#i remember once many years ago i was talking to a woman about how much i didnt want to be a man and how unhappy that idea made me

[peridyke]

you know its funny because so many transmisogynistic lesbians could have found that the amount of similarities and solidarity they have with trans women is more than their differences but because of their own bigotry now its too late. they can't see past their own hate and biases to understand that they have more in common as queer people with trans girls than cis straight women and men but instead they chose to refuse to see past social conditioning and they punched down and hurt the most vulnerable girls in our society. if they had bothered to understand and get to know trans women and their lives and experiences and oppression they would have understood these things but ironically they chose to cling to the same oppressive societal ideas that have hurt them as afab lesbians to then hurt transfems. in fact a lot of lesbophobic stereotypes get applied to transfems ESPECIALLY trans lesbians and people who were originally hurt by those stereotypes will still turn around and use them violently against trans girls without a second thought. what a pathetic group of people

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.�� I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | angus tully x reader

sequel to 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, won't really make much sense without reading that!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | holiday break can only last so long, but angus wants this to be more than a fling-- and you, as much as you want to deny it, already know it's more than a fling. the question remains if either one of you will admit it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public sex, breeding kink, very inappropriate activities in a church, secret relationship, a wee bit of angst and fluff at the end!

part 3 coming soon!

“Fuck, I don’t wanna go back,” he groaned, dropping his head defeatedly into the crook of your neck.  “I never wanna go back to that horrible fucking school.”

“I guess you’ll just see me at Easter break then, huh?” you purred, grazing your teeth over his ear.

“You know, if sex with you keeps lining up with the Catholic calendar, it’s gonna give me a complex or something,” he noticed.

“Oh, I can do better than that,” you beamed.  “Next time you see me at Mass, I won’t be wearing any panties.  And you’ll be the only other one who knows.”

He perked up again, balancing himself over you with bent arms against the mattress.  “I swear, you’re a dream come true.  A really fucked up dream I had after seeing a porno mag or something.”

You laughed, but it was cut off with him pulling you into another kiss— sweet and slow, with both of you smiling against each other.  With your limbs tangled together under the sheets, you melted together into your bed; and no, none of it really seemed real yet.  Every time this happened, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were hooking up with Angus Tully.  Frankly, you were sort of trying not to think about it, at least not too much.  If you really tried, you could look at his face and see the little kid you babysat all those years ago, and it just made you feel sort of awful about it… yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Your smile fell into a gasp when he started to kiss your neck, his hands guiding your back as it arched slightly.  When he pressed his body against yours, you felt him getting hard against your leg, and you groaned softly.

“Fuck, Angus, again?” you whined.  “We already went twice—”

“I’m leaving in two days,” he explained, “I need you as many times as I can get away with it.”

You wanted to protest, say something about how sore you were or about how he needed to leave and go back home before someone noticed he was gone— but his slender fingers were already diving between your legs and making you just moan instead.

“See?  You’re wet already,” he noticed with a playful mockery to his tone.  “I’ve gotta take care of you, baby…”

Oh, you couldn’t stand it when he talked like that— when he made you feel so vulnerable to him, so paradoxically submissive.  When this started a couple weeks back, it was the other way around: you were the cool, older woman with all the power.  You told him what you wanted and he was more than happy to oblige, never questioning you— he was obedient, basically.  But once you’d had a few more encounters, he realized that you wanted him just as badly… that he could make you desperate, if he wanted.  Once he’d had the smallest taste of control, he was suddenly a changed man; now, he loved to tease and taunt you, see how far he could push you, even once he made you beg— and you expected you’d never get to live that down. 

He watched your face with a mischievous smile as he slowly slid two fingers into you, watching the way you winced and then relaxed.  “I’ll be careful,” he promised, “I know you’re all sensitive still… thought you might wake up the whole house with that last one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed, remembering how he’d had to cover your mouth with his hand when he made you come.  These were issues you hadn’t considered much before, since you spent most of the year living in a dorm where you didn’t really care if anyone heard what you were up to.  Staying in your parents’ house again— and secretly fucking their friends’ son in your childhood bedroom— posed new challenges to say the least.

You gasped when his fingers curled inside you, rubbing that spot that made everything clench for a moment.  “Mm,” he observed encouragingly, “like that?”

“Yes,” you hissed under your breath.  Just when you began to let your eyes fall shut, they shot open when he added a third finger inside you.  “Fuck!” 

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” he scolded, “you can fit three fingers just fine— my cock’s bigger than all that anyways.”

He twisted the fingers inside you as your hips rocked, shivers running over your skin.  “Yeah, but still— fuck, it’s a lot…”

“You take it just fine,” he assured.  “You take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, and he laughed softly.

“You’re so good for me,” he continued anyways, making you bite your lip in hopes he wouldn’t notice his effect on you.  Whenever he said stuff like that, you just wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was— it made you want to shove him off of you and pin him down, remind him of his place.  But you never did, because letting him take control always felt so damn good…

His head dipped down a bit under the covers— and his lips latched onto one of your nipples, making you gasp and grab his hair with one of your hands.  “Oh god— yes,” you praised, shuddering a bit as he suckled hard on the bud.

He moaned around it, his free hand holding the other breast and keeping you down even when your back longed to arch deeper.  “You get so wet when I do this,” he noticed as he pulled away briefly, moving to suck the other for a moment as his fingers gently pumped into you.  When he pushed them in all the way to the knuckle, at the same time that his tongue swirled around your nipple just right, your patience finally gave in.

“Just fuck me,” you begged, tugging harder on his curls as you felt him smile against your skin.  “God, I just— fuck—”

He pulled away from your breast with a pop and a grin.  “Just ask nicely, baby, and I’m all yours.”

“I know you want to, just fuck me,” you growled, but he shook his head and you clenched your jaw.

“You can say it,” he encouraged, “just use the magic word.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the juvenile way of describing it, but his fingers were still moving inside you and you just needed it too bad— “Please,” you breathed.  “Please fuck me.”

“There you go,” he praised, slowly pulling his drenched fingers out of you and moving his hips to line up with yours instead.  He was so hard; you were almost impressed with his resolve, though at the moment you were mostly just annoyed with it.  “Look up at me,” he demanded, making you meet his gaze before he pushed himself inside you.

It was almost too intense, looking right into his eyes as he thrust into you carefully— you bit your lip, watching the heavy sigh of relief leave him as he filled you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes scanning all over your face and watching your expression change as he pressed his cock as deep as possible.  “You’re fucking perfect.”

You didn’t really believe that, but you at least would concede that this moment was perfect.

You held tighter onto him, legs wrapping around his hips, as he leaned in closer and moaned against your neck.  “How am I supposed to leave when you feel this fucking good?” he groaned lowly, and you felt yourself already beginning to pulse inside as you moved closer to the edge.  “I feel good too, right?”

Poor thing— if only he knew that it was his own fault you withheld praise, just because he sounded too precious when he asked you for reassurance like that.  He was really fucking talkative, way more than you expected; sometimes you thought if you didn’t say anything, he’d just go off on these wild tangents about how bad he needs you.  “You feel good,” you replied, trying to keep it a little vague so he’d ask for more.

“How good?” he asked with a grin, and you smiled, too, because he was wonderfully predictable sometimes.

“So good,” you cooed, “so fucking good that I’m gonna come way too fast.”

“Hey, that’s my thing,” he joked.  His stamina had definitely increased a lot in just a few encounters, but he still had a habit of coming quickly if you got him a bit too riled up.  Not that you really minded… it was still cute, after all, and he usually made it up to you one way or another.

He picked up his pace, letting out a low moan against your ear.  “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he ordered, panting with each quick thrust.

“Fuck, Angus, I want you come,” you replied, whispering against his ear.  “I want you to fill me—”

“Fuck…”

“And put all your come so deep in me—”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined again.  “I’m so fucking close.”

You whined, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling your chest get tighter as you moved closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” he added; okay, so much for predictable…

“Wh-what?” you choked, feeling suddenly hot all over.  “Angus, I—”

“I know, you won’t,” he soothed, “it’s just, you know, pretend… just say you want it, please.”

You swallowed but nodded, holding on tighter to the back of his neck.  “I… I want you to get me pregnant.”

“God, yes,” he whined through his teeth, fucking you faster.

“I-I want you to fill me up so I can have a baby,” you continued in a whisper, and he moaned again as his grip on your hips tightened.  You could hardly believe what you were saying, nor that he had asked you to say it, and yet it made the most wonderfully bizarre feeling stir inside you— strangest of all, it was turning you on.  “F-fuck, Angus, I’m gonna come.”

“You’re gonna come with me?” he pressed, sighing when you nodded.  “Fuck, let’s do it— we’ll come together.  That’ll definitely get you pregnant.”

“Jesus, Angus,” you hissed, “what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t get you hot, thinking about it?” he challenged.  “Thinking about us making a baby right now?  Imagining how good it would feel to let me breed you and make you a mommy?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” you grunted, but you were already trying to hold it back.

“God, you want it so bad,” he noticed— how was he only this perceptive in these sorts of situations?  “You want me to come in you and knock you up, I can tell.  You’re gonna come just thinking about it.”

Even though it wasn’t really just thinking about it— it was him fucking you deep and fast and hard after a whole night of making love— you were forced to bite your lip and nod.

“C’mon, baby, I wanna feel it again,” he purred.  “Feels so fucking perfect when you come around me— you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart jumped and your eyes shut tight.  “God,” you groaned in frustration, but he just smiled and held you tighter.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, “nobody has to know, it’s just me— you’re mine, right?  Say it.  Say you’re mine.”

You whined when it hit you— and nothing had ever hit you quite like that.  Tensing up inside, pulsing uncontrollably, you felt the weight on your chest lift and you dug your nails into his shoulders as he fucked you through it.  “Fuck!  I-I’m yours!” you blurted out, unable to stop it when you were drowning in your ecstasy like that.

He swore against your ear, and gave you hardly one more thrust before falling over the edge himself, groaning weakly as his body sank down onto yours.

You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t force you to address any of what you’d just said; he looked so exhausted that you almost wanted to let him fall asleep here if it meant avoiding that conversation.  But it was just like him to only give you about ten seconds of silence before running his mouth again.

He started by just sitting up enough to kiss you on the cheek, then the lips, then the side of your forehead when you turned away.  “That was so hot,” he announced, still catching his breath, as he grinned down at you.

“That was… different,” you admitted as you hoped your embarrassment wouldn’t show on your face.  “You weren’t serious, right?  I mean, you know I’m on the pill—”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured, “it’s just, I don’t know, a fantasy.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him.  “Respectfully, I thought it was more of a nightmare— you know, it’s kinda worst-case-scenario here.”

“No, no, I know— that’s why it’s fun,” he explained.  “‘Cause it’s, like, bad.  Well, not bad, but… scary.  In a good way!  Like a rollercoaster or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, “just like a rollercoaster.  That’s why the maternity ward at the hospital looks so much like Six Flags.”

“You know what I mean,” he laughed.  “It’s just… if it actually happened it would be a huge fucking deal… but just imagining it, just for fun I mean, it makes my heart race.  See?”

He picked up one of your hands and put it on his neck, pressing your fingers into his pulse so you could feel its rapidness.  “Fair enough,” you shrugged, “you sure scared the crap out of me for a second.”

“You liked it,” he cooed, kissing the tip of your nose.  “You like being mine, too.”

Even if you could’ve hid the reaction on your face somehow, the way your weak muscles still found the energy to clench around his softening cock gave you away; he purred as he smiled, kissing you more tenderly on the lips this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to you.

“I probably look like a mess,” you laughed quietly, “I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like after a night like this.”

“Yeah, that’s how I like you, though— you look pretty all fucked up,” he explained.

You glanced over as he moved to bury his face in your neck again, only to see the slightest blue glow in the window: the early light just before dawn.  “Angus, it’s almost morning,” you noticed.  “You need to go.”

“Not yet,” he begged, hugging you tighter.  “I bet I can make you come again—”

“No,” you snapped, “if your parents find out you snuck out— and if anyone knows you came here—”

“Baby, c’mon,” he pouted, “I’ll be quick, nobody’s gonna know—”

“I swear to god, Angus—”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, “then just kiss me before I go.”

He held your cheek and turned your face to his, and you kissed him; you hated these kisses, the ones that felt like goodbye.  They were amazing, of course, but they always broke your heart.

“I’ll see you later?” he assumed.

“You’ll see me on Sunday,” you replied.

“Nooo, I can’t wait that long,” he whined.

“Yes you can,” you breathed.  “Now get up, please, before I have to literally kick you out.”

“Fine,” he relented, climbing off of you and searching the floor for his boxers and t-shirt.

“I still can’t believe you ran here without even putting a coat on,” you remembered, “it’s below freezing out.”

“Whatever, it’s not even a block to my house,” he rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Lindy across the street takes out the trash insanely early in the morning— what if he sees you running back to your house in the snow without any fucking clothes on?!” 

“He was young once, right?  He’ll understand,” Angus laughed.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t understand,” you groaned, “‘cause if he figures it out and tells my parents—”

“I know,” he breathed, slipping on his shoes and leaning over the bed to kiss you quickly.  “It’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause before Angus dropped his arms down against his sides, hitting his legs; “Well, I… guess I’ll see you at Mass,” he announced.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest thing to say after hooking up with somebody,” you decided.

“I couldn’t think of anything else!” he defended.  “I’m about to jump out your window, it’s already a pretty weird transition.”

“Okay, first of all, please don’t jump,” you replied, “but fair enough.  I’ll see you at Mass.”

He hesitated, suddenly giving you one more kiss— one that lingered a little more— before opening your window and beginning to climb out.

~

Mass was certainly a lot more interesting when you kept feeling Angus’ eyes on you.  His family had been just barely on time for the service, so you hadn’t been able to talk to him before it started; you could tell he was dying to know if you’d gone through with it.

You tugged on the bottom of your dress as you adjusted yourself in the pew; it was definitely a weird feeling, and you couldn’t stop worrying that someone, somehow, would see up your skirt and get an eyeful.  The anxiety of it was oddly arousing, though— it made you understand a bit better what Angus had said about the whole scary in a good way thing.

When you occasionally spared a glance at him, you noticed that Angus still looked a little underslept; you’d both been up all night just a couple days ago, but the difference was that your parents didn’t really mind if you spent most of the next day in your room, so you’d had a chance to catch up— Angus’ parents were more determined to make use of his time off from school, and had him doing all kinds of chores and activities on Saturday that prevented him from getting more than a quick nap here and there.

And they’d tugged him out of bed bright and early for church today, so he was probably still feeling the effects of an all-nighter.  That said, he certainly didn’t seem lacking in energy at the moment— he kept wringing his hands, constantly glancing at you, so noticeably that his mom lightly smacked him on the shoulder when she noticed it.

But you were looking across the aisle at him, too.  If for no other reason than how cute he looked in his shirt and tie.

After the service, as everyone mingled around coffee and donuts, Angus made a beeline towards you— you’d kind of hoped he would be a little more subtle.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you just nodded at him with a smirk.  “It’s been too long.”

He glanced at all the people passing by, stepping closer to you to let someone walk past but never moving back; he waited until no one was too close before he spoke again in a lower voice.

“Are you really not wearing any…?” he asked, an extra sparkle in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face.  His smile dropped a bit when you nodded, though, and his eyes raked over you in the most intoxicating, lascivious way.  You were sure you’d never had someone look at you like that, like they’d give anything to devour you right then— and with no panties to hold it, you felt your arousal slicken where your thighs rubbed together.

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was looking over at him as he adjusted his corduroys awkwardly; you licked your lips, a little too flattered by the effect you had on him.

“That’s, um, that’s…” he mumbled, tripping over his words.  “That’s really… yeah.”

“Really what?” you challenged as you bit your lip briefly, moving closer to him and all but batting your eyes up at him.

“It’s really fucking sexy,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” you cooed.  “I think it’s sexy that you think it’s sexy.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about—” he began.

“I know,” you sighed, “me too.”

“I wasn’t even tired that day— I was wired, actually,” he laughed quietly.  “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart’s pace picked up a bit, and you glanced away briefly.  “I, um… I thought about you, too.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can go,” he whispered.  “It’s a big place— everyone’s here, if we just… found an empty room—”

“Jesus, Angus— in a church?!” you hissed.

“Come on,” he begged, “I don’t know when we’ll get a chance again— and I’m leaving tomorrow— and I want you so bad—”

“Shh,” you warned him, making sure no one was nearby again.  “We’ll figure something out— just not here.  It’s too risky.”

“But I need you now,” he insisted, voice lower and darker as he stepped just a bit closer to you.  “It won’t take us long— I mean, it definitely won’t take me long, after spending the last two days thinking about you.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at the floor, and you felt him lean in over you.  “Please, baby?” he whispered under his breath.

Releting, you took a glance at the crowd and made sure nobody was looking in your direction.  “You go find an empty room in the east wing.  I’ll talk to a few people— so it doesn’t look like we’re going together— and I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Great,” he beamed.  “Uh, which way is east again?”

You pointed him in the right direction and watched him bound away, sighing to yourself as you re-entered the crowd.  You got a lot of questions about your plan now that you finished your degree— and you found yourself repeating the same stock answer about how your graduate program didn’t start until the fall so you had the spring and summer to stay home.  Even though you knew you needed to kill some time to look less suspicious, you found yourself glancing constantly towards the east wing, getting more and more impatient for your chance to slip away as unnoticed as possible.

As the crowd was clearing out and nearly everyone’s attention was turned onto somebody’s new baby, you took the opportunity to disappear into the dark hallway.  As you peered around the doors, you saw Angus peeking out at you through one of the little windows; the door opened, and you slipped into an abandoned Sunday school classroom, barely having time to gingerly shut the door behind you before you felt his lips on your neck and his hand sliding up your thigh.

“That took forever,” he complained, and before you could remind him it had hardly been five minutes, his fingers were exploring between your legs.  “Fuck, what’re you so wet for?” he teased, and you groaned as you pulled him closer by his pants and hopped up to sit on the low bookshelf nearby.

“Just hurry up,” you hissed, “we need to get this over with before somebody finds us here.”

He opened his fly quickly, but struggled slightly to free himself from the confines of his trousers; you hummed a bit when he got it out, pressing it against you right away as you moved your hips up.

Thrusting into you all at once, you both sighed slowly; you took hold of his shoulders, he grabbed onto your hips, and instantly he began to fuck into you impatiently.

“God, you’re so tight,” he hissed against your ear.  “Touch yourself— I want you to come, too.”

You reached between your bodies to put a few fingers on your clit, rubbing fast in hopes that you could catch up with him.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” he mocked playfully.

“I think the fact that we’re doing this right after church proves that I don’t,” you replied.

“Guess you only do what I tell you to,” he shrugged, which really made you want to talk back, but you couldn’t because you were trying not to moan too loudly.

He moved faster inside you, and something about the angle of sitting up on the shelf was making him hit just the right spot— or maybe you were sensitive from the exhilarating fear of getting caught.

“What if I got you pregnant here?” he purred, making you arch your back slightly.  “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Tully,” you breathed, struggling not to let your voice come out all whiny and weak.

“Knocked up at St. Mary’s… it’s what God would want, right?”

“Do you never shut up?” you hissed.

“No,” he smirked, “you’re cute when you’re ticked off at me.”

His eyes met yours, and you felt a strange emotion stir in your chest: you bit your lip, willing yourself to tear away from his gaze, but you found it impossible somehow.

One of his hands moved from your hip up to your chest, palming at you through your dress.  You tensed up inside, making him wince a bit, and you couldn’t believe how close you were already.

“Oh god, baby, m’gonna come,” you whimpered, moving your hand even faster over your clit; he groaned in approval, leaning in to kiss all along your neck.

“Come for me,” he pleaded, “I’m so fucking close— please come, fuck—”

“R-right there,” you gasped, gripping his shoulder tighter— actually, that wasn’t the only place you were gripping him tighter.  He was struggling to maintain the pace of his thrusts, in fact, with how hard your walls were bearing down on him.  “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Not too loud,” he warned you, and you bit hard on your own lip to suppress your moan: it stayed in your throat instead, and you heard him gasp as he heard and felt you reaching your peak.  He had to take his hand off your chest and put it on the bookshelf under you to help keep you upright, and he looked down between your bodies to watch himself give you a few final thrusts.

He stopped suddenly, whimpering slightly as he buried himself in you as deep as he could go; you sighed and laid back on the bookshelf again, having to tilt your head to avoid a figurine of some prophet or saint that you had absolutely no interest in identifying at the moment.

Angus took a moment to catch his breath, before looking back over his shoulder and through the door’s window to make sure no one was in the hallway.  He pulled his cock out of you carefully and did his best to fit it back into his pants.  As you felt a warm oozing feeling between your legs, your face began to heat up.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through,” you realized.

“What?” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna have to go out there with nothing on under my dress, with your come leaking out of me.”

He bit his lip.

“It’s not sexy, Angus!  It’s very inconvenient!” you frowned.

“It’s both,” he insisted.  “It’s very much both.”

~

Though you did get another chance to see Angus before he left, it wasn’t that sort of rendezvous, unfortunately.  Although, just sitting and talking with him was wonderful, too— in an entirely different way.  See, that was the thing that scared you most, even more than how badly you’d come to crave his touch: how happy you felt just being with him.

He was funny, and weird, and seemed to think your stories from college were fascinating; he was well-read, especially for a high school student, and you two could chat about your favorite books— a hobby most of your classmates in college found too nerdy to sympathize with.  

It probably looked totally wholesome from the outside: two childhood friends catching up while they were back home for a while.  And you, you probably looked normal and cool on the outside— you were trying to, at least.  But inside, you were terrified.  You wanted it to be like what Angus said— scary, in a good way, like a rollercoaster— but you were starting to just feel sick.  You know, like an actual rollercoaster would…

“Everyone there is so… dumb,” Angus decided as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.

“That can’t be true, it’s a good school,” you tried to encourage him.

“I mean, maybe they could be smart, but they act like morons,” he clarified.  “They hate me, too, and I don’t even really know why.”

“Probably because they can sense that you think they’re all morons,” you suggested; and he looked over at you, as if he’d genuinely never thought of that before.

But instead of addressing that, he sat up again and changed the subject.  “My parents probably want me to go back and, like, put my trunk in the car and stuff…”

“Right,” you nodded, “you should go.”

“Yeah— b-but, listen, um, before I do…” he trailed off, leaning a little closer to you on the couch.  “I wanted to, you know, talk.  About something.”

“We’ve been talking for half an hour,” you noticed.

“Right, uh— I meant something specific,” he explained, his cheeks seeming to get a little bit more pink.  “I… I won’t be back until spring break, you know…”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, raising an eyebrow as you wondered what he was getting at.

“And, you know, we’ve been having such a great time,” he went on, and your heart twisted.  You’d heard this spiel before: the things are so good now, why do we need to put a label on it? why can’t we just have fun talk.  The you’re great, but not good enough for more than this talk.  You decided to jump in and spare him before he said anything too… honest.

“I get it,” you promised, and he looked at you nervously.  “We’re gonna be too far apart for too long— and you shouldn’t, you know, feel like you’re tied down to anything.  It’s okay— I didn’t think I was, like, your girlfriend or anything.”

“R-right,” he coughed, looking away and putting his hand on the back of his neck.  “Yeah, that’s— that’s what I was gonna say.  I knew you’d understand.”

You smiled, wishing you weren’t always so goddamn understanding.  “But it was fun— a good way to kill time over the break, for sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed alongside a thin laugh.  “I… I think I’ll always owe you, for being my first time and all.”

“Well, you’ve certainly spent your first two weeks of not being a virgin pretty well,” you snorted.  “I had a good time.  We’ll call it even.”

“And… when I come back?” he pressed.  “Maybe we can, I dunno… maybe we can do it again.”

You grinned and tilted your head.  “Yeah, I like that idea.”

“But can I still call you?” he asked nervously.

“Of course!” you beamed.  “You’ll have to tell me if you get any good books assigned this semester.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” he scoffed, but his smile lifted just a bit.

“I can come see you off, if you want,” you offered, “but it might make your mom suspect something…”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted, “I wish you weren’t, but you are— but I’ll call first thing when I get there!”

You smiled, and he gave you a hug before he left; and he promised to call again, though you’d believed him the first time.  And the next time you stayed up all night with Angus, it was on the phone— he snuck out of bed with a bag of quarters, and told you the phone was free so you wouldn’t feel bad, and talked to you about everything he could possibly think of.

Except, you didn’t quite make it all night: you fell asleep at some point, while he was talking about his English paper… not that he could blame you.

And for some reason, one that even he himself couldn’t quite explain, he kept feeding the phone quarters and listening to you sleep; he didn’t hang up until it was nearly morning and he had to sneak back into his room.

[series masterlist here]

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion x f!Tav pregnancy headcanons

@treshmind @chillingintheunderdark @azu21 @rachelle-on-the-run

Masterlist

Headcanons

Ok, it turned out to be much longer than I expected. And very angsty

None of you have any idea it was possible to get pregnant

Astarion is a vampire. He definitely "shoots blanks."

The ability to knock someone up was taken away from him along with his life many years ago.

