#how? *shrugs* father's perspective

[gonzodangerfeels]

I need to remember the pimps come from the slums and shouldn't be looked at directly.

[gghostwriter]

Death of a Love Affair

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times you understood and the final time you couldn’t.

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: this felt oddly personal to me this is my first time writing in the Y/N perspective and in a one shot format so please be kind. I kinda left a possibly for p2, not sure about that yet, but let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Main masterlist || Part 2A (happy end) || Part 2B (sad end)

The first time it happened, you completely understood. 

You had an inkling as to what you were getting into when you started dating a 187 genius who graduated at a young age and who was scouted straight from college by the FBI. It wasn’t hard to comprehend these external circumstances mixed with his internal need to prove himself worthy of belonging with the big boys would result in missed personal events. It was a given, you expected it.

You just didn’t count on him missing your graduation. After all, he gave his word that he’ll be there to see you walk the stage and receive your diploma. He promised you and yet, as you scanned the crowd of loved ones hugging the attendees, there was no sign of his tie wearing, button up lithe form weaving through the crowd, no sign of his slicked hair, meticulously tucked behind his ears and no sign his doe eyed hazel eyes shining with pride as you joined the ranks of adulthood and unemployment.

You reach for your phone, now finally free from the nerves and adrenaline of going up the stage, with a single unread message from the one you wished to be here with you.

I’m sorry, angel. There’s a case and Gideon needs me. 

You sighed with a mild smile sprouting on your glossed lips as you sent back a reply.

No worries! We can celebrate when you get back. Be safe, I love you.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” Your mom exclaimed, reaching for a hug. “You graduated and with so many achievements—I mean look at all these cords hanging around your neck!”

You laughed as you stepped out from her warm embrace and watched joyful tears gather under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom! Hopefully all these cords help me get a job soon, huh, or else I’ll be moving back home with you.”

“Oh honey, stop joking! As if I wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms,” she quipped back. 

A hand holding a bouquet of flowers shot up to your face. It was a bundle of your favorite, carnations, in ranges of different colors. 

“Congratulations, lil sis,” your older brother, Trevor, breathed out. “Do I get a hug too or is that just for Mom?” 

You giggled as you stepped into his arms, happy to be sharing this moment with your ever loving protector of a brother, no matter how busy he might be as a head chef for his own highly rated restaurant.

“Hey big brother, thanks for being here,” you mumbled in his tight grasp. “Did you pass along my invite to Dad?” 

You felt him subtly shake his head causing your smile to slightly falter. You knew better than to expect the man who gifted you half of his genes to show up—a workaholic, absentee of a father whose love language was to deposit checks to your bank account from his fattened pockets as a lawyer for the rich. It was the cause of your parents’ separation when you were five years old. The matriarch tired from taking up the mantle as both the paternal and maternal figure for both you and your brother. Your mother exhausted from repeatedly believing broken promises uttered to herself and to her babies.

Having seen first hand how each lie wrapped as an oath chipped a piece of the loving and bright woman who gave birth to you and your brother, you vowed to never let that happen to you. It was a cautionary tale engrained in your mind. A fable—a curse really and in hindsight, you should have seen the markings of history repeating itself.

“Now, where is your nerdy pipe cleaner of a boyfriend?” He asked as he scanned around the vicinity for a sight of Spencer.

You shrugged, genuinely alright with your FBI agent of a boyfriend missing this milestone in your life. “Duty called. But that’s okay, we’ll celebrate when he gets back.” 

A pair of eyes, similar to yours, inquisitively studied you as if making sure there was no hidden hurt behind those words uttered. “If you say so,” he stated, turning to your mother who was smiling at the both of you—her greatest treasures. “Mom, let’s get out of here. I had John prep the kitchen for a feast.” 

You and your mom chattered excitedly at the passenger back seat as Trevor backed the four-door navy sedan out of the parking and drove off to his restaurant for the promised lunch graduation.

———

It was well into the night as you were settling in bed when the tell-tale signs of the main door being unlocked echoed through the dark green walls of his apartment. 

“Spence?” You called out, letting him know that you were there instead of in your own apartment, 30 minutes away. 

More shuffling was heard before the object of your love and affection rounded the bedroom door with a set of his own flowers on hand. He breathed out your name in reverence as he went for a kiss, pleased that he had still caught you awake.

“Congratulations, my love,” he smiled as he pulled away from your soft lips. “These are for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

You smiled back, gladly accepting his apologies and flowers. “It’s all good, Spence. I know how demanding your job is. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I told Gideon and Hotch that’ll I’ll be unavailable this weekend. It’s just you and me,” he said as he went in for another kiss, unable to resist any longer. Not long after, his outside clothes and your sleepwear were strewn all around the bedroom floor as both your bodies merged into one and reached a mutual crescendo with your gasps and his groans as the choir. 

***

The second time, you moderately understood.

You noted that the BAU was back in full swing with Gideon being brought back to the saddle after what happened in Boston. As his birthday treat, you both agreed to fly in for the weekend to Vegas to visit his mother at the facility. He never would have gone alone should it not have been for your enthusiasm to come with. You loved talking to Diana about Spencer’s childhood during her good days and you also loved being in her presence still even when she was lost in her teaching past—acting out as a student as you got to hear her lectures about literature. 

The bustling at the airport had you tip toeing up to catch a sight of Spencer, your flight departing in about an hour. It was a late Friday afternoon, travelers were piling in for a weekend trip, and he promised to head straight from the Bureau to the airport to meet you by the entrance. Your head swiveled from left to right, biting your lip as the minutes ticked by with no sign of your boyfriend running towards you.

The phone in your jean pocket rang and your heart slightly dropped at the sight of the caller ID.

“Hey pretty boy,” you greeted, naively wishing that this phone call wasn’t a bearer of bad news. “Are you almost at the airport?” 

There were muffled voices heard in the background. “Uhm—actually—”

You sighed, understanding what he wanted to say. “There’s a case,” you stated as a matter of fact. “It’s alright, Spence. I’ll tell your mom something popped up. No worries.” 

“You—you don’t have to go alone. We can always reschedule,” he suggested, the timber of his voice going up an octave as if he was in a panic at the idea of disappointing you.

“You and I both know Diana’s excited about this trip,” you chuckled as you recalled how her doctor had described his mother’s face lighting up every time she was reminded of the visit. “I’ll go and spend some time with her. Maybe even get her to tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about her perfect boy.”

He lightly laughed at your joke to ease the tension and remorse he was feeling. “I could have told you all of it if you just asked.”

“Well, does it include pictures of you too?” You teased as you were checking in at the counter.

There was a stern voice calling for his name in the background, it was Hotch, you silently guessed. 

“Listen, I have to go. The team is about to give the profile,” he rushed out to inform you. “I’ll see you when we both get back. I love you.” 

The call ended without so much of a chance for you to say it back.

As the plane got ready to take off, your mood continued to further dampen. He promised to go—to you and to his own mother via the phone. An ivy seed of doubt was planted in your mind. Did he try to excuse himself from the case to his boss as some sort of birthday gift? It really didn’t work that way, you knew, with how of a high demand his job is but still, you wondered if his team was informed about the plans for this weekend or were they purposely kept out of the loop. That notion wouldn’t surprise you at the slightest, thinking back. The profilers weren’t even aware of his mother’s state and condition. Hell, they didn’t even know that you existed, a girlfriend of two years, until well into his first year at the BAU. 

Deep down you grasped why he keeps Diana a secret. You were aware of the shame and embarrassment he felt for himself, having had to have her institutionalized by the time he reached the age of eighteen. You got that, didn’t mean you understood it but nonetheless, you respected his decision and was even proud of him for reaching out for professional help no matter how much he viewed that action of his cowardly. But what you weren’t really privy to was really why your relationship was kept in the dark. It could have saved him from Morgan’s incessant ribbing of his inability to pick up women.

During one night where your insecurities got the best of you, you asked in a small voice if he was ashamed of the relationship. He vehemently denied it, repeatedly saying that he just wanted to have a secret solace—a happy home to return to that was untouched by the worst human terrors that he encounters on the daily. That was what you were, he explained, a sunlit luscious reprieve filled with flowers and laughter where he could rest his weary bones from the ravaging, dark waves. His own piece of heaven here on earth. He then kissed your fears away that night, hugged you tight into his chest—the vibrations from his humming lulling you to slumber.

———

“I always knew it would take a special girl to understand my special boy,” Diana mused out loud as you plated a slice of cake for her. 

You blushed, sitting down beside her with your own. “He’s perfect. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” 

She affectionately combed through your hair, similar to how her son would. “Thank you. For visiting and being understanding of his erratic schedule.”

“It’s no problem at all, Diana. I love him, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.” You stated as the ivy seed of doubt sprouted in your mind—did you really? Did you really understand what you were getting into?

***

The third time, you still tried to understand.

There you were surrounded by the purest celebration of love and matrimony, sans your long-haired, sweater vest wearing plus one. Your brother was getting married to the love of his life, vowing himself to be with her for better, for worse and your other half was in another state catching criminals. Fiddling with the diamond engagement ring adorning your finger, you recalled how you ended up alone, dateless, in this joyous occasion. 

You RSVP’ed with a date when the invitation arrived four months ago. Your brother even calling in to make sure that he, your well-celebrated FBI fiancée, will be able to attend a month before the wedding. You internally scoffed at his repeated checking but in retrospect, maybe he saw the end well before you did. You promised to him, as Spencer did to you, that he’ll be available to watch the union and to save all the slow dances with him. But the day before the wedding, the phone rang for a case in Dallas and you knew what it meant. Without so much of a fight, you kissed him goodbye by the door of his now shared apartment and let the dreary silence enveloped you as you think of how to inform your brother of the new change without hearing the pity and patronization in his voice. 

Nursing a glass of red wine, you watched your brother dance with his newly wedded wife and in your peripheral, you spotted your mother approaching you at the table. 

“Now why are you being such a sourpuss during this festive event?” She chimed out as she pulled a chair beside you. “You should be out there, dancing and getting to know our new extended family.” 

You shrugged, unsure on what to say. She was right, of course. All the guests were enjoying themselves and basking in the warm, infectious glow of the happy couple but you didn’t have the courage in you to mask the despondent emotions inside of you.

Your mother sighed and took your left hand in hers. “You know, when your dad and I were going through the proceedings of the divorce, I had moments when I wanted to back out from it. I loved your father, still holds a piece of my heart till this day, and I thought the small moments of happiness when he was around would be enough to tied me through the days when he wasn’t. I thought those times and our love for you kids were sufficient to keep our love from wilting. If I poured out affection and devotion to the home we once built, it wouldn’t crumble surely. But you know what I forgot—”

You turned to face her somber eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something that seemed to no longer be there. 

“—I forgot to take care of myself. I gave a pieces of me away so willing and so many times that when I reached the end of the marriage, I no longer knew who I was. Where the piece of me started and where it ended. You’re withering, my flower. The vibrant life that I once longed to protect in your eyes is slowly dying. I don’t want you to reach the finish line and not know how you got up there. How you ended up giving all yourself away with not a flower bud left to blossom just for you.” 

You felt your hackles rise to defend the relationship. In hindsight, this was you denying the truth that was staring you right in the face. “It’s not like that with Spencer, Mom. It’s just—the job is hectic and it’s been his forever dream. He had finally started to gain his footing when Gideon and Elle left and then the kidnapping happened and that pushed his progress back a bit. But he’s getting there now. We’re stabilizing and we had a discussion—there’s less broken promises. It’s just that this recent case in Dallas was urgent and they needed the team to solve crime. I don’t want to take him away from the country and the people who needs his help and from his dream of solving crimes. I love him, Mom, in all of his entirety and he deserves all the respect and understanding from me as his partner.” 

She squeezed the hand in hers—the left hand adorning the ring, the material manifestation of his vow to you that you had happily accepted. “I‘ve grown fond of Spencer. I see him as another son of mine but darling, sometimes the love you feel for each other is not enough. A relationship takes continuous work—a task that both individuals must pull in the effort and prioritize. Just think about it,” she stated as she stood up. “Now, no more of this depressing talk and this serious energy from you. Go around, dance with your brother, and enjoy.” 

You mustered up a smile as you proceeded to do just what you were told until your feet were sore from all the dancing. But no matter the joyous occasion, it didn’t stop the realization in the form of ivy from taking roots and slowly covering all corners of your mind. 

***

And the final time, you could no longer understand.

The grandfather clock stationed at the corner of the dimly lit apartment struck at two. Your figure was still dressed in your purple fitted dress as you waited for your soon-to-be other half to walk through the door. It was another night of getting your hopes up and broken promises and you were no longer sure how much you could take before the love you held in your heart festers and turns into resentment. 

You promised yourself you’d never be in a situation that you had seen your mother once be in. You became the careful daughter of a careless man who gave little to no effort to cherish the love a woman had freely given to him. You thought with all your cautiousness and logical thinking, the mistakes of the mother would never be repeated. That was naive thinking—you realized now. By actively being aware of the past, you’d forgotten to look ahead and fell deep into the pitfalls of doing the same as your mother did.

Spencer once mentioned that there was a high divorce rate in his line of duty. How he worried and vowed that you both will never join that rate. And that was a promise he’ll be able to keep, you scoffed to yourself, as you spun the ring on the table.

Another shared piece of information floated to the forefront of your mind. How Haley had recently served Hotch, his unit chief divorce papers. You’ve grown close with her over the years, being the only two constant partners to someone working in the BAU. You’ve seen first hand all the missed milestones in Haley’s and Jack’s life as her husband flew around the country with the cavalry, saving the innocent one case at a time. Never taking the time to realize that the once solid foundation of their marriage was crumbling down with every flight he took. Similar to what was happening in the doctor’s own home. 

A set of keys unlatched the mahogany door and a fresh batch of florals were the first that entered through, followed by Spencer looking sheepish as he noted your presence by the sofa. “Angel, I’m so sorry I missed your promotion dinner.” 

Silence greeted him as he stumbled to get to where you were. “Carnations for you.” 

Tears started to form under your eyes. You didn’t want to break but the reality of your decision was setting in. You wanted to falter, to change your mind, to give him another chance but you knew you couldn’t. You’ve given too much of your understanding away and you doubted you have any more to give to this beautiful man who once promised to make you his top priority. 

“I can’t accept them, Spencer.” 

His eyebrows furrowed and his body tensing as if sensing the finality behind your words. “Why not? They’re your favorite.” 

“They are but—” you took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “—I think we should stop.” 

“W-what? No. No, please,” he stammered out as his own set of tears started flooding his eyes, blurring you from his vision. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner. I’ll make it up to you—I promise just—”

The dam of your emotions broke causing you to freely sob out all the sadness and anger that had collected in your heart. “I’m tired, Spencer. You can’t promise anything to me anymore. You’ve broken so many promises that you’ll only end up breaking them again.” 

He took your hands into his, letting the bouquet fall crushed on the hardwood floor, recognizing the ring missing in your finger. “This time, this time it’ll be different. Please, don’t leave me.” 

“The country needs you, the BAU needs you. But I need you too, Spencer. I love you, I really do but I can’t be your third priority anymore. I don’t deserve that—don’t I deserve to come first before the country and the job?” 

He tightened his hold on your hands as if afraid that you were slipping through his fingers, denying the reality that you already had. “I love you so much. I don’t want to live without you by my side. Tell me how to fix this. Do you want me to leave the BAU? I’ll—I’ll do it, just stay with me, please.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to leave the FBI. Your ambition and integrity is one of the facets that I loved about you and you might end up resenting me down the line if you leave now. It’s not yet your time to leave the BAU, you and I both know that,” you pulled your hands away and slid the ring in front of him. “This belongs to you, I’m giving it back.” 

His shoulder caved in on itself, the weight of it all too much for him to carry. “I don’t want this to be our end. I just don’t.” 

“I don’t want this too, but I need to,” you whispered as your hand reached out to push shoulder length hair out of the way. “Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe in the future we’d meet again and continue the pages of our love story but for now, I have to do this Spencer. I can’t keep giving a piece of me every time your top priority needs you, I’ll end up hating you if I stay.” 

You leaned in for one final kiss. A salty, tear filled kiss of death to a future you had once envisioned with the beautiful boy before you. A white picket fence with children laughing at the backyard—the American dream fading into nothing as you start to pull away.

“Goodbye for now, Spencer.”

He stared at all the curves and dips in your face one last time as if etching every detail into his already perfect memory.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

[warnersister]

Personal Space (two Bradshaws like it now)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: A sequel in which you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space. Even more so now you’ve had a baby, apparently.

Can be read as a part 2, but doesn’t have to be. Read Personal Space here

You really didn’t know when it all happened, when you and Bradley became a thing. At first he was just an annoying crew member you couldn’t shake off your tail. Then he was your wingman. Then you got accidentally placed into marriage accommodation and the two of you played it off so you could get better housing. Then you actually bought a house. And then somewhere along the way you got married.

“Where shall we have the wedding?” Bradley asked and you raised a brow “register office” you shrug “what you don’t want a wedding?” He asks, hand on his chest as he feigns offence. “You do?” You ask and he nods vigorously. You huff. “Fine” “so shall we do it on the beach?” He asks “okay” you just go along with it, hardly even entertaining the idea at all.

“So? What do you think?” Nat asks as she makes you pivot in a white gown “I think I look like a roll of toilet paper” you said, crossing your arms “maybe it’s just not the dress for you?” She reasons and you shake your head “just not really into the whole idea of this wedding. I kinda thought we’d just sign papers and get on with it” you said “well you picked Bradshaw, he’s a drama queen at the best of times” she says and you him in agreement; your consultant leading you back to the fitting rooms “let’s try another”.

You’d left with a sleeved dress; hating the idea of having a low cut dress, and begging Nat to just let you leave. Sure, you loved the dress - but you loved the idea of getting out of that suffocating shop more.

“Hey honey” Bradley had said, hearing you walk into the house and set your keys on the kitchen counter. “Hi” you reply shortly, moving to fill your cup with water from the sink. “How was your day?” He asked, moving to rest his head on your shoulder and holding you from behind. “Good. Bought a wedding dress” you say simply “you did what?!”

Then on your wedding day, you’d stared at yourself in the mirror far too long. “You look gorgeous” Penny whispers, squeezing your shoulders comfortingly “I look like a fucking pin up doll” you huff, not necessarily believing yourself - just not used to being such a central perspective of attention. “Wow” your dad says, walking into the room “you look gorgeous” he whispers “is there an echo in here?” You mumble, but smile at him “thank you” you say, wiping the tears from under his eyes. “C’mon, Bradley’s nearly about to come get you himself”

You showed up to the beach-front wedding right on time, completely dead against the idea of being in any way, shape, or form late. Your father gave you away, Bradley in floods of tears at the end of the isle by the time you’d gotten there. “You look incredible” he whispers, lips quivering as he stares at you “shut up you’re going to make me cry.” You grumble, but smile. “It’s okay to cry.” He says, as the ceremony begins. “You may now kiss your bride” and Bradley dipped you and kissed you sweetly, drowning out the cheers of those around you. “I love you, Bradshaw.” You say, smally, “I love you more, sweetheart” he says and kisses your forehead “you’re crying” he points out “shut up”

And then you looked at the two lines on the pregnancy test two years later. You hummed “okay” and looked at yourself in the mirror, knowing nothing else other than the fact that you had to tell Bradley right that second. You marched downstairs, where he was sat playing with some keys on the piano you’d bought him last Christmas, stopping next to him. “Hey baby, y’alright?” He asked, and you just held out the stick to him. “What’s this?” He asks, taking it from you and looking over it once. “You serious?” He asked, looking at you; smile growing from ear to ear “you’re pregnant?” He almost whispers “unless the other four lied.” you say and he jumps up and pulls you into his arms, kissing all over your face until you shouted at him to stop.

