the door and stopped immediately when she saw that her father had everyone with him standing at the steps. Her quick halt had Negan running into her and she gasped when he grabbed to make sure she didn’t fall. “You’re all just waiting here?”

“Well we couldn’t do a tour without the two of you, could we?” Hershel retorted with a huff waving them on. Swallowing down hard, Y/N managed to sneak away from Negan over to Glenn who was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with a baseball jersey over it. He had a baseball cap on and Negan scoffed. Glenn didn’t even seem like Y/N’s type and he didn’t understand why she was with him. It’s not like he was a bad guy from what he could tell, it was just a strange pairing. “Let’s go Negan.”

“Yes sir,” Negan moved down the steps, reaching to grab Erin adjusting her so that he was giving her a piggyback ride while they moved across the yard. Standing between Beau and Maggie, Negan stole a glance over at Y/N noticing that she was looking at him while she walked hand in hand with Glenn. When their eyes connected, Y/N turned away and looked down at their feet.

“You’re going to love seeing Nelly. She was my horse,” Maggie tugged faintly at Erin’s jacket to get her attention. “If you want and it’s okay with your dad, I can probably take you on a ride. Would you like that?”

“Can I do that daddy?” Erin wondered making Negan look back over his shoulder at her. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“You’re sure you’re capable of doing that with her and being safe?” Negan was worried knowing that with Maggie mentioning it, Erin wouldn’t be able to get it out of her mind. It’s just Negan was really uncomfortable with the idea of it.

“Maggie won a lot of awards when she was younger for horseback riding,” Beth’s voice called out from where she was walking beside Beau. “I think she will be okay.”

“I just worry,” Negan admitted trusting Maggie enough with his daughter, but horses were unpredictable. When Negan was younger, he would often visit the farm that his grandparents owned, but that was a long time ago. He always loved animals, but he knew that some animals when scared did things they didn’t always mean to. “If you think you can keep her safe, then I’ll trust you.”

“I can,” Maggie assured Negan with a half-smile while they headed over toward the stables on the property. Once the large doors opened, Negan stayed back and let out a long sigh knowing that this was the last thing he expected to be doing for Christmas this year. Touring a barn in the middle of nowhere. It was like he was back in his childhood days. “Nelly.”

Maggie was the first one into the barn heading over to the horse that was hers. It made Negan smile seeing the excitement that she had for it. It wasn’t normal for Maggie to have that kind of reaction to things and he was happy that she did have something that made her happy in some sense. Hershel followed her in and stepped in beside her reaching out to pet the muzzle of the horse.

“Come here,” Maggie waved Beau forward who seemed uneasy at first before joining them in petting the horse. Reaching for Erin, Maggie grabbed her from Negan and held Erin in front of Nelly to allow both Negan’s children to enjoy the moment.

“Do you have your own horse too?” Negan looked to Beth who was standing behind him and she immediately shook her head.

“No, we have a few horses here that I help take care of, but this one is Maggie’s and…” Beth moved around Negan to reach for Y/N’s hand pulling her sister down until they stopped in front of a stall. Seeing the horse seemed to have Y/N freeze up. “And this one is Y/N’s.”

“Dakota,” Y/N stepped forward to caress in over the horse’s mane. Seeing the horse appeared to have shocked her. “You kept him?”

“Of course I kept him,” Hershel grunted from where he was standing with Maggie and the children. “You may have abandoned him, but he didn’t deserve to be thrown away like the rest of us.”

Clearing his throat, Negan knew that he wanted to say something, but with how Hershel already felt about him it was best not to say anything at all. What came out of Hershel’s mouth hurt Y/N, there was no hiding the expression that flooded her features. Instead of staying where he was, Negan moved down the aisle to step in beside Y/N. With him next to her, she stole a quick look at him before Negan nodded toward Dakota.

“May I?” Negan asked for permission first to touch her horse. Once she gave him the okay, Negan flattened his palm out over the forehead of the horse that seemed to lean into the touch. “I take it you rode horses in the past too?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded and after Negan joined her, it felt like Glenn thought he had to as well moving in on the other side. “Dakota is my old man. We share a lot of memories together.”

“She gave up competitive horse riding, just like she did everything else,” Hershel piped in when he moved over toward them where they were at the stall. Y/N’s eyes closed tightly and she bit down on her bottom lip. Just by the way she was reacting Negan could tell she was doing everything she could not to fight with her father. Sliding his hand down, Negan’s fingers loosely hooked with hers to support her. It had her eyes lazily opening, her eyes connected with his and he gave her a weak smile. “Dakota was our most talented back then. Now, he just makes for a good pet. He’s too old to compete, but he sure is beautiful.”

“We’ve got Nelly, Dakota, Apollo, Lucky, Casper and Cinnamon,” Beth listed off the names of their horses, pushing her hands into her pockets when she let out a long sigh. “These are kind of our stars on the farm. We have other animals, but they are the ones people seem to be drawn to. We have chickens, hens, ducks, pigs…”

“We feed them every morning and evening so if you’re ever up and interested on this trip we will happily take the help,” Hershel informed them pacing the stables to check on all of the horses that were there. “We also have a barn on the property, but it’s really just used to store things. We have hay in there, food supplies. It’s not as interesting.”

“You want to go for a ride?” Negan heard Maggie ask Erin and he tensed up hearing it knowing that he agreed to it, but the idea of it made him nervous. Moving away from Y/N left it open for Glenn to whisper something to her as Negan went back to his children. Maggie noticed the worry in Negan’s eyes and she gave him a confident smile. “Trust me, everything is going to be okay.”

“You’re kind of holding my world in your hands, so…” Negan commented and it made Maggie smile as she handed Erin back over to Negan. Panic flooded his veins while Maggie got Nelly prepared to be ridden. Once Maggie had everything ready and they were standing outside, Maggie hopped up on the horse and reached for Erin. “You sure you don’t want to practice a little? By the sounds of things, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a horse.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Maggie explained hearing Negan grumble when Erin reached her arms out to Maggie.

“A very unpredictable, living bike that can throw you off of them and break her,” Negan heard Beau choke and a laugh fell from his throat at his father’s worries. Once he handed Erin off to Maggie, he felt Beau’s hand pressing in over the center of his back trying to comfort him. “Please be safe.”

“I promise,” Maggie got Erin situated before starting to ride slowly across the plot of land.

“In this case, I trust Maggie,” Beau informed Negan while they watched the girls riding the horse. “I think she knows what she is doing dad.”

“It’s hard giving you kids away to other people and trust them to keep your lives safe,” Negan admitted to his son, his hazel eyes filled with worry. Clearing his throat uneasily, Negan saw that Y/N and Beth were both getting two other horses out to ride, but he was so stressfully focused on Maggie with Erin. “I love you both so much.”

“And we don’t doubt that,” Beau assured his father with a sigh hearing Hershel calling out to the both of them.