Until one day, you feel weird. Sick, exhausted.

It's not like you pay too much attention to your monthly bleeding (what's the point anyway?"), but you notice it's been a while

And Astarion, after feeding on you, says your blood tastes different. Not bad, not weird. Just different.

And the scent isn't like it was before.

You are terrified you've caught one of these magical sicknesses or curses no one knows how to cure.

You go to the healer, who gives you a herbal drink, saying, "Take this; it's good for the child, and don't bother me until you feel something is off."

And you stay in the healer's hut, shocked, trying to understand what kind of child he is fucking talking about?

Until you realize.

You remember the night half a month ago, when a group of thugs attacked the village where you and Astarion live together.

Astarion returned from the woods drunk with sentient creatures' blood, his eyes glowing red and his skin blazing hot.

He just swept you away from your feet, dragged inside, stripped you of your light armor, and pinned you to the bed until the next sunset.

It was not the first time he was that "blood drunk," - but it was the first time it happened one of the days you could possibly conceive.

It's just a coincidence. The coincidence you carry inside your womb.

You return home, scared and shivering. By the time Astarion notices you are back, you are already crying.

You have no fucking idea how to be a mother. You have no fucking idea how to raise a child. What are you carrying within?

A person? A monstrosity? Your own death?

What creatures are born from vampires?

Astarion is no less shocked.

He pulls away from you, grabbing a fistful of his hair, and swears in Elven.

The healer may be wrong. You can't get pregnant.

And now you feel even more uneasy - what if you were assaulted?Do you have any memory gaps? What if someone used you?

Astarion leaves at sunset, and you stay alone with your fears

He returns in the morning, calm and quiet. Noticing you are still on your feet, he carries you to bed and asks to sleep while he "figures something out."

When you wake up in the late evening, Astarion has a sudden mood change

He is happy. He smiles. He pulls you to himself, placing a hand on your flat belly.

Then you notice a stack of books.

Dhampirs. Children of mortals and vampires. With insanely long lifespans, immunity for vampirism, and living beating hearts.

"You see. That's what we are going to have".

You slowly start adapting to your new condition,

The child grows fast, and your body changes. Breasts get a bit bigger, and you can't wear your light armor anymore (it is suddenly too small). You are constantly tired and hungry.

Even the most innocent teases from Astarion make you cry - and he panics every time it happens.

He has no idea how to handle a pregnant woman.

You quarrel. Constantly. Because you are both scared to death.

What is worse, Astarion has a serious regress. There are nightmares and self-harm tendencies. He runs away to the woods or the Underdark tunnels at least once a week, and you lash at him for leaving you alone every time he gets back.

Besides, it's his fault he didn't stop drinking blood that night

You have nightmares, too.

You envision a monster growing within you that will gnaw through your flesh any time soon.

And yes, women die in childbirth. Even if before that, they'd challenged the fucking gods!

One day, Astarion puts his head on your belly

He caresses it and whispers something in Elven.

"I hear the heartbeat," he says, eyes teary. "I hear our child's heartbeat!"

From that moment, everything changes,

He no longer goes away. He helps you bathe and dress. Brings everything you ask for and ensure you are comfortable sitting and walking. He prepares the place for the child (ignoring a very rational fear that either you or the child dies)

And he sews. He makes the set of clothes for the newborn, embroidering it with protective Elven runes.

Sometimes you both relax enough to discuss the future.

The day of birth comes much earlier than you expect. Almost a month earlier.

The midwife, perfectly knowing the father's nature, pushed Astarion out of the room.

And he spends a few hours helpless and desperate, hearing your cries of pain. If it was the night, he could at least go outside, but, as it happens, it's a sunny day.

He hates himself for doing this to you.

And as for you, you had no idea it could be so painful.

Finally, Astarion has enough and returns to you, kneeling beside the bed

The moment you see him, you grasp his hand as if you are drowning

And then it's all over.

A squeal, desperate and angry, rings out through the room, and you see a newborn in the midwife's hands.

A tiny girl with long pointy ears is placed in your hands. Not a monster. She isn't deformed. Just a baby. Who is very angry with the fact she's been pushed out from the warm womb to this cruel and unpredictable world.

Astarion can't believe what exactly he sees.

He has a child. He has a daughter. The most normal thing anyone can think of is now a reality for him, someone who once had to get out of his own grave.

Then you give the newborn girl to Astarion, and the moment he takes her, he bursts into tears, pressing the child against his chest.

The girl doesn't cry anymore, piercing Astarion with her dark eyes.

You, still tired and in pain, drink the healing potion left by the midwife and you look up at Astarion.

He notices your gaze and kisses you.

"My love, thank you. This is a gift", he whispers through the tears.

--

Tag list:

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Cheater (Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig)

Description: Patrick cheats on Y/N and Tashi cheats on Art.

Warning: Cheating, Implied Smut

Word Count:908

“She’s into Art, and I’m into you. You have nothing to worry about.” 10 years ago, Patrick said those words to Y/N and she believed them. She believed them so much, she let him put a ring on her finger and marry her. That was a big mistake, a mistake that would cost her the next 10 years. She loved Patrick, oh how she loved him. But from the beginning there was something off. She couldn’t tell what it was but once she saw Tashi Duncan it all hit her. Patrick would tell her that he wasn’t into her and that Art was. Art was head over heels for Tashi but that didn’t mean that Patrick wasn’t. Patrick was a player, a womanizer that got away with a lot. He was good looking and he knew that so he used it to his advantage.

Him and Tashi had something that wasn’t love but truth be told Tashi didn’t love anyone. She loved Tennis. So when Patrick was playing in a challengers and saw that Art was there ,he knew Tashi was too. Art saw Y/N with Patrick and couldn’t believe that they were still together. Y/N was a smart woman, what the fuck was she doing with him? Tashi wanted no needed Art to win so she was going to do what she had to do to make it work. Y/N had this sick feeling in her stomach when she saw Tashi and Art. It had been so many years but yet it felt like it was just yesterday. In the steam room Patrick revealed to Art the one thing that he could use against him. Him fucking Tashi while being married to Y/N.

Art wanted to punch him and scream at him. “Yeah when we were teenagers, sure. Or Atlanta.” Art remembers that day that he saw Patrick and Tashi talking. He felt uneasy about it but Tashi told him that they just talked. Patrick just revealed that they fucked. “Y/N, You would do that to her?” Art asked him. “I didn’t want to. It was a mistake. I love Y/N.” Lies, he did want to. “Y/N doesn’t know, does she? Patrick shook his head. “I told myself I would never tell her. I can’t lose her man. I didn’t even expect to tell you but it just came out.” Art was mad, his wife fucked his ex best friend. Who wouldn’t be? He had to find Y/N and tell her. Get her away from Patrick just for a second. Y/N was always with Patrick and the one time she wasn’t he fucked Tashi. Art wasn’t aware of it and nor was Y/N. That was until he came home smelling like another woman.

She put two and two together and pretended to still be asleep. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes but she couldn’t. One day before the final Art had gotten Y/N alone. “I know Art. I know about him cheating with Tashi.” “You know about Atlanta?” Confusion took over her face. “What?” She whispered. “Atlanta, that's when he cheated on you.” She shook her head, “Art.” “What were you talking about?” He asked her. “Last night.” He thought back to when Tashi wasn’t there and he slept with their daughter. “How do you know this?” “He came home smelling like another woman and I've always speculated that he was into her and she’s here so…” He looked at the ground for a solid minute. Neither of them said anything. Atlanta and last night. Patrick cheated on her twice. Tashi cheated on him twice. She looked at Art. “I think we’ve both been played.” She said, he nodded and looked up at her. “For the past 12 years.” Y/N didn’t know how it started but when it ended she felt relief.

She stared up at Art as he stopped thrusting. Both of them breathing heavy and looked fucked out. She had never viewed Art like that until now. “Should we tell them?” Oh he did and only Patrick would get it. It was Patrick’s turn to serve and he kept taking too long. But with the 3 bounces of the tennis ball and him putting the ball up to the center of the racket, Art knew what he was talking about. Art faked being shocked and upset at that. The crowd was confused as was Tashi and Y/N. Patrick got a point and when it was Art’s turn to serve, he did the same thing.

Patrick’s face dropped when he realized that Art meant he slept with Y/N and not Tashi. Patrick looked over at Y/N who looked at him. He looked back at Art and Art hit the ball, in shock Patrick didn’t hit the ball back. The crowd went wild as Art Donaldson won the match. Tashi was so happy but Art didn’t care. He stared at Patrick as Patrick froze. Y/N left the court without looking at Patrick, leaving him there. She got back to the hotel in time to gather her stuff to leave. She placed her wedding ring on the table next to the bed. No note or anything. It appears that whatever the signal was from the racket and ball they did gave away what happened. As she was leaving the hotel room she saw Art. She smiled at him and he smiled at her. Maybe this would bring them closer, maybe they were meant to be all along. 

[leclucklerc]

Something Immortal CL16 - 02. Bad Idea

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wayne!reader

Summary: Y/n Wayne knows that this is a bad idea. But well, going against the law is something that runs in the Wayne Family.

Word Count: 4.4K

Previous Masterlist Next

“Is B really going to buy an F1 team?”

Y/n looked up from the plate of dessert in front of her towards where Jason was sitting. The both of them are in the VIP lounge of the Monaco GP, waiting for the race to start before being ushered towards the Ferrari garage.

“What makes you say that?”

Jason gave her a pointed look. “I’m not dumb,” he said. “I can see a business talk even if it’s miles away.” At this, he pointed towards the paddock that could be seen from the windows in front of them.

They could see a glimpse of Bruce, laughing and talking with people with different team kits. Y/n recognized most of them as the team principals or even the management team from different F1 teams.

“Y/n, seriously, I don’t have time to become a driver,” said Jason. “And I’ll probably suck at it, most of these guys had been racing since they were in diapers.”

“Still,” defended the woman, fully aware that Jason’s argument was fairly logical. “You don’t have to be a driver, but I think being around Formula One, something that you’re passionate about, can help you, Jason.”

He doesn’t have to be a driver if he doesn’t want to. Hell, truthfully, if Jason really puts his foot down and strictly declares that no, buying a whole Formula One team is not going to help him, then y/n and Bruce will stop. The both of them will leave this silly idea behind and never look back once more.

But she had seen him. How his eyes followed every garage that they passed in rapid attention. How he attentively listened to what John had said about Ferrari’s Formula One team, how he had watched the free practice and qualifying alone the days before.

It’s been a while. Maybe the last time she saw him being this passionate about something was before his death. To see Jason looking forward to something, to see his brother actually enjoy doing something outside of his crime-fighting activities.

“I-“

“Jay,” she said again, reaching out to hold the older man’s hand. “I- I know we’re not the best family. B is not the best father and the rest of us have not been the best siblings but still I-“ she stopped at that, eyes searching for Jason’s own. 

Years of guilt appeared inside of her. Years of missing memories between the two of them. Years full of regret and anger that had soured their relationship beyond words. 

Y/n, only wants what is best for her brother. “I still want you to be happy,” she said, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting hers. “I want to see you laughing again, be integrated into society, and live your dream-!”

Jason looks lost and y/n is really glad that this section of the VIP lounge was reserved for them.

Because the man in front of her looks so fucking vulnerable. 

She still remembers that time when Jason just returned to Gotham. All Lazarus green eyes and rage oozing out of his form. How he had practically attacked Tim, taunting the rest of them, and begged their father to choose him over that clown.

Y/n also remembers the emptiness that appeared in his eyes when they informed him that the Joker was dead.

It was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Because Jason had it made his mission to kill that clown. To avenge the fallen Robin that had remained unavenged. To finally end the reign of terror that the prince of clowns had put upon Gotham City.

To know that he’s dead?

Well.

There are just so so many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too much pain and history that had happened between the two of them. To see, Jason who had always raged and raged looking this lost is-

“I’ve been wondering-“ said Jason, leaning forward. “Ever since that clown died, I’ve been wondering what the fuck I should do with my life-“

It’s a familiar conversation. Something that Jason had told her months ago under the darkness of the night. When there are only the two of them on top of his safehouse rooftop, sharing a stick of cigarettes to fight off the cold.

Y/n leaned forward, touching their shoulder together. It’s something that they often did before Ethiopia all those years ago. When Jason was nothing but a short and skinny kid that’s not too far off y/n own size. 

It’s been years since Ethiopia and a lot of things have changed.

“Have you decided, Jay?” she asked, eyes closing and head leaning towards his shoulder. “Whatever you want, you know that we will support you.”

Jason was silent for a bit.

The female too, sat there in silence, giving the older male a chance to think it through.

“I still want to be Red Hood,” he whispered, far too low for anyone to hear except y/n. “I still want to make Crime Alley a better place for people to live in.”

Y/n has to fight off a smile at that. Such a typical answer for a bat. Such a typical answer for the son of Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah?” she said. 

Jason hummed. “But I also want to live my life.”

A smile appeared on y/n face. She can feel the excited thrumming of her heart as she continues to listen.

“Oh?” she asked. “And that is?”

“Going to university, getting an English degree,” at this, he stopped. “And living the dream F1 fan life ‘cause my family owned a fucking team here.”

Y/n laughed at that; happiness clear on her face.

Bruce got the honor to wave the checkered flag that marks the end of the Monaco GP.

Her dad looks pleased, but she also knows that inside of that large smile and laugh, her dad simply doesn’t care. This business trip to Monaco had been a risky move after all, if it’s not for Jason’s happiness, y/n doesn’t think her dad would even consider going on this business trip.

In the end, when her dad was handed the checkered flag, the man put the flag into Jason’s hand.

“Do you want to do it, Jay?”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“Waving the flag,” answered her dad, letting out a smile. “Instead of me, my son can do it, right?” asked Bruce, turning his head towards where the president of FIA and the chairman of Ferrari stood.

“Of course, of course!” Said Ben, the president of FIA. “It would be an honor for us!”

“But they literally asked for you” answered Jason.

Her dad merely laughed at that. “They said you can do it, son.”

Jason may look like as if he wants to protest, but y/n knows that the man is far too excited at the prospect of waving the checkered flag at the Monaco GP. He may grumble and curse her dad a few times, but he really can’t hide the happiness that’s shining through his eyes at the mere thought of it.

The older man too, seemed to notice his son’s excitement as he let out an indulgent smile as he watched her brother being escorted to his position.

“Jason looks happy,” she said. “It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

“I know,” murmured her dad. There was silence between the two of them before her dad leaned forward towards her a bit. “I saw you earlier.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “What?”

“I saw you flirting with one of the drivers,” replied her dad. “The Ferrari one.”

Ah, she thought. He was referring to Charles. “It was an act, Dad,” she simply said. “You know, like your Brucie Wayne persona? I just think that it will do us some good if we’re on a friendly term with the paddock.”

Her dad stared at her. “There are better ways to do that, like chatting with the FIA president, for instance,” replied the man as he turned his gaze toward where Ben and John were talking with Jason near the track. “I don’t think flirting with a driver will really help our cause.”

Y/n shrugged, “He’s cute, what can I say?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she hissed out. “I have to watch you flirt with Selina the entirety of my life, let me flirt with cute boys for a change!”

“You know it’s different,” pointed out her dad, leaning closer towards her. “Don’t associate with anyone outside of the masked community.”

The woman rolled her eyes at that.

She knows that the older man has a point. She knows that he’s doing this in order to protect all of them. Not only his hidden identity, but the rest of the family and possibly the rest of the Justice League. Bruce has always put a tight leash on all of his children regarding the interaction and the social circle that they all kept. Most of the time, the man didn’t have to worry considering most of his children worked inside the masked community, resulting in most of their friends being another superhero.

But y/n?

Despite her close association and frequent presence in their nightly activity, she sometimes thinks that her dad forgets that she’s not a vigilante or a hero. Yes, she knows all of their secret identity, yes, she often assisted her brothers on their not-so-legal work.

Outside of all of that, y/n is a civilian. She’s just a normal doctor who’s not saving the world during her past time. She’s a normal woman that’s working in a perfectly legal job.

Friends are hard to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world. Friends are harder to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world who is also hiding the fact that he’s the dark knight himself.

“I know,” she hissed out. “It’s a persona dad, I doubt we’ll talk again.”

Her dad gave her a look as if he didn’t believe in that.

And well.

Um.

Charles won the Monaco GP. The first Monegasque driver to do so in the last 93 years. Jason had failed to hide his excitement as he waved the checkered flag.

Her family was there, right in front of the podium as they watched the Ferrari drivers and the McLaren driver celebrating the win that they acquired. Y/n was standing there, smiling politely as she watched the champagne shower that was happening in front of them.

It was also then, that their eyes met.

She was not sure if Charles was looking at her or at someone near her, but the man’s already wide smile had gotten wider as he locked his eyes with her. And it was also then, that Charles sent her a wink.

Huh.

Okay.

Oookay.

I’ll meet you later, he seems to mouth off, a bit quickly, before he continues the champagne shower with the rest of the drivers.

So much for not talking with him anymore.

“Hi, stranger.”

Y/n can’t help the quirk of her mouth at that greeting.

The woman turned her gaze towards the source of the voice, eyes immediately falling towards where Charles Leclerc stood next to her. There’s a smile on his lips, hair tousled and green eyes twinkling.

“Hello,” she greeted back, raising her glass of champagne. “Drink?”

Charles chuckled. “I had enough champagne for the day,” replied the male as he took a seat next to her.

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I mean, you won today,” answered the female, putting down the glass of champagne on top of the table in front of them. “How does it feel to be a Monaco GP race winner? And did you actually drink the champagne that’s being sprayed earlier?” Being sprayed with a bottle of champagne sure is an experience, it seems. 

“Amazing,” he breathed out, inching closer to her. “I guess a change of mindset is the only thing needed to break the curse.”

“I told you,” said the female, amusement dripping on her tone. “Guess I did become a really lucky girl today.”

“I hope so,” answered Charles. “I did remember your words throughout the race.”

“Oh? You did?” teased y/n. “Seeing Charles Leclerc win the Monaco GP live and being constantly on his mind? What a lucky girl I am.”

Charles let out a laugh at that.

The dinner party around them is buzzing with blaring music and drunken chatter. The event itself was hosted by WE and the FIA. A collaboration work between the two entity that marks the beginning of WE’s involvement in the motorsport industry. It was the reason why her dad – a reclusive who hardly leaves Gotham if he can help it – needed to do a business trip in Monaco.

And of course, for the simple reason of buying Jason an F1 team. 

Not that y/n is complaining. She had wanted to visit Monaco forever and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. Watching a Formula 1 race live is a bonus that she will never miss out on.

The dinner party that they hosted was the formal event that they made for the winners of the race. Though, it seems most of the drivers are in attendance. No doubt advised by each of their respective team to gain the elusive Wayne sponsorship.

She knows that the news of Bruce Wayne wanting to buy an F1 team or become a major sponsor had already made its rounds. Even the bigger teams who don’t really need more money came in order to make some kind of connection with Wayne Enterprise.

Truthfully, this dinner party made her nervous a bit. After all, it’s not like she attended a party outside of Gotham.

But still, Charles’s sudden presence helped ease up her nervousness for a bit.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Charles, eyes flickering around the room.

“Ah, Jason is not feeling well,” replied the female. “He decided to stay in our hotel.” Which is a blatant lie. Y/n knows that Jason brought his Red Hood gear all the way here. He’s probably prowling the streets of Monaco, searching for that gang boss who made him join this business trip to Monaco initially.

Charles hummed at that, taking a seat next to her.

“I heard you helped orchestrate this whole dinner party,” started the man.

Y/n laughed at that. “Orchestrating is a big word, considering me and my family just throw some money at the event organizer.”

“Still, I really like the red accents, it was as if you already know that Ferrari is going to win today’s race,” said the male as he gestured towards the red flower as well as the red napkins on top of the tables.

The woman grinned cheekily at that. “Who said I don’t? Maybe I have the power to see the future?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at that, amusement clear in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted out, leaning forward. “Can you see my future then?”

Y/n hummed, mouth closing in a wide smile as she too, leaned forward. Both of their face are really close to each other. “Hm…” she let out. “I think… You’re going to be really drunk tonight.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s given,” he said, grinning.

“Really?” she said, sounding amused. “Do you want me to see further into your future?”

“You can?” asked Charles, with a tilt of his head, mouth still grinning. “What a fearsome power that you have.”

The female giggled. “I think I can see…” she whispered. “A future world champion here.”

Now, Charles is full-blown laughing, the glass of champagne that he had been holding now forgotten as he lets the amusement to envelop his very being. 

“Seriously,” he said the first part in French before he switched back to English, “You really know how to appease someone.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “You better be careful, or I’ll think that you’ve been flirting with me.”

It’s a bold thing to say, especially to Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

She knows that she’s one of the most desirable women in the marriage market, considering her looks and her family. Many people had attempted to flirt with her, to trap her with their honeyed words and kind gestures. 

But still, it’s been a while since there’s someone this bold.

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you,” replied y/n instead. “It would be embarrassing if you thought otherwise.”

Yeah, the moment she uttered those words, she knew that this was a bad choice to make.

Because at that moment, she could see the sparkle of interest in Charles’s eyes. The light that suddenly shone behind those green orbs as the man leaned forward toward her. Y/n could faintly smell the cologne that he wore, a masculine one that reminded her of her dad for a bit.

“Oh?” he said, mouth quirking up and eyes crinkling. “I’ve been flirting with you too, if you haven’t noticed.”

Okay, this isn't good. She needs to stop this before they go further and ignite her dad’s anger. 

“I see,” answered y/n with a smile. “Anyway Mr. Future World Champion, I think your team principal is looking for you-“

It was the perfect excuse because she really did have seen Fred wandering around the room in search of his driver. However, whatever she was going to say stopped immediately when a hand reached out to grab her wrist. She immediately looked down, staring at Charles’ palm.

“Hey,” said the male, grinning. “Wanna go somewhere fun?”

She should say no.

Y/n can already imagine her father’s disappointed sigh and the loud protest from her brothers. She can already see her doing the walk of shame tomorrow, with Jason silently judging her. It would be stupid of her to say yes because there are just so many consequences waiting for her if she took up that offer.

There’s literally no reason for her to say yes to someone that she barely knows.

But well-

Charles looked at her with those bright green eyes of his, the corner crinkling up from how wide his smile was. There’s something about his expression – so transparent, so genuine, something that she rarely saw in Gotham – that tickled her heart at the right place.

Maybe it’s the dimpled smile, maybe she was simply swept up by the moment.

But the next thing that she knew was-

“Yes,” she answered.

The smile that Charles let out can ignite the room.

The music is loud. Louder than what she used to.

There’s a huge misconception of her back in Gotham. Due to her father’s public persona, as well as her brother’s less-than-idle nature, the media had portrayed her as a party girl once upon a time.

But really, this is the first time for her to be in a club.

Clubs are not that common to start with in Gotham. Due to the high crime rate, and the many many dangers, clubs scarcely exist in the city. Galas though? Galas happens almost every week. Due to that, y/n only ever attended galas and galas.

So this, this is a new experience for her.

She could see the throngs of people around her, dancing and laughing, fully immersed in the music around them. There’s something about the air that just made everyone highly excited as if there’s no tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for her to be swept up by the atmosphere too.

 “So, how are you enjoying the night?” Yelled Charles as the two of them laughed and danced in the middle of the dance club. Y/n was glad that she had opted for a short dress because really, the ball gowns that she used to wear for galas will be sticking out like a sore thumb in this kind of scene.

 “It’s been fantastic!” answered the woman, amidst the loud music. Her mouth is a bit aching from how wide she’s been grinning but that really can’t dampen her mood. “It’s not my usual scene, but I guess a change of environment is not that bad.”

“Oh? Gotham doesn’t have a lot of parties?” laughed Charles, hand finding themselves around her wrist.

She stepped closer, face almost touching. “Mostly galas, or gatherings,” said y/n, letting out a shrug, before a grin overtook her face once again. “It’s not exactly safe to throw a wild party like this in a city like Gotham after all.” 

Something flickered in Charles’ eyes as he let out a hum.

“So,” started the woman, wanting to change the subject of the conversation. She leaned forward, cocking her head for a bit. “Is Monaco nightlife had always been this lively?”

“It is when it’s my party,” said the man, as they stepped out of the dance floor towards the bar.

Ordering for the both of them, Charles sidled close to her.

“You’re really trying to get drunk tonight?” teased the woman.

“Not too much,” replied the man. “I wanna remember you.”

She hummed. “Well, what’s stopping you?” she asked. “Don’t you think we should make more memories then?”

Charles turned to her, and the grip that he had around her waist tightened.

“Oh?” he said, voice lower. “Are you sure?”

The grin that she lets out must’ve been enough of confirmation because the next thing that she knew, they’re stumbling into Charles’ Ferrari, lips interlocked with each other in a desperate and sloppy make-out session.

She’s grateful that the parking space is located in a discreet place because her appearance right now is less dignified than what Bruce Wayne’s daughter should be. Though, she really can’t seem to care right now. All she knows is the taste of Charles’ lips on her and how his hand traveled all across her body, giving her a delicious tease of pleasure.