He knelt down and looked at your stomach, kissing it gently then moving to put his ear against it “uh huh” he hummed “Bradley what are you-” “shush I’m talking to em” he says and you stand, unimpressed, but let him nonetheless. “Oh yeah baby, I’m excited to meet you too” he coos “yeah, yeah, I’m your dad” and you audibly giggle. He looks up at you, eyes wide “you done?” You ask and he nods “yeah little one was done talking” he smiles, and hugs you close again. “I need to get the baby clothes out of the attic” he mumbles, kissing your temple “the what?” You ask “I bought them when we started renting the house!” He says, dragging you excitedly up the stairs “but we own the house, Brad” you him “no, no, the one we had during the mission!” He says and you gasp internally, realising how long the two of you had been together without even noticing it.

“Hey dad” you say, as you and Bradley head into the hangar he and you owned “hey honey, hey Brad” your dad greets, wiping the oil from his hands to come over and talk to the two of you. He kissed your forehead and hugged you, then your husband before walking back over to the aircraft he was working on. “Thought you needed a new picture for your pinboard” you hum “oh? I just added the wedding photo!” He says, excitedly, showing you the filled gap. “Okay, guess you don’t want the sonogram of your grandchild.” You say, turning to head out before Bradley hurriedly grabbed you and turned you back into the situation, pulling the strip of photos from his breast pocket. Your dad stood with his jaw wide open “you’re-” he breathes “you’re really pregnant?” He asks as his eyes well with tears “well I wouldn’t lie-” you say but he just pulls you into a big bear hug, pinning Baby Bradshaw’s picture onto his board.

You head to go look at the part of the engine your dad couldn’t quite fix while Bradley held back with Maverick. He turns to him and shakes his hand “your dad would’ve been so proud.” He says, smiling at Bradley “I know you are.” Rooster smiles, wordlessly being pulled into a hug with his father-in-law.

Then one evening you were sat up in bed, Bradley sound asleep beside you as you look down at the barely visible bump. Bradley had sort of a sixth sense, somehow knowing you weren’t asleep beside him. “Hey, baby what’s up?” He croaks, immediately moving to sit up with you when he sees his senses were correct. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Bradley.” You say, staring ahead at the wall “what do you mean?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I mean I’m a fighter pilot, I was raised by a single father, I never had that maternal instinct, what am I doing?” You whisper, and when Bradley managed to finally pull your face towards him you were crying “oh sweetheart” he hums, pulling you into him gently “you’re gonna be the best momma ever, and the fact that you worry proves that. I love you, okay?” He comforts “I know. I love you too.”

You were stubborn the whole pregnancy. You thought it was ridiculous that people just stopped when they were pregnant, and Bradley was trailing you trying anything to get you to just relax. “Hen, please!” He begs as you head out for your morning run “I’m three months pregnant, Bradley. I’m not incompetent.” You snap, as he begrudgingly pulls on his running shoes and follows you out the door. He pulled you back anytime you went quicker than a 10 minute mile “Bradley, if you slow me down one more time I’m going to pull your arm out of your socket” you snap and he holds his hands up “message received.”

Then one day, at around the sixth month mark you walked into the house and slammed the door so hard it rattled. “What’s up?” Bradley asked, as you practically threw your stuff on the floor. “They’re putting me on the desk.” You grumble, anger evident in your eyes while his soften “oh baby we knew that was gonna happen” he soothes, rubbing your arm reassuringly “no! No we didn’t! I was perfectly fine hiding the bump, but no!” You huff “I’m Bradley Bradshaw and all of California has to know my wife’s pregnant!” You imitate him but he just smirks “oh I’m so sorry that everyone needs to know you’re taken and carrying my baby” he says, smugly. “Don’t you smile at me Bradley-” you wag an accusatory finger at him, but he heaves you over his shoulder, and towards the stairs “c’mon, let’s help you blow off some steam” he reasons “y’know it’s possible to get pregnant while pregnant, right?” You ask and he cheers “woohoo! Two for one deal, sounds great!” He says and you can’t help but smile.

Then came your maternity leave, Bradley picked you up in his bronco. You were quick to head outside, and he kinda hated how well you hid the bump. “I’m done.” You huff, settling into the seat beside him “if that bitch from accounting asks me one more time if I want her herbal teas I’m going to knock her teeth out” you complain and Bradley chuckles “well, just me, you and Baby Bradshaw now” he says and you hum in agreement.

But when you approached your street, you rolled straight past your house and straight to the Hard Deck ‘congratulations on your baby’ banners plastered all over “welcome to our baby shower!” Bradley grins as you pull up “is this really necessary? They aren’t even here yet.” You tell him and he shrugs “thought it might take your mind off maternity leave” you smile at him “thanks, Brad”

And at one point in the evening, you sat Natasha and Bob down separately. “Hey Phoenix, can we borrow you?” Brad asked, pulling her away from her conversation “yeah of course guys!” You took a seat at a table and Bradley forced you to elevate your feet against your will. “What’s up?” She asks “how’d you like to be godmother to little Bradshaw?” Her eyes lit up when Bradley asked and she leant over the table to hug the two of you “oh I’d love too!” She announces, excitedly.

Then you head over to Bob, but Phoenix holds Rooster back “they have a special connection, let her do this”. You sit on the stool next to Bob and he offers you some peanuts which you refuse, and you stay sat in silence for a minute. “Bob can I ask you something?” You ask, as he pulls your calves up to rest in his lap “of course, hen” he says, brushing some crumbs off his top “what’s up?” “Well, the job we’re in isn’t an old job” you say and he laughs and agrees “it’s also dangerous” you say, and again - he nods. “So if anything happens to me and Brad, can you be there for little Bradshaw?” His eyes widen and start to swell with tears “will you be our godfather?” You ask and he nods, moving to miss your cheek “of course I will, hen. I’d be honoured.”

Bradley and you had started putting together your hospital bag at the 8 month mark. You were both premature so had a bit of superstition, especially with only being a few weeks off of the 40 mark. You’d placed the bag by the front door, along with a baby carrier in the middle seat of his Bronco.

It was week 38 when you were both putting together the crib beside your bed, two spare bedrooms and still you only wanted your baby beside you. “Okay all done, baby” your husband said “okay. My water broke three minutes ago” you say as calmly as he had, he nods, then whips his head back round “your water broke?” He asks and looks down, and indeed, your water had broken “oh my god your water broke?!” He announced, picking you up bridal style and carrying you out to the bronco, picking the hospital bag up on the way. “Ready to have a baby?” He asks, giddily. “Am I supposed to be?” You ask and he shakes his head with a smile “no”

You were dead silent during birth and it scared the shit out of Bradley. “Do you want an epidural, honey? They’ve offered-” “no.” “Can I get you more ice?” “No.” And he tried everything, even when it was time to push. You held his hand and your mouth was zipped shut. “Is she supposed to be this quiet?” He asked the doctor who just looked at him nonchalantly “it’s normal, all mothers react differently to birth” he said. “I’m a fighter pilot Bradley. I’ve had worse.” You grit. “Breathe baby” he tells you “I think you need to.” You say “stop being dramatic” you say as you push again “honey-” “either shut up or get out.” You tell him and he glues his mouth shut, at least until the baby comes.

Bradley cuts the chord and they hand you your baby, and your eyes widen as you stare at the baby on your chest “welcome to the world Nick Bradshaw” you coo at the baby and Bradley raised his brows “Nick?” He asks, voice cracking “what? Got a problem with that? You and your stupid dick” you grumble and Bradley laughs and shakes his head, kissing your forehead.

“Hey mom, shall we take baby so you can get some rest?” The nurse asked, leaning to take Nick from your arms “excuse me?” You asked, pulling your baby closer. “So you can sleep?” She suggests “I’ve carried him for nine months and now he’s here you’re taking him away?” You ask “well, some mothers like to sleep” “I can sleep when I’m dead.” You deadpan, and she realised that Nick wouldn’t have been pried from your hands even if you were dead, so she left you all alone.

“Taking you away from mommy? Who does she think she is?” You whisper to baby Nick. “Welcome back to the world, Bradshaw.” You say and Bradley can only smile and hold the two of you close.

You’re going to be just fine in this mommy role.

——————————

Part 2-ish? I know it was really well liked and I enjoyed writing it so hope you enjoy this one too!

-> @rosiahills22 here’s another one!

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[sycamoregirlsworld]

Wildflower and Barley- L. Castellan

luke x fem! psyche! reader

“my coffee black, in my bed at 3. you’re too sweet for me.” -hozier

She was too good for him. Luke had realized that since the first day she had come to camp, but he still couldn’t help but want her.

She was impossibly beautiful, inside and out. She was brilliant, and she was a good fighter.

She was one of a kind. Psyche had no other demigod children, and while (Y/n) swore up and down that she inherited no powers from her mother, Luke thought otherwise.

She was intoxicating, she could fill your head with only thoughts of her until you were sure that your soul belonged to her. Everyone wanted her— either as a friend or a lover. Whenever she passed by, heads would turn to follow her.

And that included Luke. For awhile, he was content just being her friend. He couldn’t have her like that—he wasn’t good enough for her— but he was content to just be in her presence.

So he would watch from afar, want building up in him every time she’d smile or even just glance at him.

From an outsiders perspective, you would’ve thought the pair were dating. Luke flirted with her—(Y/n) flirted back too—but to Luke it was just a friendship, she was just being friendly.

And it was staring to drive him crazy—he saw the way girls and guys looked at her—Luke wanted to be the only one who could stare at her like that.

But he wasn’t hers, so it was just a stupid pipe dream.

I mean, she was perfect in his eyes. How could anyone so perfect like someone like him?

While he stayed up at night cursing the gods (more specifically his father) and put on a false show of confidence, she walked around with no worries or doubts following her, only butterflies her mother had undoubtedly sent.

She hadn’t been broken down by the world like he had, so he had decided that he would do anything for her to not be.

(Y/n) told him so many times that he didn’t need to protect her, but he never listened.

Which is how he found himself in the infirmary.

Luke scowled as he looked up at the ceiling, wincing a bit as it pulled at his split lip. (Y/n) was going to be so pissed at him, but he didn’t care.

‘They deserved it.’ He kept repeating to himself as he counted down the seconds until (Y/n) came and ripped him apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the door to the infirmary burst open, frantic footsteps following it.

“Luke!” (Y/n)’s worried voice called out as she hurried over to him. “Annabeth told me you were in the infirmary.”

The brown haired boy opened his eyes and smiled at her, patting the spot beside him. “Hey, beautiful.”

(Y/n) frowned at him as she sat down, scanning his bruised face as she anxiously cracked her knuckles. “What happened?” She mumbled. Luke frowned as she tentatively reached out for his face, before hesitating and letting her hand fall back beside her.

“You can touch me, y’know?” He smirked as he grabbed her hand and rested it on his face. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad.”

“Jus’ don’t wanna hurt you..” She averted her gaze, but she kept her hand planted on his cheek.

Luke rolled his eyes fondly as he grabbed her free hand. “I don’t think you could ever hurt me, princess.” His brown eyes twinkled in triumph as she turned her head to glare at him, cheeks burning red.

“Don’t call me that.” She grumbled before pointing a finger at him. “And you’re evading my question! What happened to you!?”

Luke sat up straighter as he smiled bashfully, biting his cheek awkwardly. “Okay, so don’t get mad!”

“That’s an awful way to start this.”

“No— seriously, (Y/n).” He laughed. “Just let me explain.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at him but shrugged, indicating for him to continue speaking.

“During sword training today, these two Ares boys were talking about you.” Luke sighed. “They were saying gross things— and y’know I couldn’t let them talk about you like that.”

“Man, I don’t know why she hangs around Castellan.” Luke heard one of the Ares boys sigh. His ears perked up at the mention of his name. He crept closer to the two boys, wanting to know what they were saying.

“I could treat her so much better—do her so much better.” The other snorted and winked at his friend. “She looks innocent but I bet she’s hiding some freaky secrets.”

Luke felt his face grow hot in anger as he realized the conversation was about his bestfriend—not to mention that they were talking about how they wanted to fuck her. It made him feel sick.

“Hey guys.” He frowned as he walked up to the boys, his hands grasping onto their shoulders. He could feel one of them tense up as he heard Luke’s voice, and it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction.

He didn’t think he was all that scary, but if he scared these guys enough to back off (Y/n), he would take it.

“Oh— hey, Luke.” One of them swallowed thickly as he turned his head to look at Luke.

His friend on the other hand, didn’t look as scared as he turned towards Luke with his chest puffed out.

“Hey man.” He smirked as he looked Luke up and down. “How’re you doing?”

“I was doing just fine, until I heard you talking about (Y/n) like that.” Luke crossed his arms with a glare.

“Don’t be so jealous, dude.” He scoffed as he ‘playfully’ punched Luke in the shoulder. “Just because she let you fuck doesn’t mean—”

And that was all it took for Luke to pull back his fist and connect it to the boys nose.

(Y/n) stared down at Luke with a small frown as he finished recounting his story. “Luke..” She began.

“I know, I know— you don’t like it when I get in fights.” Luke sighed and looked up at her with soft eyes, silently pleading her to not tell him off this time.

“I really don’t.” She mumbled as pulled on her necklace, it was a nervous habit of hers. “Especially fights about me.”

“Well, I’m your bestfriend.” He shrugged. “If I’m not going to defend you from creeps, what am I good for?”

(Y/n) frowned as she stared down at him, her eyes softening. “It just makes me feel bad when you get hurt because me.”

Luke sat up in the bed and tugged her into a hug. “M’ not getting hurt because of you.” He mumbled into her hair. “And anyways, you know I would do anything for you.”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I don’t care what other guys say about me, I’ve got you.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and Luke was sure she could feel his heart beating erratically.

‘Did she just… is she saying what I think she is?’ Luke pinched himself, this couldn’t be real.

“Luke?” Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts. She moved away from his chest and looked up at him, her cheeks bashfully red.

“Most guys wouldn’t get into fights over their best friend…” She trailed off, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Luke swallowed as he looked down at her, he could feel his mind clouding with want.

She was right, most guys wouldn’t beat someone up because they wanted to fuck their bestfriend.

“Maybe.. it’s because I want to be more then your friend.” He breathed out as he leaned his head down. His breath fanned over her face as their noses brushed. He was so close he could taste it, but he’d never taste her without permission.

“Maybe I want you to be more then my friend.” (Y/n) smiled as she moved closer. Her lips brushed against his and it took everything in him not to take her right there.

“Please— kiss me.” His face burned red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

In an instant, (Y/n) had her lips firmly pressed against his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid his injuries, as she tugged him closer.

Luke felt his breath hitch as her lips moved against his in a frantic pace. Gods, he had been wanting this for so long and now he finally had it.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his lap, lips still attached to hers. He could feel himself start to lose his composure as she gasped into his mouth. She was so beautiful, he just wanted her—

“Luke.” (Y/n) pulled away from this kiss and stared down at him, wide eyed and breathless. “We’re in the infirmary.”

“And..?” Luke tilted his head as he squeezed her thighs.

“And you’re hurt!”

Luke smirked and grabbed her chin, bringing her down to him once more.

“Good thing we’re in the infirmary.”

[thewulf]

Undying Love || King Thranduil

Summary: Request - Are you taking King Thranduil requests? If you are taking... do you write with a human reader? The reader may be a Dúnedain. Or even Aragorn's aunt or older sister. She is someone who can overcome Thranduil's solid walls and sharp borders. Considering human age (although the Dúnedain lived longer) this results in sadness, as we all know. But these two can find comfort in each other, amidst their complicated relationship.

A/N: Not sure how much I like this one. It's really sweet and of course ends well. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: King Thranduil x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k +

TW: LOTR Warnings

As you walk through the dense, towering trees of Mirkwood the ancient sentinels of the forest whisper secrets of the old world with every rustle of their leaves. Accompanied by Legolas and Gimli you stride purposefully down the leaf-strewn path, your eyes alight with curiosity. The fabled woods which were spoken of in many a tale and song unfold around you with a serene majesty.

Beside you Legolas moves with an effortless grace that seems almost like a dance. His elven heritage clear in every step. Gimli who was ever the stout and steadfast companion keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the seemingly endless trek through the trees.

As the elegant spires of the elven king's palace glint through the dense canopy of Mirkwood Legolas turns towards you with a distinctly worried expression. "My father can be... quite the traditionalist," he warns in a low voice. His clear blue eyes searching yours for understanding. "His views on the dealings of elves with humans and dwarves can still be quite rigid."

You simply shrug with a slight smile playing on your lips. "I've dealt with stubborn royalty before," you reply confidently recalling countless negotiations and meetings with leaders across middle earth. "I can handle your father Legolas."

Legolas hesitates. His gaze lingering on you a moment longer. His concern not entirely abated. "It's not just his traditional views," he adds before lowering his voice as other elves pass by with graceful nods. "He has rarely opened his heart or mind after my mother's passing. He guards himself, sometimes too fiercely. Be cautious still. He is not easily swayed or impressed."

Acknowledging his words with a nod you feel a spark of challenge light up within you. "Thank you, Legolas. I appreciate your concern, but these challenges are not unfamiliar to me. I’ll tread carefully but I won’t back down. You know me well enough by now." Your response seems to reassure him slightly though he still watches you with a mix of admiration and apprehension as you approach the grand threshold of the palace.

As the three of you step into the grand hall the air shifts, filled with the soft melodies of elven music and the fragrance of exotic flowers. The elven king himself stands tall and imposing at the far end of the room his sharp eyes locking onto yours as you approach.

"My Lord Thranduil," you greet him while bowing your head slightly in respect yet holding his gaze firmly. You knew exactly how to deal with his type.

Thranduil's initial surprise at your directness quickly gives way to intrigue. He steps forward. His regal bearing unmistakable. "I am told you are the King of Gondor’s elder sister," he states looking from Legolas back to you. His voice deep and resonant. "It is rare for a Dúnedain to tread these halls."

"The rarity makes it all the more worthwhile," you quip back not missing a beat. Legolas who was standing a few steps behind raises his eyebrows in surprise at the ease with which you banter with his father.

Thranduil lets out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. A sound few have heard. "Indeed," he replies. His eyes reflecting a spark of amusement. "Let us hope your journey proves beneficial for us all."

You meet his gaze with a steady, confident look. "From what I’ve heard Mirkwood could use a fresh perspective. Perhaps I can offer one."

He does not look offended only amused. "An interesting assertion," Thranduil remarks. His tone still cool but tinged with curiosity. "Many have come claiming the same, yet few have left their mark. What makes you different Dúnedain?" You knew what he was doing. Throwing your mortality in your face but it didn’t change your stance.

"My heritage might be human, Thranduil. But my experiences are as varied as the leaves of your forest," you respond smoothly. "And like the leaves I believe in change and adaptation."

Thranduil studies you for a moment. His expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You speak boldly for one so young by elven standards. It is refreshing... and rare."

Gimli who had been quietly observing the exchange, leans over and nudges Legolas in the side with his elbow. He whispers just loud enough for Legolas to hear, "Seems like your father might have met his match, eh, lad? Better keep an eye on these two." His chuckle breaks your concentration with the king. Legolas shoots Gimli a slight glare, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. He couldn't deny the intriguing dynamic unfolding before him. His friend's words carried a hint of truth that piqued his curiosity even more even if they were whispered in jest.

The king's demeanor remains composed yet there’s a glint of respect in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Very well, Lady of the Dúnedain. Let us see what changes you bring to Mirkwood. For better or for worse… it shall be interesting." Thranduil watches you closely. His initial skepticism slowly morphing into a newfound curiosity about your presence. Your ability to hold your ground in this ancient and enigmatic court hints at the intriguing days to come.

In the following days your interactions with King Thranduil shift from formalities to more substantial exchanges. You find yourselves often walking together through the lush, verdant gardens of the palace. The air filled with the earthy scent of moss and the distant sound of a waterfall. Thranduil who was typically reserved with his emotions began to open up under the canopy of ancient trees that have seen the passing of many ages.