“You want to help me get these horses fed before the snow is supposed to start tonight?” Hershel asked of them and even though Negan wanted to watch to make sure that his daughter was safe, he agreed to do it. Beau was eager to help as well and Hershel had Glenn helping him too since all of the girls were out riding horses. “Beau, I’ll have you and Glenn go grab some of the grain from the back room I instructed Glenn to grab. Negan, there is a bucket that one of the horses kicked over in their stall that I need you to grab.”

“Sure,” Negan stepped before the stall that Hershel pointed at. Rubbing his hands together, Negan looked back at Hershel and shrugged. “Aren’t you going to grab the horse while I get the bucket?”

“Why would I do that?” Hershel folded his arms out in front of his chest. Letting out a hesitant sound, Negan stepped forward waiting for Hershel to open it for him. The horse remained still, but Negan paused thinking it over again. “Well go on son. I need to get this moving so the horse doesn’t get hurt.”

“I just kind of remember hearing something when I was a kid that you shouldn’t get behind a horse,” Negan explained to Hershel staring out at the larger horse knowing there wasn’t much room for him to move around it. “I think maybe you should get this guy out before I even attempt to grab it. My grandparents had a farm when I was younger and I just…”

“Forget it, I’ll just get Glenn to do it,” Hershel waved Negan off hearing him grunt under his breath before side stepping forward. Trying to move around the horse, Negan reached for the bucket to hear it jangle when he lifted it. It caused the horse to get uncomfortable, kicking its back legs out that Negan managed to avoid. Once the horse started jumping about, it had Negan scrambling to try to find a place for him not to get hurt. It ended up with Negan falling into the mud that was behind the horse face first, the horse running out of the stall and Hershel letting out a big belly laugh. “Well, you weren’t supposed to spook it son!”

“Dad?” Beau ran out to see that Negan was slowly pulling himself up from the mud. It was hard because Beau was worried, but at the same time amused to see that Negan was absolutely covered in mud. Instead of laughing, he tried to bite back on his amusement and stepped forward to help pull his dad up.

“Are you alright?” Glenn joined Negan in the stall, grabbing a hold of the other arm of him. Both Beau and Glenn were doing their best to avoid getting the mud on them that Negan was covered in. “What happened?”

“He spooked the horse,” Hershel explained to them, but Negan knew that he was set up from the start. He was lucky that he didn’t get killed from the horse trying to kick him.

“Daddy, why in the world was Apollo out…” Maggie came back after leading the horse that had run off back into the stalls. Once Maggie got a look at Negan, she turned on her heel and glared out at her father. “Daddy, what did you do?”

“What happened?” Y/N came back into the barn while Beth tended to their horses outside. All of them had headed back when they saw Apollo running free outside the barn. Erin moved in beside Y/N letting out a worried breath when she saw Negan.

“He had me grab a bucket and told me we didn’t need to move the horse for me to get it,” Negan claimed tossing the bucket out in front of Hershel who looked amused with his antics. “I almost died.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re fine,” Hershel blew off Negan’s words, but it immediately had both Maggie and Y/N infuriated with him. “Your boyfriend is being a little emotional right now because he’s embarrassed that he fell in mud and who knows what else.”

“This is just like you,” Y/N stormed around her father toward the back office to grab a towel for Negan. Moving forward, she tried to help him get some of the mud from his face hearing her father cackling in the back. “Negan never had a fucking chance with you. You know that Apollo gets antsy around people. Yet you did this anyways.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hershel threw his hands up in the air acting innocent with his actions. “We were just getting ready to feed the horses. You can ask Beau and Glenn. They will tell ya. There was a bucket in there that I didn’t want Apollo to get hurt on and Negan went to get it. It’s not my fault that he spooked the horse.”

“She’s not wrong daddy. You knew that Apollo would do exactly what he did. We’ve always known Apollo to be like this,” Maggie shamed her father, moving forward to reach for the towel that Y/N had knowing that Negan was her boyfriend and it should be her that was helping him. “You’ve been like this with all of my boyfriends. And this time it’s not right. Negan had Beau and Erin here. He’s a father and I won’t stand by this behavior. These pranks are dangerous and if you pull another one, we’re going to leave. I love you daddy and I want to be here, but this is the last time.”

“I see,” Hershel’s glare on Negan was extreme, if there was a chance that he would ever like Negan it went right out the window at that moment. With Maggie threatening him to leave, it sure as hell made Hershel hate Negan. Especially having his favorite daughter defending the man he just tried to potentially kill. Looking to his watch, Hershel huffed and shrugged his shoulders. Sucking on his bottom lip, Hershel pointed at the stalls and sighed. “We are supposed to meet your cousin at the restaurant we go to every year. We need to get these horses fed and head out.”

“You know, I don’t think I’m going to be able to go to any restaurants,” Negan called out from where he was standing knowing that he was soaked in mud. “I think the only thing calling out to me right now is a shower. Maggie, do you mind watching over Beau and Erin at dinner?”

“Of course baby,” Maggie went to touch him, but then thought it over for a second with how dirty he was. “I’ll get you a meal and bring it home.”

“You might want to hose him down first before he goes in the house. We don’t need him trekking that mud throughout the whole house,” Hershel blew off the idea of Negan, not a care in the world that he almost just killed Negan.

More than anything Negan wanted to rip into this man. For what he had done to him. For his nasty comments toward Y/N, but Negan kept his mouth shut. This was the first day and he was going to be stuck in the same home with this man for a while.

“I’ll help you dad,” Beau led Negan toward the hose he had seen in the back with Glenn when they had grabbed the grain that Hershel had asked them too. When they were alone, Beau nodded back toward Maggie who was getting help from Glenn getting Apollo back in the stall. “I know you like Maggie, but are you starting to think now about how you should probably let this romance go?”

“Beau, I don’t even know what to say right now,” Negan grumbled under his breath splashing some water in his face and getting his clothes clean from the mud. “I had no idea her dad was a psychopath.”

“It just looks like you’re dating the wrong daughter,” Beau suggested and it immediately made Negan lift his head up to stare out at Beau. “I mean, he’s not trying to kill Glenn. You should be dating Y/N because at least if you were dating her, you’d be safe.”

Beau was trying to joke with Negan, but he had no idea how Negan actually felt about her so it made the conversation awkward.

“I remember grandpa giving you a hard time, but this guy…” Beau shook his head when he stole another look back at Hershel. “He’s got issues.”

“Understatement of the year,” Negan noticed that Erin was walking out to them to check on him. Offering up a big cheesy smile had Erin giggling. “Daddy is just going to take a shower. You be good for your brother and Maggie, okay?”

“Of course daddy,” she tipped up on her toes to press a kiss over the side of Negan’s cheek when he leaned down. “I’ll wait until you are dry for the hugs.”

“Good choice baby girl,” Negan winked at his daughter, said his goodbyes to everyone once he was ready to head into the house with the towels they had given him to dry himself off. To the best of his ability at least. He was careful not the mess the house when he made his way to the second level bathroom where he was earlier with Y/N. At this point, he was just thankful to have a break from the whole Greene family.