They fell into bed together.

That night had been a bit of a blur, to be honest. He remembers dancing with y/n, laughing, and touching her under the club lights. He remembers dragging her to the edge of the dance floor, head leaning forward.

“Can I?” he had muttered, head cocking sideways.

Y/n had let out a laugh at that, hands winding around his neck before she too, leaned forward.

He remembers the sweet taste of her mouth, how she had opened her mouth, letting their tongue meet in a wet mess. How his hands had wandered around, starting from her back before reaching downwards towards the edge of her short dress.

“Let’s take this somewhere,” muttered y/n back then, releasing his mouth with a string of droll still connecting them. “Somewhere more private,” the last part was whispered and he remembers the jolt of arousal that hit him at that very moment.

Charles doesn’t have a clear memory of how they managed to get into his apartment. All he remembers is how he pinned y/n by his front door, savoring her as they rutted against each other like a teenager. 

The night ended with them on his bed, rustling against each other and-

Charles cracked his eyes open, watching the sun filter into his room from the crack of his curtain.

He could feel the pounding headaches as the memories from last night rushed into him like a tsunami. Of him winning the Monaco GP, of him attending the formal dinner, of him and y/n stumbling into bed together-

His eyes widened as he immediately turned his gaze toward the other side of the bed.

Sitting there, still topless with a blanket covering her, is y/n Wayne, brow furrowed as she scrolled something on her phone. That sight immediately warmed something across his heart as he stared at the woman silently, not wanting to avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re awake?” asked y/n, turning her gaze towards him.

He let out a hum, shuffling closer towards her.

At that, y/n’s hand fell on top of his head, caressing his unruly mop of hair. It’s soothing, something that he really needs amidst the headache that’s been throbbing inside of his head. They stayed like that for a couple of moments, basking in each other presence.

The moment didn’t last long because y/n phone rang.

“Yeah?” asked the woman before she stared at him for a moment before she began talking in a language that he didn’t understand.

Charles faintly recognizes it as German. He knows a couple of words, but with the way y/n talking as if she’s a native speaker, well, it’s safe to say that he really doesn’t have a clue about what she’s talking about. The phone call didn’t last long. Only a couple of minutes at best. Though, at the end, y/n let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“Charles, listen,” stated the woman. “This is a bit awkward, but I gotta go.”

He ignores the disappointment that erupted inside his chest. The driver had been hoping that they could have breakfast together before taking a stroll around Monaco before he had to see her off.

“I really enjoyed last night but-“

Before she can even finish that sentence, Charles interrupts her again. “Can I see you again?”

Y/n blinked, staring at him. “Yes?”

“See you again,” said the driver, leaning closer. “I really enjoyed last night. More than simply enjoying it,” he continues. “I like to do it again.”

The woman is still staring at him.

“Of course, I mean not only fucking, but like, I would love to have a date with you,” he continue, tongue a bit tied at the sight of an angel in front of him. “If you give me the chance?”

Honestly, he was not expecting much. A woman like y/n must have had a lot of suitors or partners all her life. Charles will be the luckiest man on earth if y/n even gives him a chance for a single date, let alone dating her.

It was silent for a bit, as the both of them stared at each other with no words being exchanged.

The moment was broken when y/n let out a loud laugh.

It startled him a bit, Charles doesn’t really understand what’s funny about his declaration and yet, he doesn’t really mind it. After all, the sight of y/n letting out such a carefree laugh is something that he will integrate into his memory forever.

“Yeah,” said the woman, finally. “Let’s see each other again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” grinned the woman. “But next time, bring me to a proper date, okay?”

Charles laughed at that, giving her a single kiss.

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[anna1306]

The Gone Prince

Daemon Targaryen x brother!Targaryen Reader

I know it has been a long, long, looooong time. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on that. I am going to return to writing, more or less. can't promise to return to posting every single day, as I did before, but I am going to return to writing and posting. It has been a long time of depressed time, disorganised time and simple no strength time. This part I wrote and rewrote two or three times and I hope you will like what I come up with in the end. Love you all)

Part 1 here

Princess' chambers were big and full of light. It reminded you of quarters of your grandmother, always warm and welcoming to her family. You were sitting there on the sofa, speaking with your niece for the last ten minutes or so. You didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on your conversation, so you approached her later, not during the feast. After that same feast Viserys insisted that Rhaenyra and her family stay in the Red Keep for at least a week or maybe even longer, not wishing for his pregnant daughter to endure two big travels in a row. Also... You had to wait for Daemon to leave her alone. He wouldn't let you talk calmly to each other, not after all these years, you just knew it.

"If the King asked for you, I am glad to have you here." Rhaenyra said, as you noticed hint of coldness in her eyes, probably brought by Daemon's opinion, which he, no doubt, generously shared with his wife. You only smiled in response. You could understand why she didn't trust you fully. And it definitely didn't hurt that much. At least not like it did with your brother.

"You sound just like her, it is crazy." You said quietly. She looked at you confusedly, not understanding your words fully. "Like Aemma." Her expression softened at your words, as her hand came to rest on her rounded belly. "I am sure she is proud of you, watching you from the other side."

"I can only hope so... She never mentioned you, now that I think of it." Princess said. You shrugged, trying to stay calm and nonchalant about it.

"Not many people here did." You tried to hide your feelings behind a smile, something you learned to do long time ago. "I remember her mostly from our childhood. How Viserys was madly in love with her. He often made a fool out of himself and was so scared she would reject him. And Aemma only laughed and smiled at him with so much kindness in her eyes... One time he tried to graciously ride in front of her on the horse to show her that he is a good rider. Poor animal got scared of something and sent him flying face flat on the ground. He was so red in the face, but didn't say a word, I thought he would burst with embarrassment." Rhaenyra laughed, imagining her father at the scene, as you watched her attentively with a little smile on your face.

"I can imagine how amusing that was." She agreed. You nodded, looking away from her, knowing that she was still watching you closely. "Did the King say why he called you back after all those years?"

"To help him. Viserys is... Full of many feelings and guilt is one of them. Guilt for a lot of things, which I am finding out only now. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you." You looked back at her, meeting her gaze. "He wants me to mend the rift in his family." Her smile faded a bit, as she lowered her eyes on her belly. Rhaenyra understood perfectly well what were you talking about without you having to pronounce it. "I was told you were friends with the Queen Consort once, weren't you?"

"It was years ago. I feel like it was the other life." She answered with a sad smile. Rhaenyra looked at you again, her expression once again calm and stoic, almost rid of all emotions. "I once knew a girl, my friend, who was kind, honest, supportive and who looked at bright side of things, who was romantic and hopeful. Now Alicent is different, full of..."

"Spite?" You suggested. The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. You sighed, having a strong feeling your emotions about losing someone that close to oneself could be similar in some way. "Tell me, do you think there can be a slight possibility of you getting back to being friends? Or at least... Not at each other's throats?"

"I don't think so. There were many things between us, to lead me to Dragonstone and out of any possibility of mending this. You probably heard about what had happened in Driftmark. She... The Queen showed everyone her true colours. Her true thoughts and intentions behind this righteous facade."

"Lucerys severely wounded her son, I can understand her rage and wish for justice to some extent. Not 'eye for the eye', but still." You argued with her.

"Her son is spewing lies. Both of them. She placed traitorous lies in their minds, spreading rumours about me, about my sons! All of them are just..." She hissed suddenly, grasping her belly and closing her eyes, almost wincing in pain. You shot up from your place immediately, ready to go for help, but Rhaenyra stopped you with a motion of a hand. "I'm fine... Just... Daemon's child is really active." She smiled tiredly, as you clutched your goblet with wine in your hand, distracting yourself from your thoughts with a drink. "Nonetheless... I am not sure there is a way to get through to her." Princess said calmer now.

"If there was a way... A possibility of bringing back this peace, if not friendship. Would you be willing to put the bitter past to rest?" You asked, sitting back on the sofa. Rhaenyra didn't say anything for some time, your words hanging in the air. She diverted her attention from you, watching her maids serving breakfast on the table, long silence surrounding both of you.

"In ideal world... I guess I would want that." She admitted quietly. You smiled to her a bit, nursing wine in the goblet. "She was my friend once, the closest person in this Keep. But what she and her father did..."

"Yes, men like Otto, can influence even the dust to hate the wind." You scoffed, agreeing with her. After seeing what was going on in the Keep, you understood that one of the main roots of problems was the King's Hand. Yes, he helped the King to rule the realms, almost ruling them himself from time to time instead of sick Viserys, but he pursued his own goals first and foremost. You could understand ambitions, it was explainable, but your priorities in this matter were different.

"Alicent isn't innocent. She willingly ate those lies and now she is a spitting image of Otto..." Rhaenyra made a pause, sighing, as she looked at you. "Alicent has that thought that my children aren't... Trueborn. She spreads this rumours everywhere, you know it." You nodded, hearing these rumours already. You had your doubts about it too, but didn't care much, they were children of your niece, that was all you needed to know about their parentage. "Every time I gave birth, she demanded I present my child to her immediately after. She isn't such an innocent girl she claims to be." Your gaze hardened at the realisation. You put away your goblet and looked at Rhaenyra seriously.

"If she orders that you should present your child like this again, don't even move from the bed. I will be near and I will deal with it myself." You promised her. "She can come to you herself if she wishes to see the child so much. And if she doesn't understand why her request is wrong, I will explain it to her personally." You answered her with determination. Princess smiled at you slightly and moved to stand. You helped her up and stepped away from her. "I better give you some space. If I can do anything for you, tell me. And just... Think about possibility of it. Just try..."

"I probably will... Thank you. I appreciate the talk." She nodded, looking at her. While you could see that she still didn't trust you completely, at least you two talked calmly and discussed matters at hand. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Daemon walked in, and the air left your lungs at the sight of his figure lightened in the sunlight coming from the windows. His eyes met yours and what little softness he had, instantly turned to coldness and distaste in a second.

"You?" He only said in disgust.

"Me.” You nodded with a sigh. “I am leaving already. Have a good day." You smiled softly at your niece before heading out, not wishing for your brother to get angry at your presence near his wife. He could hate you from the distance, you thought. You could handle it… Even though you were too sober for his hate not to hurt.

***

"It was great!" Jacaerys was almost jumping in his steps excitedly, as he walked a little bit ahead of you. You smiled, taking off your gloves still hearing three loud growls of your dragonbehind you both.

"I am glad you like the ride. They liked you too, little prince." How could you say no to those eyes, when he asked if he could fly with you on your dragon. You understood him, as they were rarity, the first three-headed dragon known to Targaryen House, at least according to the known records.

"Is controlling him different? Different from ours, I mean." He turned to you with a curious look. You shrugged, contemplating your answer.

"You tell me, I only flew on them." His excitement about the new dragon was big. So of course he was curious as to whether or not it was similar to the flight on the one-headed dragon. Vermax wasn't big enough yet, but he flew with his mother already. And you flew on Vhagar with your father or on Caraxes with Daemon too long ago to remember it correctly, so you couldn't really draw the comparison.

"You sure they wouldn't drop me?" Daemon was hesitant, standing several steps behind you, as you petted one of the long necks of your dragon. You turned to him, raising your brow.

"Don't tell me you are afraid." You smirked at your brother teasingly, watching his expression hardening.

"I am never afraid. Not of the dragons, I am a dragon myself!" He exclaimed, earning growl from one of the heads in response. "I just don't know how it would be." Daemon said quieter, glancing between them and you. You smiled, offering him your hand.

"Nuhys zaldrīzes(my dragon), do not fret. You said it yourself, you are a dragon, as they are." He smirked more relaxed, giving you his hand. You pulled him closer, placing his palm near yours. "See?"

"I know what dragons are to the touch, dummy." He scoffed, petting your dragon. You glanced around, making sure noone was there to witness it and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey!"

"Let's go, I want to kiss you in the sky." You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of your dragon, to the saddle, hearing his chuckle, as he didn't struggle against your grip one bit.

"I will be next!" Baela’s voice distracted you from your memories. You looked at the excited girl with a little smile. She was eager to fly with you too, but let Jace go first. You nodded to her, knowing that your dragon didn't mind flying several times in a row.

"You sure?" She eagerly nodded at your question. You glanced at her sister, standing beside her, her expression more serious though. "And you, Rhaena?"

"No." She snapped back, almost aggressively. You were a bit taken aback, and even if you didn't want to press her into saying anything else, you still looked at her, contemplating your next words. She glanced at you, noticing your stare and seemingly understanding that she was rude. Under your attentive, but soft eyes she shifted on her spot unsurely and pursed her lips in a thin line. "You cursed us." Rhaena finally said quietly.

"Sorry, what? I cursed you?" You chuckled, not expecting this answer at all. You crouched on the ground to be even with her height and look in her eyes. "What makes you say that, ñuhys bykus embōñys dārilaros(my little sea princess)?" You asked her. She wasn't confident anymore, glancing at her sister, who remained silent, as you talked. You patiently waited.

"Father said you cursed us. Your dragon has three heads which you stole from other dragons. That's why I don't have a dragon." She answered finally, as your heart tingled with pain once again. Strange... And you thought this pain was constant and couldn’t be that prominent anymore. You scoffed in disbelief. Daemon said you cursed their family? His silver tongue and sarcastic side definitely grew over the years. He was more like your father than you thought. You sighed, lowering your head, gathering thoughts of what to say to her.

"Maybe I did. But only because I want to strengthen you. They hatched in my cradle. I never tried to tame anyone and work for success." You carefully said, looking at wary Rhaena again. "I never tried hard to find a dragon and bond with him, make him respect me and listen to me. But you are going to be stronger than me. Like your mother and father one day you are going to tame the strong, mighty dragon. You are going to be more powerful than me, the one who cursed you."

"You are only telling me this, so I won't be mad." She mumbled, but you could tell that she was more at ease with you now.

"Maybe yes. Maybe no. Who knows." You shrugged with a smile, standing up. You gave her your hand. "Come on. They can fit us three. Maybe one of them is the one I stole from you, and he would like you more than me." Rhaena hesitated, looking at you with her eyes, so familiar to you. You could almost see shy Daemon in his childhood… She took your hand nonetheless, still wary, but more trusting you now, as Baela took your other hand with a smile, herself, brave like Daemon. For some reason you felt in peace with yourself at this moment.

***

"You got your mother worried, you know?" You sighed, noticing the boy with an eyepatch sitting under the tree in the Godswood with barely any light around, night dark sky looming over the city already. Aemond looked up at you and turned away from you instantly. You sighed, walking closer to him. While you didn't trust his grandsire and mother fully, the children weren't at fault. They were your nephews and niece, no matter the other blood. "What are you doing here? It is dark already."

"And? I am not a little kid, I can defend myself." He snapped at you, glaring angrily with his one eye at something in the dark. You sat near him, not really caring for his discomfort in the matter. From what you had seen, he was just not used to physical affection, but you didn't reach out for him, you just... Were there.

"I know that. But running away from the castle just because your nephews are there, isn't very brave." You answered almost in a thoughtful voice. He grumbled something in return that you couldn't quite understand. You glanced at him with soft smile. "You can't hide forever."

"They weren't punished! That dick... Sorry." He mumbled, losing his fight after one swear word, apparently being scolded for it beforehand. You only shrugged at this.

"Lucerys did a bad thing. I guess you can say he was kind of a dick that day." Aemond scoffed at this, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "But he's just a child. Like you are. And he tried to protect his family."

"I was maimed!" Aemond exclaimed, tones of Alicent's intonation and voice coming through his childish one. "He cut out my eye, and they were entitled enough to not carry any punishment!"

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to me and hear me out, alright?" You asked him, as Aemond nodded gloomily and almost hesitantly, still being very angry. "If you held a stone over my brother's head, threatening to hit him in the head with it, threatening to kill him, calling him names and telling him that he was going to die screaming, I wouldn't cut your eye out. I would cut your throat."

"That..."

"Would you not protect... Helaena? Or your mother?” You continued with your point. “If someone would have tried to hit them with a stone, insulting and threatening them. If you had a weapon, what would you have done?" You looked at him, as the boy lowered his head, seemingly contemplating your words. He wasn't presented with the other point of view, it seemed.

"I... I would kill those who dared to hurt my family." He sighed defeatedly. You smiled sympathetically

"Aemond, I am not glad that Lucerys went unpunished. He should have gotten at least some kind of retaliation for what he did. Like serving some other House for some time as a ward, or I don't know, limitation of his dragon’s lessons, this is a bad punishment enough for his age. But not carving his eye or killing him. That wouldn't return yours." You pretended you didn't notice Aemond moving closer to you. You just let him be comfortable and at peace with himself.

"But that would bring me satisfaction. That would be fair." He still mumbled. You sighed and smiled slightly, looking at your nephew.

"You would become a great warrior one day, Aemond. Yes, even with one eye, believe me. You have one of the greatest dragons, you have dragon blood and very fiery heart. But one thing that a warrior should know – is when and where to stop. Not becoming unhinged monster to scare little children. But to be a good fighter, a hero they will write songs about."

"Like your father? Prince Baelon The Brave?" You shivered and stopped at this question. Looking at a child beside you, you didn't see him. You almost fell into your memory, where violet eyes were enraged. Brave was the prince who exiled his own son, not accepting anything about him. Brave was the prince who threatened to kill innocent people who just helped his son in his attempts to reach out to his own family. Brave was the prince who called his own son a leech and a taint on their reputation.

"Yes. Like him." You forced a smile and a calm tone. Looking away, you tried to calm yourself. Your father was long gone, but your heart and fear of him showing up behind any corner, was very much present. Irrational and illogical, almost childish. But it still lived inside your soul. "What do you say, should we go inside?" You offered.

"They are still there." He scowled at the thought of going back to his nephews.

"Why don't you try and... Befriend them again? I know you were close with Lucerys before." You noticed, as Aemond scoffed and looked to the side, seemingly angry again in mere second.

"He maimed me. I don't want to be his friend!" He said sternly, but you heard more behind child’s anger.

"Do you miss him?" He looked at you angrily, but sighed, his eye more pained than enraged.

"No!" Boy exclaimed, looking away and almost pouting. He sighed heavily, lowering his head and mumbling under his nose. "He was closer to being my friend though. Even if he teased me for being dragonless, he wasn’t like Aegon or Jace. But he cut out my eye! I hate him!" He added louder. You sighed, taking his hand into yours, choosing your words carefully.

"I miss one person too, you know... A lot. I would give anything to return to that person. And I know they are missing me as well to some extent. But they hate me. It is a strange balance." You started. "I hated them too once. I did horrible things because of them. I lied in their name. I even killed some people in their name. I framed people, I broke laws and all just because of their wish. I made everything they wanted of me." You told the boy quietly, holding his hand, but looking into the darkness of the garden thoughtfully. "My life was destroyed because of them. I was gone because of them. I lost everything because of them." You chose your words carefully, remembering everything that was happening so long ago, it felt as another life altogether.

The commotion from the Throne Room was heard well even in the hallways. You carefully stepped to the door, watching at the events inside quietly and silently. The Lord before the Iron Throne pleaded his innocence, but your father, Prince Baelon appointed to lead this trial, wasn’t going to listen. You stepped aside, when guards were dragging the lord out of the Throne Room through the door you were standing at. When they walked out of the Throne Room, you looked at them.

“What is going on here?” You asked them, feigning innocence. Guards bowed their head slightly to you.

“This Lord was accused of stealing a dragon egg. Prince Baelon sentenced the thief to thelife on the Wall.” One of the guards said. You nodded looking at the panicking and horrified lord, who looked down, seemingly not noticing you.

“That is a fair sentence. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut and not jump over his head, trying to take what is not his.” You said coldly. Lord suddenly shivered and looked up at you, as if suddenly realizing something.

“You… It was you… Let me go!” Lord screamed, trying to get out of guards hands and get to you. You just stepped to the side, letting knights drag the screaming lord away. Familiar footsteps coming from behind, you met with a slight smile.

“Was it the Lord, who saw us and tried to…” Daemon started.

“To threaten you, yes.” You nodded and glanced at your brother. “He is going to the Wall. And don’t ask what I did. Because the answer is nothing.” You walked beside him, slightly touching his shoulder. It was hard to convince servants to place a dragon egg in his rooms, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you hate them, uncle?" Aemond asked curiously, looking at you. You glanced at him, almost flinching, as if remembering he was still there. You smiled slightly and put a hand on his hair, caressing his white hair.

"I do to some extent. But I would die for them in an instant. I would kill and do everything I had done for them all over again." You answered him with a sad smile. "I hate them, as they hate me. But I love them at the same time. And I would get destroyed and crushed again for that person. It is... A weird balance."

"Can you... Teach me how to find this... Hate and love?" Prince asked quietly. You nodded.

"Yes, but not here. And definitely not in one day. It's getting cold and you can get sick. You wouldn't want to fall sick and miss our flight tomorrow?" You winked at him, as Aemond nodded with a smile.

"Let's go! I want to hear about that person!" He stood up, waited for you to stand as well and only after that he went to the castle with fast pace. Even being close and quiet child, he was still a kid. You looked at his back, missing the fact that a dark shadow from behind the bushes watched and heard your talk.

***

The flames of candles danced around the dark room. Skull of Balerion brought back memories to you, both of pleasant times and not much. Your life had changed, everything changed. And the family you were supposed to change with, wasn't the one you remembered anymore. Yet you still sought out comfort in this place.

You sighed, turning away from the skull as you heard steps behind you. As you assumed, that was Daemon. Over the years his footsteps became quieter, but still he was too familiar for you not to recognize him. His look was wary, he was tensed up as his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"You chose a good place for a murder, almost poetic." You noted. Daemon scoffed.

"Don't tempt me." You could argue with him that temptation was more of his job in many ways, but you chose to stay silent on the matter.

"If you don't wish to kill me, I am at a loss of why are you here." You said to him, being pretty honest.

"I wanted to talk to you." He said, stepping to you. You smiled, shaking your head and refusing to admit even to yourself how much this single step made your heart shiver.

"Talk to me? It isn't your usual way. I think you better prefer not to speak with me at all or kill me. Or at least avoid me." You admitted, turning to the skull and igniting the candles, just to get yourself busy with something. "What do you want?"

"Where does the lie end and the truth starts?" He asked in response. You hummed in surprise, definitely not expecting such a question first.

"Such deep thoughts. Why so suddenly?" You heard another step, but you only raised your eyes to look at the skull of mighty beast. You wouldn't dare to fight your own death after all this time if it came to this. You wouldn't dare to fight him ever.

"We are surrounded by half-truths, lies and intrigues. You can fully trust noone and nothing. Tell me, nuha lēkia(my elder brother), how much did you lie?" You glanced across the shoulder at your brother. He was serious, his eyes were fixated on you, but there was something deeper inside him. You shrugged, looking at the fire on the end of a splinter with which you lighted the candles.

"Like many people, nuhor valonqar(my younger brother). A lot." You answered, not understanding why he was talking with you like that. He couldn't possibly know the truth, could he? You didn't tell anyone and made sure to be careful about it. And your father was too… Careful to not leave any trace of what had happened that day.

"I know that. You lied that you love me." He accused you, making you glance at him. "You lied that you will never leave me. You lied that you will protect me." His jaw tensed, and you were sure that this would be the end. Him accusing you of everything and you just accepting it. He probably just wanted to accuse you and be done with it. Suddenly, Daemon raised his head, narrowing his eyes, but not taking them away from your figure. "But I'm not here to tell you about those lies. I want to hear another one."

"You want me... To lie to you?" You laughed quietly, looking at Daemon in surprise. He was silent for a moment, before nodding, strangely serious about it.

"Let's play a game. Lie to me.” He repeated firmer, his hard eyes not changing, as he glared at you. “What did you say to my daughters?" Daemon asked. You raised your brows, not understanding what he was doing.

"What?"

"Lie to me about the things you said to Rhaena." He repeated, stepping closer. You sighed, mirroring this step to the side, keeping the same distance between you two, pretending you were just igniting the candles. Daemon was playing some game of which you knew nothing and wanted you to participate in it as well. And yet you let him have this moment.

"Let's see... I told her about how I cursed our family and how I'm going to make sure that she would stay dragonless." You spoke slowly, unsure smile creeping on your face. At the very least you could have some kind of fun.

"What did you say to Rhaenyra, when I interrupted you that morning?" He insisted, his step echoing through the high arches of the ceiling again.

"That she needs to end Alicent and her children once and for all, no matter the consequences." You simply breathed out, not even turning to him.

"What did you do when Rhaenys was promised to Corlys?" You giggled, remembering what happened such a long time ago. Honestly you were surprised that he remembered that.

"Nothing, I stayed at the Red Keep, not going anywhere." You answered, once again lying, remembering how you sneaked upon their ship, to say goodbye to your favourite cousin of all. Baelon scolded you, when you were returned back to the Red Keep, and Daemon didn't let you go for a week, afraid you would disappear from him again.

"What were you talking about with Aemond?" Another step along with the words. You scoffed, igniting another candle, looking at the flames.

"How he should hate Lucerys and wish him nothing but death." The game was weirdly funny, it almost made you forgot about everything that was brewing between you. Lies flew from your tongue before you could even process it.