One afternoon Thranduil shares with you the tale of his wife. The love he lost to the shadows of the past. His voice which was usually so commanding and steady, carries a subtle tremor as he speaks of the battles fought and the peace that never came. "Time has a way of healing, yet also of deepening the scars," he says quietly while looking out over a mist-covered lake.

You listen intently. Your heart softening towards the elven king who has borne much grief. "Even the mightiest of trees were once just seeds, my lord," you respond gently, touching his arm. "They grow, they endure, and sometimes, they too must learn to thrive anew after a storm."

Thranduil's gaze meets yours. The usual frost in his eyes thawing slightly. He nods slowly. A silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words. In these shared moments a mutual understanding blossoms between you. Both of you were shaped by loss yet you were still standing. Still reaching towards the light.

On a quiet evening a few days later you and Thranduil find yourselves beside the silver-threaded streams that lace through the forest. The conversation turns to the philosophical, exploring the ephemeral nature of beauty and life itself. "All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes," Thranduil muses. His gaze distant, reflecting the shimmering water.

"I know the pain of loss, too," you share softly while meeting his eyes. "But I also know that every moment of joy we find after loss is a treasure." Your words seem to strike a chord in Thranduil. His usual reserve melting away slightly as he considers your perspective.

In the following days the air between you grows warmer. It was filled with a quiet understanding. Legolas watches this growing bond with a mix of hope and worry. He approaches his father one crisp morning with caution in his voice. "Father, do you not fear the heartache that may come? She is mortal you know this. Her years will not touch yours."

Thranduil's response comes after a thoughtful pause, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion rarely seen by others. "Indeed, Legolas. I am aware of the shadows that time casts. But should we forsake the warmth of the sun for fear of the night’s chill? The joy she brings… the companionship we share, I find it to be a balm for many old wounds."

This acknowledgment marks a turning point. Thranduil begins to openly cherish the moments you share whether in laughter over a shared meal or in quiet solidarity during council meetings. He learns to embrace the present, the here and now with you by his side. He was learning to find joy in the everyday moments that life offers. Your presence brings a light to Mirkwood that had not been seen for many years. And brought to Thranduil’s heart a renewed sense of hope and happiness however transient it might be.

It was on one of these seemingly standard days that you and Thranduil find yourselves walking along a secluded path beside the murmuring streams. The serene sounds of the forest envelop you both. A gentle symphony that seems to slow the passage of time.

As the gentle evening breeze stirs the leaves, Thranduil stops before turning to face you with a look of resolve mixed with a hint of vulnerability. "The time is nearing when Legolas and Gimli will continue their journeys, exploring lands beyond our borders," he begins. His voice low and tinged with a somber note.

You nod with a sense of impending change hanging in the air between you.

Thranduil takes a deep breath, his gaze searching yours. "I find myself at a crossroads of selfishness and reason," he confesses. "Every part of me knows I should encourage you to see the world with them. To experience all that life has to offer. Yet..." He pauses while looking at you, his eyes reflecting the soft starlight. "Yet, I find myself wishing you would stay. Here. With me."

The honesty in his words touches you deeply, and you reach out, taking his hand. "Thranduil, I..."

He gently squeezes your hand. His other hand coming up to lightly touch your cheek. "I know it is much to ask, and perhaps it is more for my own heart's ease than for your good. But you have brought light into the shadows of these woods and into the shadow of my heart. If you would stay, I would have us spend every moment that fate allows us together."

You feel the weight and warmth of his words wrap around you like a cloak. "I have wandered through middle earth to its extent and seen many wonders, Thranduil," you reply softly. Your decision clear in your heart even before he asked. "But here with you, I have found a wonder that surpasses them all. I will stay. Not out of duty. Not out of necessity. But because I want to, my lord."

A smile that was as rare as it was radiant breaks across Thranduil’s usually composed face. "Then let us not count the days but make the days count," he says while drawing you closer. "For however long we have."

The decision to stay in Mirkwood was sealed by the simplicity of your shared love. It casts a new light over your days together. Despite the challenges that remain your acceptance of each other, and the transient nature of happiness only serves to deepen the love that blossoms between you. It enriched every moment you share amid the timeless woods.

As the seasons change in Mirkwood so too does the nature of your relationship with Thranduil. The initial sparks of curiosity and mutual understanding kindle into a deeper, more profound connection. You find yourselves often lost in conversation, or simply enjoying the peaceful silence that only true companionship can afford. Despite the knowledge of inevitable parting due to your mortality you both decide to embrace the present. Instead letting your affection for each other grow into love.

The palace gardens that were once a place of solitude for Thranduil become a frequent meeting spot for the two of you. Surrounded by ancient trees and the gentle sounds of the forest you share stories, laughter, and plans for the future of Mirkwood. The joy and peace you find in each other's company seem to breathe new life into the still-recovering woodland realm and even the elves begin to notice a change in their king. A lightness to his step and a warmth in his eyes that had been absent for ages.

However, your blossoming love does not come without its challenges. Thranduil's fears of loss are never fully quieted, echoing in his moments of solitude. The differences between your races occasionally give rise to tensions. Moreover, political pressures mount as not all in the elven court or beyond are pleased with a human holding such influence over their king. Rumors and skepticism swirl through the corridors of the palace adding a strain to the harmony you both cherish.

Despite these hurdles the two of you find strength in your unity. Thranduil had grown inspired by your vitality and strength. He learns to appreciate the present like never before. Savoring each day he gets to spend with you. One evening under a canopy of stars, Thranduil speaks words that both acknowledge the reality of your situation and celebrate the beauty of your bond. "Life is fleeting for some, enduring for others, but it is the living of it, the moments we share, that truly defines its value," he reflects. His voice steady and sure.

You nod as your hand found his, an unspoken agreement passing between you. The both of you decide to make the most of the time you have, regardless of its length. This acceptance brings a new depth to your relationship, allowing you both to live fully in the moments you create together whether they be marked by laughter or contemplation.

The acceptance of the transient nature of your happiness does not diminish it; rather, it enriches the love you share. Making each moment more precious. Thranduil finds a new perspective on life, one that values the joys of the present over the fears of the future. The love that blooms between you, against all odds, becomes proof to the power of embracing the now, whatever may come later.

But even time has a way of catching you. As it weaves its inevitable tapestry the lines of age begin to grace your features, each one a mark of the vibrant life you've shared with Thranduil in Mirkwood. Thranduil who was ever timeless in his elven beauty watches the subtle changes with a mix of admiration and a deep-seated fear of impending loss. The thought of a future without you by his side casts a shadow over his heart. One that grows with each passing day.

Driven by a love that has transcended the bounds of time and race Thranduil seeks a way to keep the two of you together. In a move born of desperation and deep love, he reaches out to Galadriel, one of the few with the power and wisdom to alter your fate. His plea is heartfelt: to allow both of you passage to the Undying Lands where time could no longer claim its toll on your mortal soul.

Galadriel who had observed the sorrows and joys of middle earth for ages was moved by the depth of Thranduil's love. She consents. "Let there be no more heartbreak," she declares, granting Thranduil the rare opportunity to vacate his kingship and travel to a land of peace with you.

The days that follow are bittersweet as you and Thranduil prepare for this final voyage. Legolas understood the significance of this decision. He steps forward to assume the role of king. His pride and readiness to lead assure both you and Thranduil that Mirkwood remains in capable hands.

Your farewells are heartfelt and tearful. Legolas embraces you both. His eyes shining with unshed tears but also with pride and joy for the new life you will start. "Go with peace, my father, and my friend," he whispers. "May the shores of Valinor bring you the tranquility you deserve."

Your brother Aragorn and his queen, Arwen, come to bid you goodbye, their faces a mixture of sorrow and happiness. "Sister, your happiness has always been my own," Aragorn says, clasping your hands. "May the stars shine brightly on your path."

As you stand beside Thranduil waiting to board the ship that would carry you to the Undying Lands you feel a profound sense of peace. The sea's openness echoes the vastness of the journey you've undertaken together. From the courts of Mirkwood to this final, eternal embarkation.

As the ship sails away, you stand beside Thranduil, his hand in yours. You watch middle earth fade into the distance, a land rich with memories and echoes of ancient songs. Turning to face the horizon where new beginnings and timeless shores await, you find solace in the shared silence that speaks volumes between you and Thranduil.

Looking up at the eternal stars glittering in the sky Thranduil speaks softly, a deep reverence in his voice. "Beyond the furthest shores, under the watch of the undying stars, we find our path anew."

You nod. The profound weight of his words mingling with the sea breeze. "Let the stars guide us as we journey forth into this ageless night." Together you sail into the undying light of Valinor, where the bounds of time no longer tether your spirits. In this new realm your love finds its place among the eternal sustained by the timeless peace of the undying lands.

(Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @dnfhascorruptedme 

[anyarose011]

One More Reason to Control Myself {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Angus Tully knows she's hiding something. Why else would she lie about where she was the morning of Christmas Eve?

Part 5 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, and mention of exploitation of a minor.

We get an Angus POV chapter, motherfuckaas!! I had fun writing from his perspective while also giving him a little more backstory as well. Also, considering I want to try and eliminate the Y/N effect, anytime there's a she or her (italicized) it's you, dear reader. Shoutout to me forgetting there was a character named Danny in the movie, so I have to cover my ass for naming the creep "Daniel". Also, part 2 of an Angus/Reader coded song (what do you mean it breaks my heart? No it doesn't!)

Word Count: 7.1k

“So, why’d you miss supper last night, and why is little miss Jane Bennet missing breakfast now too?”

That was what Mary asked Angus and Paul Hunham at Christmas Eve breakfast. Mr. Hunham glanced around, trying not to show his nerves, but failed. “Oh, we went into town on some uh, school-related business. As for my daughter…I do not know; she wasn’t there when I woke up, have you seen her, Angus?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Mary hummed. The door opened, and in came Danny, the janitor who, even in the below freezing temperatures of winter, somehow almost had a smile on his face. Carrying in a mop and bucket, he greeted. “Good morning, everybody.”

“Good morning,” Mary pointed to the kitchen. “you can go on in and fix yourself a plate.”

He nodded. “I just saw something funny. I walked into the gym, and someone had vomited in there.”

Angus stilled as he drank his orange juice. Mary looked at him and Mr. Hunham, and the two of them looked at each other.

“You don’t say,” it was Paul who spoke first. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Angus answered loosely.

“No, uh, I’ll look into that right away. Thank you.”

Mary raised one of her brows. “I see how it is.”

Danny shook his head, walked over to Angus, and placed the bucket and mop by him before walking away. “You’re out your mind.”

Angus sighed, fiddling with the eggs on his plate. It had been a week of a frozen hell for him (perhaps not so bad…he made a friend. A friend who, despite there being billions of nerves in the body, she still managed to get on every single one of them; yet, he knows he does the same to her). Still, as Christmas Eve was supposed to be a time of excitement for the holidays, Angus Tully felt nothing of the sort.

He had no idea if it was because he was getting older, or because his father wouldn’t be there after Christmas mass, carrying him out of the car when he pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because he didn’t live in the same house anymore where the Christmases he used to love took place…

Fortunately, his moments of wintertime dread were gone once the doubles doors from the outside were opened. He watched as Mr. Hunham’s daughter entered, pulling off her gloves and unwrapping the scarf that was brought up over her hair and around her neck.

“And where were you?” Mary was the first to interrogate, sitting beside Angus, still smoking her cigarette.

She smiled, approaching the table. “Out.”

“Out where?” Her father then questioned.

Chuckling, the girl pulled out a chair by her father and sat down, taking an orange of the fruit basket, peeling it. “Just on a walk. I gotta clear my head from you people sometimes.”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, not necessarily shocked by her response, but still bewildered. “Clear your-? How long were you out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I woke up around seven-thirty, read for a bit, then went out. So…maybe eight? Not for long, that’s for sure.”

Angus knew she was lying. He didn’t mean to peek into her room when he woke up (genuinely he didn’t, no matter what anyone says). Even though Mr. Hunham decided not to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn since Angus was the only holdover, the boy’s internal clock wouldn’t let him sleep in. So, the first thing he needed to do was go to the bathroom, and as he passed by the doorway to her room, she wasn’t there.

He didn’t think anything of it until he was eating breakfast at eight-thirty, and he still didn’t see her.

“I see.” Her father furrowed his brow, but then shrugged, going back to lunch. “Well, please at least eat something other than fruit.”

She took the whole bowl. “But it’s the candy of the good ol’ days.”

“And what are the good ol’ days?” Mary huffed,

“Ancient Rome and Greece,” she popped a grape into her mouth. “also when women had less rights than they do now.”

Angus snorted, trying to then cover up his amusement with a cough. He didn’t find women not having rights funny (please believe him), it was just unexpected of her to say. Still, he felt all eyes on him, and refused to meet any of them as he picked up a piece of bacon.

He likes to think Mr. Hunham’s daughter was smiling at him when she stood up. “Fine, I’ll get real food.”

She went to the kitchen to grab a plate, and Mary hummed. “Never thought I’d see that girl ever be happy this early in the morning.”

Angus finally looked up. “She usually isn’t?”

Mary smirked, placing her cigarette between her lips. “I don’t think you’d last a day with her if you were both ten.”

There was nothing else to do after Mr. Hunham lectured Angus for an hour about the aqueducts in Rome. What was usually two and a half hours was only one, since the teacher claimed: “I’m feeling a little generous because of the season.”

Not because he wanted to drink alone in Dr. Woodrup’s office reading mystery novels (Don’t be ridiculous).

So, that brought Angus Tully back up to the infirmary, to do what, who fucking knows? He glanced into the other room and saw Mr. Hunham’s daughter laying on the middle bed, reading. When she looked up, sensing his presence, he instinctively hid behind the corner.

“You don’t have to be creepy anymore.” She spoke with the sarcasm he knew so well. “We’re friends, remember?”

Angus, playing it cool, entered the room, leaning against the wall. “Who says I was ever creepy to begin with?”

“I did.” She placed a bookmark in her book before setting it down and sitting up. “And you know, ordinary people just enter a room; they usually don’t bother checking.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “maybe you’ve convinced me there are ghosts here and I just want to be safe?”

Not because he was hoping she was in her room and had a reason to go talk to her (Don’t be ridiculous).

She rolled her eyes yet smiled anyway. “Took you long enough to figure out I’m always right.”

“I said ‘maybe’. What’re you reading?”

“Just now or in general?”

“Yes.”

She held up The Two Towers. “You ever read Tolkien?”

Angus sat on the spare bed across from her. “I read The Hobbit my freshman year; one of the only books I liked reading in school.”

His eyes fell to the stack of books on her nightstand. Little Women, Sense and Sensibility, Giovanni’s Room, andThe Count of Monte Cristo.  

“You’ve read all of these?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah.” She then pointed to The Count of Monte Cristo on the bottom. “Well, I actually tried to read this one when I was fourteen but got bored with it; I’m trying again.”

“Right after you reread everything else?”

“Shut up.”

She tried to sound serious, but he watched as she turned her head to try and hide her smile. He wasn’t ashamed to show her his. Angus’ eyes went back to the stack of books, and he took out Little Women, flipping to the first page.

“‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.’ Grumbled Jo.” He read aloud, then looked up from the book. “Now I know why Mr. Hunham calls you that.”

“Are you saying I’m selfish, Fitzwilliam?”

He shook his head, going back to reading. “No, you just complain a lot.”

She scoffed. “Just wait until you meet Amy. I love her, but I’m glad I don’t have sisters.”

Angus’ didn’t respond, his eyes trailing over the words on the pages. He didn’t truly know why he kept reading; whether it was out of boredom, or perhaps he was already hooked on the story, he would never tell.

“Wait,” he heard her. “are you still reading?”

“Damnit, you made me miss my spot.” He glared at her.

She already knew he didn’t mean it (that much). Still, the girl giggled, laying back down on the bed and opening The Two Towers, going back to her own reading. They were like that for ten minutes perhaps? It was a strange time that went by fast and slow. No, Angus Tully wasn’t even doing this to think of what to say to her, he was genuinely engrossed by Louisa May Alcott.

Then, it was when he was more than half-way done with the first chapter, that he asked. “Where were you this morning?”

She looked over at him. “I’m guessing you hate the book?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He sat up. “And no, it’s actually tolerable.”

“Tolerable for it being written by a woman?” She sat up as well. “And for your information, I just went to the woods. What, were you worried about me or something?”

“Maybe…I don’t know, maybe.” Were the only thoughts behind his eyes, but his mouth moved differently.

“No. Wait, you’re walking around the woods, and you’re calling me creepy?”

“What’s so creepy about walking around the woods by myself?” She questioned. “If there was someone following me, then they would be creepy, dumbass.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know anyone who spends their time frolicking through the woods for fun.”

“You didn’t really know anyone, but neither did I, so we’re even.” She stood up, going to the window to look out of it. “I also prefer frolicking through flower fields, but this isn’t the best season for that.”

Angus hummed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

He debated on asking her why she was out there for an hour and a half; if she was in the woods, or if she was even outside. Just as he was battling with himself and wondering how to ask her without her biting his head off, he saw her tremble.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked.

“Come over here.” She commanded without looking at him.

He stood up immediately, and as he was halfway to the window, she giggled; a sound he had heard before but…not like this, somehow. Angus stood beside her at the window and watched as Mr. Hunham walked on the sidewalk by the quad, stretching.

“Look at that sad, little man.” She tisked.

Angus asked without looking away. “You talk about your dad like that?”

“You would too if he was yours.”

“Point made.”

They watched as the teacher picked up a stray football on the ground, and with perhaps the worst technique ever, threw it. Both she and Angus, as if her father would see them in the window, backed away from it, laughing at the absurdity.

“I almost feel bad now.” She said through her enjoyment. “That’s a lie, I don’t.”

Her honesty only caused Angus to laugh even more, and he can’t remember when the last time it was he had ever laughed this much. Especially over something so stupid.

“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t play football in high school.” He said.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “he’d go on and on about being president of Latin and Chess club.”

That’s where Angus’ amusement ceased. Even if it was at his own expense, he didn’t mind it at all since he could see just how wide her smile could get.

“Angus Tully, don’t tell me-.”

“-What’s wrong with Chess club?”

“I knew it!” She pointed at him. “You nerd!”

“You’re the one that knows all of Roman history and mythology like the back of your hand, and you’re calling me a nerd?!” He teased.

The girl snorted, crossing her arms. “Not all of it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So why have I lost to you twice now?”

 “I just got lucky.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m serious!” He tried to brighten the strange air that settled in the room. “Your dad didn’t drill it into you for nothing.”

 “Yeah, you’re right about that.” She hummed, sitting back on the bed. “So, you’re good at chess?”

He shrugged, taking a risk and sitting next to her (with about two feet of space of course). “I guess so. My…my dad taught me how to play, and I never beat him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, nearly losing himself in the memory. “I was like nine when this snowstorm hit, I was out of school for almost a week, and my dad and I just played the whole time.”

“So, you played without bathroom breaks, and you still didn’t win?”

“Okay, smartass.”

She smiled. “My dad tried teaching me chess and he beat me every time too.”

“You still play?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“I always cussed at my him whenever I lost, so probably not a good idea to keep going.”

Angus snickered. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You were cussing at seven?”

“He was an asshole!”

“Yeah, I’ve met him.”

It was almost horrifying how her face dropped at his comment. One where it was like the words themselves shocked her. Then, before Angus could fully register what had just happened, she was laughing.

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I’m just imaging what you looked like as a kid.”

He tried to laugh it off with her, but that odd tension crept its way back in. “I was weird.”

“So was I. You should’ve seen me when I was twelve, my father drilling Roman knowledge into my head, proclaiming how, if I wanted to be better than all of the boys in my class, I had to work for it.” She grinned. “It’s like he tried to make me a small version of him, which was impossible from the start.”