A hot shower gave him time to think things out. Maybe it was just best to avoid Hershel this whole trip. Bury himself in his work at every chance and just stick to his children. It may have been the only way for him to stay alive and not get himself killed. It took a while for the water to get hot before Negan hopped into the shower. This was nothing like his home and his modern shower that he had. It was old fashioned to the core and it brought back old memories for Negan.

After his shower, Negan got dressed and draped the towel over his shoulders. He figured he would just work for a while until everyone got back home. At least in the attic he would have his own space and be safe from getting hurt. Heading up the stairs to the attic, he let out a surprised breath when he saw that Christmas lights were now lighting up the space. It made his heart skip a beat when he saw that someone was hanging them up. Dropping his head, Negan closed his eyes when he thought back to his past when Lucille would do the same kind of thing. Pinching his nose, he cussed to himself hating that a memory from his past hit him so hard.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice called out to him making Negan lower his hand to stare out at her from where she was standing on a chair stringing up some lights. “I heard that my dad put you up here and I thought…I would just make it homier. So it feels more like a holiday for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Negan insisted, going to put his dirty clothes in a bag so that way things were still clean. Actually, Negan was impressed. She got out a lot of things while he was in the shower. There was a faux tree in the corner of the attic with light strung up that she was finishing. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone was going out to dinner.”

“Yeah, well…I told them I got a call from work and that I wouldn’t be able to go with them,” she explained to Negan as he stepped in beside her and attempted to help her with what she was finishing up. “I lied. But I told Glenn to go with them, so it’s just us here.”

“Oh?” Negan’s eyebrow arched in curiosity while she outstretched just far enough to let out a tense breath. Placing his hand over the small of her back, Negan made sure that she was safe before she returned to a flat-footed position.

“I wanted to check in on you and help with this…” she threw her hands up to look around the place that her father had thrown Negan for the time that they were there. “Thankfully my father is predictable and keeps the decorations in the same place he did when I was a kid so this was easy to do. All we need is a few stockings and some decorations on the tree. The tree already had lights in it so we don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah?” Negan mused, finding himself curious with the way that she was. This was something he would have found Lucille doing in his past, so the fact this is what she was doing enamored him. “This is nice.”

“I hope it makes you feel more comfortable,” she finished with the lights, grabbing Negan’s hand when he helped her down from the chair. Stumbling, she fell in against Negan’s chest and his hazel eyes narrowed down at her. “It’s the least I could do with what my father did.”

“He’s crazy,” Negan noted without even thinking about it. There was no fucking around. Hershel hated him and it was clear as day. “He tried killing me today with that horse.”

“I told you my dad was something else,” she reminded him, patting him on the center of the chest when she pushed herself into a standing position before him. “I don’t know why I bothered coming here. It was stupid to begin with. The only thing it did was fuck everything up more.”

“I know you’re upset you saw me kissing Maggie,” Negan frowned folding his arms in front of his chest noticing that she was having a hard time looking at him. “I told you, I’m not in love with Maggie. What I said about my girlfriend was true. It doesn’t change things now that it’s Maggie.”

“Negan, it changes everything,” she shook her head moving around him to start putting some of the decorations on the tree. “Maggie is my sister. They can’t find out that I had sex with her boyfriend. I told you that Maggie was my dad’s favorite. If it comes out, my dad will try to kill you and who knows what he will do to me.”

“You’re worth the worry,” Negan claimed grabbing a few of the decorations to help her put them on the tree that she put out for him. “I don’t care if Maggie is your sister. I know how I feel about you. I love Maggie, but I love Maggie in a way that someone loves one of their best friends. I’m not in love with Maggie. We don’t have that spark that I’ve been missing. The spark that you and I have...”

“You’re making this complicated Negan,” she reasoned with him, trying to focus on the tree and less on him. “You’re with my sister. You’re dating my perfect, loved, popular older sister. And there is nothing we can do to change that. It’s best we pretend that what happened the other day is nothing but a dream between us.”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Negan hushed her, grabbing her and forcing her to look at him. “Y/N, what we felt the other night, it was incredible. The sex was great, sure, but what we felt…how alike we are. When I see you, you remind me of everything I loved in the past.”

“We can’t talk like this Negan,” she declared only to feel his hands grabbing a hold of hers leading her toward the bed to sit down on it. “Negan?”

“Just talk things out with me for a minute,” Negan begged of her, his thumbs stroking in over the back of her hands. By the look over her face, he knew that she was trying to avoid this stuff, but he needed to talk to her. “First of all, Glenn is cute and everything, but that guy seems way too boring for you.”

“Glenn is cute?” she repeated what he said, her eyebrows bouncing up in amusement. “The reason you think he is boring is because you’re…you.”

“He barely talks and anytime someone looks at him, he blushes,” Negan thought back to her fiancé and he shook his head. “Come on Y/N. You’re a ball busting bad ass that grabs men by the balls and makes them do whatever she wants whenever she wants.”

Instead of saying anything, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. He knew with her being here that her ego would be smaller and he hated that for her. Especially with how her father treated her about things.

“What did you and your father fight about?” Negan pondered the thing that he had heard mentioned several times. “The thing that made you stop talking.”

“They all stopped talking to me after that,” Y/N alerted Negan with a half laugh, but he knew that it hurt her. It didn’t make her feel good to think about it. A sense of shock flooded her veins when Negan’s fingers hooked with hers, his eyebrows furrowing in the hopes of understanding how she felt. Holding her hand like that was his way of showing support and he could tell that it took some coaching inside of herself to open up to Negan. “I was leaving for college. He wanted me to stay out here. Run the farm like the rest of the family. I didn’t want that. I loved art, my father thought it was a useless talent. I got accepted to an art school in the city and it was everything I wanted, but he didn’t give me his approval. Told me if I went out there, I would be out on my own. He’d never help me. I told him that he cared more about his life and what he wanted for his family than what his family actually wanted. I told him he was holding his family back and he’d never let them truly live. He told me if I left, he was going to get rid of my horse, my things and never speak to me again. He did one of the three. If it was up to him, I wouldn’t be here right now. It was Beth and Annette that reached out to me.”

“That’s rough,” Negan sighed, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand while he held onto it. “Your parents should always push the best for you. They should want you to achieve your dreams. Not live the dreams that they wanted.”

“Sounds like from our conversation you know exactly what it was like with your father,” she reasoned with Negan who snorted and shook his head.

“My father wanted me to be a ball player more than anything. Bragging rights to his friends really,” Negan thought back to when he was younger and he simply shrugged his shoulders. “But I got hurt and after that he really didn’t give a shit.”