"Why did you leave for Braavos?"

"Because I wanted to." You blurted out a lie before realising it. For a moment you froze, slowly turning around. There you saw Daemon barely a step away from you. His eyes became tense, dark violet, as he watched your face after you repeated a lie known to everyone in this game, where you should have lied. "I hate you."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your feelings." He retorted coldly, stepping to you, as you stepped away, your throat dry all of a sudden. "Enough lies. What happened?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and sighed. You wanted him know the truth, yet you also knew that it didn't matter anymore. Not with his family, not after all those years. It would only complicate things. "Daemon, you better go. Just continue hating me, this would be… Right."

"I said, enough lies." He crossed what little distance you had between you, backing you to the candles. Daemon grabbed you by the clothes, watching closely your face. Your heart beat like mad at the mere presence of your brother near you. "What happened?"

"Daemon..."

"What had happened that morning you left? Tell me the truth!" He demanded, his eyes boring into your soul. "I won't let you go before you say. I deserve the truth after your betrayal, after your lies and all the harm and pain you caused me..."

"He saw us!" You exclaimed, having had enough. Your feelings were overwhelming you to the point of just not caring about the consequences. "Our father saw us. He saw you on your knees, saw me in your bed, he saw everything."

"What?" His grip on you lessened, his face frozen with shock and still that angry expression. Yet you made no move to free yourself from his grip.

"He saw us. He learned the truth. And he was so mad at me for... How did he say? Right... "Corrupting you". So enraged hat he just threw me out of the Keep." You blurted out in one breath.

"You lie. If he... He would have punished me as well. Why didn't he punish me, why didn't you write anything to explain anything?" His voice was raising as well, mirroring yours.

"You still don't understand? You were his favourite. Not Viserys even if he was the eldest. Not me even if I listened to him always. You. Mother loved you the most, father adored you. He couldn't comprehend that you could lay with a man willingly. If I was some common whore or even a sister of yours, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but I am a man. And I can't want you, as it's a sin. As I am corrupting and tainting you with mere thought of it, let alone a touch. Putting a disgrace on your name. It was easier for him to believe I made you do this. Easier to hate one son and threaten to kill every person that brought my letters to the Keep. Easier to send dead ravens and tell his own son that he would be burned alive if he even dared to show his face again at his home." You couldn't stop words pouring from your mouth, you were silent for far too long and that pain had never left.

"No..." Daemon shook his head, seemingly not wanting to listen to you anymore, but at this point you had little to no care about his wish.

"And I knew he would be furious if I admit that you were the one to come to me. It would have killed him. And if not... He would have destroyed your life as well. And I lied, yes, I lied, I took it upon myself. I destroyed my life for you. I destroyed my life because of you, Daemon!" You raised your voice at him. He looked enraged and shocked, almost feral in the light of candles.

"Shut up!" He pushed you harshly back. You stumbled to the skull, the impact making you fall onto some candles and hitting your head against an old bone in your fall. You cursed quietly, feeling something sticky on your face. For several moments you layed on the floor, not moving, fighting with the headache and shock. Slowly you sat, grunting, warm wax sliding from under your hands. Your lip was split, as you could feel, and according to some stickiness on your temple, there was at least a gash on your forehead.

You looked up at him, his face not cold anymore, but full of many different emotions. Anger, sadness, fear. You groaned, trying to move. Leaning onto the skull, you carefully stood up, giving yourself a second of rest.

"Y/N, listen, I..."

"You are the Rogue Prince, future King or Prince Consort, King of the Narrow Sea, previous commander of the Gold Cloaks, husband to the heir of the throne and father of her future children." You stated in resignated tone, glancing at his frozen form. "I am the Gone Prince, who spent most of his life in Braavos. I am noone and nothing, with no lands or wealth. I am a leech, who taints the house reputation just by thinking of you. I am father's disgrace." You tried to straighten your back, but sudden nausea hit you, and you bent over, leaning onto the skull once again. "And I am here to help Viserys. Don't dwell on the past, as it can't be returned." You forced yourself to smile and look at him. "Go back to hating me. It would be easier... For both of us." You breathed out, slowly walking away from the basement, Daemon not making a move to follow you.

***

The evening was busy. It seemed that every person in the Red Keep decided to visit you. Firstly, there were Rhaenyra, who was alerted that you asked for maesters. Next was Alicent, who decided to visit you, the atmosphere becoming tense between two women for a hot minute, but they kept their temporary peace. Next was the King. Viserys got really nervous about hearing the news of your wound. He demanded to know what happened and who did this. The answer was simple.

"I fell." You lied again, as the maester cleaned your wound and gave you advices on treatment. After all those people visited you, you were exhausted and confined to your chambers. Following maesters' orders, Viserys forbade you to go out at least for two days. You tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, and you just need a good sleep, but he was too worried. Too afraid to lose another family member, as it seemed. So you relented and just read through some of King's journals he gave you to better understand the situation in the court, occasionally writing something in your notes.

You heard the door opening and closing and some quiet steps. Sighing, you turned the page, not wanting to face the person who entered your room.

"I don't need anything, Jenny, you may go for the night." You said, not wishing to see anyone right now after all of the commotion and noise. Not after the conversation down at the skull...

"I must consider adding that name to the list of my titles." That wasn't your servant. You turned to look at the man, who entered your room. Daemon. Of course. Without his weapon, without his dark attire, in white simple shirt, almost looking like he was fresh out of bath. Boy, did it bring back memories.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously confused. Daemon shrugged.

"Can't I visit my brother, who clumsily fell and hit his head?" He said, making you shake your head with a quiet sigh. "Y/N, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I don't have anything else to say to you, so you are wasting your time here." You turned back to the journal again. There was silence and for a second you thought Daemon would leave you alone. You should have known better. Suddenly there were haste steps, after which the journal was ripped from your hands. You looked up at him, his determined look pointed right back at you. "Dae..." He put a hand on your mouth, shutting you up and making you freeze at the sudden physical contact.

"No! You said you don't have anything to say, so I will be the one who does the talking." He stated sternly, looking in your eyes. You slapped away his hand, but said nothing in response. Daemon sighed, still standing in front of you. "If what you have told me is truth, I didn't know it. Let me finish!" He interrupted you, as you tried to say something. "All these years I blamed you for leaving me without a word. Without a letter or explanation. I... I thought you did something for me again, that was noticed and made you guilty. I thought father found out of what you did to protect me. Then I thought you found someone else, some young pretty boy who adored you more than I did. It was easier for me to hate you." He admitted, and your heart broke a bit at his words ad his expression. You wanted to forget about what had happened and just take him into your embrace and not let go of him. But you both were too far gone for that. And revelation of the truth did provoke this conversation, but it couldn't change everything else.

"It is still easier for both of us to stay away from each other." Daemon scoffed in response to those words, leaning on the table, looking down at you.

"You can't be serious, Y/N. I know the truth now, that it wasn't your wish to leave me. And you expect the hate from me?"

"What do you expect? Us going back to where we left things? You aren't ten and six anymore, Daemon. I am not ten and nine. You are a different person, that I know nothing about. Hell, you have a family and duties." You breathed out, trying to stay calm.

"But I don't have you. And I haven't had you all those years. I have changed, yes. You have changed as well, hell, maybe even more than I have. But the fact that I need my elder brother never changed, no matter how much I hated and despised this thought." Prince looked at you stubbornly. You shook your head, looking at the notes on your table, just not to look at him.

"We can't go back to what we had, Daemon. It is impossible. I can't be your lover. And I doubt I can be your friend after all these years. You are a different person, completely unknown to me."

"Then I don't see a problem with anything. We just start anew." He reached out to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at him, his eyes burning with fire and passion. You pursed your lips, trying to calm your heart that was beating out of your chest just from a single touch of his. You had to learn to control yourself near him all over again.

"What we had was a sin. We are brothers. Even if our blood doesn't stop us as our House has queer customs, we are men. It is viewed as a sin. I won't put your reputation under a hit. The ending will be the same, Daemon. Us parting ways. It was hurtful the first time, there is no need to return to that." You tried to sound convincing enough for both him and you, but his grip on your chin only tightened, as your words sparked him with anger.

"There is no sin in this. This is us. We are both dragons, our blood belong together. There is nothing more true in this world than us. And if it is a part of us, if it is the most real part of us, it can't be sin." Daemon said stubbornly, as you put your hand on his, gripping his wrist in attempt either to bring him back to his feelings or pull it away from you.

"It is. We are brothers and we can't do that. If I was a princess or you were one, everything could be different. But we are what we are and this is wrong.” You lowered your head, leaning back into the armchair. “Father might have been right. If the gods punished me and not helped me all this time, then I am a sinner and a leech."

"Where the fuck did you take all of this, you have never been religious!" Daemon spitted out, looking at you, as his brows furrowed. You just tried to push him away, with your words, with your actions, but he never budged, on the contrary becoming more and more persistent. "Or someone is telling you this? Who is this cunt that spread this nonsense to your head?" He demanded of you.

"Noone, Daemon. This is my thoughts." You breathed out, as the prince sat on your lap suddenly. He had become heavier with years for certain, trainings and battles made him stronger, and you couldn't help but feel the stomach-curling feeling of familiarity of his body against yours.

"You were never like this. You loved me. You loved my body. You didn't think of me as of something wrong." He stubbornly said, as you pressed yourself into the chair, trying to distance yourself from him, even if it wasn't physically possible. "And I know you still feel the same, I can see this in your eyes."

"You are not wrong. I am. I made you like this." You breathed out, putting hands on his shoulders, looking at his hard face. Your repeated your father's words just to get him to see the reason and step back. "Daemon, this is wrong. Please, I beg you, go back to your wife, to your family."

"You are my family. You are my blood. I want to be here with you now, not with them." Daemon stood his ground stubbornly. He didn't want to leave you apparently, but you couldn't have him risk it all again because of you, no matter how much you longed to hold him again in your embrace.

"I can't be the reason to hold you back. You loved them this morning more than anything. You hated me this morning. One conversation can't change that. You love Rhaenyra, you bled for her, you suffered for her, you long for her, you love her, not me and I can't..."

"All this time I was suffering for you. I wanted to forget you, believe me. I tried it all… Whores, wine, blood, killing, everything!" He cupped your face with his hands, looking intensely in your eyes. "I tried. Rhaenyra... She is good, she deserves love. And I love her. But she isn't you. It is different with you, and you know it. And if I had to choose, I would choose you every time."

Your heart clenched at the thought that he tried to forget you. His eyes were honest, and even after all those years away from him, you could always tell when he was telling the truth. He was sincere in his words at this moment. But you couldn't let him do that again. You didn't want pain for you, nor for him.

"Daemon, you are talking on emotions. You miss what we had once, but... Fuck, don't make this harder than it is." You pleaded with him, every reason to leave everything as it was fading in the face of his confidence and determination. You were losing this fight and couldn’t come up with any more reasons or words to convince him. To convince yourself.

"You are the one making it harder. Lēkia, you told me yourself once, we were born from one flame and blood. We were supposed to be together. I cried only for you, not one person saw my tears, because you are the only reason for them. I didn't mourn father, grandsire, Aemma, Laena, noone. I cried for noone but you. I need you in a way no word in Westerosi or Valyrian can describe. Now more than ever." He whispered, inching closer to your face, as something inside you was slowly breaking.

"Daemon..."

"Start with me anew. There is no reason for worry, I promise. All the time you stayed away, you protected me. You lied, you..." He scoffed, remembering your words he heard in the garden. "You destroyed your life for me. Let me now rebuild it."

"Daemon..." You touched his cheek, shuddering at the long forgotten feeling of his skin under your touch.

"Let me think for the both of us this time, Y/N." He squeezed your cheeks in his palms, looking in your eyes. "Let us sing dragon's song together again. Like we never stopped."

You breathed out, looking in his eyes. You saw anger, flames of indomitable passion dancing in his eyes, violet irises determined and fiery. He wouldn't step back. Even if he still felt some hate for you, even if he loved his family he had, you were something different for him. You were his centre, around which his world was turning. As he was your centre in return.

And you gravitated to your dragon, like always, leaning into him.

The Gone Prince Taglist: @wai-who @midnightprincess18 @fan-goddess @weird-addiction @rawinia @cannibalcoyote @cherry1a @darlinqvi @caelumwingstar @louventcavaliersx @parca0charos @azrealbanerstark @britany1997

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033 

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team. 

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face. 

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up. 

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up. 

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back. 

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again. 

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too. 

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her. 

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes. 

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again. 

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs. 

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen, 

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend. 

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence. 

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond. 

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way. 

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening. 

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously. 

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly. 

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. 

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana. 

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath. 

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that. 

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately. 

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips. 

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours. 

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look. 

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends. 

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage. 

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them. 

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her. 

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger. 

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said. 

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly. 

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again. 

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly. 

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore. 

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate. 

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did. 

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her. 

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh. 

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly. 

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-” 

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender. 

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever. 

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist. 

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel. 

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows. 

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames. 

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother. 

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her. 

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them. 

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently. 

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch. 

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be.  That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort. 

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas. 

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them. 

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt. 

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults. 

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side. 

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other. 

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years. 

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe. 

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this. 

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige. 

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes. 

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay. 

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake. 

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away. 

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

[cassiabaggins]

Too Bitter, Too Sweet (part one)

A chance encounter gives you a once in a lifetime opportunity: the chance to reunite with your first love, Leon Kennedy.

Fluff and Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: none. Just Leon being awkward. NO SMUT

(April is an oc, she is VERY briefly mentioned because I couldn't resist)

Reblogs and comments appreciated! Cross-posted on ao3.

You can hardly believe what you're seeing. He's older, with longer hair and a hardened look, but you'd recognize him anywhere. Leon Kennedy, your first love and college boyfriend. 

You're approaching him before you can think about it. 

“Leon?”

He freezes, startling a little like no one has called his name in forever, and turns to stare at you. There is no spark of recognition in those baby blue eyes. 

“Uh, hi?”

“It's me, Leon. Y/N. From college? We… were close.”

Close is an understatement. The two of you had dated for almost a year, but he doesn't seem to recognize you or remember. You suppose you can't blame him. It's been nearly ten years and you've both changed quite a bit.

A beat. Another. 

Then his eyes widen and a soft, shy little smile blooms across his face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, then laughs, running a hand over his hair. “Wow. Hi! You look… different.”

You giggle. Oh Leon. He's really not changed at all. “Different?” You ask.

“It's a good different!” He hurries to say.

“It's good to see you again,” you tell him. 

He nods vigorously, his hair falling into his eyes. “You, too.”

He looks around the area, as if trying to figure out what you're doing here. “What are you doing in D.C.?”

You adjust the strap of your purse. “I'm here for work,” you explain. 

Leon puts his hands in his pockets. “Work, huh? You passed the bar, then? That's amazing.” 

You feel your cheeks warming. “How'd you know I was a lawyer?”

“Because that's what you were studying in college,” he replies. “It wasn't that long ago. You think I forgot? Besides, how many different jobs are there to be done in a courthouse?”

You laugh softly, and Leon grins, clearly pleased that he made you laugh. His smile is exactly the same as you remember it, slightly lopsided, sweet, and genuine. It makes you remember easier times and how he used to kiss you. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that… it's been almost ten years, there's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend.

“Are you still in law enforcement?” You blurt, desperate to distract yourself.

Leon shifts in place, and you think his smile falters slightly.

“Something like that,” he says ambiguously. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's hard to explain,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. “Uhm… it's government stuff.”

He's clearly uncomfortable, so you stop pushing. 

“Do you like it?”

“The people I work with are great,” he says.

Not exactly an answer. 

“Well, that’s good,” you say, adjusting your grip on your purse. Leon opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the sound of a jaunty ringtone. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, quickly pulling a cellphone out of his jacket pocket. He frowns when he sees the caller I.D. “Uh, one sec, I have to take this.”

He steps away to answer the phone, and you watch him for a bit, wondering if you should leave. But you can’t bring yourself to. You’ve only just met him again, and just like in college, he fascinates you. But this time, a little over a decade later, there’s so much more to him. Not just physically, though he’s certainly bulked up a bit over the years, but there’s a darkness and mystery to him that excites you. Besides, what woman hasn’t fantasized about reconnecting with the one that got away? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Leon approaching you again. He looks apologetic. “I have to run,” he says. “I’m sorry. But it was really nice to see you again!”

You don’t want him to leave! You want to keep talking to him! You want to know if he’s happy, if he’s got a wife or a girlfriend, if he still likes listening to metal, if chocolate icecream is still his go to flavor.

But he’s already walking away.

“Leon, wait!” you call. “Before you go!” 

He turns and you reach into your purse and pull out one of your business cards. He takes it with his left hand and peers at it. There's no ring on his finger.

“What’s this for?” he asks

“Just in case you need legal advice,” you joke. “Or if you just want to catch up.”

He smiles and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. You catch a glimpse of some sort of badge as he tucks the card carefully inside. “I’ll do that,” he says, and then he's gone.

You settle into your temporary office and log into your computer to begin going through case files. It's humdrum work, but necessary for the success of your client's appeal. But, not five minutes into this, your work phone starts ringing.

Expecting either your boss or a paralegal, you pick it up and introduce yourself by name.

“Uh, whoa,” says the person on the other end. “That was fancy and professional.”

You'd know that voice anywhere.

“Leon?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, hi. How're you doing?”

You lean back in your seat and twirl the phone cord around your finger, a bashful smile spreading across your face. “Well, not much has changed in the last 20 minutes, to be honest. But it's nice to hear your voice again.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “You, too. I hope I'm not interrupting something.”

“You're not,” you assure him. “Although I'm not technically supposed to take personal calls on this line.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” he replies. “But this is the only way I could really contact you.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. “And what was so urgent that you just had to call me?”

There's rustling on the other end, Leon must be switching the phone to his other ear. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, like he's nervous. Your heartbeat speeds up in anticipation. 

“Well,” he says. “I was just thinking how nice it was to talk to you again. I was hoping we could do that again. Soon. Maybe over coffee?”

It takes all your willpower not to squeal like a teenager. But you're a professional. 

You clear your throat and try to act nonchalant. “Coffee sounds nice.”

“Great!” Leon sounds thrilled. “It's a date!”

“A date?” you tease.

“Uh… I mean… only if you want it to be,” he hurries to clarify. “You still have your maiden name on your business card and I didn’t see a ring, so I assumed— fuck, do you have a boyfriend?”

He meant a date date. You feel a thrill of excitement.

“No,” you say quickly, “no boyfriend. No fiance or husband either… I’m single.”

“Oh, good,” he says, and you almost laugh at how relieved he sounds. “I don’t have any of those either.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend or husband?”

“No wife or girlfriend, either.”

Oh, so he’s got jokes now. You giggle again. God, when was the last time a man had you laughing like this?

“I'm only in D.C. for the summer,” You explain. “Just until the case is over. I don't know many places to get coffee.”

“Well, you're in luck,” he says. “Because I do! I know the perfect place!”

The coffeeshop he recommends is a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place with the best espresso you've had in years. You and Leon plan for only an hour at most, but stay there chatting for nearly two. He even walks you to your car, and as you drive away, watching him wave goodbye in the rearview mirror, you realize that you had done most of the talking. At first, you want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Everyone always says that you talk too much, and there you went, yammering away…

But Leon had asked me out again, the other half of your brain pipes up. And he never disliked you talking in the past!

Emboldened by this realization, and determined to eek more information out of Leon next time, you continue on your way.

And so, one coffee date turns into two, then three. Reconnecting with Leon is… it's just amazing. He's older now, hardened by life in a way you can't quite fathom, but he's still so handsome and sweet and attentive. You can forgive his slightly awkward mannerisms and weird schedule and how cagey he is about his job. The first point is nothing new, of course, it's part of what charmed you in the first place, all those years ago. The weird schedule you chalk up to his job, and if it really is government stuff, you can understand why he's so secretive.

Of course, he can't stop you from daydreaming about what his job is, and your imagination thinks up all sorts of dashing occupations. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security… It's fun to imagine him as the dashing hero, leaping in to save the President himself from an assassination or single-handedly stopping a foreign spy organization. He probably looks hot as hell in a fancy suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece.

Coffee dates are nice and all, but you find yourself wanting more. You hint at it a fee times, Leon is oblivious as ever, so you ask him directly. 

“We should get dinner,” you say, pausing by your car. Leon has walked you out to it, just like he always does after your coffee dates. “Somewhere romantic.”

You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. He's quiet for a second, staring back. 

“I thought you liked coffee?” He asks, looking like he thinks he's seriously misjudged the situation. You just laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

“I do!” You assure him. “But I also like pasta and wine.”

Leon looks relieved. “Oh. Well, I do know a good Italian place!”

You beam. “Yeah? Is it nice?”

“Very,” he assures you. “Very hard to get into, but I can pull some strings.” He winks. “Perks of the job.”

You aren't sure if he's joking or not, but you like the idea of it, at least. 

“Exciting,” you giggle, leaning close to him. “Should we go this weekend?”

Leon's face falls. “I can't do this weekend,” he admits.

“That's okay!” You're quick to reassure him. “We can do next! Or the one after.”

“No, next weekend is perfect,” he says, looking relieved. “I'll have to make a reservation, but I'll call you, okay?”

You let out an excited squeal and throw your arms around Leon's neck, kissing him before you can think.

This is the first time you've kissed since— well, since you broke up the first time. You almost pull away, but Leon cups the back of your neck and kisses back.

He's a better kisser than he used to be, that's for sure, and the whole thing leaves you breathless and weak-kneed. 

He grins at your dazed expression, licking his lips and looking very pleased with himself.

“Next weekend, then?”

You reach up to wipe away a smear of your lipstick off the corner of his mouth. 

“Next weekend,” you agree.

Leon promises to pick you up at 7 PM on Friday night. The two of you text back and forth almost nonstop as the night approaches, exchanging phone calls whenever possible. You're so excited that you even pick out your outfit days in advance.

Then, one day, the communication from Leon just… stops.

It's a day before your date, so you try not to worry too much. Something probably came up. But you find yourself checking your phone almost obsessively. No reply.

You push down your worry and get yourself ready for the date. You choose your favorite set of lingerie to wear under your little black dress, just in case, and probably spend way too long on your makeup.

Nonetheless, you're ready a good hour before he's scheduled to pick you up. You wait nervously for an hour, pacing your hotel room, then snap a picture of yourself to send to him. No answer. By 7:20 PM you're furious with him. By 7:45, you're in tears.

At 8 PM, you're pissed AND crying and a knock sounds at your door. You tear it open, ready to give Leon a piece of your mind, but stop in your tracks. 

Leon looks like shit. He's wearing a rumpled suit and his hair is a mess. Deep shadows show under his eyes, a bruise is forming on the left side of his jaw, and his chin is covered in three day old stubble.

He thrusts a bouquet of flowers into your arms.

All your anger drains out of you, all at once, replaced with concern.

“What *happened*?!” You blurt. Leon flushes. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been yelling for twelve hours straight. “It was a work thing.”

He scratches the back of his head and the movement raises his rumpled shirt, allowing you to see the ugly yellow-purple of a bruise on his hip. 

“A work thing?” You prompt.

He winces. “I can't… tell you.”

What the hell?

“What do you mean you can't tell me?”

“I mean I can't tell you!” He snaps, his eyes darkening for a second. “Okay?”

You can't help but flinch and Leon's shoulders slump when he catches it. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I just… can't.”

You wonder if he can't or won't… but you don't press it. 

“You want to come in?” You ask softly.

“I thought we had a dinner reservation?” He asked, glancing at his watch.

“We did,” you say. “But you're an hour late. We missed it.”

Leon, somehow, looks even more forlorn at those words. “I'm sorry,” he says again. “I was in a different timezone, I didn't reset my watch and—”

“Leon.” You interrupt the beginnings of a spiral with a firm voice. “It's fine.”

You step back from the door and wave him inside. “Come on. I want to put these flowers in water.”

Leon shuffles in after you. He stands there, in the tiny entryway, and looks around your hotel room, shoving his hands in his pockets. You don't really have a vase for the flowers, come to think of it. Fancy hotels like this come with all sorts of amenities, but vases are not one of them. You waver for a moment, before grabbing the complimentary ice bucket and filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

Leon watches silently as you arrange the flowers, before speaking up.

“I should have brought a vase, too,” he says. “Sorry. I didn't think—”

You smile at him. “Hey, don't worry. It seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

He cracks a wry smile. “You're telling me.”

With the tension leaking away, you lean forward and smell a rose.

“Are they still your favorite?” He asks.

“I'm sorry?”

Leon gestures toward the bouquet. “Pink roses. Are they still your favorite flower?”

Honestly, pink roses haven't been your favorite flower since college… but the fact that Leon remembered that they were immediately bumps them up to number one once more.

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

And Leon beams. 

You don’t notice him approach you until his hand smooths down your back. You turn to look up at him, taking in his tired eyes and apologetic expression. You wonder again what his job is, and then wonder if you really want to know. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

“I’m sorry for missing our date,” he says softly. “Let me make it up to you.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” you murmur, turning fully to face him. “Or next week, if that doesn’t work out.”