Angus nodded, not exactly knowing how to respond. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t mean to, but I feel like he sometimes forgets I might want to wear ribbons in my hair, put on makeup, girly things like that that I almost called stupid, but they’re not. But could you imagine it? My father wearing makeup and…okay, he doesn’t have much hair for ribbons, but you get it.”

“I do.” He smiled.

She nodded, and they fell into another beat of silence. It was almost a competition as to who would speak first, and in the end, she surprisingly lost. She stood up from the bed.

“I uh…I promised Mary I’d help her in the kitchen.” She walked backwards. “You’re more than welcome to keep reading my ‘tolerable’ books written by women.”

Angus hummed, trying to shake off her abrupt exit. “Yeah, I got nothing else better to do. Maybe I’ll meet you downstairs and keep harassing you?”

“Yeah sure.”

With that, she turned on her heel and scurried out of the infirmary. Angus always found her to be strange; from the moment she stepped into Mr. Hunham’s classroom in September, to her just then. Still, it was a strangeness he couldn’t help but be intrigued by. Not the same as how a scientist would study a foreign species but…he had grown quite fond of her.

He already had a liking for her that first day he met her (despite her harsh and course attitude towards the others in class). Not a liking enough to have it be a crush per say (he was still annoyed with her). Then, the whole catastrophe of him being stuck with her over Christmas break only added fuel to a fire.

A fire that has both warmed and burned him all at once.

What kind of shit was he going on about? He read half of a chapter from Little Women, and now look at him!

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Angus slid The Count of Monte Cristo out from the bottom of the stack of books. It had been one of his favorites as a kid; ironic in both a sense that he read it as a child, but also his mother of all people recommended it to him. Before he could even flip it to the first page, he saw a small gap in the middle as if there was a bookmark. He opened it and found a letter; an already opened letter.

Angus’ blood ran cold at the sight of it, and as he took it onto his hands, he turned it over. It was addressed to her, and the stamp was a toy train. He had only gotten a glance at the first letter when Teddy stole it, and he recognized the stamp.

Sighing, it almost felt like the envelope was burning in his hand as he hunched over himself. He could’ve read it…it was right there, and it was already opened so it’s not like she would’ve ever known.

But he would’ve. And he knew there was no going back if he read whatever Daniel wrote to her, and even if it wasn’t bad (how could it not be), then he knew she’d be able to sniff him out like a rat that he’d read it.

Wait…Daniel…Danny…The janitor.

“Shit!” Angus hissed, almost falling off the bed, then sprinting out of the infirmary and running blindly though the school he has gone to for months.

He ran outside without a jacket on, looking around for Mr. Hunham. When he already saw his fingers beginning to turn white in a matter of a minute, he ran back into the school and navigated the halls as if he were a bat out of hell.

It took him quite literally running into Mr. Hunham for him to finally stop.

“God almighty, Mr. Tully!” He gasped. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Angus, trying to catch his breath, said. “Mr. Hunham, I have to tell you something.”

Immediately upon noticing his distress, the teacher’s harsh demeanor and voice dropped. “Well…alright, what is it?”

“Can-.” He looked around, feeling suddenly exposed in the hallway. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Sure, sure.” Mr. Hunham nodded, looking around as well until his eyes landed on the first door he saw. “Let’s uh, is there fine?”

“Yeah.”

They both entered into a classroom that neither had been in before. It was smaller in size, more than likely meant for honor’s classes, but it looked like it hadn’t been dusted since the beginning of the year when parent’s would visit. When the door was shut, Mr. Hunham turned back to him.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Angus said her name. “Someone’s been sending her letters.”

“What kind of letters?” He asked, his face a mix of confusion and even a hint of denial.

“I…” Angus looked down at the one he had in hand and held it out to the teacher. Mr. Hunham took it, slipping his reading glasses out of his pocket. Angus continued. “Someone named Daniel sent her one days ago, Kountze stole it and read it aloud to everyone back in the woods. I think it’s Danny, the janitor.”

The moment he said ‘Daniel’, he’d already seen Mr. Hunham’s entire demeanor change. He saw him visibly tense, as he read the letter what must have been a million times. As time stood still in the dingy classroom, the teacher swallowed thickly.

“You said she got another letter a few days ago? Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Mr. Kountze read it aloud, what exactly did it say?”

“I…” Angus paused, trying to remember just what was written so he wouldn’t miss a thing, “He asked her to send a picture of herself to him, and wished her a Merry Christmas. He sent her thirty-five dollars too; did he send more?”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, obviously bewildered at the amount of money. “No, he didn’t. Mr. Tully, did you even read this?”

“No.” His response was instant.

“Why not?”

Angus’ eyes trailed to the side, somehow finding the blank chalkboard much more appealing than Mr. Hunham. To be honest, anything at the time was more-.

“Angus,” His voice was stern, but not mean. It was enough to catch the boy’s attention, but not enough to scare him. “I need to know what you know, so we can help her.”

He took a deep breath. “Teddy made a joke that she…she…has pictures of herself in a skin mag.” It was absolute hell to watch Mr. Hunham sigh, so Angus looked away as he continued. “She didn’t say that she did, but she didn’t deny it, and I didn’t want to know whatever creepy shit Danny sent-.”

“-First off,” Mr. Hunham interrupted, rubbing his face. “this isn’t Danny the janitor.”

“How do you know?”

“Daniel,” He tried to say the name like he was a historical figure and not someone who made his skin crawl away from his body. “was...a family friend of some sort. That is all you have to know about him.”

Angus nodded, but couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest, and how his stomach began to tie itself into knots as he asked. “Why did he stop being a family friend?”

“I said that’s all you have to know about him.” He said with more of a bite, then calmed himself. “I’ll speak to her about this the next time I see her, and rest assured, I won’t mention you.”

“She’ll know it’s me.” He shook his head. “I found it in one of her books when she left the infirmary after we talked.”

Mr. Hunham clutched the letter in one hand while removing his glasses with the other. “Regardless of details I cannot share with you, this little incident should not effect on how you view my daughter-.”

“-It doesn’t! I just-!” He lashed out unexpectedly at even the assumption of him finding any shred of blaming her for what was happening to her. “I just…I want her to be okay. That’s it.”

The teacher all but froze at his response, it is apparent that he was not expecting him to say that. Still, after regaining himself, he nodded. “You’re a good man for doing this, you know that, right?”

Angus scoffed, shrugging. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me ever again.”

“She may not,” he nodded. “but she also might. I won’t force her to do either. Again, thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure.”

The two of them walked out of the classroom in silence, and with Mr. Hunham’s “See you at dinner?” and his student’s nod, Angus Tully was left alone again in the grand halls of the school.

 A fate that has somehow always caught up with him ever since he got there.

Angus read the same Popular Mechanics magazine three times over since he found it the night he was the only one left behind at Barton, and he’d gotten sick of it after the second time.

So, with nothing else better to do, and with it starting to get dark, he went down into the kitchen, where apparently everyone but Danny was, helping Mary cook. Including her. She was washing vegetables in the sink while Mary was preparing a roast, both of them laughing at someone one of them said. Mr. Hunham was just at the table, peeling potatoes like his life depended on it.

“Mary.” Angus greeted, smiling at her. Mr. Hunham’s daughter immediately turned back to the sink upon seeing him.

Mary looked up. “Speaking of…”

Deciding to ignore the strange tension in the room (He has a knack for doing that, doesn’t he?), Angus’ eyes traveled around until they landed on a dish beside him. “Oh, brownies? God yes, I want all of these.”

“Ah, ah!” Mary scolded when he took one. “Just take one. The rest is for the Christmas party tonight.”

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He said her name. “Did you know there’s a Christmas party?”

She didn’t turn around, and only responded with. “Uh-.”

“-Yes, at Miss Crane’s house.” Mary interrupted her. “She and I are only going for a little bit, show our faces, and say we were there. Well, she might stick around since her little friend is there. You know, Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

Angus furrowed his brows, looking over at Mr. Hunham. “I want to go to the party.”

He stammered. “She-she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

Mary shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take him.”

“Mary can take me.” Angus reiterated.

“No, that’s not how it works.” Mr. Hunham raised his voice a hint. “You’re under my supervision.”

Angus frowned. “So, your own kid isn’t under your supervision, but I am?”

“Don’t even think about pulling me into this.” The ‘kid’ in question shook her head, not even turning around.

Still, he scoffed, bringing his eyes back to Mr. Hunham. “Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around here and read books all day,” he turned on his heel, beginning to walk out. “but I’m losing my goddamn mind, Jesus!”

“Hey!” Mary yelled at him once he threw the brownie across the room. “Watch your mouth, young man! Not on Christmas Eve.”

Angus ignored her, storming off back to the infirmary. He didn’t even make it to his room and a bed to dramatically throw himself on and scream into a pillow. He rested his back against the wall before sliding down it. Now sitting, his shoulders still tensed at what just happened. He’d been stuck in the school for a full week, only being able to go out when he dislocated his entire shoulder.

Who the fuck did that piece of shit think he was for holding him captive?!

Closing his eyes, he thought back to what Dr. Gertler told him. Sure, the guy was a quack, but once or twice he actually had a few things that helped him. Angus breathed in, counting to four, held it for three, then released it for another four.

He repeated that until he felt the tension (mostly) fall away from him, and there was even a hint of calmness in his head.

Which was then lost when he opened his eyes, and she was peeking from around the corner.

“Jesus!” He gasped, and she immediately hid. Once his heart stopped beating so damn fast, he said. “Okay, now who’s being creepy?”

“…Me.” She said after a moment’s silence, still hiding.

Sighing, rested his head against the wall. “I’m sorry I yelled earlier.”

She finally showed herself, standing in front of him now. “I don’t think I’m the one you should apologize to but thank you. My dad said you can go to the party with Mary and I.”

That got Angus to sit up taller. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but he’s going with us, so it won’t be that fun.” She joked.

He snickered along with her, before asking. “What about dinner?”

“We’ll probably just have it at Miss Crane’s. We’ll just have a nice lunch or something tomorrow instead of tonight.” She explained before walking into her room.

This was what caught Angus Tully off guard. She wasn’t exactly acting like her father had just confronted her about the letters, she was being too nice to him…so did she know it was him? She had to; or was he just overthinking it and getting in his own head (Something he did frequently)?

“When are we leaving?” He asked.

“In an hour!” She yelled, her voice somewhat muffled. “So, get on it, Fitzwilliam.”

“Anything you say, Amy!”

He ran off before she could storm after him (like he assumed she would), and went back into his room, which had darkened quite a bit. He went to his bag and took out the razor and shaving cream that he had only opened a few times since the beginning of the semester. He shook the can and applied the cream to his face before bringing the blades of the razor up to shave.

There was honestly no need to. It’s not like he even had “sawdust under his nose” as one would put it when talking about the mustache men would try to grow after watching Top Gun, which didn’t exist at this time, but that’s beside the point.

Even so, as he wat attempting to shave what was not there, he heard a knock, and her voice asked. “Are you decent?”

“Yep.” He answered, not even bothering to glance at the hall of lockets she had knocked from.

She came into his eyesight and stood so close to him in the mirror that he could feel the heat of her skin on his. “Move over.”

“Why?” He scoffed playfully, yet still did so.

It was only then he noticed the small makeup bag she had in her hand, and she placed it on the sink before opening it and taking out a sponge and small jar of liquid that matched her skin tone (it was foundation; he’d heard the word before but didn’t know it was that until perhaps a year later).

“The lighting’s better in here.” She answered, getting close to the mirror and dabbing the liquid on the sponge and upon her face.

Angus took a second (and only a second, if he took any longer she’d yell at him) to look at her entire self, and saw that she was wearing a dress. A dress that he would never have imagined on her. Her hair was almost the same as always...but there was something more to it he couldn't quite verbalize.

She was still herself, and it was silly to Angus Tully that it took a different dress and perhaps some makeup (something he’d hardly see her wear) to realize just how…just how…

“You look…” His mouth trailed off faster than his brain before he could stop himself.

After finishing her foundation, she took out a powder and brush. As she applied the powder, she glanced up at him through the mirror, a smirk on her face that was holding back a laugh. “Yeah?”

He couldn't call her ‘pretty’ (both because she’d never talk to him again, and that would be belittling her), and he couldn't call her ‘beautiful’ (she just wouldn’t talk to him again period; and he’d probably be scaring her off). So, apparently, the best thing he could think of in a limited amount of time was-.

“-Like a girl.”

Oh, how attractive it was to open one of the windows and jump out of it. If it wasn’t the fall that would kill him, it would certainly be freezing to death in a foot of snow.

Instead, to his surprise, while she momentarily scowled at him (as she should have), she giggled. Shaking her head, she said. “I would say you look like a man, but there’s nothing about you to prove that.”

As his heart began to beat again from her apparent lack of offense, he took the towel off the rack and wiped the residue cream off his face. “Oh yeah? What am I then?”

“A boy.” She set down the brush and took out a small tube of liquid, shaking it. “A tall, little boy.”

He snorted, walking away from the mirror when her gaze became just a little too much. “You said you were friends with Miss Crane’s niece?”

“Yes.” Her tone changed somewhat (or was he just overthinking it).

“Do you think I could-?”

“-Should I put on eyeshadow?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You know,” she turned over her shoulder. “the color that goes on the eyelids?”

“I know what eyeshadow is. I’m not that big into makeup, so I don’t know.”

“Really?” She teased. “You aren’t into makeup?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned back to the mirror, opening the tube. “Nothing.”

Angus’ eyes scrunched as he smiled at her playfulness. “Well-.”

“-Shut up.” She interrupted him.

He scowled. “Huh?”

She had the pen (it was eyeliner; he actually knew what that was) hovering over her right eye, and she was glancing at him again through the mirror. “I’m doing the most important part, and it’s the one I’m horrible at, so I need complete silence.”

Angus Tully merely nodded, looking away. He didn’t know how long she took, but she knew she was finished when he heard her gasp.

“I did it!” He looked back and saw that she turned to him with the biggest smile on her face, and blackened wings kissing the corner of her eyes. “I did it!”

He could only nod. “Yeah, it looks good.”

She grinned from ear to ear before turning back to the mirror, setting down her eyeliner and getting out an eyelash curler. “Could I ask you a question, even though you’ll feel stupid afterwards?”

“Do your worst.”

“Why ‘Amy’?”

Angus felt safe to smile at that. “Does that bother you?”

“Why, on God’s green earth, would you say I was like Amy?!”

“Well,” he shrugged. “it pisses you off, that’s the first reason. Second is…she grew on me.”

She scowled, turning to look at him. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“I mean…you made her out to be so annoying, and someone who complains a lot which, yes she does. But she’s funny, and she sticks to herself like Jo does, but…I don’t know, I just like her.”

Her face fell for the second time that day; but not like it did that afternoon when he made a joke about her father. No, this time, he knew it was because she truly didn’t think he would say anything like that.

And, for the first time since he’d known her, she almost looked shy.

Something he thought would be the thing that terrified him the most that entire Christmas break.

So, when she didn’t respond, and wanting to disrupt the awkward silence, he then asked. “Wait, why was your dad so against going, but now he’s fine with it?”

She looked back at the mirror, looking at him through it. “Besides the fact it wouldn’t be fair that you’d be stuck here while I’d go, he has a crush on Miss Crane.”

Angus snorted. “Figures.”

She shrugged. “I kind of always knew. I mean, she’s worked here for five years, but I think he only started liking her last year. I’m also not sure what he’s more afraid of; how I’d react to him liking someone after Mom died, or him just liking her period.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“My mother’s been in the ground for six years.” She decided to take the eyelash curler back in her hand, then brought it up to one of her eyes. “We still visit her of course. She wasn’t selfish either, and it’s been so long, so I don’t think she’d mind. Besides, I’m going to technically graduate next semester, and I don’t want to be stuck here, but I also don’t want him to be alone. Mary’s really his only friend so…yeah, I think I’d be okay if he was with Miss Crane.”

Angus nodded. At first, it felt almost invasive and even wrong for her to tell him all of that so effortlessly. But…he leaned into it the more she went on. She’d been vulnerable with him before (whether she thought it or not, she had been), but this time…it wasn’t a huge confession, it was just a simple conversation.

“I don’t…” He found himself saying.

He didn’t what? What was he going to say? Something about his father? His mother? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her something.

She took the curler away from herself and turned to look at him. Her eyes…her damn-no, they weren’t damned; they were kind, gentle…but still he felt damned just as she looked at him in a way he hadn’t ever seen her look at anyone before. She was waiting for him to say something.

Say something.

Say something.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t done anything but stare at him, but he was suddenly twelve again. Angus Tully, with his hair that was just beginning to have out of place curls, walking into his parent’s room at two in the morning. He woke his mother up, who gasped when he touched her. After she calmed down, she was appalled to see him crying.

It wasn’t a bad dream, it wasn’t because something had happened to him at school; he didn’t know what was making him weep, but he was doing it anyway.

He could barely say anything, he babbled like a baby learning to talk, and all he could get out was “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

His mother tried her best (he liked to himself that), but she could only say “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

Didn’t she hear him? He didn’t know.

Even now, at seventeen, he didn’t know what to say to her.

“I don’t know how you can use that.” He glanced at the eyelash curler.

She furrowed her brow upon the change in tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it looks like a torture device.”

Scoffing, she looked back to the mirror and curled the lashes of her other eyes. “You’ve just never tried it before.”

 “And I never will.”

She looked back at him once she was finished. “Are you scared?”

“No, I just don’t see the reason to.”

She shrugged. “I think you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Okay, then let me put mascara on you.”

He scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you’re not scared then you’ll let me stick something in your eye. You don’t have to wear it to the party, but I think it’d be fun.”

Angus was at a loss. She was a good actress, so how was he supposed to know she wasn’t messing with him? Well…he didn’t; he just had to trust her. To be fair, he had been weird around her this whole time, so…

“I’m not doing the torture device, just the makeup.”

Her face lit up, and she took the mascara out of her bag, setting everything else inside of it. “Get over here.”

He followed, leaning against the wall by the mirror. Suddenly, as he stood in front of her, he was nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was (whether that was because of her wit, her confidence, or even her meanness), it was because it was just her.

“How uh,” he stammered. “how are we doing this.”

“Lean down first of all, fuck why are you so tall?”

“Not one of my favorite qualities.” He joked, pressing his hand against the sink for support as he lowered himself slightly.

“Meh,” she shrugged, unscrewing the cap of her mascara. “girls usually like tall guys.”

His heart flipped. “Yeah?”

She froze momentarily before continuing. “I guess. Elise told me.”

“Right.”

“Okay, close your eyes. You’re going to want to open them when you feel something touch your eye, but I promise you, you don’t want to do that.”

“Sounds good.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling of discomfort. He could feel the heat of herself hover around him, but the pain from the mascara never came.

He heard her sigh. “This isn’t going to work.”

Angus opened his eyes when he felt her draw away, and he saw her sit on one of the beds. She titled her head. “Come here.”

He didn’t know if his heart was still or was going to beat itself out of his chest. Obviously, he sat by her before but…he had to be closer to her. Angus did his best not to make a big deal of it, but he felt like he was almost watching himself outside of his body as he sat beside her and closed his eyes.

“Do you want to know what my mom called me when I was younger?”

She was trying to distract him and he knew it. “Sure.”

“Ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He tensed but soon relax when she rested her hand on his cheek; it felt like she was burning him, but the way that he felt whenever he had a fever. Somehow…it was comforting.  Breathing shallowly, he answered. “Greek? Kind of.”

“Well,” he cowered away a little when he felt something brush his eyelashes but kept calm as she continued. “where my father loved Roman history and mythology, my mother was more into the Greeks. They’d go back and forth debating on which was more influential, and that was more so how they became friends. She…before I was born, she talked about naming me Eurydice because it was her favorite story. My dad was obviously against it, so that was a no. So, that’s when she’d just call me Eurydice at home a lot, just to piss him off which was funny.”

Angus hummed, paying attention to her words, but having to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded from losing himself within her touch. “What’s she like in the story?”