“Your dad and my dad are such assholes,” she suggested dropping back on the bed that was Negan’s with a sigh. Carefully moving in beside her, Negan laid with her and gazed over at her with his big eyes. Still even laying down they were holding hands and it was strange how comfortable she found herself with Negan. “I should have just kept giving you shit last night. Told you what a piece of shit you are. Instead of kissing you like I did.”

“I am a piece of shit still,” Negan snickered, his eyebrows bouncing up in amusement when she tipped her head to connect her eyes with his. “Just because you like me doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I like you too. What happened between us, it was meant to happen. I wish you could see that.”

“Your son and daughter are beautiful,” she complimented him knowing that she hadn’t really focused on that bit. It was easier to bring up his children instead of concentrating on what he was saying between them. “Your son looks exactly like you. And your daughter has the dimples and the smile. You can tell they are your children. It’s cute.”

“Yeah, they are pretty cute. It’s how they get away with everything,” Negan responded showing that he was genuinely happy talking about his children. “Thankfully for Erin she got most of her mama’s looks. Beau, he’s awesome. Good at everything. Amazing artist. Better than I ever was at his age, but I think this whole Christmas thing is effecting him more than anyone without his mom. His mom and him were really close. So this time of the year is rough for him. He does his best, but…”

“He’s still human,” she noted giving Negan time to think about it before exhaling loudly and nodding. “They are lucky to have you. You can tell you love them. It’s sweet. Do they like Maggie?”

“Yes…and no,” Negan laughed out loud remembering what his kids were like last night. “Maggie is very…uptight. And their mother wasn’t. So they like her, but they don’t. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” she found herself leaning her head in closer to Negan’s while they laid there. “My sister is bubbly, friendly, but she needs to be in control of everything. It all has to be perfect and precise. And while I understand that, there needs to be wiggle room for more.”

“Maybe…maybe we can just run away with the kids?” Negan stammered, his words coming out in a stutter. The suggestion alone made her scoff thinking it was a joke. “I can break up with Maggie, you can let Glenn go and I’ll just take you back to my apartment. We can decorate the thing. It could use your touch and the kids would like it. What you even did with this room in the time that you had is incredible.”

“Knock it off,” she poked Negan in the ribs. The idea sounded ridiculous, but running away from here didn’t sound all that bad. Especially if it was with Negan.

“Are you less interested in me because I have children?” Negan wondered interested in finding out why she didn’t want to be with him now.

“If anything, I’m more interested in you for being a father. It’s sexy seeing how much you love your kids and the way there is a glimmer in your eye just talking about them,” she confessed stroking her fingers over the center of Negan’s palm. “You know why I can’t run away with you. It was wrong before, it’s worse now that you are with Maggie. They already hate me as it is.”

“Maggie doesn’t hate you, Maggie just is her father’s puppet,” Negan corrected with a scoff knowing how capable people were of persuading their children to think one way or another. “But if that’s how you feel, then what do you care what they think if we get together?”

“You don’t want that Negan,” she went to ramble on until Negan’s fingers were curling underneath her chin to urge her jaw up. Brushing his lips over hers, Negan made the gesture soft and sweet. After all the stress of today it felt nice and she found herself getting more comfortable against him. “You make it hard to focus when you kiss me.”

“You like kissing me,” Negan snickered against her flesh, nibbling at her bottom lip. Teasing the tip of his tongue over her lips had her lips parting, her head arching up with her fingers curling around his neck. Brushing his tongue in against hers, Negan groaned out when her fingers sank into his dark hair. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last night. I know what I want.”

“You don’t. It’s just like a drug Negan,” she tried to hush him hating how easily she was falling back into all of this. With Negan’s palm caressing up over the lengths of her abdomen and toward her breast, she purred when he cupped it tenderly. “You had a taste once and you think you need more of it.”

“I don’t think, I know,” he growled against her lips, nipping faintly at her flesh. Kissing down over her jawline and toward her neck, Negan couldn’t help himself. Even though they were alone in her family’s home, that didn’t affect him. “I want you more than you could ever begin to understand.”

“Negan,” she grabbed a hold of his wrist attempting to get him to pull his grasp from her. “You’ve slept with Maggie.”

“I’m pretty sure Maggie has slept with a lot of people,” Negan commented, his eyelids heavy and his eyes filled with want for the woman he had in his arms. “You shouldn’t feel bad for the way that things are. Yeah, the world has a fucked-up way of making these things work, but we both knew last night that what we wanted wasn’t Glenn or Maggie.”

“Last night we were drunk,” she was doing her best to contain herself with the warmth of Negan’s breath over her lips. Getting drunk on Negan’s kisses was something she longed for and she wasn’t holding him off very well. “We were saying things.”

“But they were all true,” Negan huffed, his lips claiming hers again drawing her to turn in closer to him. “I haven’t had a fire inside of my heart like I do when I’m with you in a very long time. And I know you feel it too.”

“I have been such a bitch to you over the last few months and suddenly you are smitten with me?” she pulled her lips from his, her hand placing in over the center of his chest trying to talk some sense into the both of them. “Yes, you are incredibly sexy and I find myself drawn to you, but I’m your boss. I took advantage of you last night…”

“I don’t care if you are my boss. I like when someone is feisty. I’ve always been attracted to people in power,” Negan reached for her hand, bringing it up to his mouth to deposit a kiss over the center of her palm. Shuddering, her eyes fluttered to a close when he started pressing his kisses down over her pulse point. “I promise I’m a good boy. I will be able to do my work and still be endlessly yours after work.”

“Fuck…” she whimpered with his tongue flicking out over her flesh drawing chills to flood her body. “Negan, this is wrong…good people don’t do this. Nice people don’t do this.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being good Y/N,” Negan rumbled, his lips hovering back over hers again when he pressed his body in closer to hers. Warmth radiated from his body beside her and she felt a chill flooding her spine. “But for you…I’ll be whatever you want me to be. I just want to be yours so incredibly fucking bad.”

“But Maggie…” she whined with Negan’s lips skimming in over hers. Guilt did eat away at her with how much she found herself wanting to be near and around her sister’s boyfriend. Palming down the lengths of her body, Negan hooked his arm around her leg and drew her closer to him to hook it around his hip. “I can tell she likes you.”

“Maggie will survive. Glenn too,” Negan assured her, his fingers sliding up underneath her shirt. Once his rough fingertips collided with the warmth of her flesh, it had her raising up toward him wanting so badly to feel it. “But I won’t if I can’t be with you.”

“That’s dramatic,” she purred, her fingers dragging down over his chest reaching between them. Lowering her hand just enough, she palmed over the front of Negan’s pants making him pull his head back enough to look down at her touching him. His lips were parted, his pupils dilated and breathing heavy.

“I’m a dramatic kinda guy,” Negan smirked, his eyes connecting with hers. Nodding his head, he could see both the amusement and desire that she had for him. “If I can’t be with you, I’ll just fucking die. And then what? You’ll take me away from my kids. You don’t wanna do that to them, do you?”