“Sure,” he replies, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “But I was thinking of doing something a little more… immediate.”

He bends to kiss you, tender and slow, and you let yourself lean into it. Leon always kisses you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing in existence, he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll break, and you know he means it. You know that you matter to him.

You’re breathing heavily when the two of you finally part. Leon pulls back slowly, his eyes searching your face, looking a little shy but also a little proud of himself. He licks his lips, glances past you at the bed, then meets your eyes again.

“Wanna move this over there?” he asks, gesturing toward it with his head. Your heart skips a beat with anticipation. 

“Sounds good,” you breathe.

That night, you fall asleep in Leon’s arms, well and truly satisfied in a way you haven’t been in a long time. He’s clearly more experienced and more confident than the boy you slept with in college, but he’s still him. Still adoring, still attentive, still a little shy. 

He pretty much lets you take the lead the whole night and while he doesn’t say it outright, you get the impression that he just wants to be taken care of. If you notice tears in his eyes at the end, you don’t comment on it and neither does he.

He drops off soon after you finish, lying on his back like a soldier. You watch him for a few minutes, admiring the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the dimple in his chin and the moles on his neck. There’s a scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before, a thin white line nearly hidden by his stubble. You wonder how he got it. Probably doing something heroic, knowing him. You fall asleep entertaining little fantasies of Leon being a hero and saving the day.

You're awoken by Leon stirring in the bed next to you. You don't worry too much. You're a light sleeper after all.

You puff your pillow and get comfy again. Behind you, Leon stirs again, a soft groan escaping him.

You roll over, a little concerned. He has his arm slung over his face, but you can see a frown on his lips. He's breathing heavily, but you don't want to wake him up if you don't have to. He looked so exhausted when he came here earlier. It's probably nothing. You close your eyes again, but another soft groan from Leon has you opening them again.

You push up on one elbow, a little frown on your face. He's probably dreaming about something, but you can't tell if it's good or bad. His arm drops off his face, his fingers balling in the sheets. 

“No…” He mumbles. “Please…”

A nightmare, then. You sit up fully and reach for him, but before you can touch him, Leon flings out his arm, inadvertently smacking your hand away, and cries, “Ashley, no!”

Ashley? Who the hell is that?

You shake your head. Now is not the time for that, not with Leon in the midst of a night terror.

You reach out again, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a harsh shake.

“Leon!”

He doesn't wake right away, his head tossing side to side and his face screwed up.

You try again.

“Leon! Wake up!”

Leon jerks upright and the world spins sideways, your back hitting the bed with a thump and all the air rushing out of you. A weight presses down on you, arms pinned above your head.

You glimpse Leon above you and faintly register that the force across your neck and shoulders is his forearm. He doesn't seem to see you, even though his blue eyes are wide with terror.

“Leon?” You croak out.

“Fuck,” he gasps, suddenly seeing you. “Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You're able to catch your breath again as Leon scrambles off you and through the ringing in your ears you hear him stumbling around the room. You sit up just as the bathroom door slams closed.

Behind it, you hear retching.

You don't know what to do. You sit shell-shocked in the bed, surrounded by rumpled blankets and pillows and stare at the thin strip of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. You rub your hand over your sore clavicle.

What on earth was that? Why would Leon react like that after being woken up from a nightmare? And who the hell is Ashley? It was like Leon didn't even see you when he woke up, like he was stuck somewhere else, living through something horrible. What has he gone through in these ten years you've been apart? Does it have anything to do with his beat up appearance earlier? With the scars you noticed on his body? Did this Ashley have something to do with it? 

Bzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzt

You're torn out of your that's by Leon's cellphone, vibrating on the bedside table. Jesus Christ, who calls at— you check the alarm clock next to the bed— 4 AM?

You untangle yourself from the covers and pick up the phone. Should you answer it? Leon doesn't seem to be coming out anytime soon and it seems urgent enough that the caller is attempting to reach him in the middle of the night.

You lick your lips nervously and flip open the phone, raising it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Where's Leon?” The voice on the other end demands. It's female. “Who are you?”

You want to ask the same thing, but you're the one answering a phone that isn't yours. You introduce yourself and the woman on the other end blows out a sigh.

“Oh,” she says bluntly. She clearly knows who you are even if Leon has never mentioned her to you. “Well, can you give Leon the phone? It's urgent.

She doesn't have to sound so annoyed!

“Sure,” you say, sliding off the bed. “Who should I say is calling?”

“April.”

Not the mysterious Ashley, then. That makes you feel marginally better for some reason. 

You pad over to the bathroom and knock on the door.

“Leon? Your phone rang.”

“...Let it go to voicemail,” he mumbles hoarsely from the other side. Oops.

“I already picked up for you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling for all the world like you've made a massive blunder. “It's someone named April?”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles, and the door swings open. In the harsh fluorescent lights he looks like a fucking mess, far worse than he did earlier than night. You can clearly see the bruises, cuts, and scars on his naked torso. His hair is rumpled, his hairline beaded with sweat. He barely meets your eyes, just takes the phone ever so gently from your hand and raises it to his ear.

“Hey, April…” He says tiredly.

You can't hear what she says in reply but you don't want to leave Leon alone, either. He looks like he's about to fall apart for God's sake. You lean against the doorframe and study him. 

You can't stand the way he's hunched in on himself like he's trying to make himself look smaller than he is and the exhausted, defeated tone in his voice makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” he whispers into the phone. “Okay. I'll be there.”

You're pulled out of your contemplation as he snaps the cellphone shut, looking up into his eyes. 

“Is everything okay?”

He grunts noncommittally. “I gotta go.”

Go? At 4 AM? Where?!

“What?!”

Leon scoots past you cautiously, not even meeting your eyes.

“Work,” he mumbles.

You turn, staring at his back incredulously as he pulls on his pants and shirt. “What do you mean work?” You challenge.

“Something came up.”

He doesn't turn toward you so you're left staring at the stiff line of his shoulders as he buttons up his shirt. 

Some random woman calls him in the middle of the night and he's immediately running at her beck and call? Something like jealousy rears its ugly head.

“Who's April?” You ask, not liking the nasty tone in your voice. 

Leon doesn't react. “A friend,” he says vaguely, pulling on his suit jacket.

“A friend calling at 4 AM about work,” you say disbelievingly. “Right.”

That gets a reaction. Leon turns to face you fully and the defeated look on his face immediately tosses all your jealousy and anger out the window. He looks like a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I didn't have to go.”

You cross the room and pull him into a hug, resting your head on his chest. Leon clings to you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and rocks you side to side. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes, then Leon lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I'll call you as soon as I can and I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want, I'll do it for you.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I want you to be careful.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“And I want you to take me out on a proper date when you're back,” you add, smiling a little to show you're not too serious. But Leon nods determinedly. “Got it. One proper date, coming up. It'll be awesome.”

He cups your face in his hands and ducks his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

“See you soon,” he promises, then he's gone.

You watch him walk down the hall, away from you, and can't help but feel like he's walking out of your life, too.

Taglist: @hiya-itsamber

[g1rld1ary]

do i make you nervous? - elle greenaway x fem!reader

cw: she/her pronouns, typical cm violence, petnames

wc: 1115

being stuck in a police station for six hours was not on your bingo card for the day. to be fair, it wasn't really on the bingo card for your year either. you were a good girl, you never broke the rules, you certainly didn't break the law. so, you'd never pictured yourself needing to be trapped under fluorescent lights waiting to talk to police officers, except for your bad luck in being caught in an almost violent bank hold-up.

not only that, of the many witnesses you were probably last in line, having to wait through hours of people going in and out of the tiny interview room. most of them left in tears, which really wasn't helping your nerves.

you'd resigned to your daydreams to pass the time; you'd finished the book from your purse hours ago and you could only play snake for so long. that was why you jumped violently when a hand lay on your shoulder, ripping you from your daydream. above you, the prettiest woman you'd ever seen was trying to hold back a laugh.

"i didn't mean to scare you," she said, and you found yourself smiling back at her. "just wanted to check if you wanted some water, pretty girl." sure enough she had offered a plastic cup toward you. you stared at it for a second before remembering your manners.

"oh! thanks, that's really nice of you." the woman shook her head.

"least we could do after keeping you here for so long. you come get me if you need anything else." you managed to nod and produce what you hoped was a smile despite your daze at the gorgeous woman.

you only waited for twenty more minutes after that before a man came out to get you.

"i'm derek morgan, special agent in the FBI. we just want to ask you some questions. i know the interrogation room looks scary, but we promise you're not in trouble. we just have to take what we can get in a precinct this small."

"i don't think anyone anticipated having this many witnesses in at once," you added, finding it much easier to talk to derek than the woman before. you didn't want to think about why that was.

it was straight to business once in the interrogation room. it was cold, like all the life had been sucked out of it. if you weren't already scared of the law you would have gone straight to avoid needing to return.

inside the room was the woman from before. you sucked in a nervous breath as you sat across from her, trying to split your looks evenly between her and morgan.

the woman finally introduced herself as ssa elle greenaway, and shook your hand in a way that had you weak in the knees. after the basic formalities, the two started asking you questions.

"alright, we'll start easy and warm you up to it. why were you at the bank this morning?"

"i'm moving into my first apartment in a few weeks. i lived on campus all of college and then stayed with my parents for a year or two as i was getting my career started. because i have no history of renting i had to sort out some papers and records with the bank and lucky me i chose today." both the agents made noises of sympathy.

"congratulations on moving out," elle said warmly, "too bad it's delayed by some maniac. do you remember seeing him walk in?"

you recounted the day in as much detail as you could remember, staring at your hands as you spoke. you were so anxious. all you could feel were eyes; morgan, elle, and you didn't know how many people could be observing you from behind the mirror. that, plus the trauma of being threatened with a gun hours before caught up to you all at once and you couldn't help the hot tears sitting on your waterline. both agents stopped at that, giving you a breather.

"morgan, think you can give us a minute?" elle said, not taking her eyes off of you. derek raised an eyebrow but agreed nonetheless, leaving the two of you alone.

elle grabbed your hands, holding them in hers over the table between you.

"let's slow down, just breathe, pretty girl." she forced you into silence for a few moments and you let your breathing fall into sync with hers.

"sorry," you said when you were mostly calm, "i'm really nervous."

"you've got nothing to be nervous about, baby, you haven't done anything wrong." god, you wanted to combust. this stunning woman was being so nice, holding your hands and calling you pet names, you couldn't handle it. she must have noticed your eyes trained on where you hands met -- unsurprising, you weren't being subtle -- and her soft expression turned into something of a smirk. "do i make you nervous?"

you nodded, almost imperceptibly, but elle's eyes were only on you. she couldn't contain her amusement, and you couldn't tell if you were offended that she was teasing you.

the rest of the interview was easier after elle knew the effect she had on you, eventually leaving derek as the sole agent when it got down to the facts you really needed to think about. although you knew it was necessary for the sake of the case, you were upset it meant you couldn't admire her more.

"we'll call you if we need anything else." derek walked you to the door, all smiles. you thanked him and assured him you'd be willing to give whatever the FBI needed.

just as you were descending the outdoor steps to the car park, you heard a heavy set of footsteps behind you. turning quickly, you were relieved to see elle following you. you gripped the strap of your purse nervously as you waited for her to speak.

"if you think of anything else, anything else you wanted to tell me, just reach out," she said, handing you a card. just as you opened your mouth to thank her she spoke again, "maybe you can start with where you got your jeans, your ass is irresistible." you could feel your flush hot on your cheeks as you mumbled some sort of goodbye, all but running to your car to scream.

safely at home, you could think more clearly, not hesitating to start composing a text message, including the brand of your jeans with a cheeky smiley face.

[wordstome]

kingdom come - iii

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting

7.7k words

tw: explicit smut, animal death, mentions of child death, violence, mild body horror, ableist language (use of the word "cripple")

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

"I'm not going to sleep with you." -quote from woman who is about to sleep with him

There’s a portrait of a woman in your room.

Of course, König offered to have it removed or replaced, but you’ve procrastinated the decision because you never thought you would be here long enough for it to matter. Yet here you are, staring up at this lovely young woman on the wall.

You tilt your head, studying her. Her expression is neutral, almost pensive, but the artist captured a playful sparkle in her eyes, as if she’s keeping some sweet secret.

It’s the first queen, of course. König’s first wife. The one who died many years ago. It’s strange that after so long, he hasn’t gotten rid of the portrait.

What happened to you? you wonder. If someone had asked what you thought when you first arrived here, you would have said, without hesitation, that König had her killed. All your life, you had been taught that he and his father were evil, unfeeling tyrants. Now, this conviction has wavered.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s ridiculous, to be thinking better of his character. You only ever wanted to know him better to kill him. But the more you understand about what makes him tick, the less you think that he would do such a thing. Perhaps it’s true, then, that she died in childbirth.

Your eyes travel all over the portrait, poring over every detail of her features. Did you know him? Did you understand him? Did you love him?

Did he love you?

What did that feel like?

“Good. You haven’t left yet.” Calliope comes into the room, bustling with energy even before the sun comes up. You don’t know how she does it.

“We’re about to.”

“That’s why I’m here.” You notice she’s wearing gloves, but more importantly, she’s holding a necklace: a silvery chain with a small, intricate pendant. Vine-shaped pieces of metal hold a white, almost clear jewel in place, its various facets reflecting the candlelight in vivid colors.

“Jewelry? I’m going to be living in the woods for the next few weeks,” you tease as she lowers the necklace over your head. It does look quite durable, but you’re not exactly dressing for a costume ball here.

“Consider it a reminder that I await your safe return,” Calliope responds, securing the necklace behind your neck. “Look at it and remember me. You’re not to do anything reckless out there, am I understood?”

“Understood.” You give her a soft smile as she arranges the necklace on your collarbones. You’re grateful for the gift: though she can’t come with you, a small piece of her will always remain with you.

“Good. And don’t let that handsome husband of yours distract you and get yourself killed.”

“Calliope! What happened to ‘something’s not right with him’?”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome!”

You snort and roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face.

You used to think that living in König’s home already exposed you to an exhausting amount of the man. As it turns out, going on a journey with him is even worse.

There’s nobody else to talk to, nowhere to run or put distance between you two when he frustrates you. It’s not so bad for the first few days: the towns surrounding the capital are still populated enough to provide some respite from him. But once the two of you have made your way outside the bounds of civilization, it doesn’t take long for things to become stilted and awkward.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the last town.”

“I don’t feel talkative.”

“Really? I’m out of my mind with boredom right now. Come, you’re not in the mood to get to know each other a little?”

You give him a look. “What else is there to know? I’ve lived with you for several months.”

“But we don’t talk.” König nudges his horse to walk closer to yours. König is such a large man, his horse is massive too: comically so, next to your normal one. You let out a sigh.

“There’s nothing to know about me.”

“I doubt that. All I know about you is you’re a princess trained to be an assassin. ‘Your whole life’, according to yourself,” he says with a touch of mocking.

You purse your lips, determined not to let him get under your skin. “There’s nothing else to know.”

“Truly? Nothing about what you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…your favorite food. Or hobby.”

“Hobby? …I suppose I spend a lot of time at target practice.”

“That’s not a hobby.”

“It’s relaxing to hone my skills.”

He gives you an amused look. “You remind me of myself as a young man.”

Something about that irks you. “We’re nothing alike.”

“I used to have the same mindset as you, at least. I held one objective in my mind and didn’t seek purpose outside of it.”

“I…”

As much as you loathe to admit it, he’s right. You have been focused on one objective your whole life. If you probe deeper, you can’t remember having any friends outside of Calliope, nor any interests outside of the curriculum your father set for you. “It wasn’t as bleak as you seem to think it was.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like I never had fun. I had my own way of finding it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, when my training progress stalled, I’d be sent to bed without dinner. Naturally. I eventually learned how to climb out of my window at night and go foraging in the woods for something to eat.” A smile curls your lips as you reminisce. “Eventually I even worked my way up to hunting—little things, like squirrels. I spent many a cozy little evening cooking for myself over a fire.”

You turn to find an abject look of horror on König face. “What? What’s wrong? Is there danger?” You turn around to scan your surroundings, but nothing immediately jumps out at you.

“No. No danger. I just…he sent you to bed with an empty stomach so many times you learned how to crawl out of your room and hunt squirrels to eat?”

You blink at him. “You’ve never had squirrel before?”

He looks scandalized. “Of course I have! That is not the issue with what you just said.”

You shrug. “It was important discipline. Besides, it gave me hunting experience at a young age. Squirrels are hard to skin, but I could do it in twelve seconds flat if you gave me one now.”

König looks like he wants to say more, but instead he looks up at the sky. “We should make camp soon.”

“Is it that time already?”

“It needs to be set up before it gets dark. We should also start hunting while it’s light out—not all of us can catch things in the dark, squirrel-girl.”

“Hey!”

Later, you’re both chewing on a rabbit when he speaks.

“You know, when you said you wanted to travel with me, I was quite concerned.”

“Yes, I know. You didn’t think I was capable of handling myself.”

“Not just that. I was worried you would be…unaccustomed to living rough.”

“You thought I would be a spoiled princess.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes.”

You snort. “Well, now you know. I can handle myself in the outdoors.” You toss the rabbit bones you’ve just picked clean into a small hole dug into the dirt. When you leave, you’ll cover it with dirt to prevent predators from smelling the remains and following you on your journey.

“You want the other leg?” you ask. König seems startled, for some reason.

“You caught this one.”

“Yes, but you’re bigger than me. You need the food.” You reach up to pluck a leaf from a nearby tree and wipe your hands. Rabbits sure are greasy…

There’s a strange look in König’s eye as he regards you. You raise an eyebrow at him in response. “What?”

“…nothing.” He reaches for the rabbit while you shrug and walk off to find some water. The back of your neck prickles as you go, as if his stare is physically touching you.

You can’t stand to be near him nowadays, and you don’t know why.

Of course, you have no choice but to. There’s a tension that feels weighty, forbidden. You know he can tell, because he’s been more cautious around you, giving you as much space as he can afford to. Somehow, that irritates you even more.

Tonight, the two of you are camping in a dense, thick part of the forest not far from a road. It’s quiet, secluded: even the usual soundscape of ambient animal noises is silent.

The fire crackles and pops as you stare into the flames, as if you’ll find any answers in it. Instead, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as König returns from washing himself in a nearby stream, approaching you from behind.

“This won’t work if you’re constantly upset with me for some unknown reason.”

You don’t turn to look at him, though some invisible force compels you. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I’m worried about your comfort too, you know. If you just told me what I’ve done wrong, then we can resolve it before it breeds resentment.”

“I’m just stressed.” Everything he does or says seems to irritate you nowadays, but you know in your heart of hearts that it’s not his fault. It’s your own problem—you assume camping outdoors for so long has taken its toll on your psyche.

He frowns at you, but doesn’t pry any further. You can’t help but watch as he walks around to the other side of the fire, drying his hair with his shirt. God, he is a work of art: all chiseled muscles and glowing skin. Your eyes travel down his torso, drawn by the line of his abs, down to the happy trail leading to the slightly askew waist of his trousers.

“You’re drooling, princess.”

Your eyes snap back up to his face. His eyes are dancing with mirth as he realizes he’s just caught you ogling him. You make a face at him, but it only makes him laugh. “Was not.”

“Incorrect answer. You should have attempted to strike at my ego. Now I know you were looking.”

“I think I’m just being driven mad by spending so much time alone with you in the woods.”

“I know several ways to drive you mad, sweetling.”

You slouch against a tree, your face hot—and not from the fire. In a blink, he’s standing before you, with a gleeful expression on his face like he’s just discovered a cure for dropsy.

“I know what’s making you sour as vinegar. You need to be fucked.”

You bury your face in your hands, unable to look at him. “I thought we had moved past this,” you groan, trying to ignore your rapidly quickening heartbeat.

“What, your ever-growing carnal lust for me?”

“You being a pervert.”

“I’ve never made a secret of it. You, however…” You suck in a startled breath as he leans down, trapping you against the tree just like he had the day you sparred with him. “You’ve been denying yourself.”

Your breath is ragged as he looks you in the eye, the tension between the two of you as taut as a bowstring. A familiar sense of panic rises in you, the same way you feel every time he’s close to you like this. Before, you thought it was because it felt dangerous to be so close to your enemy. Now, you’re second-guessing yourself.

“So what if I have?” you mumble.

“There’s an easy way to fix that.”

“…The last time you had me in this position, you were threatening me.”

He tilts his head slightly, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You don’t feel threatened now?”

You don’t respond immediately, and heavens forbid, he takes it as hesitancy, his demeanor instantly transforming. “One word. One word, and we will never speak of this again. But if you tell me you want this, I will fuck you senseless.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and his lips on are on yours.

It’s a strange sensation, considering half of your mouth is pressed against the cold, smooth surface of his mask. You don’t even ask him about removing it—it’s become a part of him in your mind. And maybe part of you even finds the mystery of it alluring.

You all but melt into the kiss, against him. It’s different, everything is different than that first awkward kiss from when you were younger. It makes you ache, makes you long for him in a way you’ve never wanted someone before.

You have to separate to breathe, but your reluctance to break apart from him is clear by the way you chase his face with yours. He laughs at you, but it’s not condescending at all. It settles in your chest, warm like honey.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmur.

“Luckily for you, you’re in good hands.” It’s the cockiness in his voice that does you in, what makes you let go and give yourself over to him.

You feel flustered, awkward, and like the least desirable creature on earth, but he looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like there’s nothing else he wants more than to have you right now.

“You can trust me,” he says softly. You try to respond, but suddenly find you’ve gone mute. All you can manage is a small nod.

To your surprise, he lowers his mouth to your neck. You gasp, a full-body shiver running through you as he kisses you there, sucking and nipping at you as he goes. “W-wait, I’m—”

“Sensitive? I can tell.” You squeak as he continues to lavish you with attention, his fingers trailing down the front of your torso to undo your pants. His movements are deliberate but slow, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. But of course, you don’t.

You let out a quick little breath as he finds his way to your pussy, his deep chuckle reverberating against your throat. “You’re so wet…did I do that to you, liebling?”

You’re about to respond, but instead let out a sharp gasp as he dips a finger into your pussy. “How are you ever going to take me into this tight little hole of yours…” he taunts.

Oh, God, you hadn’t even thought about that. Your mind flashes back to your wedding night, and the first time you tried to kill him. You had mostly been shocked by his audacity, but only now do you recall how big he had felt between your thighs.

He’s gentle with you at first, patiently stretching you open as you whine and beg in his arms. You just about sob when he finally pays your clit attention, circling it with his thumb, and in what seems like no time at all, you’re cumming, hard.

“That didn’t take long at all,” he says with that awful smirk of his.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you stammer. “You know…”

“I’m only teasing you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead as you come down, shivering with pleasure.

He makes you cum twice with just his hand. Your legs are trembling by the time the two of you properly get undressed. You’re soft and pliable, helpless putty in his hands as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Ready, liebe?” he asks.

“That is not going to fit,” you say, eyes wide and fearful. There’s absolutely no way, you think, staring down the absurdly thick and long monster between his legs.

“Trust me, remember? We’ll take it slow,” he reassures you. You bite your lip and nod, giving him the go-ahead to sink into you.

Instantly, you realize that no matter how well König could have prepared you, there was no chance that it would have been enough to ready you for the stretch of him. You feel like you can hardly breathe as he splits you in half with his cock, your mouth dropping open in a wordless cry.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he groans, but he keeps his promise to go slow, feeding himself inch by inch inside you until he’s sitting snug up against your cervix.

The two of you stay there, suspended in a moment in time, connected to each other in the most intimate way two people can be. It makes your head spin, makes you dizzy with the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You nod, and he starts to move.

If you had thought before that his fingers felt good inside you, then his cock is something else. The delicious stretch of him is almost electrifying, and you wonder how you went all your life without it.

All you can do is let him take control—you don’t have the presence mind to do anything but hold onto him, gasping and moaning. He’s all around you, above you, inside you, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters, or that there is a world other than König, König, König.

Your third orgasm surprises you, waves of pleasure flowing through you as you cry out, your pussy sucking him in as if it wants him to stay inside forever. That’s what seemingly pushes him over the edge too, a string of expletives bursting from him as he floods you with his cum.

You’re limp and weak, all but purring as he shifts to lay next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You are sweet when underneath me like this,” he purrs.

You swat him in the chest, but it must feel no heavier than being hit by a branch, because he just laughs.

“There’s no reason to be shy now. I’ve seen everything at this point.” You pout at him—something that only seems to bring him delight, because he pulls you in for a kiss.

“This isn’t how I wanted to take you the first time,” he says, a hint of shame in his tone.

Your heart twinges with affection. This isn’t how you imagined your first time, either, but the idea of him wanting you so badly he thought about it beforehand, fantasized about it even…“I’ve slept in trees before, this is nothing,” you reassure him.

He shoots you a concerned look. “You continue to share alarming events from your childhood.”