“Not much to her.” She moved onto his other eye. “Well, what it gives us anyway. I always had my mom tell me their story, and Eurydice kept changing. It was always who I was like growing up.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was shy around the other kids when she first told me-.”

“-You, shy?”

“Shut up, I’ll mess up your eye if you make me laugh. But yeah, so Eurydice was quiet and shyer. Then, when I’m like nine, I’m a bit more outspoken, angrier even, so she became that.”

He didn’t move his head, scared that he’d mess her up. It was then, after she stopped speaking, he could feel her breath on his face. Her hand was still warm against his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it more and more. He had not felt this sense of peace since…he couldn’t recall.

“Done.”

With one word from her, she took her hand away and he opened his eyes. She was still so close to him, and while he saw her smiling at what he assumed had been her work, it was him staring at her that made it drop. Still, she didn’t look frightened nor upset, she was just…looking at him.

The moment his eyes dropped to her lips for only a second, it was all over.

He’d thought about it, of course. He wanted to. But…like with everything about her, he froze.

She didn’t.

“You…” She stood up from the bed, straightening the skirt of her dress. “you should probably wash that off after taking a look.”

Angus didn’t have time to respond before she grabbed her makeup bag and ran off. He just sat there, trying to process if he was waiting to wake up from a dream, or if it had been in fact real.

When nothing happened, he sighed heavily, getting up and walking towards the mirror. His eyes looked different, and he felt weird. He could not tell if it was from the makeup, her, or both. Still, what he did know, was that he made a fool of himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

[little-wicked10]

Let Me Make You Juno (Ian Malcolm Smut)

Summary: When Ian returns from Jurassic Park, he has a new perspective on some decisions he’s been contemplating. Like the need to lock down the love of his life. (Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s song Juno)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY!!! Breeding kink, Ian being the silver tongued devil he is😏, cursing

Notes: Yes, I’m aware that the movie Juno came out several years after the original Jurassic Park BUT this is inspired by a song that was inspired by a movie (most likely I’m just assuming).

//

She was there the moment the helicopter touched down.

She was there as they gurnied him into the hospital to be treated.

She was there to take care of him every step of the way.

From his Costa Rican hospital bed, Ian would watch her sleeping form slumped in a chair in the corner. He observed her as he was lost in his thoughts. Almost dying had a way of making you reassess your life and decisions you’ve been dancing around. Like the one sitting in a velvet box back at his apartment.

Ian bought the ring before he’d made up his mind. There was a lot he was considering before asking her to marry him. He often joked he was always on the look out for the “future ex-Mrs. Malcolm”, but he was hesitant to add her to that list. She had changed his life. She had encouraged him to start carving out more time for his children, albeit a slow process since he had to become civil with their mothers. No one had pushed him to better himself quite like her.

Staring death in the face with all its sharp and bloody teeth was when he made his decision. Ian prayed (for the first time in who knows how long) he’d make it off that island so he could finally ask her that all important question. She WAS the future and last Mrs. Malcolm. No matter what, he’d be with her until his heart stopped beating.

//

“What?”

Ian smiled at her shocked expression, “Will you marry me, my wonderful and beautiful goddess?”

Her eyes stared at the ring in the box he held out to her. The diamond shined in the candlelight of their romantic dinner. “You’re…are you serious?” her heartbeat a million miles a minute.

“Of course I am, my darling. You’ve changed my life in such an…exponential way. You’ve made me uh…a better man, a better father to not just my current kids but for our future kids,” Ian pulled the ring from the box and held it between his fingers, “So…what do ya say?”

“You want…with me? Yes, Ian! Yes!” happy tears fogged her eyes as she grasped his face between her hands and kissed him.

Ian almost dropped the ring as he wrapped his arms around her, her tears wetting his cheeks. The restaurant goers that had been watching erupted in joyous clapping. She pulled away from their kiss and held out her left hand. Ian gently took her hand in his, carefully slipping the ring onto her finger. Their joy was infectious. He knew in his heart this was meant to be, he’d made the right decision.

//

Light flooded their apartment as the door swung open. Ian’s large hands held her close to his body tightly, clutching her silk dress and walking her backwards. Her fingers were woven into his curls as their tongues fought with one another. A swift kick shut the apartment door before he released her body to shrug off his leather jacket. Gently clutching her wrists, he pulled them from his hair as he delicately pushed the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her hands worked on unbuttoning his already halfway unbuttoned black shirt.

The silk pooled at her feet as it finally cascaded down her body leaving her in her panties and heels. Ian was in awe of her, a lustful look in his eyes as he threw off his shirt to swagger towards his prey. The moonlight shining in from the windows made her look ethereal.

“You are a goddess,” his eyes slowly took her in, “And I must…no, need to worship at your alter.”

“Ian,” she whispered, her face flushed.

The man stopped before her and fell to his knees, large hands running up her legs as he kissed the top of her panty line. Her body shivered as his lips ran across the sensitive skin. Her fingers threaded into his hair once more as he squeezed her thighs, dark eyes staring up into hers.

“I want your touch for life, darling. Love you right until you bless me even more with something beautiful. I want to put my child right…here,” he kissed her stomach gently.

Ian’s eyes watched her breasts heave as she began to pant, “I’m so fucking horny, Ian.”

“I know,” dexterous fingers wrapped around her waist band, pulling her panties down her legs.

He aided her in stepping out of the garment before he stood up, picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. They smashed their lips together as he carried her to the bedroom in long strides. He moaned into her mouth as she ran her nails across his shoulder blades. They fell on to the bed, Ian being careful not to land on her too hard. An animalistic groan vibrated in his chest as he felt her hips roll against his.

Her needy whimper made him feral. His lips trailed down to her jaw line and neck, exploring her body with the drag of his lips and scrape of his teeth. He sucked on the swell of each of her breasts before running his tongue down her stomach. Ian could only imagine what she’d look like once their child grew inside her. Growling at the thought of her round belly and swollen breasts made his stomach twist in anticipation to make her his in every way possible. Ian suddenly sat up to gently remove her heels.

“I adore you, Mrs. Malcolm,” he kissed her left calf before reaching down to strum his thumb over her clit, “I adore every part of you…, Mrs. Malcolm.”

The way the title rolled off his tongue and his fingers slipped inside to begin massaging her sweet spot caused her to arch her back. When she reached out to him with a desperate whine, Ian leaned over her to look deep into her eyes. His hand moved faster when she reached up and bit his lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. Her body writhed desperately, toes curling as she felt electricity began to burn from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes. “Please, Ian!” the way she begged may have been pathetic, but she didn’t care, “I want you inside me! Put a baby in me!”

Ian’s chuckle was dark, “I will, darling, but uh…you have to cum first.”

The fire in her belly burned even hotter when she heard his words. He had such a way of speaking, it flowed from his lips like honey and heightened the pleasure. The hot coil snapped and she came on his frantically moving hand. Ian showered the side of her face and neck with loving kisses as he helped her ride out her orgasm. Her arms lazily wrapped around his neck to press their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Removing his fingers, Ian pulled away from the kiss to suck his fingers, “Mm. Your taste is divine. I could explore you all night.”

“That won’t make a baby, my love” she smirked as he began to pull at his belt.

He chuckled and stuttered over his words at how quick she with his belt and pants, “You…uh…Darling, you’re…uh, uh…insatiable.”

“You bring it out in me, Dr. Malcolm,” small hands pushed down his slacks.

The curly haired man stood up off the bed and chucked off his slacks and boxers. Crawling on to the bed, he watched with predatory eyes as she moved up to lay at the head of the bed. They wrapped up into each other’s arms and legs. His large hands roamed her body as he thrust his hips against hers, teasing them both. A hand slipped behind her onto her lower back. He made her arch her back and angle her hips up. There was no warning when he slipped his long dick inside her. Her moans were music to his ears as she dug her nails into his back. “Oh my god,” Ian groaned as he picked up his pace, “Fuck this feels so right!”

Up until that point, they had always used condoms. The feeling of him being inside of her with no barrier, just raw, brought out something feral in her. There’s no way she could go back to rubbers after this. Her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, urging him to keep going with her heels against his ass. His arm wrapped around her hips helped him continuously spear her over and over again, free hand gripping the sheets next to her head. He suddenly switched their position, pulling out to flip her onto her stomach with her hips angled up.

Ian was back inside her once again as he pressed his chest to her back; his hands traveling up her sides before one tangled into her hair and the other slipped under her hips to her clit. His thrusts were deep and deliberate. Holding her head back enough for him to leave open mouth kisses along the side of her face and neck, whispering in her ear. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she desperately tried to move her hips to meet his thrusts.

“I feel you clenching around me, my love. I can hardly pull out. Not that I’m going to,” his smirk was pressed to her ear.

A desperate sound slipped from her throat as she felt pleasure building from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes.

“One of you is cute…it’s wonderful, infact, but two?” Ian growled and thrust roughly and bit her earlobe.

“Fuck, baby! Mark your territory!” she pushed her hips toward him more, if it was possible.

His fingers circling her clit and his animalistic pounding was enough for the coil to snap. She screamed as she clenched down on his thrusting cock and came. Her orgasm washed over her like a brutal wave and only lasted longer as her fiancé continued to fuck her into their mattress. Just as the high from her first orgasm subsided another quickly built and crashed over her. Ian admired the way her body writhed underneath him, unable to decide if she wanted more or less of his ministrations.

“D-don’t stop! Don’t stop! Cum inside me, baby!” she begged in her delirious state.

Ian’s brow creased in concentration and he bit down on his lip as his hips began to falter. The most wonderful cry left her lips as he thrust himself as deep as he could inside her to spill his seed. The feeling of him filling her to the brim would be burned into her body’s memory forever. A hand reached behind her and tangled into his hair, whimpering as she felt him rutting his hips into hers until he was fully spent. The only thing heard in the room was their ragged breaths.

He kissed along the side of her face and neck down to her shoulders, all the while whispering to her how good and beautiful she is. She whimpered as he slowly pulled out, feeling both their orgasms leak out of her. Ian laid on his side beside her before pulling her towards him. She gently turned over to face him and snuggled into his embrace. “You ok?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m perfect,” she lovingly kissed his neck, “Planning a wedding and a baby? You’re truly a chaos magnet, Dr. Malcolm.”

“Chaos is unpredictable, my love. It might take one, two, or multiple tries to get you pregnant. Either way, I’m-uh more than happy to keep trying,” he smirked down at her.

Her felt her stomach jump in anticipation, and she gave a playful nip to his jaw line, “Then I guess we have a lot of work to do.”

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | six

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: fighting, mentions of ptsd, just some fluff, enemies becoming friends and becoming lovers

Days and weeks passed, and Nimue found different ways to entertain herself and pass the time.

She had learned to appreciate Nesta's company, Feyre's older sister, with whom she spent long hours in silence, reading, sitting side by side in the library. She was a rough and direct person, but there was something that made them understand and fit together, like two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it was the fact that both had been inside the Cauldron that made Nimue understand her attitude, even though the others didn't.

She also spent long hours sitting with Rhysand. Sometimes Feyre, Morrigan, Amren, Cassian were present. Never Azriel.

They asked questions, and she answered the best she could: where the bulk of Hybern's forces were located, how many troops it had, who supported the King among Prythian's courts, what he was going to do with the Cauldron...

For many, she didn't have the answer, and she couldn't ignore that feeling of uselessness when she shrugged at their questions. She should have known all that. Her father didn't trust her in the slightest, not even to entrust her with the most absurd of information.

She had also started spending time with Amren, with whom she could spend hours and hours talking about the world, about magic, about how everything was related. They shared their own perspectives on the world, as Nimue found in the small female an equal: two ancient and powerful minds trapped in bodies that were too small for them.

However, the knowledge that Amren transmitted to her about Prythian's history was incredibly vast. Yes, Nimue had knowledge of the things the Cauldron had transmitted to her, but she still had so much to learn that she couldn't help but tremble with excitement.

On the other hand, Nimue also felt drawn to the fragile Elain. Like with Nesta, she felt a connection with the female, due to her relationship with the Cauldron. The Cauldron itself had said it, it had given her two sisters, and Nimue felt her chest swell just thinking about it.

According to Nesta, the Elain she saw now was a mere shadow of what she had always been in reality: a sweet and bright girl, warm like the spring sun, but extinguished by the traumatic experience of the Cauldron.

However, on rare occasions, when she and Nesta sat in silence reading in the company of the quiet and lost Elain, Nimue would look up from the book to find the middle sister smiling at her, a smile that the princess gladly returned.

On the other hand, she had begun to forge a sweet and slow friendship with Feyre: they sat together to have tea (Cassian had taught her, what a wonderful beverage), and the brunette told her story, from the harsh poverty and through Tamlin and the Spring Court, to Rhysand and the Inner Circle.

Nimue couldn't help but marvel at seeing Azriel through Feyre's eyes, as she told her what she had experienced with them.

She was gaining everyone's trust little by little, building it day by day with small demonstrations. However, Azriel kept slipping away.

Sometimes she felt a flash of something on the other end of the bond: joy, anger, disappointment, surprise. She supposed it was moments when Azriel let his guard down and his emotions escaped through the invisible thread that connected them.

When she crossed paths with him in the hallways, he simply looked away and walked past. When everyone in the house gathered for dinner and they coincided next to each other, Azriel didn't open his mouth all night or engaged in conversation with whoever was on his other side.

Nimue wanted to get closer to him. She wanted to know him, to see him with the eyes with which Feyre saw him: a loyal and good male to the core, willing to sacrifice everything for his people and with incredible insight. A trained warrior with a dark past that Feyre didn't tell her much about.

So she began to get up before the Sun shone in the sky. She dressed appropriately and cheerfully made her way to the training field that Cassian had shown her. There, every morning without fail, she found the two Illyrian males training: with swords, with spears, with daggers, with fists...

Every time Cassian saw her cross the training yard's gate, he couldn't help but burst into laughter. On the other hand, Azriel rolled his eyes and was already in a bad mood for everything he had left to do that morning.

But he couldn't help but think how funny the situation was, seeing Nimue arrive there morning after morning, sit and watch them train with a sweet smile on her face, sometimes with her gaze lost following some birds flying around her.

Azriel wanted to be angry. He wanted not to trust her, he wanted to see her as an enemy, he wanted to convince himself that she wasn't clean.

But it was so, so difficult for him.

It was so difficult for him to convince himself that she was a spy for her father. Especially when he caught her alone in the hallways of the house, asking out loud for any kind of sweet or cake and eating it as if it were the first in her life. Especially when he saw her reading silently in the library, next to Nesta and with a smile on her face for whatever she was reading.

Especially, when at dinners he caught her staring at him, with furrowed brows. Azriel pretended not to notice. But he always saw her on the other side of the table, oblivious to all the conversations around her, gripping the knife and fork and staring at him, with that expression of incomprehension that reminded him so much of a sulky child.

He wanted to maintain that facade and not give in. But it was so difficult for him to ignore that feeling, that pressure in his chest every time he saw her, every time he perceived her scent of sea salt and belladonna poison in the house's rooms.

Especially at night when he got into bed, he found it hard to ignore the emotions that slipped through the bond: half asleep and with his guard down, Nimue let out such waves of loneliness and melancholy from her end of the bond that sometimes Azriel felt like he was going to cry himself.

So, one morning, amidst the thick morning fog and the singing of the newly awakened birds, he headed towards Nimue on the training field, under Cassian's surprised gaze.

"Why don't you show us how you fight in Hybern?" he said. Nimue stood up like a spring, her face tinged with excitement. Azriel had to take several deep breaths to assimilate the amount of joy that went straight to his chest. He cleared his throat, "Just to know what to expect in case of a battle."

"Of course."

Nimue walked up to Cassian, who volunteered to fight against the princess first.

"No magic, just hand-to-hand combat. I must also add that I don't usually fight against women, but it doesn't mean I'm going to–"

Cassian hadn't finished speaking when Nimue gave him a series of blows so fast that not even Azriel could register: first stomach, then knees, neck, and finally a finishing blow that left the Illyrian lying face down on the ground and groaning.

Azriel let out a laugh almost without thinking, and when he felt Nimue's gaze on him, he did everything to hide it.

"For the Mother," Cassian coughed, getting up as best he could from the ground. "Warn before."

"If I warned you, it would lose all the fun," she said, smiling. She turned to the Shadowsinger and pointed at him with her finger, "Now you, pretty face."

Azriel felt a chill run from his heels to his crown, and swallowed to prevent his thoughts from wandering further.

Around his shoulders and wings, his shadows fluttered as they laughed softly.

How funny she is.

Yes, very funny.

And pretty.

Yes, we want to touch her and smell her. She smells really good.

Azriel clicked his tongue and shook his head, heading towards the princess. He positioned himself at a safe distance to avoid a surprise attack like the one she had used with Cassian, and in a defensive stance, he couldn't help but give her a wicked smile.

"You'll see what this pretty face is capable of."

At a speed only a fully trained soldier could move, Nimue traced a parabola towards Azriel, approaching from his left side and crouching to avoid any counterattack. He prepared to receive the blow, contracting the muscles of his abdomen.

But the blow never came.

Nimue fell to her knees, fists raised just an inch from Azriel's body.

"I can't," she whispered. She dropped her arms to her sides and stood up, face to face with Azriel. "I'm physically unable to harm you. I can't."

Azriel frowned, internalizing every feature of the female: the arch of her eyebrows, the angle of her eyes, the light of the first rays of the sun reflected in her iris, that slight tremor on the left side of her lip that he had noticed occurred when she was tense...

He never had the pleasure to be this close to her, the only times such a thing happened he was so blinded by rage that he couldn't appreciate such a raw beauty.

He snapped out of his reverie and entered back into that mental state of combat.

Taking advantage of Nimue's distraction, he prepared to aim a direct punch at her jaw.

But just an inch away, his body stopped completely, as dictated by a greater force.

Stop.

His hand immediately unclenched, and under his own gaze, he saw how his body acted alone and by instinct: as if drawn by a magnet, his own hand rested on Nimue's cheek, who buried her face further in that sudden contact.

They held each other's gaze, unable to act upon that pure and raw instinct. Azriel's hand on Nimue's face, his thumb tempting fate on the corner of the princess's lip.

Even through the leather glove, he could feel the warmth emanating from Nimue, like that of a bonfire on a cold winter night.

The princess raised her right hand, gripping the Shadowsinger's forearm and ensuring he didn't stop touching her.

She didn't want him to ever stop.

No one had ever touched her like that, with pure warmth. She felt like she was burning wherever the male touched her.

She didn't want Azriel to ever stop touching her.

But Azriel snapped out of his reverie, again, and as fast as lightning, he moved away from the female, breaking all physical contact.

At his side, the hand that had felt the sweet touch of her skin kept clenching, as if asking for more.

Such soft skin.

Let's touch it again.

He had gone too far, letting himself be carried away by the raw instinct that bond imposed on him.

Yes, it had to be that.

He definitely didn't want to get lost again in the gray eyes of that female, clear as the light of the brightest star in the sky.

Definitely not.

Feeling the heat rise to his face, he hurried to leave the training field before his own shadows came up with the Mother knows what, leaving behind a confused Nimue.

What had just happened?

What had all that been about, why had it felt so natural, so good?

Cassian had watched the whole scene, apart, with his mouth shut and thinking about who he would run to tell first: Feyre or Morrigan.

Maybe both at the same time.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator

[carolmunson]

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool. 

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old. 

“What’re you doing?” Van asks. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?” 

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.” 

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty. 

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.” 

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.” 

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.” 

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.” 

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.” 

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.” 

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.” 

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face,  “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”  

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red. 

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands. 

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie. 

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera. 

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.” 

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?” 

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again. 

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter. 

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.” 

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?” 

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face. 

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.” 

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.” 

“She’s very special,” he shrugs. 

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes. 

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.” 

“Still had my chef make them for me though.” 

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame. 

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?” 

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.” 

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.” 