“Way to make me feel guilty,” she snickered, her fingers working with the belt of Negan’s jeans while she adjusted him so that he was laying on his back. Crawling in closer to him, she got his pants open but kept her eyes locked with his. “You’re crazy.”

“I know,” Negan agreed with her, his hips arching up when she pulled down the zipper in his jeans. “It’s a bit of a problem really.”

“Oh?” her eyebrow arched drawing his smile to grow bigger and he nodded. “Maybe you’re too much trouble for my liking.”

“No, I’m the perfect kind of trouble. I’ll be as good or as bad as you want me to be,” Negan slurred, his breathing growing harder when she pushed his shirt up toward the center of his chest. Wincing, Negan enjoyed the way she kissed over the center of his abdomen, up toward his chest before circling her tongue around his nipple. Having her sucking and then faintly nipping at the flesh had his raspy moan filling the attic. “I think we both know that we want this…”

“You promise to be good for me?” her fingers traced shapes over his abdomen before sinking beneath the material of his boxer briefs. Once her fingertips connected with the root to his masculinity, it had his hips arching up toward the warmth of her touch.

“I do,” Negan nodded his head eagerly, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip when her fingers curled around his body to test the flesh in her grasp. “I want to be yours. Endlessly fucking yours. Please.”

“I pinned you to be a dominant alpha male Negan. But you’re acting so submissive,” she pointed out placing her leg over his to almost pin him down. Separating the material of his pants, she helped pull his cock out of the tight confines they were prisoned behind while she stroked over his distended flesh. “Look at you.”

“I’m both. Whatever the moment calls for,” Negan whispered, his dimples sinking in and the vein at the side of his neck becoming more prominent when he lifted his head to watch her touching him in tender sweeps that had him growing harder with every movement. “If you take a chance on me, you will see.”

“It does sound appealing,” she kissed down over his jawline enjoying the sounds that Negan was making. It didn’t take long for him to be completely solid in her grasp and she enjoyed the way he felt in her palm. “I do want to see where things are capable of going with the two of us Negan. I just need you to be a good boy and keep this hidden for just a little while longer. Can you do that? Just while we’re here?”

“What do you mean hidden?” Negan moaned while she pumped his length in her hand, her fingers firmly grasping to his flesh.

“I just mean we can’t tell Glenn or my family about this yet. I need this time with my family, but I know I want to spend time with you too,” she informed him having his hips arching up toward her caress while she jerked him off. Whining out, Negan felt her fingers releasing him but then he watched her lick at her fingertips before wrapping them back around his flesh. “Once this whole trip is over, then maybe we can put things into motion.”

“I can’t hide the way I feel about you,” Negan panted lifting his head up to watch her jerking him off. Behind his long eyelashes, his eyes were desperate and his moans were loud. It was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to hear and listen to from him.

“I��m not asking you to hide it when it’s just the two of us, but around my family I need you to be careful,” she instructed pampering his lips with wet kisses as she continued to pleasure him. “I just think this is something I need to do with my family in order to fix me. But I want to be with you too. We just can’t officially do that yet.”

“Okay,” Negan panted, his eyebrows tensing and the lines in his forehead growing with how she was jerking him off. “If this is what you need, I will do fucking anything for you.”

“It’s surprising how perfect you actually are,” she slurred against his lips hearing his grunts growing louder. “You really are my good boy, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Negan nodded his head, licking his lips when he felt his abdomen tensing up. Growling out, Negan nuzzled his nose in against the side of her neck when the first line of his cum shot out from the tip. Moaning against her flesh had her mewling out while she continued her caress over his cock milking him of his release. Thick ropes of cum covered his lower abdomen and chest while she continued to jerk him off. Once she released his member, he felt his heart hammering inside of his chest with his throat going dry. “Shit.”

Cuddling her head in against his shoulder, she looked up at the roof of the attic and sighed, “I never saw myself as the cheating type, yet…here I am. Having an affair with the man I thought I was supposed to hate. The man dating my sister,” she frowned caressing over his abdomen, her fingers teasing through the mess of his release. “I have to be crazy after all.”

“Or maybe you just found the thing that you finally needed,” Negan suggested, his finger curling underneath her jawline to get her to look up at him. “Maybe we just found the thing that was missing this whole time. Each other.”

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan @flippittygibbitts @stickyhuesos

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan #Negan fanfiction #negan x reader #The Walking Dead #twd fanfiction #negan x you #negan smut #Negan smith

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sequinsmile-x · 4 months ago

Text

Coup de Grâce

Something had to give, she knew that, and she couldn't let it be her family.

-x-

Note: Tags aren't working properly because *tumblr* so I can't do the tag list currently. For context - I have to type the list ON MY PHONE and even that isn't working beyond the first 5 tags. I'll figure out a long term plan - but if you want to be notified for now maybe turn on post notifications for me!

-x-

Hi friends,

This is very much sponsored by my recent insomnia and a recent re-watch of Grey's Anatomy from the start. As with every fic I've ever written in the middle of the night when I can't sleep this has a LOT of feels.

The 5 + 1 fic I've been talking about is coming I promise <3

Please let me know what you think about this, it's been a hot minute since I wrote something sad so I hope I've still got it.

-x-

Warnings: Alzheimer's

Read over on Ao3, or under the cut

She’s slow to wake up, her body heavy as she rolls onto her back, groaning and pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

She opens her eyes, her lashes almost glued together by sleep and exhaustion, and she looks at her husband, unsurprised to find him already awake and dressed sitting on her side of the bed. His hand is on her waist, his thumb tracing slowly back and forth across the edge of her ribcage.

“Morning,” she rasps, and the sound of her voice makes her wince, thick and rough and another indicator of how tired she was, “I’m sorry I got home so late.”

Aaron and the kids had been asleep when she got home. She’d checked in on Jack as she walked past his room, leaning down to kiss his forehead and tuck the covers back around him from where they’d slipped down in his sleep. She’d done the same for Hazel, taking a moment to tuck some of her dark hair behind her ear, staring at the 7-year-old’s features in the low light of the room. She felt a brief flash of panic when she found her youngest daughter’s room empty, but when she realised that the bed hadn’t even been slept in, still as neatly made as it had been that morning, there would only be one place she’d find her.

It had eased some of the tension in her chest that was ever present these days when she walked into the master bedroom to find Aaron and Ivy fast asleep, the 4-year-old tucked up against her father, her tiny fingers tangled in the neckline of his t-shirt. Emily had barely remembered to take her make-up off before she changed into her pjyamas and climbed into bed with them, curling herself around her husband and her little girl, seeking out the comfort that only they and Jack and Hazel could bring.

“It’s okay,” he says, squeezing her waist, pressing his love into her through the callouses on his thumb and fingers, the slight roughness of his skin against hers drawing her back to herself a little, “I’m sorry I had to wake you up, I let you sleep in as much as I could but Garica just called about a case.”