You sleep together that night, curled up against him with your legs tangled with his. He falls asleep first, the slight rumble of his chest as he sleeps against your cheek. You lay awake a little while longer, watching him, breathing him in. Now, you have no choice but to be confronted with the truth that you’ve been refusing to acknowledge this whole time.

You don’t hate him anymore. You don’t even dislike him now. And you certainly don’t want to kill him.

On one hand, things are easier. Crossing the line feels more like having torn down a wall, with no more need for pretense. On the other, König is somehow even more insufferable than before. Or perhaps insatiable is a better word for it. You go from having daily sexual tension with him to daily sex, period.

It’s like the floodgates have opened. He’s always loved to tease you, but it gets a hundred times worse now that he knows just how to make your cheeks feel warm.

“I was thinking…” he muses one night as you cuddle by the fire. “You may have to start riding on my horse.”

“Don’t I already do that?” you ask, sleepily playing with his hair.

He snorts. “Your susceptibility to my corrupting influence is truly something to marvel at.”

“You’ve been enacting psychological warfare on me for months.”

“Anyhow, as I was saying.”

“Your horse is quite large, but I don’t think it could handle me astride it as well.”

“Well. Certainly something else that’s large could handle that…”

You sigh. “Get to the point.”

“It’s becoming quite distracting, watching you moving up and down with the horse’s stride.”

“I cannot believe you. Innuendos twice in a row?”

“This is a legitimate grievance!”

“Riding on your horse would not fix the problem. Unless you plan for me to sit behind you in the saddle, which I refuse to do.”

“You’re no fun.”

You lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth instead of responding.

Your newfound…activity, however pleasingly distracting, can’t eclipse what comes next.

The mood is somber as you arrive in the village: it’s a quiet, sleepy place, just a scattering of simple houses dotting rolling hills and one singular street lined with buildings in the center of it all.

In sharp contrast to his playful, almost jubilant mood on the road with you, König instantly snaps into his authoritative persona. It especially suits him when he puts on the hood: it makes him seem that much more intimidating and threatening. Almost inhuman.

The first order of business is to hold counsel with what passes for the leader in this tiny village: a local merchant patriarch. He’s a sturdy man in his older years, face lined with both wrinkles and scars. He must have been quite the warrior when he was young: you can tell by the way he carries himself.

He gives both of you the lay of the land, and it’s a grim predicament indeed. Herding the livestock is a job most often given to the children, as it’s a relatively safe job with less skill required than the tasks the adults take care of. That’s changed, of course, with the arrival of the beast a few weeks ago. He confirms the most gruesome details that have been brought before König by previous messengers, and it turns your stomach just to imagine it. Those poor children…

The two of you set off early the next morning, with directions from an experienced hunter who had been keeping track of the beast and reporting its movements. At first, it feels normal: just another walk in the woods with König. The solemn silence between the two of you serves as a stark reminder that this isn’t like normal—followed promptly by increasing signs of a presence in the woods. Snapped branches, giant pawprints, and worse, streaks of blood.

Then you break though into a clearing, and your blood runs cold.

The beast before you could only be described as a wolf for lack of a better descriptor. It’s monstrously large, being König’s height and half again, with all of its proportions just slightly wrong: its legs scrawny and just slightly too long for its body, the snout lean and far too sharp to fit the rest of its head. Dried old blood crusted into the fur of its muzzle and chest belies the savagery of the creature, even streaking onto the fur along its neck. And the most obvious tell-tale sign of an unnatural creature is that fur: a dark, rusty blue that shifts with impossible pinpricks of light, like the night sky is ensnared in this feral animal’s coat.

You heard its growl before you saw it. But now when it lays eyes on you and König, it opens its snout and…speaks.

“What do we have here?” The voice comes out as a broken, reedy croak, as if stretching vocal cords that haven’t been used in a long time.

Something about it raises your hackles, like your body’s responding to an ancient, ingrained fear. Fae.

“Don’t listen to anything it says.” König’s voice is suddenly soft, dangerous. “None of it is trustworthy.” Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves to his back and draws his sword.

“Ah, the boy king,” hisses the beast. “You simply couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You’re eating my subjects,” König responds. Your eyes flit to where his hand tightens its grip on his sword. “This is not personal.”

“But it always is, is it not?” The beast and König circle each other, like two combatants in an arena. “You are as ever driven by your past mistakes.”

“König, what is it talking about?” You feel like you’re witnessing a conversation you shouldn’t be, but you feel helpless to do anything about it. If you tried to make a move towards the beast now, it would have its jaws snapped around you in an instant.

“It’s lying, liebling. It’s what they do. It’s trying to throw you for a loop so it can catch you off guard.”

“Liebling now, is it?” The beast lets out an awful, barking laugh. “My, the two of you have come far. But not far enough, it seems.”

König gives you a quick, sidelong glance, then tilts his head back towards the beast. The message is clear. We need to distract it. I’ll keep it talking.

“From her response, it seems you’ve been keeping secrets from your lovely little bride.” The beast shakes itself, its fur puffing up to look larger and more intimidating.

“There’s nothing to keep. None of that is important.”

“I would beg to differ. And if your liebling knew what it was, she would disagree as well.”

“You know nothing about us,” König growls. Yes, you’re in a life-or-death situation right now, but the viciousness in his tone sends an excited shiver up your spine. You’re opposite König now, almost completely hidden behind the beast’s monstrous form.

“You know nothing about each other!” Before either of you can react, the beast whips around. Its glowing-white eyes are fixed on you. “Not that it matters any longer.”

You barely have time to scream before the beast is upon you.

“No!” König’s voice rings in your ears. You can feel the creature’s hot breath, its vile drool spilling onto your clothes, its teeth closing around your neck—

Time slows to a crawl, the events unfolding one after the other in sequence. The first thing you’re aware of is the beast’s roar of pain, booming deafeningly all around you. I’m inside its mouth, you think numbly. The second thing you notice is your necklace: it’s glowing red, as if the metal has become molten hot. But you don’t feel any burning sensation, just a faint tingle.

The third thing you see is König shoving himself between the two halves of the beast’s snout, physically holding it open with his body.

It’s truly an impressive sight, like watching Atlas hold up the sky. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up at him in awe.

“What are you doing?! Get out!” he yells, and you snap back to your senses.

You roll aside out of the beast’s range, scrambling to get back on your feet. König dodges out of the way just as the jaws snap shut.

“Is that..?” the thing wheezes. You rush to help König up as it glares balefully at you. Its beady eyes focus on the pendant around your neck, narrowing in disgust.

“Calliope,” it spits. “I should have known. This bears marks of your meddling all over.”

Your blood runs cold. “What did you just say?” What does your lady in waiting have to do with this?

“You—” The beast doesn’t get a chance to finish its sentence, because König takes advantage of its consternation to stick his sword into its neck. The creature bellows in pain and lunges at König, who barely manages to dodge the strike but loses his grip on his sword in the process. The monstrous animal whips around and around, attempting to grab hold of the sword with its teeth.

“Strike, now!” König calls before promptly getting clocked in the head with the pommel of his own sword as the beast thrashes and screams.

You don’t hesitate to spring into action, unsheathing a wicked-sharp blade as long as your forearm and sprinting towards the creature. König’s left you a perfect opening: as long as the beast is trying to get ahold of the sword, its chest is wide open for attack.

You don’t waste the opportunity. With the running start, you leap forward, sinking the blade into the wolf’s chest, right where its heart lies. The long, keening wail that the beast lets out is confirmation that your blade has struck true.

You have to throw yourself into a roll to get out of the way before the massive body crashes down on top of you. It lies on the ground, its heaving breaths growing shallower by the moment, its wounds staining the ground with a faintly shimmering golden ichor. So the fae do have golden blood, just like the old legends said, you think, watching the macabre scene with stunned terror.

“Brought low by two fae-touched mortals with barely a fight…” the beast huffs. It sounds weary and resigned to its fate, strange for a creature that had seemed so deadly and menacing just moments before. “Fate is cruel.”

“Fae-touched…what do you mean?” you ask, eyes widening. “Wait! What do you mean by that?!”

The beast doesn’t respond, its chest now hardly moving with its breaths. It’s not long for the world, now.

Behind the hulking, dying animal, you spot König staggering into a standing position. “König!” You gather yourself and rush towards him.

He’s visibly unstable on his feet, swaying slightly and looking dazed. The sword must have hit him hard, because his hood has been partially torn away. Despite everything, though, you can’t see any visible blood or injuries from this angle. Until he turns.

A bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of your throat. König cringes slightly at the sound, but you can’t help yourself. The sight is terrifying.

The skin above one half of his mouth is simply gone. He has no lip, not even any flesh up to his nose. His upper teeth and gums on one half of his mouth are just exposed, giving him a grim, unnatural appearance. He looks like Death itself, resembling the skeletal depictions in the manuscripts.

You should be afraid—scratch that, you are afraid. But you realize quickly your fear is not of him, but for him.

“Did it do this to you?!” you say, panicking. You dash forward and grab ahold of his face, turning it so you can examine the injury more closely. The act seems to startle König, who simply looks down at you in confusion.

“What are we going to do? There’s no way this village has a healer who could dress this wound…” you fret. An injury on this level is almost certainly a death sentence if he doesn’t receive adequate attention immediately, and he certainly won’t last the night if you’re forced to travel by horseback again—

“Schatzi…” König grabs your hands with his and removes them from his face. “I’m fine.”

You stare at him in shock for a moment. “You—how can—you—”

He heaves a heavy sigh, as if a massive burden has been placed on his shoulders. “I’m alright. The wound is…not new.”

“How can it not be new.”

König screws his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather his composure. “It’s been this way since I was young. Look,” he says, touching the area with a finger. “There’s no blood.”

On closer inspection, you realize he’s right: not only is there no blood, but the skin around his mouth and nose appear to be completely healed. And not even as if it were a true wound: there’s no scarring, no uneven flesh. The skin and muscle are simply…missing.

“What…how…” You’re at a total loss for words. Since he was young? What happened? How had he survived such an injury as a child? You have a million questions, but you find yourself unable to ask any of them.

You watch him, stunned, as he walks past you towards the beast’s body. It lays completely still now, all semblance of life having fled from the corpse. With one hand on the grip and one foot braced against the beast’s body, he wrenches his sword free, then bends to pull your knife out.

“I know you must have questions,” he says, wiping the blood off of both weapons onto the wolf’s fur with a grimace, “but I can’t answer them here. Please, if I promise to explain, will you…will you wait until we’ve left the village?” He turns to look at you beseechingly.

“I…” Now that the adrenaline and initial panic is beginning to fade, your whole body feels heavy and exhausted. You don’t have the energy to be angry, or afraid, or demand an explanation now. You have no choice but to agree, nodding quietly. König seems relieved at your calm response.

“So that’s why you always wear a mask or a hood,” you say numbly as you watch him take the ruined hood off, shaking his head to get the hair out of his face. He gives you a sad, regretful look.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

“I never meant for anyone to find out.”

The villagers throw a celebration. A modest one, to be sure, but the relief on the peoples’ faces is enough of a reward for you. You can tell König is glad to see it as well—though every time you look at his face, hidden once more behind his mask, you feel a twinge in your heart as you remember what lies underneath it.

You can’t find it in yourself to enjoy the celebrations, even as excited children and grateful parents swarm you to give their thanks. You give them all a smile and a kind word, but that’s all you can manage. Dread and curiosity mix to form a terrible feeling in your gut.

The days between your defeat of the beast and your departure go by in a blur. You’re grateful for the rest, but you can’t stop thinking, worrying, about König’s condition. You manage to stop being petrified that he’s going to drop dead of infection at any moment, but you can’t look at him anymore without thinking about it. About the secret that he’s kept from you, from everyone who’s ever met him. You can’t even wrap your mind around what it all means. You have no point of reference for what could have happened to your husband’s face.

Husband. What a strange thing, to be wed to someone whose full face you had only seen a few days ago, months into your marriage. You haven’t thought of him like that at all. He’s always been König: the king, the enemy, the annoyance. And your lover, you suppose. For the first time, you start to wonder exactly what kind of man you’ve bound yourself to.

Because it’s exceedingly clear to you now. You can’t kill this man. Not just because you don’t want to anymore, but because he might be unkillable.

The village hasn’t yet vanished in the distance behind the two of you when you speak. “What the hell?”

König’s eyes slide to you, then back to the road ahead. “Language.”

You sputter in indignation. “Lang—that’s not what I want to hear!”

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist.”

“König, this is serious! You promised an explanation.”

“I know what I promised,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

“Well?”

König takes as deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

Then he begins.

“Well. What do we have here? You’re awfully young for this, little prince.”

He’s fourteen. He’s about to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life.

He had done as the crone’s old tome instructed. Bone from an animal slain in its youth. Flowers bloomed under the cover of pitch black night. A blade whet on the summoner’s own flesh. He’s knelt under the light of the full moon, round and blindingly white.

The ethereal creature standing before him is easily twice his height, with an unearthly glow to their skin and hair and a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind and benevolent on their unnaturally beautiful face.

He’s done it. He’s summoned a fae.

With no small amount of difficulty, he rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane that helps him walk. The fae lets out a noise of amusement as they watch the young boy struggle.

“Usually, mortals don’t gamble away their lives until they’re older, and greed begins to dictate their actions.”

He glares at the fae but doesn’t respond.

“Come, now. Do not look at me so. Give me your name, little prince.”

“…you may call me König.”

The fae’s expression sharpens, ever so slightly. “Clever boy. ‘König’…don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I want to make a deal.”

The fae sighs. “Straight to the point, I see. Well, I can’t fault your efficiency. Or is it desperation?” They smirk at him, their eyes taking the rest of him in. He knows he must make for a pathetic sight: a cripple with a harelip, spine curled and legs thin and spindly.

He doesn’t care. This is the last day he will ever be this pathetic.

“Let me guess. You wish to no longer be a cripple.”

“I want to be able bodied. I want to be strong enough to defeat my enemies. I want to be rid of my harelip.” Clear, concise language. He’s spoken these words to himself in the mirror countless times.

“You’ve certainly done your research. Then you know what price I will ask for such things.”

He swallows nervously. “Yes.”

“Very well then. Let us begin.”

It starts in his toes, the strange sensation that flows up through him that he will know all his days. He can feel the strength rushing into his limbs, feel his spine straightening, withered muscles coming to life.

Then comes the pain.

It’s white-hot torment, as if his body has become a living coal. He falls to the ground again, screaming and writhing as his bones crack and realign themselves. Somewhere, in the distance, he can hear the fae’s cruel laughter as they watch him suffer. For a brief moment, some primal, animal part of his brain thinks he’s going to die.

“Fret not, boy king. You won’t perish—I won’t let you until you give me what you’ve promised me,” the fae says, as if they can hear his thoughts.

He’s not sure how long he lays there on the ground, body wracked with agony. It feels like hours pass before he regains use of his limbs. But the pain does eventually fade away, leaving him dazed but still alive. Slowly, he manages to stand up again.

He stares at himself in wonder, legs and arms stretching. For the first time ever, he’s able to stand tall and straight on his own, his cane discarded to the side. And he feels strong. At last, he doesn’t feel weak for once.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The fae’s face has changed: they still look the same, but there’s a beastly, ugly quality to their lovely features that chills him to the bone.

His hands fly instantly to his face. The harelip is still there, he notes with displeasure.

“You forgot something,” he says, frowning in his lopsided way.

“Oh, I didn’t.” Before König can react, the fae’s eyes hollow and grow dark, becoming two pools of endless void. Their teeth sharpen, their face grows gaunt.

“Remember what you owe, boy king,” they remind him. “On the day and the hour your first child is born, I will come to collect.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream before the fae reaches forward with black talons and tears off his mouth.

You’re rendered speechless by his story. Where do you even start?

Your first thoughts are of the way he described himself as a child. König, weak and crippled? König? You look at him now, eighteen hands high astride his horse, the picture of raw strength and dominance. You can’t imagine it at all.

Your second thought is— “You made a deal with the fae? Do you know how foolish that is? Fae never give you what you want, and the cost is always far too high!”

“Don’t lecture me,” he says tightly. “I know what I was getting myself into. I had no other choice.”

“What do you mean, no other choice? You were the king’s son—you are the king! You could have had servants carry you everywhere if need be!”

“You don’t understand what it was like,” König snarls, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “Nobody would have accepted a cripple as their king. My life would constantly have been in danger, having to rely upon others. Unable to even defend myself if an assassin set upon me in my bed.” He’s getting angrier, more worked up as he goes.

“I told you that I was once poisoned as a child with nightshade berries. Did you wonder why there was such a plant in my mother’s garden? Why the royal heir was unsupervised for so long in the first place?” König’s expression is twisted, his voice turned bitter with betrayal. “It was a plot against me by some of my father’s advisors. They conspired with my nursemaid to make it seem like an accident…they expected me to die.”

“I…I’m sorry, König. I didn’t think.”

He glances at you and takes a moment to collect himself before speaking. “I was lucky. My father sent for the best healers he could find. My mother cried at my bedside for weeks.” His brow furrows. “My lot in life could have been worse: my parents loved me, at the very least. But it made me hate myself even more—that I was such a profound disappointment.

“My mother had a difficult birth. Some whispered that it was penance for what my father did: that the spirits of those slain during his campaigns had cursed my mother’s womb. She never was able to conceive again…so all their hopes rested upon my shoulders. My crippled, useless shoulders.”

The venom in his voice when he talks about himself makes your heart ache with sympathy. You move your horse closer to his and put a hand on his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting manner. His expression softens as he looks down at you.

“It would have been easy for you to kill me if I were still like that, liebe.” You feel your face grow warm again at the term of endearment.

“It makes sense, your strength being fae-given…Calliope said there was something not right about you.”

“Calliope is a perceptive woman.”

You study his face, eyes regarding his mask in a new light. “It really doesn’t look so bad. I only reacted that way because I thought you were injured.”

He shrugs. “Never was that good-looking anyway.”

You make a face. “Are you suggesting I sleep with ugly men?”

“You’ve only slept with me.”

“I’m trying to compliment you.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“When you’re not annoying me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, now you know.”

You study him. He seems relieved to have finally gotten this off his shoulders. “Do you regret it?”

He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “…No.”

The village’s leader had advised an alternate path back home: it might take you a day or two longer, but it was less remote and lined with other villages. You arrive at the first inn just as the sun is about to duck beneath the horizon, the sky streaked with orange.

It’s a serene part of the wood, and the inn is quite quaint as well. Whoever runs it has done well for themselves, you think absentmindedly as you and König dismount and prepare to unload.

A side door swings open, and a quite frankly huge man walks out, facing away from the two of you. Your sense of scale is attuned to König now, so he’s of course not the biggest man you’ve ever seen, but he’s broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can just about spot his blond hair—

“Shit. Shit.” König instantly spins around so his horse is between him and the man who’s just walked out of the building. You squint. Is he…hiding?

“What’s going on? Should I be worried?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Is he cringing? “Do you think it’s too late to set up camp?”

“Set up camp? When there’s a perfectly good inn right there?”

“Yes!”

“What has gotten into you? That man is quite big, but he’s not that sc—”

“I’m not scared of him, I just recognize him. And I don’t particularly feel like seeing him.”

You’re agog at the scene before you. “You’re the king.”

“Even kings have their hangups, alright?”

“I am not sleeping in the woods.”

“As your husband and supreme ruler, I demand it.”

“Come now. I know you’re tired of fucking me outside.”

That gives him serious pause, which almost makes you giggle. Ridiculous man. You could probably lead him onto an executioner’s block if you held him by the cock.

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward to hold his hand and giving him the biggest, most wide eyes you can muster. “I’m not ready to go back to sleeping on the ground yet.”

His face scrunches up in a hopelessly endearing, almost childlike way. “Fine. But you have to go in and talk to the innkeep. I’m going to stay out here.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is, but fine. You big baby.” You hand him your horse’s reins and make your way to the front door of the inn.

You’ve barely pushed the door very far at all before you hear a friendly voice from inside. “Welcome, traveler! Come on in.”

“It’s wonderful to make your—” You stop in the doorway, frozen with shock.

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness.” A pair of familiar sparkling eyes look back at you. “And you can tell his majesty that he can come inside, I’ve already seen him.”

König’s first wife stands before you, watching your reaction with clear amusement.

Forgive me for that smut. It's been years since I've written anything nsfw, and I wrote this at like. 5AM after a very long day because when I'm not exhausted, writing smut becomes impossible. It's quite the pickle.

Well...I did say that part 3 was going to be a doozy! I'm looking forward to all the reactions...🤭

Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3

@kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @keiva1000 @catluvwr @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @channelsoph @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @lexuria @complexivelovely

[plussizefantasia]

Fluttering Heart

Fluffober Day 13: Soulmates

Kili Durin x f!human!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: OMG! This has definitely been my favorite to write so far. I love Kili with my whole heart and that for sure came out while I was writing. I really want to see about making this a longer series once October ends, if anyone wants to see that leave a comment and let me know.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

The culture of the dwarves is much like their treasure, kept under lock and key. Histories, customs, and traditions all are played very close to the chest of the stubborn race. The only beings who are let in on the secret are those lucky enough to be a fated match. 

There are different names for these matches in every culture, Soulmates, true loves, twin flames. The dwarves called them Ones. To find your One was said to be the best day of your life. At least that is what Kili thought, he wouldn’t know though. He hadn’t met his yet. 

His uncle’s one had been the Hobbit, Bilibo took longer to fall than Thorin but fell just as hard if not harder than the dwarf. The two were very much in love, it was sickening. His mother’s One had been his father, and he doesn’t remember much about their time together. Fee’s One was a lovely lass that had come from the Blue Mountains to try and establish herself as a seamstress under the mountain. 

All of them had told him how wonderful finding their Ones was, even Thorin whose One was not of the race of Dwarf and thusly did not feel the same pull that he had. Thorin had to actually make Bilbo fall in love with him, which amused Kili to no end because of how much their two personalities seemed to clash. 

Kili hates spending time under the mountain now, he loves Erebor and takes pride in the fact that he was one of the brave few who had reconquered it, but everywhere he looked he saw people being happy with something he did not have. 

The feeling went much deeper than those childhood squabbles he had had with Fili when the two pebbles would play together. Jealousy over toys was easily remedied, the ache that had recently taken up residence in Kili’s heart was much more difficult to push aside or fix.

So he had taken to going for walks. He had volunteered himself too many times to be the point of contact for the King of Dale. He had told Thorin it was because he wanted to prove that he could be trusted with matters of diplomacy. He might not be next in line, but he was still a prince and could take care of these things. It was on one of these trips to Dale that Kili met the very person who would change his life.

She was of the race of men and seemed to work in one of the few taverns that housed the nightlife of the town. Kili was in a sort of informal meeting with Bard, his son Bain, and the Captain of the Guard. They were discussing a deal between the two kingdoms where Erebor would provide the army of Dale with iron-forged armor and weapons and in turn, Dale would pledge their allegiance to the kingdom under the mountain in any future battle. Kili couldn’t help but find the humor in the reversal of roles as if the company had not asked and pledged the same things five years ago. This clause was only one of the facets that made up the current peace treaty in the works. It was Kili’s idea to have the meeting in a less tense and stuffy room than they were previously held in. 

“Everybody has to eat Bard, why don’t we eat and talk at the same time? I’m sure we’d all be much more comfortable.” Bard had agreed at the behest of Bain who had laughed and reminded his father of the last time he had had a proper meal. After that, the men had embarked towards Bard’s favorite tavern. And judging by the way he had jovially called out to the man behind the bar, he was at least acquainted with the people who worked there.

Their waitress was a beautiful woman, who had skills like Kili had never seen, and he had been in a lot of taverns. She was able to carry three trays of piping hot food at the same time and at one point he had even seen her stack and move at least twelve pint glasses to a rowdier table towards the back of the establishment. And she did all this with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

If only he would actually get to talk to her. The tavern was busy and she seemed to be one of the only other people working besides the man behind the bar and whoever was preparing the food to be served. She was never in the same place for a very long time. After she had gotten their initial order she had placed their pints down and immediately zipped off to fulfill the next request. 

Without the ability to actually talk to her, Kili had to settle for second-hand knowledge. “So what can you tell me about the woman who served us?” Kili asked nobody in particular.

“Why, do you fancy her?” Came Bain’s reply.

“No, but any woman that can carry that much and move that fast without wasting a drop is certainly one I want to get to know.”

“Her name is y/n, She’s apprenticed to Brant, the man who owns this tavern. She arrived in Dale a year or two ago. I think she's from Bree but she's settled here. I think she has an arrangement with him, when he finally retires the place will be hers.” Bard had explained, throwing a somewhat scolding glance at his son. Kili might be young and more carefree than his uncle but he is still a prince and Bard did not wish to offend him.

“Interesting, any idea why she left Bree? It’s quite a long journey to take on your own.” Kili asked. 

“Why don’t you ask her?” A third, much more feminine voice replied. Kili who had not seen her make her way over to their table, had nearly jumped out of his skin. The other men tried and failed to hide their amusement at his predicament. “After all, I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you as long as she didn’t catch you talking about her when she wasn’t around.” She had said all of this with a smile spread across her face and delight in her voice. Kili wasn’t really sure how she felt about his impolite inquiries, but she hadn't chased him out of the establishment with a broom yet, so he thought he was okay.