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest. 

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.  

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare. 

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.” 

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.” 

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?” 

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you. 

“It’s in my purse,” you call out. 

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door. 

“The pink Kelly!” 

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out. 

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!” 

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.” 

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.” 

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.” 

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.” 

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.” 

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

[storiesofmyhead]

Little Kitty - Neteyam X OC

Summary: Neteyam the rising Olo'eyktan. All he wanted to do was make his father proud. Well, that and to protect his human. Takala. The only human he would go out of his way to protect. Meeting the girl at a young age proved to be quite the achievement in Norms perspective. No matter how much Neteryi told Neteyam to stay away from the girl, he would ignore her and leave during the night. Neteyam's protectivness and need to be with Takala shows quite the problem when it comes to his family being in harms way.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Laying in her bed, the little girl curled up in the blankets searching for any warmth she could find.

"Takala." Spider yells opening curtain that separates her room from the rest of the lab. 

The three Na'vi kids standing behind him watching in curiosity at the other child they hadn't seen before.

"Shh. Spider." Norm whisper pushing him out of the make-shift room. "I'll get her." He grabs the blanket and pulls it carefull off the sleeping girl. "Time to wake up, Takala. There's people who want to see you."

Groaning softly, the girl turn her brown hair sticky up in all different directions. She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and hum.

"It's cold in here, Norm." Her soft voice says.

The three Na'vi kids ear twitch and turn towards the girl voice, watching the curtain waiting for her to come out. 

"I know sweetheart, Ill go find our sweatshirt, while you meet the kids. How about that?"

"Ok." She hums, standing up out of her bed. Her curly hair a mess.

Pushing back the curtain Norm steps out walking off to find her sweatshirt.

"Takala." Spider whines. "Come onnn."

"I'm coming." She snaps, walking out from behind the curtain.

Smiling at the three Na'vi as they look her up and down. "Hi." She waves, causing them all to wave back, finding the small girl cute.

Smacking the back of Kiri's leg, spider runs off causing her to chase after him, Lo'ak following, wanting to cause trouble like always. Leaving Neteyam by himself with Takala.

Norm walks back, sweatshirt in hand. "Here you go sweetheart." He says. "Now just call if ou need anything else." Nodding she takes the sweatshirt and pulls in over he head, nuzzling into the warmth.

Her eyes move to the tall boy in front of her. "What's your name?" She smiles. The boy's eyes never seeming to leave her.

"Neteyam."

Smiling more she repeats. "Neteyam." He nods. "Why didn't you go with the others?"

Shrugging. "I'd rather get to know you." He crouches down, now sitting on the ground so she doesn't have to look up anymore.

Gasping. "Really!" He chuckles at her excited form.

"I'm Takala. How old are you?" Her head tilts watching his ear twitch.

"I'm Eleven."

"I'm turning 10 in a month" The girl smiles up at him. Her eyes grow wide as his ears twitch a bit.

Gasping softly she slowly reaches up towards them.

The blue Na'vi boy pulls her into his lap allowing her to touch his ears.

"You're like a kitty cat." She smiles, Neteyam smiling back not knowing what a ' kitty cat' was.

Rambling on about cats, she knows he doesn't understand though it felt nice to have someone actually listen to her.

"I love cats. They're so cute and small and fuzzy. I wish we could have a kitty here. I wouldn't be so alone all the time."

The boy watches her, unknowingly quietly purring. His chest slightly grumbling, his eyes closed in ecstasy at the feeling of her hands rubbing his ears. 

Takala's ears pick up the purr's causing her to giggle. "You're purring." She smiles.

Embarrassed his cheeks go red, opening his eyes to see her giggling. Her small body slightly shivering at the cold.

"Cold?" Neteyam asks wrapping his arms around her body tighter.

"You're s'warm." her voice mumbles as she nuzzles her head into his warm neck.

He chuckles starting to quietly purr again feeling her small breaths on his neck. He didn't know what this feeling was, but he liked it, now suddenly feeling very protective over the girl.

"Neteyam! Let's go!" Spider yells as Lo'ak, him, and Kiri run outside.

Sighing the blue boy picks Takala up and places her on the floor. Her lips form a pout as she looks up at him.

"You're leaving?" Disappointment clear in her voice.

The young boy slightly chuckles and nods. "Yes. But I promise I will visit you again."

Her pout deepening. "Ok."

He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. "Goodbye kitty."

"Bye." She waves watching him leave the lab.

Norm watches the two from his desk smiling as he continues his video document.

"Neteyam is growing an attachment to Takala. I wonder how he will react if she disappears for a few days. I'm going to try something new. I'm going to watch them for 3 weeks together and then take her away and not let him in for a week to see how he will react. If he reacts how I think he will I will have to tell Jake about his attachment before it is too late."

Walking outside, Neteyam catches up with Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri. Looking down at Spider he asks.

"What's a kitty cat?" Confusion clear in his voice.

Spider laughs nudging Neteyam's shoulder. "It's a small warm-blooded animal with pointy ears like Na'vi. They're very cuddling creatures."

Neteyam hums. "Is it good when someone calls you one?"

"What? A cat?" Spider laughs. "I don't know." Before running to catch up to Kiri. Neteyam now by himself he sighs, confused at the new feelings he's feeling. 

Walking back into the lab Spider sees Takala looking through the glass chamber at the young avatar girl.

"Did you like my friends?" Spider asks causing Takala to jump up and down excitedly.

"Yessss. Especially Neteyam. He was very nice. He acted like a cat." She giggles. "He said hell visit me again. So, I wouldn't be alone."

"That's nice." Spider says walking away.

[fishfooddude]

i saw you’re open to requests right now, and i love how you write carmy!! i was wondering if you could do anything about him teaching r how to cook? helping them with a recipe? i love ur work!!🫶

Stop you're gonna make me blush 😭

But, yes, I take requests. I took some creative liberties with this one, but I like how it turned out.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Soft jazz filled Carmy’s cozy apartment as the two of you stood in the kitchen. Carmy was next to you, trying to make sense of your Dad’s sloppy cursive writing. “I - this man… what the fuck does he mean by light brown chicken?” he mumbled, getting more confused by the second. “And to think the three Michelin star chef can’t figure out what this is BUT had the gull to taunt his non-three Michelin star chef partner for being confused.” Carmy rolled his eyes at your rebuttal and playfully nudged you, “Shut up baby.”  you laughed and handed him the card. “They never taught us about ‘Daddy soup’ in culinary school.” you shrugged and took another sip of broth, gagging at the taste. “I don’t know how I fucked up that soup so bad.” Carmy laughed. “Describe it to me- I will figure it out.”

With the recent passing of your father, you’d found yourself desperate to find a way to connect to him, hence the need for ‘Daddy soup’ growing up; whenever it was cold out or whenever you or your siblings were upset, he’d make ‘Daddy soup’ it was the cure to everything. You attempted to explain it to Carmy, “It was chicken? Maybe turkey? There was carrot… celery? I don’t know- it just tasted like love.”

Carmy spent weeks cross-referencing cookbooks and online recipes. He made stock after stock after stock. He called both of your sisters to get a new perspective on what he should do. After weeks of eating only soup for lunch and dinner, Carmy thought he’d figured it out. “Hey, you doin’ anythin’ tonight?” Carmy asked when you answered the phone, “What you cookin’ me?” “Don’t make me say it…” Carmy awkwardly chuckled, “I’ll come over at 7.” 

“Okay, can you chop these for me while I shred this duck,” Carmy explained, handing you one of his knives. “Be careful, Syd, and I sharpened our knives last night.” you shot him a confused look, “The fattiness of the duck was what my first and fourth attempts were missing- it’ll be good, I promise.” You shot Carmy a quizzical look but started chopping onions and carrots as he’d instructed. He helped you cook the garlic, making sure it didn’t burn this time around. 

“Okay. Try it.” Carmy said, biting the inside of his cheek. As you brought a spoon up to your lips, he swallowed nervously. He stared at you intensely as you tasted the soup. You licked your lips and took another spoonful from the pot. You stood there momentarily and thought, “Well, it’s not Daddy soup but Carmy soup.” Carmy frowned at your criteria, “I thought I had it-” “Carmy, I don’t think anyone can recreate my Dad’s soup, but this is delicious and tastes like love. Thank you.”

[bokettochild]

Sorry this is like 600 words instead of 500, but this is one of my favorite interpretations of Twilight's backstory ever, and I would love to hear more (given I've understood the prompt right, which I hope that I have). This is from Rope Burns.  “I grew up on a military base,” Twilight snorts, “trust me, soldiers are as dumb as rocks.” 

  And well, Legend having a family isn’t that crazy in comparison to that. 

  Warriors starts, staring at the rancher, blinking slowly as though still trying to process the words of the other. “I’m sorry- you what?” 

  “I thought you grew up in Ordon?” Wild questions, turning to his mentor, confusion on clear display. 

  Yeah, Wind has a feeling that Wild’s story is well and truly over now, but he supposes it’s worth it. Learning something about their rancher is, he supposes, better than hearing the rest of the story the cook had already spoiled the ending too, especially as the limit of their knowledge about the rancher at this point is that he’s from Ordon, used to work as a ranch hand, and is descended from Time and Malon somehow. The fact that he’s a hero goes without saying, but the ranch hand nearly never shares anything about himself, even though he seems to love talking about his hometown and all the people in it, to the point where some of them feel they know the village and its residents already, despite still not having been there yet. 

  Yet, the rancher is grinning as he leans back, the sprig of hylian rice between his teeth bouncing some as he flashes a wolfish grin at them. “Well, yeah, sort of.” 

  “Sort of?” Time nudges his pup, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Their leader isn’t keen on them being cryptic with him, even though he frequently does so himself. The hypocrite. “Explain.” 

  The rancher chuckles, a nervous little thing, but obediently pulls himself up, resting his weight over his knees as he looks around the fire at all of them, eyes glinting slightly. “Well, y’see, I a’tually grew up in a citadel on the edge of Hyrule.” 

  Warriors jaw drops so fast. “Holy Hylia you’re a military brat.” 

 He can’t help it; he bursts into laughter. Yes, objectively, it’s funny to see Warriors so shocked, but from an outsider's perspective it is so, so much funnier because he’s met Warriors parents and sisters, and he’s seen for himself the proof that the captain is anything but the sissy city boy Twilight likes to accuse him of being. No, the captain was born in Hebra, so far out from cities that he thought Kakariko was huge. Meanwhile, it turns out their “country boy” actually grew up in a military base? Not the country? It turns out Twilight is the military brat and Warriors was the hill-billy? How the turn tables have turned! 

  The rest of the heroes stare at him, confused, but the captain just rolls blue eyes, pinching the tip of his ear to make him shut up. “Ignore him.” 

  Twilight’s dark gaze flicks between them, but apparently, he determines to listen to the captain for once. “Right, so, my dad was a’tually a knight from some family o’ knights or summat, an’ my mom comes from desert folk, so I grew up on the border studyin’ with other knights’ kids to take on our fathers’ duties ’n protect Hyrule one day.” 

 The stares are very, very evident by now, although Legend’s in particular is strangely intense, studying the other with his mouth half open like he’s got a question about the rancher’s words.  

 Broad shoulders shrug, a bit awkward as the rancher grins at them. “My friends growin’ up were dumber’n rocks, an’ every knight I’ve met since is the same, so yeah. Knights ‘re stupid.”

Ooh, this one will be fun!

So, I actually was taught, coming into the LU fandom, that Twilight was basically raised in Ordon, with some people saying he came as a small child, mayb Rusl found him as a baby, all aloe and needing care, or maybe he was brought there by the hero's shade when he was still small, but nearly every source I looked to in the fandom said Twilight was young when he, the only Hylian in the village, cae to Ordon.

But then I read the Twilight Princess Manga! Chapter 6 of the manga, aptly titled "Link's Past" shows us him as a young boy, about nine or ten, living, as Twi says in your selection, in a citadel on the hylian border. Twilight's explanation (telling his story to Rusl) in manga goes thus:

"As it bordered the desert, my old home town was responsible for frontier security. It was ruled by the Rufflio, a family of noble ancestry. Upon becoming adults, we were to protect the frontiers of Hyrule. The young boys, holding onto the pride of that duty, spent their days training in the ways of the sword." (Twilight Princess, Volume One, Chapter 6, by Akira Himekawa)

In the past, I've never had an opportunity to address that. if you follow my works, then you know I draw heavily on the manga in regards to Legend's history and past, but I write Twilight much less than legend (understatement of the year). That said, their manga's definitely give me a better take on their characters, whereas Four Swords and Minish Cap were more fun than informative, and Ocarina of Time just made me think Time was a pain in the ass and a freaking weird kid (I have not finished the manga yet for that reason, despite owning it).

I wasn't really planning on talking about Twilight's past here at all, but it sort of sprung upon me in an inspired fit and I decided, what the heck? Why not!

The references to his mother being of the "desert folk" is in reference to how some people like to headcannon that twilight is part Gerudo, which I thoroughly enjoy and support! So, for fun, his mom is Gerudo.

His dad though? Well, you see, that comes up in the manga too! Not his dad specifically, but actually, Ashei's! The TP manga actually has Ashei tell Twilight that she is one of the last descendants of the Knights of Hylia (also known as the Knights of Hyrule, depending on the translation/game version), and that Snowpeak fortress is actually their ancestral home!

Now, you may be saying "Ketto, I've heard of the Knights of Hylia before, or at least, I think I have?" and if you've been around my blog/fics enough, you sure as sugar have! the Knights of Hylia are, famously, the group of knights who worked beside the sages mentioned in A Link to the Past to seal Ganon away! More importantly though, they're the descendants and carriers of the legacy of the Hero of Time!

So, if Twilight is cannonically Time's descendant, that would mean that one of his parents was likely from the families that made of the Knights of Hylia! Mystery solved!

Additionally, this would make him and Ashei very distant cousins. And for extra kicks, since Legend is also, famously, descended from the same line of knights (albeit in another timeline) he would also be their cousin! I've been tempted to address that for forever, especially with the Snowpeak detail, because honestly, I get a kind of Kaer Morhen vibe from it and SO want to play with that, but I digress!

Twilight's ancestry is part Gerudo, for fun, and descended from Time, which is fun I don't have to create because it's cannon! He grew up on the edges of Hyrule for the most part, and when he talks aout being picked on by the other kids in this fic, it's because they are sort of aggressie to him in the flashbacks he has in the manga. Granted they're a bunch of boys aged 10-13, so they're all a bit aggressive to each other, but I imagine, being probably the only part Gerudo among them, he did get picked on at least a bit, hence the premise of this fic :)

-

Bonus! Legend's staring is, in fact, because he really, really, really wants to ask twilight which Knight Family he hails from. He is making a connection and he's not sure what to think about it LOL

Warriors on the other hand, who I fervently headcanon as Celtic, is, like Wind, realizing that a reverse-uno has been played here. He, a peasant from the far north and abject poverty, is traveling with the descendant of a famed family of well respected knights who was likely living in a major trading town (thus likely rather well off) and yet somehow, he's the one who get's labeled the stuck up city kid, and Twilight is believed to be the home grown honest backwoods farmer fella. I actually posted a few things about that while writing this thing, and I may or may not visit that idea more fully in a fic one day, but yeah, that's what's going on for our vet and captain right here.

Thanks for choosing this one! I actually had a lot I wanted to share about it and hadn't been able to before! And the fact that this is a recent one I can actually remember working on definitely helps LOL

[scarletqueenx]

chapter eleven - danger zone

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean and you had dated for a few months before his father disappeared and his journey with Sam began. Now, having made a deal to save his brother's life and with only a year to live, Dean considers reconnecting with the only girl he's ever had feelings for. You.

Author’s Note: English is not my first language. This is my first time writing in the readers perspective, as i'm used to write oc´s.

series masterlist

You were in the middle of a nightmare while asleep in the Impala's back seats when the ringing of your phone woke you up. Although to Dean and Sam it looked like you were sleeping peacefully, the memories inside your head wouldn't leave you alone. And just as he had done the night from which all those bad dreams came, this time it was also your father who woke you up.

Henry had an idea.

It was an idea that solved one of your greatest fears. What if a demon possessed you? You didn't want to end up like Carter. You didn't want to hurt anyone.

But the solution your father was proposing also forced you to face another of your fears. A more common, mundane one. Stupid compared to the other. But still, you felt the anxiety run down your spine as you let an unknown man, full of tattoos, put one on you.

It had been pathetic, you thought. How you'd looked at Dean with teary eyes, pleading for him to hold your hand in an even more pathetic silence. You had a habit of playing tough. It was in the DNA of older siblings, you assumed all your life. You never asked for help for anything and Dean knew that. But he also knew the look you'd given him that night in the tattoo store. So accepting your silent plea, Dean intertwined his hand with yours as he gave you a small reassuring smile. His touch like a soothing to your pain and fears. You felt safe as that scary needle stabbed your skin multiple times to imprint that strange drawing on your back.

Dean and Sam were the next to get the same symbol tattooed, this time is their chest. Right on the side of their hearts. Both facing that situation with much more composure than you. Or than your little brother.

"But... tattoos hurt, don't they?" Peter shifted nervously next to Maddie as they walked into that tattoo store in San Francisco.

"It depends on where you put it." She replied. Peter nodded slightly as his head continued to race with thoughts.

"I just don't understand why we have to do this. My father said there are charms."

"He also said it's easy to get them taken away from you."

"Yeah, but... You didn't want to have anything to do with this world. Why would you let them put a mark on you that would remind you forever of what happened? About your mother, about the other night?" Peter asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm going to remember it anyway." Maddie shrugged. "At least this way I'll be safe."

"Even if they can't possess you they'll still be able to attack you, you know that, right?"

His words were like knives through her chest. Of course she knew that, but to think that tattoo would be the solution to all her problems made her feel somehow better. Even if it was only for a few days, hours, seconds.

"I know you're scared, but you don't have to be a jerk about it."

Peter immediately felt bad when he saw the pain in the her eyes. He had seen that look before in other people. Every friend he ever had would end up walking away from him with that same look in their eyes. Peter was his own self-destruct button. You were the only one who had never left his side despite how badly he sometimes treated you.

But for the first time, Peter didn't want to lose a friend that way either. So he reached out to Maddie and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze.

Surprised by the gesture, Maddie turned to him, seeing the look of regret in his eyes. She quickly gave him a reassuring smile, tightening her grip on his hand to make sure he knew that everything was okay and she wouldn't leave his side.

Her hand remained clasped in his as the tattoo was being done. Because if there was one thing the three Holloway siblings had in common, it was their fear of needles.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Bela had a funny way of making the Winchesters' lives impossible. First she stole the Colt from them. Which left them without a weapon to kill demons if it weren't for the fact that they still had your knife. And then, just when they finally thought they had found her, she had exposed them to the police. To an agent especially determined to find them after they had committed illegal actions to solve two supernatural cases that were very difficult to explain to someone who had nothing to do with that world.

Now, Agent Henriksen wasn't looking for you for any reason, but being with two criminals like the Winchester brothers gave him the authority to arrest you as well.

He seemed very pleased watching them from outside the cell of that police station in Monument, Colorado.

"You know what I'm trying to decide?" Henriksen asked.

"I don't know. What? Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?" Dean said sitting next to you.

"What to have for dinner tonight." He corrected. "Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf." He smiled while Dean smirked cynically. "I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains..."

"You kinky son of a bitch. We don't swing that way."

"Now, that's funny."

"You know, I wouldn't bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn't catch us at the bank, couldn't keep us in that jail." Dean pointed out.

"You're right. Screwed up. I underestimated you." Henriksen admitted. "I didn't count on you being that smart but now I'm ready."

"Yeah, ready to lose us again?" Dean raised his eyebrows

"Ready like a court order to keep you in a Supermaximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so that between you and me... probably unconstitutional."

Sam and Dean looked at him in silence, realizing that Henriksen was in fact been serious.