She sighs and she sits up, immediately sinking into the embrace he always had ready and waiting for her. Her cheek presses against his suit jacket and she smiles when he kisses her forehead, “Are the kids okay? Ivy was in here when I got home.”

“They’re fine, they are all downstairs eating breakfast,” he assures her, running his hand up and down her back, “Ivy asked if she could sleep in here and we both know I can’t say no to her.”

She hums and pulls back to look at him, “She knows that too.”

He smiles and she can’t help but cup his cheek, her thumb against his dimple as she tugs him in for a kiss, the press of his lips against hers warming her from the inside out. She rests her forehead against his after she pulls back, desperate to have a few moments of solitude with the man she loves, something that had always been rare but was close to non-existent these days. It left her on edge, uneasy in a way that she hadn’t felt in years, and she could feel her long buried instinct to run clawing its way out where she’d buried it.

“How was your mom last night?”

His question makes her sigh, her eyes drifting shut as she holds him a little tighter, her fist creasing the material of his freshly-pressed jacket, “Like she always is,” she pulls back and looks at him, her smile sad, “She thought I was a nurse, which I guess is better than thinking I’m the sister she hasn’t spoken to in 30 years,” she sighs, and it catches on a humourless laugh, her chest aching with it, “At least this way she actually talks to me. She was mostly talking about me to me though. And the kids.”

When she looked back on it, the early warning signs had been there for a while. Her mother had become forgetful, missing dinners they’d planned and Jack’s birthday, his card and gift arriving a few days late after Emily had prompted her. It had been easy enough to dismiss as a sign of just getting older, nothing more nefarious than the forgetfulness that came with still leading a busy life. Emily had tried to talk Elizabeth into retiring, or at least pull back on the amount of work she was doing for a while, but she’d always refused, claiming that staying busy kept her healthy. It was only when the personality change had started, when she’d show disinterest in her grandchildren, that Emily realised something was wrong. Things had deteriorated quickly, and only a few months after her diagnosis, the world Alzheimer's and its impact still reverberating outwards, the ripples of it still leaving the ground beneath them shaky, Elizabeth was now living in a home.

Even though she no longer recognised her, Emily went to visit her every evening after work. It felt like her penance, like she deserved to sit opposite the woman who had barely shown her affection even when she did recognise her, because she should have seen what was happening sooner. No matter what Aaron said, no matter how he tried to assure her that this wasn’t something she could have changed, she was sure that if she wasn’t so caught up in her own life, if she wasn’t so busy basking in the beautiful, ordinary happiness she’d found she would have seen the change in Elizabeth before she had.

“She talked about the kids?” Aaron asks, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her neck afterwards, the beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Yeah,” her smile shakes and she looks down, “She told me she has a grandson called Jack and a newborn granddaughter called Hazel,” she presses her lips together as her eyes meet his, “She doesn’t seem to remember Ivy at all.”

Her mother may not have ever been the mother she’d wanted or needed, but she’d been a fantastic grandmother from the get-go. She’d lavished Jack, and the girls when they came along, with the attention and love Emily had always craved, what she’d looked for in all the wrong places for most of her life. On her worst days, Emily envied what her children had with Elizabeth, hated that it took becoming a grandmother for her to soften in the way she’d always refused to do for her own daughter.

Aaron sighs, something she feels pass from his chest to hers, “Em-”

“We should get going,” she says, her smile tight as she removes herself from his grip and stands up. If she let herself fall apart, if she let him comfort her like she so desperately wanted, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to slot all the pieces of her back into place. The weight of it all was too much. Her job, her family who she missed even though they were right here with her, her mother and the illness she couldn’t save her from, “I haven’t even showered yet.”

She can feel him watching her from where he’s still sitting on the bed, his gaze unrelenting as he weighs if it’s worth pushing her to talk to him or not, but he relents, he stands up and walks over, his touch ghosting across her waist as he kisses her temple.

“I’ll go make you some tea and something to eat.”

She smiles her thanks and watches him go. Her smile falls the moment she’s alone and she closes her eyes, breathing out a slow breath, the taste of sorrow thick on her tongue, before she shakes her head at herself and starts the day.

___

She’s grateful when the case is local, that she won’t have to go across the country on top of everything else.

She only half listens as Penelope briefs them, embarrassment burning up her neck when she asks a question she realises has already been answered during the briefing. It’s one of many tiny mistakes she’d been making lately, another question she usually wouldn’t ask, another moment which made her feel like she was failing at everything. Aaron cuts Derek off as he tries to tease her with a stern look and a clearing of his throat, and it’s forgotten by everyone other than her.

No one knew about her mother’s illness. It was one of the last promises Emily had made to her during one of their last conversations when Elizabeth was lucid, her reputation and image important to her until the end. It meant that not only did the team not know about what was happening, but that Emily and Aaron were actively lying to them. They turned down pasta nights and nights out, their life now a pattern of work, visits to the home and far too little family time for Emily’s liking.

Emily knew it didn’t stop there, that Aaron was covering for her with the higher-ups too. She’d been making errors in her paperwork that he was correcting for her with no comment, something she’d only found out when she overheard Strauss talking to another Section Chief in the bathroom. She hadn’t mentioned it to Aaron yet, not sure if she was angry or thought it was sweet, or if it was somewhere between the two, but it was just another thing that was falling at the wayside whilst her life collapsed in on her.

She’s trying to read a crime scene report when she hears it, a voice she hasn’t heard in years pulling her out of her work as she looks up, a friend of her mother’s, a fellow ambassador, walking toward her.

“Emily Prentiss, it’s been a long time,” she says, smiling widely as Emily stands up and shakes her hand.

“Ambassador Diaz,” she says, her eyes flicking over to Aaron standing just a few paces behind the woman in front of her, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh please, call me Claudia. And I was just helping Agent Hotchner with some details about the case you’re on,” she says, her smile wide, and Emily wonders when she’d missed that detail about the case, if it was something Penelope had explained to them that morning, “I understand he’s your husband.”

Emily chuckles and nods, knowing that Claudia’s curiosity would have been piqued by the pictures she would have seen on Aaron’s desk, “Yes, he” she replies, smiling at Aaron, “You don’t get much chance to date outside of the BAU, so there were limited options.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, the joke a familiar one, something she’d made at countless events of her mother’s that they’d gone to together over the years. It was her way of fighting back against the intrigue, the underlying implication of what it meant to not only be married to her boss, but to a man they’d consider beneath her.

Claudia smiles politely, “How is your mother by the way? I haven’t seen her in a long time, is she on assignment?”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room and her lungs burn with it, the seemingly innocent question one she should have anticipated but hadn’t. The team's curious gaze that mere seconds ago hadn’t bothered her makes her skin tingle, and she swallows thickly, well aware that she had to give a suitable answer that wouldn’t draw attention to everything she’d been hiding for months.

“Yes,” she replies, looking at Aaron again, the empathy and love she can see in his eyes threatening to overwhelm her, “She’s in the Middle East.”