“I’ve gotten everyone else settled and thought I’d come visit the King, how are you this evening King Bard?” her attention was firmly placed on the King of Dale now, and Kili longed for her piercing gaze to once again land on him.

“I’ve told you, it’s just Bard, all of this King nonsense will just go to my head,”

“Of course King Bard.” She smirked and turned towards the rest of the men. “Anything else I can get you, gentlemen?” With a firm nod at their newest order, she spun and headed back towards the bar.

“I think I’m in love.” Kili had said under his breath. 

“I think it’ll take you much more than that to win her over.” Bain had replied, hearing Kili’s self-confession. “Every time we’re in here I see her turn down men. Granted, most of them are usually drunkards but the principle is all the same.”

Kili was certain that the fluttering in his chest and the feeling of light-headedness had to mean something. And given that both the feelings had started right after she had spoken to him, he was pretty sure he knew what it was. 

“Here you are boys, four more pints and a basket of bread, on the house.” She had placed the basket of bread and little bowls of butter and honey on the table. When she pulled her hand away it bumped into Kili and sent a wave of shocks all the way up his arm.

[sucker-for-emily-prentiss]

The beauty hidden underneath

Summary: You are not comfortable wearing a swimsuit/bikini and Emily is there to help you love yourself.

Ship: emily prentiss x fem!reader

Promt by: @emberfrostlovesloki

TW: body dysphoria

—————————————

You’ve been at it for what seems to be hours. It, being standing in front of a mirror, staring at yourself and trying to not cringe or flinch at every scar, every curve and every hint of cellulite. If you stare too long, if you think too much, a new wave of tears will make its way down your face and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop it.

You try to remind yourself that this body has suffered great pain, has survived many tragedies. That every scar is a story, every dip is a love mark. But you can’t, because this body, this woman staring right back at you, is not a woman that’s pretty. It’s a woman whose thighs are touching, whose belly is slightly protruding, whose glutes are covered in stretch marks.

You turn sideways, you look at how your lower stomach is sticking out. You suck in a breath and hold it, you arch your back, you look thin. You need air, you release that breath and then it starts all over again. The loathing, the tears, the sobs. You punch at the extra fat on your arms, on your belly on your thighs and you try so hard to somehow make it disappear.

You don’t even know how all this started in the first place because you’ve been so good for so long. But as you think about it, you know exactly when it started; when Emily suggested you and her take some time off and go to the beach for spring break.

You’ve been dating for almost six months now and you’ve finally let the team know, which means you can be open about it and be in public without fear of someone seeing you. So when you finally told Hotch and the team on the way home from yet another grueling case Emily suggested you two go to LA, enjoy some time alone, out and proud. You didn’t think twice before saying yes, because she looked so happy and you didn’t want to ruin it for her.

That was two weeks ago. Two weeks of you trying your best to feel comfortable in your own skin. Two weeks of you trying to remember how to swim because in reality, you hate your body so much you haven’t been to the beach in three years. It’s been fourteen days of trying swimsuit after swimsuit, seeing what covers most her skin and what hides her shames.

“Y/n?” Your head has never snapped faster towards the direction of a sound before.

You grab your robe from the bed and turn around as you wrap it around yourself, trying to hide your face from Emily, not wanting to alarm her. “Hey, I didn’t expect you home so soon.” But you didn’t even know what time it was or how long you’ve been standing there.

“Honey, look at me.” You hear Emily asking you softly as she steps closer to you. You shake your head, your body still turned away. “Y/n, please.” She says softly.

You cannot say no to her when her voice is so sweet, so soft, so concerned. You turn around, tears still streaming down your face and you lock eyes with Emily. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” You say, words coming out in broken sobs as you lay your head on Emily’s shoulder.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” She says, leaving a kiss stop your head. “What is it?”

You raise your head and you look at her; this gorgeous woman you get to call your girlfriend. “I can’t go on vacation with you. Not at the beach, I can’t.” You confess as you pull yourself away from Emily’s embrace.

You watch as Emily blinks several, her expression not hurt but confused. But she seems to put the pieces together quickly after taking one look around and revisiting the scene she came across moments prior; her girlfriend looking at herself in the mirror and crying.

“Oh, honey.” She says, approaching you once again and this time taking you by your wrist and positioning you in front of the mirror while standing behind you.

“Emily, please don’t.” You beg her looking away from the mirror.

“Y/n, do you trust me?” She asks you.

You look in the mirror then, only then, and you look at Emily. You look into her eyes and you smile at her trying not to blink, the bangs too close to her eyes tickling her. “With my life.” You respond, the question not needing to be pondered.

She kisses your cheek and slowly unties the robe around your waist and pulls it down gently, allowing it to fall on the floor. Her hands caress over your stomach, across the jugged scar in the right side of your abdomen. “This on is from when you were twenty three, when you had your appendix out.” Emily says her voice low and sweet as honey. “You told me that you couldn’t stop picking at it because you needed something to do with your fingers.”

“You should know by now, I can’t stand still.” You say with a small chuckle and you feel Emily nod against you, leaving a kiss on your right shoulder.

Her hand doesn’t stay there, she moves the scar on your chest. “That’s from last year. And also the day that I realized how deep my feelings for you went. It took almost losing you to understand. To see.” And then her hand goes and rests on the part of you you hate the most. “And this, this little bump right here is gonna host our future babies.” She says with a small chuckle as her thumb caresses your still empty belly.

“Oh yeah?” You ask her with a small laugh. “So I’m the one who gets pregnant?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Emily says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the stronger one between the two of us. Can you imagine me walking around being kicked and punched? I so don’t have your strength. Or your patience.” You find your hand resting on top of Emily’s and for once you can actually imagine it. And the image of you gaining all this weight has never made you happier.

“How many are we gonna have?” You ask, your smiling growing upon gazing into Emily’s loving brown orbs.

“We’ll start with one. Hopefully they are twins, but if they’re not we can always adopt.” She says with a shrug. “And you’ll carry them with these strong arms and you’ll run after them with these strong legs that chase criminals.” She reminds you, now both her arms wrapped around your waist. “And you’ll put them on those shoulders that always seem to carry the world’s weight on them.”

You turn around in her embrace and you wrap your arms around her neck lazily, planting a kiss on her lips. “I love you, Emily Prentiss.” You say against her lips.

“Good.” She replies. “‘Cause I love you, too.” She kisses you once more, before pulling her lips away and placing a strand lick of hair behind your ear. “And if you don’t want to go to the beach that’s okay. We can go somewhere else. Or we can go to a vacation house I have in the Hamptons. It was it’s one pool and only I’ll be able to see you.”

“You’d go through all that trouble for me?” You ask, your insecurities somehow still getting to you.

“When are you going to understand, y/n?” She asks with a sigh. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for you if it meant you would smile.”

And smile you do, lunging forward and kissing her once more. “The Hamptons sound nice.” You say eventually, because you realized that so long as you had Emily, you had all you needed.

[harfanfare]

If that's okay could i request it for Epel?

How to win the heart of Epel Felmier?

a/n: Thank you for requesting~~ Dear Readers, while I am not a native English speaker, I wrote this ff in the English-pronounciation (?) mindset that “Epel” and “Apple” sound very similar. If it’s not all that similar, may Reader be too obsessed with apples to have that selective hearing when it comes to Epel’s name or let’s blame it on the Harveston’s dialect, haha

Be a zealous apple lover.

You envy this boy’s name.

“Apple”? What a majestic word to be named after. The first time you’ve heard a woman calling someone like that, you remember stilling in place and whooping your head at a ten-year-old boy who yelled that he was coming.

And he… doesn’t look like an apple. Maybe you weren’t expecting a walking apple, nor a boy with red hair dressed in all browns, carrying a big basket of apples (and of course, eating one in the other hand) like a character created for a show whose audience is a tad younger than you, but none of the apples you know turn purple.

Never have you imagined someone with such a beautiful name would move so wobbly in snow, the sledge he dragged behind definitely too heavy.

The realization of how unfitting this name was makes you lose a grip on the basket of fabric you got from one of your new neighbours. Well, everyone here is “new” if you just came into this little village just three days ago.

That boy notices you. He must have heard the news because a flash of recognition paints itself on his face. You didn’t return a shy smile at the staring, even if you wanted to. You remember your cheeks prickling from the freezing wind when you bolted home as the apple boy looked like he wanted to say something.

“He doesn’t look like an apple,” you argue with your mother that night, as she kisses your temple goodnight.

“Maybe not. But I would have loved you two to be friends…” Your mother stops in her words as you roll your eyes at her and pout with all your might. She suppresses a laugh that you would take to your heart. “…But, maybe I should be glad he doesn’t resemble an apple at all? You would have fallen head over heels in love with him if he did.”

Yeah, your mother doesn’t need to look so happy as you grew agitated.

“I wouldn’t!” You protest loudly and bury yourself deeper into bed sheets even if your face grows hotter. Maybe of the embarrassment, maybe of the fury, but surely not because of the boy. “I would never fall in love with a boy like him. And I don’t want you to talk about this to anyone!”

You remember your mother’s eyes twinkling with utter amusement. “Yes, yes, all right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Challenge Apple to a sled race.

Maybe it’s the fault of far too many action films being aired on TV, yet the idea of being able to win anything a fight was stuck in your head.

Some limited part of your brain thought that, hm, Apple might just give up his name to you if you won in this town’s most famous activity: the Harveston’s Sled Race. It seemed only appropriate for you to pick something the boy must know, even if you had only got your first sledge barely two weeks ago.

“Ya… want my name?” Apple blinks as you grow irate when you repeat your offer once again. You remember rolling your eyes ostentatiously at him, and Apple huffing loudly at you. “What does it even mean, duh?”

He crosses his arms and glared at you. He has the advantage of being just a little bit taller than you, but thankfully, his The-Great-Seven-Better-Bless-Her grandmother never ceases to dress him in fluffy, puffy clothes, always in pastel colours; the cute pompom on top of his beanie and shawl in the adorable pink shade made him much less imposing.

“Whoever wins in this sledge race will be called Apple,” you repeat. Apple squints his eyes at you. “I like this name so much, you have no idea. Please give it up to me.”

“Oh.”

You have no idea why his face slowly turned red. If you knew better, you would have used this opportunity to tease him, but little you didn’t want to mock a newly met boy, even if you just threw down a gauntlet for his name.

“It’s a normal name….” He mutters, and before you can protest, he draws his eyes to you, somehow redeeming you speechless. “…But I’ll challenge you if that’s what you wanna do.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting him to agree so easily.

…Nor were you expecting him to glide on the snow with his sledge. He looked frail enough to not care about things like rides and thought that it would give you the advantage. It did not. Apple flew or used magic, or illusions because he rode so fast the snow beneath him barely left a trace.

That was some cool skill, even if you hated how awed you were.

It seems like you challenged the wrong boy because this one wins with ease.

“Sorry,” he says with flushed cheeks, and his deep breaths create little warm clouds in freezing air. He lays on the snow, and his fringe sticks to his forehead. He has won, and it was a tough victory yet a well-earned one. “I will still be the only Epel in this town.” He shifts his gaze on you. “So. What’s your name?”

Well, he is a (treacherous) winner. You give your name to him.

He smiles slightly, he repeats it slowly and goes quiet. You look over to see him open his eyes from reverie and bright lights dance in his eyes.

“It’s nice. I think it suits you well.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Have some baking skills.

“Epel, dear. We’ll be having our little neighbour helping us this year’s festival, so please show how responsible can you be and teach [Name] how to prepare apples for the pies.”

Ugh. If only Grandma Marja wasn’t so kind, you would have been protesting more.

Apple looks at you and you frown slightly as he sighs at your sight.

“You again?”

And because Grandma Marja already left, you feel free to announce your displeasure with the situation as well. Sadly, there are no other kids your age in this village, so you are probably bound to accompany him for the rest of your whole life here as he’s your only peer.

“Unfortunately.”

Apple hands you an apron, before ordering you to wash your hands. Because the kitchen island is too occupied with other dishes and too high for any of you without a stool, you take a seat next to a coffee table that was impractically set between the salon and kitchen, leaving just enough space to create a narrow route from one room to another.

“Have you ever baked an apple pie before?” He asks and you shake your head. His brows furrow slightly as he thinks whether you will be a help here at all. “So, it will be a long day…”

He better not write you off before you can even start.

You cross your arms. “Test me first, complain later... if ever.”

“I’m not complaining. But we have a knife and a peeler. Oh, and it hurts if you get cut. You should take it slowly and be careful,” he adds and hops to the other room to grab a basket full of apples. He lays it between you two.

Apple doesn’t let you use a knife.

“I am older than you,” he says and takes an apple from you to cut it into even pieces. You don’t notice the skill he has to make careful cuts precise and clean, as you glare at him.

“Barely.”

The few-month gap in your age isn’t enough to stop you from insisting that you can do more complicated things than just peeling apples. That’s some arduous work, especially when the peeler doesn’t cooperate and the thin fruit’s skin gets stuck between the blades.

So, Apple, who couldn’t contain that last annoyed sigh, finally lends you a knife. He instructs you, but after several times that you tell him you know what are you doing, he hesitantly goes back to his work. You could feel a worried gaze at you nonetheless, and at one time you looked over your shoulder to see him staring at you.

And that’s when the knife slips from your hands.

You don’t scream, but a gasp and a sudden flinch gives you away.

“Aaaand that’s what I was saying,” he immediately drops the apple he was taking care of, and stands next to you, scrutinizing the cut. It’s not bigger than a paper cut, yet it’s a bit deeper and stings as much. You quickly hide your hands from him. “Go take your hand under the cold water. I will get some bandages.”

He gets some. He then orders you—” I am the older one here and I was right before, so I am in charge between us two,” as you were told—to sit on the sofa as he carefully wraps one bandage around your finger. The gesture it’s almost cute from him, but it doesn’t lift your foul mood at all.

“I made more trouble than I’ve helped,” you say quietly. Epel looks at you, a bit surprised.

“You sayin’ that this little cut is making you quit?” And now he has that stupid smile on his lips that makes your blood not boil, but warm up at least five degrees. “Awh, poor thing.”

You get up in a hurry.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“Then don’t give up like that,” he chastises you, but he can’t hide a (still very stupid) smile when you pass him to get to the kitchen counter. “But be more careful from now. No one wants to eat a bloody apple pie.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Get into NRC and survive a shock.

Over the years, you’ve become friends, close enough to plan to go to college together, if the opportunity arises. It did.

“Cheers!”

The perfect way to celebrate getting into NRC is with a soft drink, sparkling soda and a big plate of snacks. Although you bought chips for the occasion, your and Apple’s parents prepared a pile of homemade goodies and they couldn’t compare to those store-bought.

Your can clinks against Apple’s and you take a sip.

“It’s not like I ever thought of Night Raven Collage rejecting the best candidates ever,” Apple says with a sigh. Only today you can notice how stiff he was before; although he’d been playing it cool, he was tense all the time. “But that’s one burden off your chest.”

You nod in agreement and look at the acceptance papers once again. When a time will come, carriages with Gates will come for you two… And that’s a thrilling thought.

“This document looks so official,” you say. “What a pretty paper. It looks so elegant.”

Apple empties his can and briefly glances at you.

“Nothin’ special about it…”

And because you want to see the comparison (maybe there are hidden hints where you might be allocated to by the Dark Mirror?), you take his document. The first thing that crosses your mind, is that there is something wrong with his name.

“Wait,” you shriek loudly, and Apple shudders from surprise. He would chastise you for screaming so loud if you didn’t look so worried. “They spelled your name wrong!”

“Huh?” Apple feels a pang of horror, the same you feel when you tap your pockets in search of your phone. As if he found it, once he reads the top of the document again, he relaxes. His lips form into a thin line: he thinks you are pranking him. “No way. Everything is correct.”

“No, look here. Your name, Apple!”

“It’s… Correct.”

“E- P- E- L. And your name is A- P- P- L- E, no?”

“…What?” Epel, not Apple, looks surprised but not as surprised as you. “You thought my name was ‘Apple’ for all those years?!”

You bite your lip to not question it. Is it not? Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, and your heart feels heavy as if you have just betrayed your best friend. It never crossed your mind to have him write down his name, and there wasn’t a reason for him to do so: in this small town there is no school, neither are there the tests you need to sign.

“…I’m sorry.” You stutter, and Epel brushes the crumbs off from his blouse and gets up.

“Goodbye,” he says, making his way towards the door. He doesn’t seem that upset over the whole thing, as much as confused. Tomorrow everything will return to normality, but Epel will have a top-tier teasing material for years. “That’s too many revelations for today.”

“Wait, Epel!”

“Go to ya Apple boy.”

“No!! I said I’m sorry!”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

5. Get sorted into any dorm but Pomefiore.

“Stop laughing.”

“I can’t…! Ha…”

You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but once you look up at Epel and his grimace, it’s impossible to not burst out laughing so loud and so breath-taking you drop to the floor. Epel nudges you. You might be in his room, yet he knows if he’ll be too loud, someone will come to shush you two.

And maybe they will punish him, but Epel isn’t familiar with Pomefiore’s customs, so he doesn’t know what to expect.

“How come you got sorted into another dorm, while we are practically the same?” Epel mumbles, lying down on his bed. The sheets are heavy yet comfortable, luxurious like the whole room. It feels like a museum here, where each item is more valuable than your life and you need permission to rearrange the interior.

To Epel, Pomefiore is the worst dorm. He remembers you teasing him about getting sorted to Pomefiore, but neither of you thought it would come true. It’s too stiff, too restrictive and cares too much about appearances. Epel’s heart feels heavy at the thought of the next four years here.

“Maybe Dark Mirror doesn’t sort the dorm judging by the alikeness of two last brain cells but the shape and colour of the soul,” you nudge him back, waking him up from his reverie.

“Or maybe it didn’t get any input of brain cells from you.”

“Well, your desire to be the prettiest boy in the town got to it, so I think it functions well.”

You chuckle at the dead glare he throws you.

Epel finally sighs.

“…I would like to change the dorms.”

“I don't know whether the Dark Mirror accepts complaints,” you tease him. The gloom is abruptly replaced by irritation, and that’s nice. An angry Epel is better than a devastated Epel. “But if you ever want to escape for a while, you are welcome in my room. We can have a sleepover whenever you want.”

“…Thank you.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.5. Sorted into Pomefiore exception.

“You ain’t elegant at all, though.”

“It seems like my elegance bleaks in comparison to yours, pretty boy.”

“You are blind.”

Epel tries to push you away, but you sidestep while giggling. He glares at you, and thankfully, his eyes don’t seem that sad. When he returned to his seat after getting sorted to Pomefiore, he looked bewildered, as if he suddenly wasn’t in the NRC he dreamed of but some other, less-dreamlike school.

You remember him blinking back tears, but maybe not from sadness—thankfully, Epel doesn’t pity himself—but melancholy, as if he just lost something he didn’t even have. Maybe also fury and confusion.

“It will be fun to stay here together,” you prompt, and Epel sighs but a trace of a smile appears on his lips. Thank Great Sevens for the little lights that brighten the azure tones in his eyes.

“Guess I’m stuck being your neighbour forever.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“No?”

“Of course not. You already know how great friend I can be.”

“…I guess you’re right,” he sticks out his tongue. Vil will have a lot of work if he wants to make him a fine gentleman. Well. You will take any version of Epel, even the pettiest and most teasing one, so it’s Vil’s burden to bear. “Kind of.”

You pout at him, but a quiet smile breaks your coolness. “So petty.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Listen to your manly man complain about Vil.

After several weeks in NRC, you could tell Epel still hasn’t gotten used to Pomefiore, and especially its leader.

“I can’t handle him pointing out each… well, everything!” He hides his face in his hands and sluggishly rubs his eyes; he looks tired enough even if Pomefiore must have those eight hours of sleep every night mandatory. “He would find wrongdoings in the way I breathe.”

“I would too. You don’t breathe as much through your nose as you think you do. That’s so very unhealthy, Epel. Your skin will be ruined in the next week of running.”

Epel throws you a warning look as if you had hit the nail with your talk. “Stop or I will strangle you with a pillow in your sleep. I already have Ace on my list.”

You chuckle at a threat, and Epel rolls his eyes. “How dramatic.”

“I have enough drama in my life,” he continues, and you can feel from his tone that he either suppresses the sigh. No apathy or fury anymore, though. Pomefiore must be slowly growing on him, and you take it as a good sign. “My two upperclassmen are going to be a death of me. I don’t know how could I end up in Pomefiore. This kind of lifestyle doesn’t suit me.”

“You complain about them a lot, but, in reality, you look up to him, no?” You tease. “Even you can say the beauty he possesses is influential and somewhat powerful.”

“He might look majestically but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. Now, let’s stop talking about him.”

“Why not? I might become Vil Schoenheit’s fan.”

He clasps his hands on your mouth, so you have to fully focus on his glaring.

“You can’t. You are my fan.”

You pout but after he takes his hands off you, a lopsided smile cracks your lips. “I guess you’re right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Argue, duh.

That’s a hobby of you two, although a risky one. It always leaves a weight on your heart, because you cannot not care for Epel. While jokes and sarcasm are never intended to hurt any of you, and you can almost always distance yourself from teasing comments, his every word is precious to you.

“Don’t be a killjoy,” would make you roll your eyes if Epel didn’t look so serious. Your smile falters, and something in your stomach twists. You know this conversation was going to end in an argument even before he glowered at you.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” you stutter the words, placing a hand on his arm. It would come as a reassuring gesture, yet Epel made an effort to move a seat away, and your arm fell aimlessly, sadly. “I am just worried about our grades. That have. Uh. Dropped marginally.”

You stare at your shoes because listening to your best friend being displeased with you so greatly is heartbreaking.

“We have the whole weekend ahead of us to study,” he argued. “Be serious. You don’t want me to go, because you weren’t invited, isn’t that so?”

You sigh. You’ve never expected to be invited to each of their meetings: they are Epel’s friends, and you have yours.

While you knew Ace and Deuce were delightful company, you always thought Epel would choose you over them, even if you suggested something as unentertaining as studying because you would do the same.

You were wrong, after all. Maybe that’s the difference of willpower between a just-a-friends mindset and having a crush on him. Do you really have a crush on him, though? Or maybe you’ve expected too much from a childhood friendship.

“Well, no. I mean, I would love to be invited, but—”

“We don’t need to hang out together every time we have a spare afternoon,” he said, and while it was a true statement, it hurt. If you weren’t able to somehow steel your nerves, you would know you wouldn’t be able to bear the prickling in your eyes. Epel’s next suggestion comes as a whisper. “Sometimes… We should take a break from each other, ya know? And I need to figure, uh, something out.”

The news shocks you so much, that you don’t notice how he visibly abstains from lifting a hand to his chest.

Well. You always knew you were a hopeless romantic.

“Breaks from each other, huh…”

You take in the phrase in silence. Epel takes this chance as an opportunity to gather his things and pack them.

“…I’ll be leaving. Good luck studying or whatever.”

“…Alright. Have—” fun, you wanted to say, but the door shut and Epel left you alone.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Go through the silent treatment phase.

After a week of awkward conversations, Epel has forgotten about that talk. The pain in your chest dulled and you were growing indifferent as if you were watching a show—your life—that started to bore you, not engaging you at all.

You stared blankly at the screen of your phone.

— today —

Epel: Hey

Epel: are u free todya?? you’ve been so absent last weeks >:((

Epel: Grim and prefect invited us for gaming night

Epel: dont ya DARE do skip it again

— seen: now —

…Yeah. You feel nothing, maybe only a little sad at the memory when you felt so vivid and happy when you got a message from Epel.

“No, sorry, I am busy with studying lol,” you type, and while you know that excuse will wear out in the next few days, for as much as you’ve been using it for the last week to avoid hanging out with Epel, your (ex-?) best friend starts to type something. He will protest and argue and try to convince you, but you don’t want to talk today. “Maybe next time.”

So you turn off your phone, sinking deeper into the pillows on your bed.

You don’t have the energy to confront Epel right now.

And that’s it.

…

You fell into a slumber deep enough to not hear the hesitant-turned-frantic knocking to your room.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Let Epel hear the advice of unreliable gurus of love.

They are really unreliable, look messy, and they judge you. The worst kind of people to go for (love?) advice, but Epel assures himself that he needs honesty, not a pat on his back or a shoulder to cry on. He also is out of other options.

Moreover, he would like to cry nowhere near Ace, who would obviously mock him. Even now it’s hard to have a heart-to-heart conversation when he and Deuce chomp on some type of dessert and some awfully happy music from videogame plays in the back of the room. “So? What did you do?”

“Ace,” Deuce is kind enough to elbow Ace in the stomach when Epel’s stoic expression falters.

His shoulders drop. “No, he… He is kinda right.”

Ace throws a winning smile but moves too far away from Deuce to have him punch him for the cheekiness. “’ Kinda’?”

“…Totally right,” Epel finally admits. “[Name] has been avoiding me and I have no idea what should I do,” He throws his arms on the table, and almost hides his face in the palms of his hands. Instead, he moves away the strands of his unruly hair. “Ugh. Why I am even asking you guys to help me? You’re even worse at this kind of thing.”