You on the other hand felt strangely calm. Henriksen had nothing on you other than having found you with two criminals who had escaped from a prison. Meaning, you could lie and say you had been kidnapped, although that didn't make much sense given the close relationship you seemed to have with the Winchester brothers. Stockholm Syndrome, you could plead. If they set you free you could look for a way to free Dean and Sam. Though that didn't seem very possible if they were put in such a secure prison as Henriksen was describing.

"How's that for ready?" Dean remained silent at his question. As he also tried not to show any expression of fear or defeat. "Take a good look at Sam – you two will never see each other again."

Sam and Dean stayed silence as they looked at Henriksen, disconcerted.

"Now, you." Henriksen turned to you. His eyes scanning you, looking for anything that would confirm that you were just as guilty as them. "What are you, the smart girl hacking and helping from the outside, huh? You got them out of that bank and that jail, didn't you?"

Letting out a sigh, you shifted in your seat, raising your gaze to him.

"I'm sure you'd love for my answer to be yes, but you're wrong. I barely know them." You said in a calm tone.

"Oh, is that so?" He raised his eyebrows skeptically. You nodded. "Well, that may be true, but it doesn't erase your past. Tell me, does this sound familiar?" He questioned, pulling a page of an old newspaper from the inside pocket of his suit. " 'On the night of May 2, 1994 Carter Holloway woke up and inexplicably began attacking and chasing his entire family around the house in what could be described as a scene from a horror movie. Laurel Holloway, his mother, was found dead in the kitchen with several stab wounds. His sister, the middle child of the couple, was found with her baby brother Peter. She was bleeding while holding the child in her arms after her brother had removed her spleen with the same knife used to stab her mother. While the father, Henry Holloway, was found in the backyard of the house, unconscious'."

Noticing the confused and doubt-filled looks from Sam and Dean, you shifted nervously in you seat. Which only confirmed to Henriksen that he was in fact right.

"There was no sign of Carter. Still to this day they hadn't found him." Henriksen continued speaking. "A lot of us cops are obsessed with this case. Why would a kid everyone described as kind and good do something like this? To the little sister that he protected and cared for so much. He had to be a psychopath who just snapped, god knows why. Maybe it runs in the family. What do you say? Was it all a plot? Did you all want your mother dead? Because if not I don't understand why your father has made sure over the years that no one remembers that tragic night."

Dean watched you closely. Noticing how you clenched your fists in frustration, how your muscles tensed and the red color of anger rose in your cheeks.

So before you snapped, Dean interrupted Henriksen's interrogation, drawing his attention back to him.

"You got the wrong guys."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You fight monsters." Henriksen nodded. "What? Are you going to tell me that her brother was also a monster?"

"Possessed by one." You corrected in a whisper, answering one of the many questions in Sam and Dean's heads.

"Possessed." Henriksen repeated in disbelief. "Sorry, guys. I think the truth is, your daddies brainwashed you with all that devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That's all. That's reality."

"Why don't you shut your mouth?" Dean complained, annoyed by the mention of his father.

"Well, guess what. Life sucks. Get a helmet. 'Cause everybody's got a sob story. But not everybody becomes a killer."

The sound of an approaching helicopter could be heard from outside at the same moment a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn't like the one you had felt at Mystery Spot, but it was just as disturbing.

"And now I have three less to worry about." Henriksen smiled before looking back at you. "That's right, sweetheart, three. Because thanks to you I have closed one of police's oldest cases." He looked down at his watch and tapped it. "It's surf and turf time." He laughed as he left the room.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Dean and Sam didn't ask any questions for the next several minutes. You didn't know what was worse, the silence with which they were treating the situation or the alternative of them uttering a million questions to you. It didn't matter much either, as soon the door to the cell room opened again. You were the first to look up towards it, watching as a man entered in the company of someone you immediately recognized.

"I can walk, thank you very much." The boy grumbled as the man pushed him towards the other cell. Letting out a snort his blue eyes met the confuse gaze of his little sister. A smirk peeking through his lips as he saw you locked in a cell. "Hi, Smarty."

Dean and Sam, who watched the scene in silence, looked over at you as they noticed how you uncomfortably shifted next to them.

"I'm Deputy Director Steven Groves." The policeman spoke, closing the cell where he had locked Carter. "This is a pleasure."

"Well, glad one of us feels that way." Dean was the one to respond.

"I've been waiting a long time for you two to come out of the woodwork." Steven said as he suddenly raised his gun and shot Dean in the left shoulder. Dean grunted as he fell back, while Sam jumped up and grappled with Steven through the bars.

You had barely processed your older brother's arrival when Steven fired several more shots into the cell. Thankfully missing you as Sam gripped his arm. Regaining control of your body and mind, you leaned toward the man across the bars of the cell, beginning to recite an exorcism in Latin. That caused Steven's head to whip from side to side.

"Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It's gonna be a long night, fellas." The demon inside him spoke as he flashed his black eyes at them before leaving Steven's body.

"Yeah that sucks." Carter commented as they watched Steven's body hit the floor. "At least he's dead."

Sam, Dean and you turned your gazes towards him just as two officers walked into the room with Henriksen behind them. Seeing the gun in Sam's hand, the latter didn't hesitate and pointed his gun at him.

"All right, put the gun down!" One of the officers yelled.

"Wait. Okay. Wait." Sam pleated as he move to put the gun down.

"He shot him!"

"I didn't shoot him, okay. I didn't shoot anyone."

"He shot me!" Dean pointed to Steven's body as you reached his side with a concerned look in your eyes.

"Get on your knees, NOW!" Henriksen exclaimed.

"Okay, okay, okay. Don't shoot. Please. Look. Here. Here." Sam did as he was told and passed the gun through the bars. "Look. We didn't shoot him. Check the body. There's no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him."

With hesitation, one of the officers decided to listen to him, kneeling down and checking Steven's body.

"Vic, there's no bullet wound." He then said.

"He's probably been dead for months." Carter said, leaning against the bars of his cell.

"What did you do to him?" Henriksen turned towards him.

Carter raised his hands.

"We didn't do anything." Dean spoke gaining his attention back.

"Talk or I shoot." Henriksen threatened, now pointing his gun at him.

"Why? You won't believe us anyway." You noted. "He was possessed."

"Possessed? Right." Henriksen scoffed. "Fire up the chopper! We're taking them out of here now."

"Yeah! Do that!" You exclaimed, starting to get angry. Still, you tried to remain calm as you tried to check Dean's wound.

"Bill?" One of officers said over the walkie-talkie. But all he received in response was static for the other end. "Bill, are you there?"

As the other agents continued with their guns pointed at the four of you, the officer left the cell room after getting a nod from Henriksen.

"They're dead. I think they're all dead." His voice came over the walkie-talkie a few minutes later. Your eyes quickly met your older brother's. Carter had taken a step back into his cell, realizing what that meant. If one demon had found them, others had too. And that scared the hell out of him.

Suddenly, a loud crash came form outside.

"What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?!" Henriksen asked over his walkie-talkie but no one answered him. "What the hell was that? Come in? Reidy? Reidy?"

"We're all going to die." Sam, Dean and you were able to hear Carter's mumbling more clearly once Henriksen and the officers left. The oldest of the Holloway siblings was curled up in one of the corners of his cell, his hands on his head as he slightly rocked. "We're all going to die. He's going to make me kill you all. It's like May 2, 1994 all over again. May 2, 1994 all over again."

Pulling away from Dean, you gripped the bars of the cell and looked at your older brother in pain.

"Carter, listen to me. It's not May 1994, okay? No one is going to make you do anything."

"He's going to get inside me and he's going to finish what he started that night. He's going to kill you." Carter assured sharply as his gaze rose to meet your.

You gulped harshly at his words. You blinked several times and took a step back as you remembered the night your brother was speaking of.

As soon as your back bumped against Dean's chest, you seemed to snap back to reality. Quickly, you gave him a small reassuring smile and began to treat the bullet wound on his shoulder without another word. Sam narrowed his eyes, watching you and Carter silently.

Neither he nor Dean could help but notice that that date was also significant to them. May 2 was also the youngest Winchester's birthday.

"All right, don't be such a wuss." You chuckled when Dean grunted once again.

"What's the plan? Kill everyone in the station, bust you two out?" Henriksen walked back into the room.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean grunted,

"I'm talking about your psycho friends. I'm talking about a blood bath."

"Okay, I promise you—whoever's out there? is not here to help us."

"Look, you got to believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger." Sam tried to make him understand.

"You think?" Henriksen looked back at him.

"We're all going to die. He's going to kill us all." Carter mumbled once again.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Henriksen asked, looking at him with confusion.

"What? Did you think my father put him in a mental institution just for fun? He's mentally ill and traumatized." You looked back at him.

"He shouldn't have killed your mother then." Henriksen scoffed. "Are you really defending him, after what he did to you?"

"He didn't do anything. I already told you. He was possessed." You rose back to your feet as Henriksen rolled his eyes. "Why don't you let us out of here so we can save your asses?"

"From what? You gonna say 'demons'?" Seeing that you remained silent, Henriksen snorted in frustration. "Don't you dare say 'demons'. Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me." He said before turning around and leaving.

Letting about a sigh, Sam sat next to his brother.

"How's the shoulder?" He asked.

"It's awesome." Dean answered, tossing the blood stained paper away. "I'll live. You know, if we get out of here alive. So, you got a plan?"

Sam shook his head as he checked Dean's exit wound on the back of his shoulder, which caused Dean to grimaced in pain.

Leaning against the bars of the cell, you watched your older brother with pity. You had never seen him like this. So traumatized and frightened. A part of you had always wanted to keep seeing him as the villain, but now you saw more clearly that he had just been another victim.

Then you saw her. From the corner of your eyes, you could see how the girl who clutched her rosary when Sam, Dean and you had enter the police station was now peeking around a corner, watching you from a distance.

"Hey." You spoke. Scared of being caught, the girl backed off. "Hey, uh, please. Please. We need your help. It's... it's Nancy. Nancy, right?" She kept quiet, but you were positive on your guess. "Nancy, my... my friend's been shot. He's... He's bleeding really bad. You think maybe you could get us a towel? Please? Just one clean towel? We're not the bad guys. I swear." You pleaded while Sam and Dean gave her a little smile.

Despite your efforts, Nancy kept looking scared, watching you for a few seconds before turning around and leaving.

"Nice try." Dean looked up at you.

Letting out a sigh, you sat down next to him. But then, as you turned around you saw Nancy approaching the cell with a clean towel in her hand.

"Thank you." Sam stood up as she carefully came closer. "It's okay." Sam held out his handcuffed hands.

With slow, careful movements Nancy put the towel inside the bars as Sam smiled at her. Slightly calmer, she smiled back at him. But then, suddenly, Sam grabbed Nancy's arm and dragged her against the bars.

"Let her go! Let her go!" One of the officers approached them with a rifle after hearing the girl's scream. Sam did as he was told and let go of Nancy. "You're okay, Nance?" The man asked, pointing the gun at Sam. She nodded as he looked back at Sam. "Try something again, get shot. And not in the arm."

"Okay." Sam nodded, watching them walk away.

"What the hell was that?" You hit Sam's arm in confusion.

Sam looked back at you, holding Nancy's rosary.

You sighed as Dean let out a soft chuckle. The rosary, even though it seemed useless, was your best weapon now that you knew there were demons around. And after yours had been taken away, stealing Nancy was your only option.

Sitting back down next to Dean to continue nursing his bullet wound, now with the help of that towel to stop the bleeding, you let out a deep breath.

Dean looked at you with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just fine. It's not like we're locked up and threatened by demons. All while Henriksen exposed my family's biggest trauma and brought in my formerly possessed, murderous and traumatized older brother." You sighed.

"Well, at least you haven't been shot." Dean commented.

"I think the shot would hurt less." You admitted, shifting your gaze to Carter.

Dean nodded slightly, looking at him for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to you.

"So this is what you've been hiding, uh?" He asked.

"Yeah." You nodded, letting out a sigh.

"Salem?"

"My father had him locked up in a mental institution to protect him. I had the great idea to visit him after more than 10 years without seeing him." You explained.

Sam, who had been listening to your conversation, sat next to you.

"Why would a demon want to kill your mother? Your whole family?" He asked with confusion.

"She broke a deal." You explained. "My mother wasn't allowed to use her magic, which belonged to Ophelia, after they brought Christine back to life after the camp massacre."

"A bit macabre, don't you think?" Dean scoffed.

"What else did you expect from demons?" You pointed out.

"They wanted to punish me too." Carter spoke, gaining their attention. "They wanted to kill Peter, punish you and transform me into one of them."

"What?" You frowned at him.

"I still don't know why, but I heard him say that in my head." He said in a low tone as he looked down at the floor. "And now they are coming for us all."

"Did you heard him say that too?" You rose to your feet alarmed. Carter nodded. "When?"

"Right now."

"Wait, what? You have some kind of connection to the demon radio?" Dean looked at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, something like that." Carter nodded with an amused smile on his lips that could only be compared with Peter's. Their resemblance brought a warm sense of familiarity to you, calming your nerves and giving you exactly what you needed to trust him.

"They could be possessing anyone now. Anyone could just walk right in." Sam said.

"It's kind of wild, right?" Dean looked back at his brother. "I mean it's like they're coming for us. They've never done that before." Dean smiled. "It's like we got a contract on us. Think it's because we're so awesome? I think it's 'cause we're so awesome." He lost his smile as soon as Sam looked at him, unamused.

You ignored their conversation, fixing your gaze on the man that had just entered the cell area. You quickly recognized him as the sheriff and thought he would ask you some questions. However, the man approached the cell where the three of you were locked up and opened it.

"Well, howdy, there, sheriff." Dean said, standing up.

"It's time to go, boys."

"Uh... you know what? We're – we're just comfy right here. But thank you." You took a step back with a little smile on your lips, trying to keep things smooth.

"What do you think you're doing?" Henriksen asked, appearing at the cell's door.

"We're not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We're gonna make a run for it." The sheriff answered, looking back at him.

"It's safer here."

"There's a SWAT facility in Boulder."

"We're not going anywhere." Henriksen stated, coming inside the cell.

"The hell we're not." The Sheriff reached out to grab your arm, holding you tightly. But before he could do anything else Henriksen pulled out his gun and shot him in the head.

As soon as that happened, Dean and Sam grappled with Henriksen. As he tried to break free from their grip, you grabbed his head and plunged it into the toilet water. This water, now holy thanks to Nancy's rosary began to burn his skin as you said the exorcism.

Dean crouched down and grabbed Henriksen's gun to point it at the officer coming toward them with a rifle.

"Stay back!" Dean yelled at him.

The demon in Henriksen lifted his head up out of the water. Skin burning as he yelled. Replacing you, Sam shoved him back into the toilet bowl as you continued the exorcism.

"Hurry up!" Dean exclaimed as the demon lifted his head back again. His eyes completely black.

"It's too late. I already called them. They're already coming." He said before Sam shoved his head back into the water and you finished the exorcism.

Taking a step back, Henriksen screamed. Black smoke came out of his mouth, shooting up into the air vent in the ceiling.

"Is he... is he dead?" Nancy asked when she saw Henriksen's body fall to the floor. Before any of you could answer, Henriksen regained consciousness and coughed.

"Henriksen! Hey. Is that you in there?" Sam looked at him.

"I... I shot the sheriff." He mumbled as he got up to sit on the bed.

"But you didn't shoot the deputy." Dean joked with a smile and you and Sam glared at him in disbelief.

"Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then..."

"Let me guess." Carter spoke form his cell. "Some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat?"

Henriksen looked up at him and nodded.

"You were possessed." Sam said.

"Yeah, welcome to the club, buddy." Carter smirked.

"Possessed, like... possessed?" Henriksen looked up at Sam.

"I owe the biggest 'I told you so' ever." Dean said as he handed back his gun to him.

"Officer Amici." Henriksen stood up and addressed the other officer in the room. "Keys..." Officer Amici handed him the keys and he unlocked Sam, Dean and your chains. "All right, so how do we survive?"

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

"Are you seriously going to leave me in these handcuffs?" Carter complained, following your footsteps through the police station.

"I got you out of the cell, that's the best you're going to get. Stop complaining." You replied, walking past Henriksen and Officer Phil Amici, who were preparing their guns.

"Oh, great. So your boyfriend, his brother and you can fight demons, but you leave me defenseless."

Letting out a sigh, you stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Stay by my side. If they come in, I'll take off the cuffs. I promise."

Carter narrowed his eyes, watching you for a few seconds. He could sense the lack of trust in your eyes. He couldn't blame you, he didn't trust himself either, much less with that many demons after them.

"Fine." He sighed.

Carter stood still there in the middle of the hallway while you walked over to Dean to tend his wound now that you finally had a first aid kit. It was the sound of the spray paint Sam was using to draw devil traps on every door and window that snapped him out of his thoughts and made him continue his walk to catch up with you.

"Well, that's nice. It's not gonna do much good." Dean commented as he saw Phil and Henriksen enter the room with a lot of weapons.

"We got an arsenal here." Phil said.

"You don't poke a bear with BB gun. That's just gonna make them mad."

"What do you need?" Henriksen asked.

"Salt. Lots and lots of salt."

"Salt?" Phil frowned.

"What, is there an echo in here?" You snapped at him, making him roll his eyes.

"There's road salt in the storeroom." Nancy spoke up.

"Perfect. Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door." Dean said. Henriksen and Phil left the room to get the salt, walking past Carter, who was just walking in.

"How you holdin' up, Nancy?" You asked when she handed you the tape for Dean's bandage.

"Okay." She paused "When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the devil. And my parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?"

"That's a good way to look at it." Carter commented, receiving a warning look from his sister. "What? I used to tell Dad that I heard voices in my head and he ignored me completely until one day that voice took over my body and..."

"Okay. I get it." You cut him off, turning your attention back to Dean's wound, placing the last piece of tape over his bandage. "That should hold."

Dean looked back at you giving you a soft smile. "Thank you."

You nodded, stepping away from him as Phil came back in the room with some bags of salt.

"Hey, where's my car?" Dean asked him.

"Impound lot out back."

"Okay." He nodded, putting on his shirt.

"Wait. You're not going out there are you?"

"Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk." He answered, walking out of the room.

"Wait, are you serious?" You followed him with concern under the watchful eye of your older brother.

"Our weapons are there." Dean pointed out. "Your knife is there. It's the only thing that can kill demons."

You sighed, knowing he was right. "Okay, but be careful."

"I always am."

As you rolled your eyes, you let out a sigh before getting up on your tiptoes to press your lips together in a kiss.

Taken aback by that gesture, Dean took a few seconds to react, but soon his hands found your cheeks, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. It was Carter's throat clearing behind you that forced you two to separate. Annoyed by the interruption, you turned around to look at him as Dean took that as an opportunity to leave and get the weapons.

"Sorry, sis." Carter said as you let out a frustrated sigh seeing Dean leaving the police station. "I thought you might want this back."

Seeing your mother's necklace in his hands, you walked over to him to grab it, but Carter took a quick step back.

"Take off the handcuffs."

"We've been over this. Not unless it is necessary." You responded.

"It will be." He assured. "You're forgetting my... how did Dean call it? Oh, yeah, demon radio connection."

As if he had summoned him, Dean walked back into the station much faster than you expected, interrupting your discussion.

"They're coming! Hurry." He exclaimed, running past you carrying a bunch of weapons and other things in his hands.

Black smoke hit the window near Nancy, making her scream as Sam, Dean, Carter and you ran to the main office area, where Henriksen was. Without wasting another second, you pulled the handcuff keys from your pants and released your brother while Dean tossed a gun to Sam.

The lights in the main room started to flicker, making the room much darker as Nancy clutched the cross she wore around her neck. Moments later, as Dean handed you your knife, dust rained down from the ceiling and the building shook.

"Everybody okay?" Sam asked when the black smoke in the windows disappeared and everything became quiet again.

"Define 'okay'." Henriksen answered.