“Oh,” Claudia replies, her smile still endlessly polite, “Well, next time you speak to her tell her I send my regards.”

Emily nods, shaking her hand again as she turns to leave, their polite interaction, something her childhood had been stuffed full of, at an end, “I will.”

She excuses herself from the bullpen as soon as it won’t draw attention to her. She sneaks down a hallway that is always quiet, the supply closet at the end of it rarely used since the one with all the best stationery was closer to their desks. She leans against the wall, the lie about her mother still sitting on her tongue, the weight of it pressing on her lungs. She crosses her arms over her chest and blows out a shaky breath, her eyes closed as she rests her head back against the wall, the slight thunk of it echoing throughout the empty hallway.

Her solitude is brief, the clicking of Penelope’s heels on the floor giving her away a second before she speaks.

“Em, are you alright?”

She suppresses a bitter laugh, “Yeah,” she says, standing up straight and turning to look at her friend, “I’m fine, I just needed a minute.”

She tries to step past Penelope but she stands in her way, her hands on her hips in defiance as she stops Emily from even asking her what she is doing, “If you think that’s going to satisfy me you have another thing coming,” she says, her tone as fierce as it ever got, “You and boss man have been shady for months,” she wraps her arm around Emily’s shoulder and starts to lead her down the hallway, “At first, I thought you might be making me an aunt again to one of your gorgeous children.”

Emily laughs as she lets herself be led towards Penelope’s office, “Pen, I’m 48. I don’t know if another kid would be more of an inconvenience or a miracle.”

Penelope hums sympathetically and closes her office door behind them, only letting go of Emily once they are alone, “And when it became clear that wasn’t what was going on…” she clears her throat as she sits down and encourages Emily to do the same thing, “I…did some sleuthing.”

Emily’s eyes go wide, anger burning through her quickly, so hot and fierce it burns out before she can express it. It’s chased by anxiety, forcing her to swallow thickly, “What did you do?”

Penelope has the decency to look embarrassed, her cheeks tinged almost the same shade of pink as her cardigan and she clasps her hands together in her lap, “I want to make it clear everything I did I did out of love and concern. The last time you were acting like this was when Doyle was after you and-”

“Pen,” she says, cutting her off, not needing the reminder of one of the worst times of her life on top of everything else, “What did you do?”

Penelope sighs at the repeated question and she sighs, her lips briefly pressed together before she answers, “I know about your mom.”

Even though she could see that this was where the conversation was going, it still feels like a kick to the gut. She stares at her friend for a moment, conflicting feelings of anger and relief that someone knew mixing in her gut, “How did you find out?”

“You were disappearing after work so frequently, and I heard Ivy say she missed you tucking her at night the last time I saw her. And I know how important that is to you so I knew something was wrong,” Penelope says, and Emily somehow feels worse at the mention of her youngest, guilt that her little girl was missing her threatening to drown her, “So…I tracked your phone one night and saw you were spending your evenings at a nursing home out in Arlington,” she wrings her hands together in her lap, “After that, it wasn’t hard to put together.”

She chuckles, the sound catching in her throat and she shakes her head, “Most people would think I was cheating on my husband or something.”

It’s a bad joke, but it makes Penelope smile, and it’s enough to make Emily feel more comfortable.

“Well, if you weren’t so disgustingly in love with Hotch I’m sure it would have crossed my mind,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on Emily’s arms, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, “She said she didn’t want anyone to know. And even though…even though she’s not really there anymore, and everything that made her her has been stripped away, I didn’t want to betray that.”

Penelope squeezes her arm, “I won’t tell anyone,” she says, “I haven’t told anyone,” she adds, “But I wanted you to know that I know, so you have someone else to talk to if you want.”

She still isn’t sure how she should feel, if this was an invasion of her privacy she shouldn’t let slide, but right now, still unsteady from her encounter with someone from her mother’s life, she was grateful for it.

“Do you know what she has?” She asks, and Penelope shakes her head.

“Only that she’s been a resident there for five months.”

Emily nods, “She has Alzheimer’s, it’s advanced. She no longer remembers who I am, and she doesn’t really know where she is,” she swallows thickly, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she tries to stop herself from crying, a humourless laugh escaping as she tries to relax.

“Oh, Peaches, I’m sorry. It’s an awful disease.”

“It’s also completely removed her filter. So she’s finally saying every awful thought she’s ever had about me,” she smiles sadly and purposely avoids her friend's gaze, her sympathy burning through her skin, leaving behind marks Emily was sure would be permanent, her emotional trauma on display for everyone to see in a grim pattern painted across her face, “Except, she’s not saying them to me. She’s saying them to my 7-year-old daughter who she thinks is me,” she hears Penelope’s gasp, as if her imagination could conjure up just how awful it had been to hold her little girl as she cried and begged to know why grandma had said all those horrible things. Hazel had fallen asleep pressed up against her that night, her face warm and sticky on Emily’s neck, her daughter’s grief and confusion a vice around her heart that even Aaron hadn’t been able to loosen. “So now I don’t take the kids to go and see her because I won’t put them through it. Aaron stays home with them and I go and see her alone and it’s awful. And part of me wonders why I go at all because she doesn’t know me, and even if she speaks about me it’s not kind. But…”

She drifts off, the rest of her sentence stuck in her throat, bitter and cloying as she struggles to say it. It’s like she’s drowning on dry land, pulled under by a riptide of grief that was pre-emptive and too late all at once. Grief for the relationship she never had with her mother. Grief for the one she did have that was now gone. Grief for when she’d lose her entirely, when her children would lose her too, when they’d lose the grandmother who, until recently, had done nothing but shower them with the love and kindness Emily had craved as a child.

It would be Hazel and Ivy’s first brush with death and Jack’s second, something Emily had hoped to spare them for a little longer.

“She’s still your mom.”

It’s only when she looks up at Penelope that she realises she’d looked away at all, her focus having unintentionally fallen to her wedding rings as she twisted them around her fingers. A nervous habit that had long replaced picking at her cuticles, the touch of the metal against her skin, the spin of it as the diamonds of her engagement ring knocked on the neighbouring fingers, a well-needed reminder that she wasn’t alone. That she hadn’t been in years.

“Yeah,” she pressed her lips together to contain the shake of them, “She’s still my mom.”

___

It’s late when she gets home.

She sighs as she steps into the house, her shoulders slumping the second she closes the front door and shrugs off her jacket. She’s nothing short of relieved when Aaron appears in the hallway, his socks dulling his footfall against the hardwood floor, because the thought of not speaking to him, of having to make do with falling asleep next to him and hoping his warmth would make her feel better, almost too much to bear.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says as he makes it to her side, his lips against her forehead, “Did you eat?”

She nods, thinking idly about the takeout wrappers stuffed in the door of her car, and she places her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she unzips her boots, “Yeah, I had dinner on the way home.”

He drops his hands to her waist, holding her still as she switches to her other boot, “Do you want something to drink?” He asks, and she nods, “Wine or hot chocolate?”