"All right, everybody needs to put these on." Dean turned, giving each of them a protection charm from the ones Bobby had given Sam and him. "They'll keep you from being possessed. There you go."

"You'd think Dad would have known about this kind of stuff and given one to me." Carter commented when Dean handed one to him.

As if he had opened your eyes, you turned your head to him, looking at him carefully as you took in his words. He was right.

"What about you three?" Nancy asked with concern and confusion.

Dean and Sam tugged the collar of their shirts down to show the tattoo of the protection symbol that was printed on the left side of their chest. As you came back to reality, you turned around and moved your hair out of the way to reveal the tattoo on your upper back.

"Smart." Henriksen admitted. "How long you had those?"

"Not long enough." Sam sighed.

"Yeah, definitely, as soon as I get out of here I'm getting one of those. Can I take a picture of it?" Carter looked at you.

"I'll draw it for you." You replied, walking over to one of the desks. Carter smiled, following you.

"Thanks, Smarty. I love you."

"Whatever."

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

A few minutes had passed since the black smoke attack. The police station had been silent ever since and everyone had spread out around the place to cover more territory in case any of them came in.

You had decided to stay close to your brother, so at that moment you both found yourselves sitting on the floor of one of the hallways, right next to one of the entrances.

"You think Peter will like me?" Carter broke the silence between you.

"Sure, as long as he doesn't know what you did to mom." You replied with a snort. "Why do you even care? Do you really think dad will let you come back home?"

"With a tattoo like yours? Why wouldn't he?" Carter answered. "That will block the demons, right? They won't be able to possess me or get inside my head."

"I don't know." You shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. I don't know if I want to go back either." Carter admitted. "I just... Sometimes I like to think about Peter, you know? Imagine what he's like. Tell me, does he look anything like me?"

"He has your eyes. Blue as the sky."

"That's my boy." Carter smiled proudly. "Wait, don't tell me, he's blonde?"

You nodded. "And curly-haired, like dad."

"Of course he is." He sighed.

"He is like mom in so many ways." You recalled. "Too smart for his own good and full of witty ideas. He loves scary movies too."

"Of course he does, those are the best ones." Carter smiled.

"He's expanded your DVD collection, by the way."

Carter looked at you in surprise. "Dad didn't throw it away?"

You shook your head. "He told him it was Mom's."

"Well, either way. I'll probably never meet him, and if I do he'd probably hate me, but... I like knowing we have somethings in common."

You closed your eyes in frustration.

"Those demons robbed us of our childhood, of our family. Why? Why us?"

"I told you..."

"Yes, we're special. Or so they think. But... why?" You asked. "Because mom was a descendant of witches? That's Ophelia's fault to begin with."

Carter shook his head.

"I think there's more to it than that. When Dorian talked to dad the other night while he was in my body, he talked about a prophecy. He and Ophelia want to destroy God's creations."

"God's creations? Like the Heavens and the Earth?" You frowned.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That sounds like fiction."

"Sounds like an omen."

Before you could say anything there was a loud crash. Getting up to your feet, Carter and you ran into the office where Dean, Sam and Henriksen had just walked in.

"How do we kill her?" Henriksen asked pointing his rifle at the woman trapped inside a devil's trap.

"We don't." Sam answered, lowering Henriksen rifle when he recognized the woman.

Ruby.

"She's a demon." Henriksen pointed out.

"She's here to help us."

"Are you kidding?" Phil asked from around the corner, where he stood next to Nancy.

Dean and you sighed in exasperation.

"Are you gonna let me out?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah, right." Carter snorted before he watched as Sam scratched the devil's trap on the floor with his knife. "Wait, what the hell are you doing? Are you serious?"

"And they say chivalry's dead." Ruby spoke as she took a step out of the trap. "Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here." She walked past everyone and into the main office. Dean, Carter, Henriksen and you followed her, while Sam stayed to fix the salt line and the trap.

"How many are out there?" Dean asked.

"30 at least." Ruby replied, looking back at him. "That's so far."

"Oh, good. 30. 30 hit men all gunning for us. Who sent them?" You asked. Ruby looked past you to Sam who now stood by the door with a guilty look on his face.

"You didn't tell them?" Ruby asked him. Dean and you shared a confused look.

"Tell us what?" You asked.

"There's a big new up and corner. Real pied piper." Ruby answered.

"Who is he?" Dean looked back at her.

"Not he. Her. Her name is Lilith."

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." Carter said, running a nervous hand through his hair as he sat down in a chair.

"I'm not. And she really, really wants yours and Sam's intestines on a stick. 'Cause she sees you both as competition." Ruby explained, looking back at Carter.

"Wait. What?" You frowned.

"You knew about this?" Dean asked his brother. However, Sam didn't answered. "Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else we should know?!"

"How about the two of you talk about this later? We'll need the Colt." Ruby spoke, looking at the Winchester brothers. "Where's the Colt?"

"It got stolen." You answered for them.

"I'm sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands. Fantastic. This is just peachy..."

"Ruby..."

"Shut up." She snapped at Sam, raising her hand. "Fine. Since I don't see that there's no other any option. There's one other way I know how to get you out of here alive."

"And that is?" Carter looked up at her.

"I know a spell." She answered, looking back at him. "It'll vaporize every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So next time, be more careful. How's that for a dying wish?"

Feeling her eyes on him, Dean smirked. He actually looked quite pleased to be able to get rid of Ruby once and for all.

"Okay, what do we need to do?" Dean asked.

"Aww... you can't do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue."

"I got virtue."

"Surely not the kind she's talking about." Carter chuckled, standing up. "You're not a virgin."

"Nobody here is a virgin." Dean laughed. "Are you a virgin?"

"Because I have been locked up for almost half my life? Nice try, but no."

Ruby sighed looking at Nancy, who quickly looked away.

"No. No way. You're kidding me, r–. You're..."

"What? It's a choice, okay?" Nancy cut Dean off.

"So, y-you've never... Not even once? I mean not even – Wow."

"Can we not... judge people by their decisions?" You asked, coming to the girl's defense. "Thanks."

"So, this spell. What can I do?" Nancy smiled at Ruby, happy to be able to help.

"You can hold still... while I cut your heart out of your chest." Ruby smiled back at her.

"What?" Nancy lost her smile.

"Are you crazy?" You looked back at Ruby.

"I'm offering a solution."

"You're offering to kill somebody."

"And what do you think's gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?" She argued.

"We're gonna protect her. That's what." Henriksen said.

"Very noble." Ruby scoffed.

"Yeah, how exactly do you think you're going to fight those demons, huh?" Carter looked at Henriksen. "They're not as friendly as they look inside human bodies. They will kill you slowly and painfully. They will chase you and torment you and..."

"Would everybody please shut up?!" Nancy cut him off. Everybody looked at her with surprise. "All the people out there... will it save them?"

"It'll blow the demons out of their bodies. So if their bodies are okay... yeah." Ruby answered.

"I'll do it." Nancy stated after a few moments.

"You really don't have to." You said in a soft tone. "We can find another way."

"There's no other way." Ruby and Carter assured at the same time.

"We don't sacrifice people. We do that, we're no better than them." You looked back at them.

"We don't have a choice." Ruby said.

"Yeah, well, your choice is not a choice." Dean looked at her.

Seeing that Dean and you were completely against her idea, Ruby turned her eyes towards Sam looking for support. "Sam, you know I'm right."

Dean smiled, in the expectation that Sam will agree with you two.

"Sam?" He called his name, but Sam stayed quiet. "What the hell is going on? Sam, tell her."

"He doesn't want to disappoint you, but Sammy knows we're right." Carter said.

"You shut up!" Dean and you exclaimed at the same time.

"They're the only ones who can call me Sammy." Sam complained simultaneously, pointing to his brother and you.

"It's my decision." Nancy spoke.

"Damn straight, cherry pie." Ruby smirked.

"Stop! Stop! Nobody kill any virgins. Sam, I need to talk to you." Dean yelled, before walking off the main area with his brother.

"Do not touch her." You pointed toward Nancy before following the Winchester brothers into the hallway.

"Please tell me you're not actually considering this. We're talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her heart." Dean looked at his brother.

"And we're also talking about 30 people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here." Sam argued.

"It doesn't mean that we throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans. I'm not gonna let that demon kill some nice, sweet, innocent girl, who hasn't even been laid. I mean, look, if that's how you win wars, then I don't want to win."

"Exactly. Ruby's plan is stupid." You said, gaining their attention. "And even if you guys agree, I won't let you touch Nancy."

"Then what? What do we do?" Sam asked with desperation.

You sighed as you turned away for a moment.

"I got a plan." You said after a couple of seconds. "I'm not saying it's a good one. I'm not even saying that it'll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin."

"Okay, so, what's the plan?" Dean asked.

"Open the doors, let them all in and we fight."

"And Ruby's idea is the stupid one?" Carter scoffed behind you. You rolled your eyes, turning towards him. "Come on, sis. You've gotta have something better than that.

"I do." You assured. "Remember how I got Dorian out of your body that night?"

"Oh, we're going to pull one of Mom's book plays?" Carter smirked. "Sounds cool. I like it, Smarty."

"You guys mind sharing that idea with the group?" Dean asked.

"Get ready. Carter and I will take care of it. Trust me." You pleaded, looking back at him.

Dean sighed, looking into your eyes for a few seconds.

"I trust you." He then said.

When Ruby heard your idea, she clearly didn't like it, so she decided to leave. Meanwhile, the rest of the group prepared to fight. Henriksen, Sam and Dean positioning themselves at different spots of the building.

"All set?" Dean asked.

"Yeah!" Sam answered form the main area.

"Ready!" Henriksen replied.

"Let's do this." Dean sighed before breaking the salt line in front of him.

Sam and Henriksen did the same. Breaking the salt lines and the devil's traps near them. A few seconds past before the demons started to get in. Pointing their guns filled with salt bullets at them, Sam, Dean and Henriksen shot.

"God, I hope this works." Henriksen muttered as he opened a flask full of holy water and splashed it on the demon near him.

Meanwhile Nancy and Phil were on the roof, watching as more demons ran into the building. When they saw them all go through the doors, they both went down and closed them, putting lines of salt on each one before doing the same thing in the windows.

Just as all the demons surrounded Dean, Sam and Henriksen, Carter activated the station's speakers and you began speaking into the microphone, pronouncing an exorcism. The demons stopped their movements and covered their ears.

You said the exorcism several times before the demons began to scream in pain leaving the bodies of their vessels in several shots of black smoke that soon disappeared into the night.

The bodies dropped to the ground and there was an explosion of light on the ceiling before everything went still.

Sam and Dean slid down the wall to the floor and looked at each other. Carter and you then emerged from the microphone room. You crouched down next to the Winchester brothers, looking worriedly at them as the electricity flickered back on. Henriksen walked into the office and chuckled slightly as he wiped blood from his lip.

"We need to start listening to you more, sweetheart." Dean smile at you. "That was a hell of an idea."

Letting out a small chuckle, you shared a relieved look with your older brother.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

You were surprised when Carter decided to join the three of you at the motel. You figured that after everything your brother would leave as quickly as possible, taking advantage of his freedom and his newfound knowledge of anti-possession symbols. Despite what he had done, Carter deserved to live his life away from the supernatural. But his big brother instinct, his need to protect his little sister, remained in him even if he wanted to deny it.

Henriksen had decided to give you up for dead and let you go free after saving his, Phil's and Nancy's lives. But since Carter had no money, Sam and Dean had booked him a separate room at the motel.

A knock on the door was what kept you from falling asleep after taking a shower.

"Turn on the news." Ruby said as she walked into the room when Dean opened the door.

Letting out a sigh, Sam did as she said, seeing that on TV the news reporter was talking about a fire that had occurred at the police station.

"The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured, causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen." As she was talking, pictures of them popped up on the screen. "Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We'll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim."

Guilt washed over you as Ruby turned off the television and looked at the three of you with an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Must have happened right after we left." Sam assumed.

Having watched the news himself in his room, Carter walked through the door that separated their rooms. His eyes immediately searched for his sister.

"Considering the size of the blast..." Ruby started, tossing hex bags to each of you. "...smart money's on Lilith."

"What's in these?" Dean looked up at her.

"Something that'll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail... for the time being, at least."

"Thanks." Sam said.

"Don't thank me. Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out your plan? was the one with the body count. Do you know how to run a battle? You strike fast and you don't leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time... we go with my plan." Ruby said before leaving the motel room.

Carter crouched down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. You sat silently, staring at the hex bag in your hands.

"It's my fault." You said, eyes full with tears.

"No, it's not. You tried to save them."

"And now they're all dead." You looked up at him, letting the tears fall form your eyes.

"Listen to me." Carter held your cheeks, making sure you were paying attention to him. "I know that now it feels like you killed them, but you didn't. That's what demons do, they play with our humanity, they take advantage of it and then they stab you in the back. I didn't kill Mom, just like you didn't kill Nancy, Phil and Victor. Dorian and Lilith did."

"He is right." Dean said, sitting down next to you, hugging you by the shoulders and pulling you close to his body. You buried your face in his chest and reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. Dean squeezed your hand softly.

"You guys keep on hunting, I'm going to make sure Ophelia and Dorian pay for what they did to us." Carter stated as he stood up. "I promise you, sis. I'll make it all up to you."

Keep Reading: Chapter Twelve

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @lmhf1 @mochminnie @helo1281917 @barnes70stark @slyregg

If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment

[chibinightowl]

Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

[wandashousewife]

Dear Child (Chapter Two)

Pairing — Wanda x Reader

Synopsis — Your father was notorious for going on failed tinder dates for years after your mother had left for her own reasons which she never told you. You never actually thought your father had a chance in the vast sea of relationships until you found out that one of his friends knew a European woman a couple years older than you who wanted to marry him. Strange.

Warnings — Failure dad, absent mother, jealousy

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

As you finally nestled into the comforting embrace of your bed, the residual echoes of the day's events lingered like shadows in the recesses of your mind. Despite the comforting veil of darkness that enveloped you, a lingering sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, like an unwelcome specter haunting the sanctity of your solitude.

In the stillness of the night, the palpable sensation of eyes upon you prickled at the edges of your awareness, a silent presence that seemed to linger just beyond the threshold of perception. With a steadfast resolve, you chose to steel yourself against the unsettling notion, burying the unsettling whispers of doubt beneath the cloak of indifference. Yet, even as you sought refuge in the solace of sleep, the lingering sense of scrutiny persisted, a ghostly reminder of the enigmatic gaze that had haunted you throughout the day.

As the thoughts swirled in the quiet of the night, a subtle shift in perspective crept into your consciousness. Despite the unease and the lingering sense of scrutiny, an undeniable truth emerged—the realization that beneath the veneer of uncertainty, Wanda possessed a certain allure, a charm that transcended the boundaries of familial dynamics. Her proximity, coupled with the realization of her relative youth, sparked a flicker of curiosity and admiration that danced at the edges of your consciousness.

In the quiet solitude of your thoughts, you couldn't help but acknowledge the inherent innocence in finding someone attractive, irrespective of the circumstances. After all, what harm lay in appreciating the beauty that surrounded you, even if it resided in the unexpected form of your new stepmother? As the tendrils of sleep began to embrace you, the notion of acknowledging Wanda's allure, however fleeting, brought a subtle sense of comfort—a reminder of the intrinsic complexities that defined the human experience.

You heard the door open and saw Wanda there. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Wanda smiles, shutting her book and setting it aside. Her messy dark hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, out of her face. She is dressed comfortably in sweats and a tank top.

“Wanda? It’s like one in the morning, why are you up?”

“I was reading,” she shrugs, leaning back in her chair. She reaches into a small bowl next to the couch. “Had some chocolate covered espresso beans. They did not help me sleep. Want some?”

"No thanks," you responded, rolling your eyes in a display of weariness, your primary desire being to escape into the realm of sleep. The lingering question echoed in the quiet space between you and Wanda, a query that sought insight into the newfound dynamic brought about by her union with your father.

"Oh yeah, how's it like being married to my dad?" you inquired, the words tinged with a subtle blend of curiosity and a hint of skepticism, as if probing for the unspoken nuances that defined the peculiar relationship unfolding within the walls of your home.

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s… a learning curve,” Wanda admits. What she really meant was: Your dad is the biggest mess of a person I’ve ever met. “But we’re managing. Kind of.” You’re not totally sure if she’s just placating you, but you sense a bit of honesty in her tone.

“You sure he hasn’t been too pervy?” You asked, wanting to make sure that she was comfortable.

She snorts. “Aside from your dad’s occasional comments — and I do mean occasional — he’s been pretty respectful. A bit overly doting and affectionate, but nothing pervy. At least as far as I’ve noticed.” In the beginning, your dad had definitely made some off-color remarks about his bride-to-be, but that seemed to have died down.

“Okay, good.” There was a deafening silence between you both for a few minutes. “So, uh, why are you in my room?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come and read in here,” she shrugs. “And I was in the mood for some company, so I figured I should come check on you.” Wanda gestures to the door. “You were dead to the world when I did come in.”

“Wow, thanks.” “Eh, don’t mention it. I mean, if it were you waking me up in my bed at the ass crack of dawn, I know I’d be all bitchy about it. I’m not going to hold it against you that you’re a bit cranky.” Wanda smirked, her eyes pierced through your skin and into your soul.

“How old are you? I know my dad said you were young, just want to know how young.”

“I’m twenty.” Your dad must’ve mentioned this to you already, since Wanda can’t think of anything else he would’ve told you besides her age. That’s such the type of thing he’d prioritize.

“So I’m only a few years older than you, and I guess we can officially call me your stepmom.” She chuckles. “That probably stings.”

As laughter intertwined in the otherwise silent house, the sound reverberated through the air, weaving a fleeting moment of camaraderie between you and Wanda. Amidst the echoes of shared mirth, the weight of uncertainty momentarily lifted, replaced by a sense of fleeting connection that bridged the gap between the unfamiliar and the familiar. In that brief interlude, the voices of laughter echoed like whispered promises of understanding, offering a glimpse into the potential for newfound bonds to blossom amidst the quiet solitude of the night.

━━━━━

“Okay, okay, enough talk, time for gossip,” she says, leaning into your pillow with a smile. “Are there any cute boys in your class? Come on, I know high school is ripe with drama.” Wanda reaches over and grabs your arm and pulls you up to a sitting position.

“Absolutely not! And the ones that are mediocre at best are Jackasses.”

“Well, there have to be at least some cute guys in school with at least a grain of common sense.” Wanda rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have crushes on anybody?” “Well, there is this one girl…” You started.

Wanda freezes, her bright smile falling away. She suddenly looks very tense. “Girl?” she whispers in a strained voice. “Did I say something wrong?” Wanda clears her throat, trying to brush off her sudden discomfort. “Nope. Nothing.” She forces herself to grin at you again. “That’s great, I hope it works out. Girls are nice.” A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an undercurrent of tension, barely perceptible yet unmistakably present. Through the finely tuned lens of intuition honed over years of navigating social dynamics, you detected a faint trace of jealousy emanating from Wanda—a subtle shift in her demeanor that betrayed the lingering shadows of insecurity and possessiveness.

The telltale signs were subtle but unmistakable—the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle narrowing of her eyes, the barely perceptible shift in posture—all subtle cues that spoke volumes of the unspoken turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Like a skilled observer, attuned to the intricacies of human interaction, you recognized the familiar pattern of jealousy, a universal sentiment that transcended boundaries of age and circumstance, leaving an indelible mark upon the fragile fabric of relationships.

Wanda tries to dismiss her feelings, knowing she’s being unreasonable and irrational. She’s just being supportive, right? But despite her best efforts, her jaw stays clenched, her shoulders tensed, as she forces through her anxiety. Your relationship with this girl—your crush—was strictly platonic, but Wanda can’t help but feel a bit… threatened. Her heart starts beating faster and faster in her chest.

This had to be the start of something new.