She smiles as she lowers her foot back to the floor, “Hot chocolate,” she says, tugging him closer as he tries to step away, pressing herself against his chest, using the height difference now she was no longer in heels to tuck her head underneath his chin, “Can we do this first, though?”

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, his embrace firm and soft all at once as he tilts his head just enough to drop a kiss on her hairline, “Of course,” he replies, “Want to go sit on the couch for a bit?”

She nods and they walk towards the living room together, their arms still wrapped around the other, tangling them like vines. She practically sits on top of him on the couch, her legs over his lap, her arms wrapped around one of his as she hugs it to her chest, and her cheek on her shoulder. She was trying to leach all the comfort out of him, all the love and affection she knew would make everything better if it was possible, if him loving her was enough to make her mother better, if it could stop the inevitable, she knew it would.

“How was it tonight?” He asks softly, his spare hand heavy and warm on her thigh, his thumb tracing back and forth on the seam of her pants.

“I told her that I saw Claudia,” she smiles sadly, pulling back to look at him, “She lit up like she hasn’t in weeks. She told me about a time when they were on the same assignment back in 1978,” she presses her lips together, “She said something about me too. Said her daughter was wild and unruly,” she shakes her head, her laugh sad as it bursts past her ribs, “But I would have been Hazel’s age…and just a normal 7-year-old. Then she asked if I have kids.”

His eyes drift closed as he sighs, his grip on her leg tighter for a second, and he kisses her forehead, “Em, if you took a break from visiting no one would judge you,” he pulls back to look at her, I know it’s not easy.”

She shakes her head, already dismissing the suggestion he’d tried to raise before, “No, I can’t. It wouldn’t feel right,” she licks her lips before she bites the lower one, her teeth sinking into the flesh of it as she gives herself a moment to prepare herself for what she’d wanted to say for weeks, “I do think something has to give though.”

He frowns, his hand leaving her thigh, the phantom feel of it still lingering, so he can tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “What do you mean?”

“I feel like I’m failing at everything, Aaron,” she says, shaking her head as she looks at him, “I’m failing at being a daughter, at being a mother, a wife. I keep making mistakes at work and…something has got to give and it cannot be this,” she says, her hand thrown up as she indicates their home, what it represents, “It can’t be our family.”

“Em, sweetheart, you aren’t failing at anything, least of all being a mom and a wife,” he says fiercely, protective of her even when it was her he was protecting her from.

“I feel like I hardly see the kids at the moment,” she says, shaking her head, “And I know you’re covering for me at work with some things,” she adds, her lips twitching into a smile when he frowns in confusion, “I heard Strauss talking about the paperwork.”

He clears his throat, “Em-”

“I’m not mad,” she clarifies, reaching for his hand and tangling it with hers, “I know you’re just trying to help. But…I’ve been thinking about it and I think I should take a leave of absence from work until…” she trails off, the fact that the thing that would bring this stressful season of her life to an end would be her mother dying a painful reality she didn’t know how to face.

“Until things are a little easier,” he finishes for her, always in pace with her and what she was thinking.

She nods, “Yeah,” she replies, her voice thick as tears she’d been suppressing all day push at the back of her eyes, “I could go see Mom during the day, the nurses say she’s a little more lucid then anyway, and then I could be here in the evenings,” she wipes her cheeks as tears splash down onto them, “I could pick the kids up from school and pretend I’m not going to take them for doughnuts on the way home,” her smile shakes as he smiles at her softly, his thumb delicate against her skin as he wipes her tears away for her, “And I could put Ivy to bed, help Jack and Hazel with their homework. I could just be their mom again, instead of the daughter of someone who doesn’t even know who I am.”

He nods, pulling her closer as he rubs comforting circles on her back, the warmth of her tears burning against the skin of his neck, “I’ll support you no matter what, sweetheart,” he turns his head to kiss her cheek, “You know that. I’ll go to talk to Strauss with you tomorrow if you want.”

She nods and pulls back, “Yes, I’d like that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by a tiny voice in the doorway, “Mommy?”

They both turn to see Ivy standing there, her hair and pjyamas wrinkled, her favourite toy, a stuffed sloth that Penelope had bought her, hanging from her hand and dragging along the floor.

“Hi sweet girl,” Emily says, “You should be sleeping.”

“Bad dream,” Ivy replies, still rubbing at her eyes, her lower lip trembling a little. Emily pulls back from Aaron and holds her arms out.

“Come here, sweetie,” she says, smiling when Ivy wastes no time in running over, all but throwing herself into her mother’s arms after she clambers onto the couch, “Mommy’s got you,” she kisses her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her little girl, “Want to tell me and Daddy about the dream.”

“There’s a monster in my closet,” she says seriously, a frown that was all Aaron fixed across her face as she looks at her parents, “He got you Mommy.”

The ache in her chest is palpable, hollow and full of grief at the knowledge that her daughter’s subconscious would have picked up on her increased absence at home. She holds Ivy even tighter, and feels Aaron do the same as he loops his arms around them both.

“I’m right here, baby,” she says, “And you know what Daddy is really good at?” She says, fake enthusiasm wrapped around every word, “He’s the best monster chaser in the world.”

Ivy’s eyes go wide as she looks between the two of them, “Really?”

“Really,” Emily confirms, looking up at her husband, “He chases mine away all the time.” It’s an all too brief moment of sincerity between the two of them, hidden in the pretence of calming down their daughter, but she knows he understands, his hold on her briefly tighter before he unwraps himself from around them.

“I also make the best hot chocolate in the world,” he says, winking at Ivy when she smiles widely, delighted by the idea of her favourite drink, “I’ll go chase away the monster and make some hot chocolate,” he drops kisses to each of their foreheads, “You two sit here and look pretty.”

Emily hums, love for him filling the gap in her chest, allowing her to forget, however briefly, just how complicated life had become recently.

“Good thing we’re excellent at that, huh Ivy?” She says, smiling when the little girl nods as she settles in her lap. Ivy’s smile fades and she presses her hand to Emily’s cheek, her fingers touching drying tear tracks.

“Mommy, are you sad?”

She sighs and grabs Ivy’s hand, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles, “I’m a little sad, baby. But I’ll be okay.”

Ivy frowns and leans forward, stamping a kiss on her mother’s forehead, something Emily did for all of her children when they were sick or sad. When she pulls back she has a serious look on her face, and the expression makes her look so much like Aaron it makes Emily ache.

“Better?”

In reality, she knew nothing had changed. She still needed to get her leave of absence approved, still needed to figure out what she wanted to do long term, how she’d balance looking after her mother and everything that came with it and her family. But right in this moment, the phantom feel of a kiss from her daughter still tingling on her forehead, the press of her little girl's innocence passing from her skin into her own, she lets herself feel better.

“Yes, sweet girl,” she says, hugging Ivy to her chest, “I’m feeling much better.”

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