“Speak for yourself. And Deuce,” Ace cuts him off. And before Deuce can do anything else than glare at him, Ace shifts closer to Epel and throws an arm over his shoulder so he has to hunch. “Epel, question: what is “this kind of thing”. You mean… as in friendships or dating?”

Deuce looks shocked, even so more than Epel. “Dating?!”

“Why are you even so shocked?” Ace asks him, furrowing his eyebrows. When Deuce starts to ponder over his words, he rolls his eyes. “[Name] probably have had a crush on this imbecile”— he points his fork at Epel—” for damn years now, if I had to guess”.

“Years?!”

“Thank you for the dramatic echo effect again, Deuce,” Ace snarls and finally focuses on Epel. Too distracted with a bickering between his friends, his spirits lift up a little. “And you, Epel. Pull yourself together. Do you want to sever the relationship? Do nothing. Do you want to be friends? Apologize to [Name] and try to patch the bond. Do you want to be in a relationship? …Welp, figure out that for yourself.”

…

“Amazing advice, Ace,” Deuce claps his hands theatrically.

He sticks out his tongue and winks. “You could never give a better one.”

Epel gets up from his seat.

“Thanks, you two. I… will do something.”

“Good luck,” Ace waves at him as Epel makes his way over to the door. “If it works out, you owe us a free drink. Especially me.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Have Epel fight for your love!!

It’s hard to find someone when the person knows your schedule and actively tries to avoid you. Choosing more roundabout corridors and sacrificing your wallet to have most of your meals in Monstro Longue instead of the cafeteria are only some of the things you did to avoid encountering Epel.

But he didn’t give up, and maybe his tenacity is what makes you oblige Epel once he finds you.

You don’t question him when he grabs your hand and asks you to skip the last lesson with him that feels almost unimportant as his intertwined fingers warm yours. You don’t comment on how his grip is stronger than usual and how he doesn’t let it go when your hands begin to sweat.

But as you leave the main building of NRC, the curiosity gets the better of you.

“Where are we heading to?”

Epel looks over his shoulder to blink at you. “I…,” he stammers, as confused enough to leave you wondering what is your final destination. Or what was your final destination, Epel seems to have forgotten whatever plan he had in mind. “I guess it can be here.”

He ushers you into one of the side alleys, a bit distanced from the main street and sits you down on a bench. You eye him curiously as he slowly lifts his hands to your face—and that is the first time he let go of your hand—and cupped your cheeks.

“Let me be clear. I- really like you,” he said loudly, gazing into your eyes. “And I know I… overreacted earlier. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to avoid me.”

You breathe out slowly. The heat from the “I really like you” moment prickles and makes your face hotter. It doesn’t help that Epel doesn’t shift his gaze from you nor that he has his hands firmly on your cheekbones as he awaits your answer.

“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have been getting between you and your friends.”

Epel eyes you, bewildered. “Why are you focusing on that part?”

“Huh?”

“Ah. Maybe… I will phrase it differently,” He hesitates and his tone wavers, but he says the words without a stutter, as if he’s been practising them in front of the mirror, effectively. “I love you.”

“And I- I want to be friends even if you don’t feel the same.” He rushes with an explanation when you don’t answer as your mind goes blank. “Because. I don’t want you to… avoid me anymore. A-actually, you don’t have to rush with your answer. Just, decide, someday, in the near future, haha? I will wait.”

He glances at you and you know he won’t be able to bear long without hearing your answer. As he rushes past you, you think you heard a hushed whisper.

“Dear Sevens, I said it…!”

[kissitbttr]

you think miguel would have a positive reaction when he finds out you like him?

i’d like to think he’d be sooo awkward about it lmao. also not knowing how to react (+doesn’t even believe it)

-

he’s never had any real relationships before (unless with one many years ago) , maybe few flings here and there but it was never that serious. talking to people has never been his forte, that man is too fucking stoic that others would basically mistaken him as a rock. he holds too much of serious conversations and never know how to let things go, so to some, that could be an ultimate deal breaker.

there had been times where he got hit on multiple times, and he always brushed them off by saying ‘beat it’

he’s never willing to try again. not like he needed to anyway. his mind is already occupied with work.

but then came along you.

you with your pretty eyes,pretty hair, cute bubbly personality and flirty persona that got everyone hooked. he’s seen how you interact with others and he hates it. because you’re so distracting that it would make the others lose focus and he doesn’t appreciate that. he hates it.

or maybe the reason he hates it so much it’s the fact that you always flirt with Ben and call him ‘puddin.’ always running up to him and give him a hug—sometimes he’d see you wrap your legs around him too.

why would you do that? don’t you know that he fucking. hates it?

why would you ever create a nickname only for Ben? what about the others? why not him? why not Miguel?

do you like Ben?

Miguel doesn’t even know why it bothers him, but it does keep him up at night. he doesn’t like you, does he? you two barely talked and even when you do talk it’s mainly work matters. he refuses to like you.

“you’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

Lyla’s playful voice snaps him out of his train of thoughts as he quickly remains his posture,

Miguel clears his throat. “don’t know what you’re talking about.” his brows furrowing as his eyes remain focus on his computer screen,

“oh come on, you’re not fooling anybody. i can see the way you look at her when she’s talking or laughing. you’ve got heart eyes, my man.” Lyla teases, smirking lightly. “and i also remember correctly how you almost smash a laptop towards Ben when you saw him with her at the cafeteria and you gave him a ‘pep talk’?”

“because it wasn’t professional. this is not a place where two coworkers can flirt with each other as they please.” he responds lamely, knowing that is not a good enough excuse for Lyla to believe. she’s smarter than that.

“one. i didn’t say anything about them flirting. two. Ben came out of your office shaking and refused to talk to anyone for days! you’re crazy you know that?”

Miguel rolls his eyes, waving his hand over. “get back to work Lyla.”

“you like her.”

“no i don’t” he lies, gulping slightly. see that’s the thing about him. when he lies, he gets nervous. and Lyla can see that crystal clear.

“oh my god you totally do! i knew my instincts never wrong. Jess thought the same too”

“what the—“

“you know, usually? when a guy likes someone he’d ask the girl out. Not being a creep about it and threaten almost everyone at work to stay away from her.”

“i do not. like her” he emphasizes quite heavily, pinching between his forehead with his finger and thumb. “this is not important Lyla, we’ve got better things to do.”

as she about to say what a bad liar he is, she sees a silhouette of a woman walking into the office. you’re entering the room with a smile on your face and give Lyla a small wave as she returns one,

“speak of the angel herself. gotta go!” Lyla cheery voice causing him to whip his head. “Good luck!”

“wait what?! Lyla! Don’t—“ his voice gets cut off once the hologram disappears, groaning afterwards.

he hears your footsteps getting closer but he tries to keep his composure and not acknowledge you. perhaps he’s being an asshole but hey, what else is new?

“ouch. never met someone who’s very unhappy to see me. you’re definitely the first.” you pout pretending to be hurt, taking few steps closer to where he’s at,

he ignores your comment as he keeps his eyes fixated on the screen. “I’m working. what do you need?”

“just stopping by. it’s getting pretty boring out there you know? Miles is nowhere to be seen, Peter is busy with Mayday, Gwen is catching up with Jess and Hobie— i don’t even want to begin. Thought I’d come and see you.”

his heart definitely isn’t beating hard. definitely not.

“aren’t you usually with Ben? i see the two of you always talking in the hallways. why not go to him?”

you groan, throwing your head back as you start walking around. “ugh! all he talks about is muscles and protein sources! not to mention he never skips flexing. he’s got penis for brain, i don’t why you hired that guy. such a Ken doll.”

Miguel is glad that you aren’t facing him. because you manage to bring a small smile to his face with that comment. you’d never gonna let that one go if you see him smiling.

“well he’s good. he’s a great partner. better than Peter, I’d say. no reason to kick him off.”

“oh I’ll kick him alright” you roll your eyes as if it’s the obvious thing and you miss how miguel tries to hold back his laughter. he likes how feisty you get sometimes,

“have you—eaten already?” miguel awkwardly tries to start a conversation once he realizes the two of you sit there in silence for fifteen minutes. he must’ve think that you’re waiting for him to say something,

your lips curve into a small smirk as you watch how adorable he gets when he’s nervous. scratching the back of his head and trying his best to avoid an eye contact. it’s easy to tell how you make him shrink like a little kid crushing on his classmate.

yeah, Jess and Lyla told you everything. so this would be fun

“nope” you shake your head, rolling the chair closer in front of him as you slightly move forward. you admire the way his eyes stare intently into something, how his lower lip poke out in concentration and the way his thick brows knitted together making it impossible for you to stay sane.

does he know he’s handsome as fuck? and sexy too? his rough image and demeanor maybe look a bit intimidating to some but to you?

biggest turn on.

“why, you wanna take me out to lunch or something?”

he chokes at that, eyes finally looking up to you as he sees the playful smile on your face and the way your head tilt to the side. as if you’re teasing him,

“no. it was just a simple question.” he replies boringly. “why haven’t you eaten yet? it’s almost three. quieres enfermarte?”

“well” you start, moving slowly towards his side with him watching you like a hawk, eyeing every move. “i’m actually waiting for you to buy me lunch. there’s a new Asian cuisine in the cafeteria called beef rendang… i think? and boy it smells so good! why don’t we go together? plus you need a fucking break, man. you’ve been at this shit for hours.”

miguel is both surprised and confused. why the sudden invitation? why are you even talking to him? he lightly scoffs at how bold you are but he will never admit how much he likes it,

“why are you suddenly taken an interest in talking to me?”

“what are you talking about?” you ask playing dumb, looping a finger around the belt hole of your flared jeans. “I’ve always been interested.”

his heart skips at that. and he has no idea if you meant it or actually joking.

he says nothing only a hum. you assume that he’s disappointed with your answer because it isn’t specific. so you decide to continue,

leaning your body forward, you’re close enough to invade his personal space as you pretend to whisper a dark secret. “because i like you. like—like you like you. isn’t it obvious?”the answer is simple. pretty straightforward and you guess that he doesn’t get that often because of how he reacts.

he halts. beautiful eyes widen in surprise as he slowly turns to you who wears the opposite expression. a wide smile painted on your glossed lips, legs swinging back and forth—he admits that you look cute doing that—blinking your eyes rapidly in flirty manner.

you’re the only person who can make him weak on his knees. everyone can see that.

“what?”

“what?”

“what you just said.” he points, now his work left abandoned. deciding to focus on you. “did you mean it?”

“every word.”

“are you sure?”

“why is it so hard for you to believe me?” you ask out of curiosity. brows furrowed as your arms crossed,

“nothing it’s just—“he scratches his head, looking down because he’s afraid if he looks into your eyes he’d form into a puddle. “you were never—you never said anything, carińo. i didn’t even think you like me.”

you nod, crossing your legs. “I’m just gonna ignore how you call me that unless you want me to get down on my knees and give you the best fucking head you will ever have.”

for what it’s like a hundredth time, he blushes at your choice of words. God, you have no filter at all.

“how could i say something when all you do is talk serious shit all the time? can’t even joke with you Miguel. people are basically scared of you. hell! even I’m terrified of you.” you confess,

“is that why you never—call me names?”

“what, a dick? or an ass?”

“no!” he exclaims, sounding offended. wondering if that what you must have thought of him back then. “i mean—you never give me a nickname—only with Ben” he mutters, feeling embarrassed of having to admit that out loud,

you scrunch your nose. “puddin? why is that even—ohhh” a sudden realization hit you and that’s where you laugh, throwing your head back and Miguel looks irritated at the fact you’re laughing,

“something funny?”

you nod your head vigorously, still laughing a bit as you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “Jess and Lyla are sooo right. you’re jealous.”

“i’m not!”

“hmm yes you are.” you giggle, seeing how his lips form into a pout and the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled. “that’s cute though. i promise not to tell anyone.”

he huffs, but internally relieved that you’re keeping your mouth shut. he will never hear the end of it by anyone if that one gets out.

“so..” he trails, releasing a small sigh. “you.. like me..?”

once again you nod, “i do.”

“g-good cause uh—i kinda like you too.”

“kinda?” you pretend to get hurt, hand over your heart. “is that all?! I’m quite offended! i poured my heart out to you!”

“ay, bueno listo! a lot! i like you—a lot.” he finally confesses, leg bouncing up and down due to nerves. “i just don’t how to say it or at least—act like it.”

“i can see that. you’re horrible at showing emotions except for anger, Miguel.” you reply, standing from your seat as you extend your hand to him. "but don't worry. i'll show you how to love. now come on."

he quirks an eyebrow, giving you an questioning look. "what are you doing?"

"uhm, getting some food? i'm starved. and you're coming with me. you have to eat something" a smile reaches your lips as he begins to mirror your expression while placing his hand on yours before standing up as well. you like how he towers over you. he’s a freakishly large man

“okay. i’d like that actually, querida.”

you give him a toothy grin. both of your hands are intertwined as the two of you walk towards the exist. you sense Miguel feeling awkward about the hand holding thing so you decide to ease his nerves by rubbing your thumb slightly against his skin.

“oh and also. you shall worry not a single thing about the whole nickname thing. you can choose what you like to be called by me and it’s all yours.”

-

a/n: this turned into a long ass fic im sorry lol

also does this one make sense? i feel like it’s rushed:// nevertheless hope you enjoy!

[i would let this man tear my pu—*phone drops*]

[legitalicat]

Too Sweet - Modern!Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

AN: Hello my beautiful people! I hope you enjoy this story. It started as a little love note to the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier because I feel it's very Aegon coded. It then became kind of an amalgamation of a few different stories. My own story and journey with alcoholism and recovery played a big part in this, and as I wrote it parts of my feelings about my older brother, who is in active addiction, came into play. Please know that this is not everyone's story. Recovery from addiction looks different for most everyone. I truly overcame my addiction through building community and connections. I know many people who have to work a program to succeed. I know a person who actually did get a degree after a near lifetime of addiction and now he does a lot of things to help our local community in treating addiction. So really, this is a love letter to people like me and my brother. There is hope and I believe in every one of you.

Link to the TED Talk mentioned.

TW: blatant talks of alcoholism and substance abuse, talks of rehab, family issues, abusive family subtext yet never explicitly stated, gonna say it's kinda angsty, FLUFF

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

Word count: almost 3k

The soft pads of her feet made barely any noise as she walked into his bedroom, carrying a mug in each hand and wearing nothing but his MCR tee-shirt. Technically, they should both be in a deep sleep by now. It was fast approaching four in the morning and neither of them had bothered to close their eyes once. It was all he could to not hold her close in bed and stare at her captivating beauty.

When Aegon first saw her, weeks ago, he was stunned. It was the first time he had gone to the new bar right down the road from his apartment and it just so happened it was karaoke night. He had been tempted to turn around when he heard a horrendous rendition of his favorite Hozier song. But then she took the mic from her drunken friend, and it was as if the heavens parted and the gods showed him the future Mrs. Aegon Targaryen.

“Your coffee, sir,” she said to him as she handed him a mug. “No worries, it’s as black as your soul,” she added with a teasing grin.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said as he took the mug from her.

She was truly a lesson in divinity for him. Aegon didn’t truly believe she was the most gorgeous woman on the planet. There would be people who would think she was average looks, maybe even less than that, but he didn’t need her to be more beautiful than anyone else. He wanted her exactly as she was. Beautiful like a spring day, teeming with beauty in the most natural of ways. Like one would think of a cherry blossom tree, or their favorite flower. Simple and breathtaking, a reminder of life and truth on a fundamental level.

He knew it the moment they locked eyes in that bar. Her voice shook from nerves as she sang in front of the crowd of strangers. When she looked at him, and he at her, he felt joyful for the first time in years. All of the stupid shit with his family, the years of drowning his sorrows in whiskey and wine and any other drug, none of it mattered.

If he were honest, he couldn’t remember how he got so lucky. He knew he approached her once she was done singing and complimented her. By the end of the night she was nestled beside him in bed, and he’d be damned if he ever let her leave.

“Gods, you’re amazing,” he muttered as he watched her. He knew she was drinking hot chocolate, finding the taste of coffee much too bitter.

“What was that?” she asked him when she pulled the mug away from her face. She had a bit of whipped cream on her upper lip, making his heart feel like it was on the brim of exploding.

He leaned forward, just barely, and lifted his hand to wipe the cream away with his thumb. She gave him a cute little smile when it brushed against her lips, puckering them to press a kiss to his skin. When he pulled his hand away and sucked the cream off, he heard her giggle.

“This is why you’re so sweet. Where most people drink whiskey and coffee, you put sugar in your sugar and drink it until the sun comes up,” he told her. Of course, he was teasing her.

“Because unlike you, Mr. Listen to Sad Music Even When I’m Happy, I like to enjoy things. The good things. The sweet things, like whipped cream and hot chocolate and fruit loops in bed on Saturday mornings. I just think I live a better life than you,” she told him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

If Aegon wasn’t so afraid of rejection, he would tell her how he loved her. He loved that she wanted to eat sweets at all times. He loved that she teased him for listening to My Chemical Romance or Asking Alexandria, calling it all sad music, even when she would listen right alongside him. He loved that she would start crying at the Wonka movie near the end, unashamed about feeling overwhelmed by the backstory.

If he weren’t so afraid she didn’t love him, he would tell her. He knew it had only been a few weeks, that all logic points to love at first sight being nothing more than him just getting turned on by her appearance. But how could he not love her when she sat in bed with him like this after making him a cup of coffee before the sun had even risen? How could one resist the gentleness of her touch when they watched TV together and she insisted on holding his hand? How could he be expected to watch her hyper fixate on a book or a video game, talking about it for hours on end with so much passion she always ended up wound up and breathless?

“You’re too sweet for me,” he told her as he laid back against the head board. He gently pulled her into his side, wanting to have her as close as humanly possible.

His words were met with an amused chuckle. She didn’t fight his hold on her, instead melting into him as though it was where she had always been.

“Tell me about your family,” she said quietly. “I mean, I’ve not been further than ten feet from you for weeks and you haven’t said the first word about them.”

He could feel his jaw clench as she asked him. His family was a complicated and sensitive subject. Even though he wished he never had to speak to her about them, he knew he had to if he had any hopes of them becoming more than just a passion fueled fling.

“Not much to really say. Dad ran Draconic Industries. My older sister, Rhaenyra, is my dad’s daughter with his first wife. He made her next in line to take over the business. Me, my younger siblings, even my mom, we never really mattered much to dear old dad. He died when I was nineteen. I don’t really matter much to any of the rest of them,” he told her, tracing shapes on her bare thigh as he spoke.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said quickly.

“It is,” he told her without any uncertainty. “Helaena, my younger sister, hasn’t spoken to me in a few years either. I haven’t spoke to my youngest brother Daeron since we were kids. And my brother Aemond…he was the last to hold out hope for me and I burned that to the ground a long time ago. I think it’s been at least a year. My mom completely disowned me about four years ago, when I was around twenty-two, cause I refused to go to rehab again.”

She frowned softly but said nothing. He could only imagine what was going through her head at this point. If roles were reversed, he would probably be planning his exit strategy. All it felt like he told her was a sob story about a poor rich kid who can’t live off mommy and daddy anymore. He felt pathetic.

“What did you go to rehab for?” she asked him.

“Started partying when I was like twelve. Alcoholic by age fourteen. Lead to worse shit, as it does, and I overdosed when I was eighteen on some coke. My mom and grandfather checked me into rehab the following week. Have done two more stints since. Never really stuck, and I haven’t been sober for more than a few days since I was like fifteen.”

He was laying in all our there for her. He wanted her to know so she could decide if she thought he was worth the trouble. He couldn’t blame her if she ran away from him. Why would she stick around? All of his family had washed their hands of him and they were family. She was just someone he met in a bar a few weeks before.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Longer than he would’ve liked. The silence weighed on his heart like an elephant pressing against his chest. He wanted to beg her to say something, anything, just so he knew where her head was at.

Though, he noticed, she didn’t move away from him. She stayed right there, comfortable tucked into his side, occasionally sipping her hot chocolate. His own mug, still filled with coffee, had gone near forgotten in his hand. He was too focused on her.

“You know, the opposite of addiction is connection. Watched a TED Talk one time about it. They found when addicts are treated like people instead of criminals, integrating them into society instead of isolating them, they show less of a struggle with addictions. Allow their basic needs to be met, give them a community, and they thrive,” she said softly after several moments.

She sat up, her warmth leaving him. He felt lonely without her touching him even though she was still well within arm’s reach. She was all he wanted, all he needed.

“I’m not saying I can fix you. I’m not saying the cure to all your problems is me giving my heart to you. I am, however, telling you that I haven’t once seen you drunk or high or anything and we basically haven’t been apart in weeks. If you want to develop healthy connections, create a community, be a person, I am more than willing to be part of it,” she said.

His heart started beating rapidly against his chest. He knew she was right. Since being with her, he hadn’t really felt the need for anything. He had physical cravings, sure, but no mental desire. Aegon didn’t want a moment with her to be a hazy memory that he may be able to recall when he's older.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because I love you,” she said.

The weeks and months following that night, Aegon really put in the work. Y/N had made it clear to him that she was not going to just give him everything. If he wanted this, it was on him. She was only helping him.

Together, they had found a group therapy program for him. It was ran by a man who had gotten his psychology degree a few years before, but had struggled with addiction for most of his life. That was the first step, a step Aegon felt proud he had taken once he realized he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The next step, he decided on by himself. The group program was all well and good, but he felt a need to find a deeper explanation into himself. Once a week he found himself sitting in a therapist’s office, talking about everything and nothing all at once. They spoke about his family, his self imposed isolation from them and how that lead to them cutting off, his hopes and dreams for the future.

Through this, he found out about opportunities for volunteer work in the community. He realized he quite liked working at the local secondhand store that helped people in need. He even brought her with him on the Saturdays he worked a shift, turning it into something they enjoyed together.

Even at work, he began reaching out more. If the opposite of addiction was connection, then by the gods he was going to make connections. His coworkers were enough to give him a good laugh. All of them were extremely proud of the progress he made, always encouraging him. He found that little bit alone made it easier for him to be more himself. In the conversations he was able to have with his coworkers, he talked about shows, movies, and music he liked and became friends with a few of them.

It was with this progress, along with the support Y/N provided, that Aegon found himself at the door of his family’s estate. He hadn’t been here in years. He knew all of his younger siblings still lived here. Helaena’s bright yellow VW Beetle sat parked in the driveway, Aemond’s motorcycle probably laid in parts in the garage, and Daeron had always been more content taking a town car than actually driving himself anywhere.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Y/N told him as she held his hand tightly. He had asked her to come with him so she could at least meet them. They needed to see how he had changed.

“I do have to. If for no other reason than to show them I’m not who they remember me to be,” he told her.

“Did you talk to Dr. Wilson about this? I mean, I just, I don’t want you to,” she said, trying desperately to find the right words. He silenced her with a kiss to her forehead.

“And I love you for it,” he said to her, holding her hand as tightly as she held his. “I’m okay with whatever happens in there.”

He knocked hard on the door. It wasn’t long before his mother answered. The ever looming presence of Alicent Hightower, never Targaryen, filled the entire space of the door frame. Her auburn curls were tied neatly back into a bun, her brown eyes widened in surprise.

The woman before him, despite being in her forties, showed no true signs of aging. There were no gray hairs scattered around her head, no fine lines or wrinkles. The only indication of a less than flawless appearance were the almost invisible lines that came from the outer corners of her eyes, put there by the fact that just like Aegon, her eyes would always squint up whenever she smiled.

“Aegon,” she said quietly. She looked at him like she saw a ghost.

“Hi, mom. Can we come in?” he asked her, biting his lip. Y/N gave his hand a small squeeze as if to remind him she was with him. He had her support every step of the way.

Alicent nodded silently and stepped to the side, allowing them entrance. The house was the same as the last time he was here. All of the old family photos hung on the walls of the hallway to the living room. The air smelled of cedar wood and spiced apples, giving it the perpetual scent of fall. It was warm and inviting, the plush couch so comfortable beneath him it was almost indicative of how much money his mother spent on it.

In a lot of ways, the house felt like his family. It was the epitome of warmth and love on first glance. When you looked closer, you could see how some of the picture frames were void of glass, having been broken in one family argument or another. There was a coat the hung on the same rack, day in and day out, hiding the hole where his head went through the wall in a drunken stupor. The paint on the walls were beginning to chip away, revealing the yellowing walls that proved how much his dad had liked to smoke. It was haunted, irreversibly scarred by the past.

A maid came around and asked the three of them if they wanted a drink. Alicent requested a glass of wine. Aegon noticed how surprised she looked when he just asked for a soda, like Y/N was having. He also noticed how she kept looking at his hand that held Y/N’s.

“And who is this?” She asked, nodding her head to Y/N.

“This is the woman I’m going to marry, Y/N,” he said confidently.

They hadn’t spoken about it, there wasn’t a ring on her finger. But he had no doubt in his mind that he would marry her. He was certain that she was who he was made for. The gods had her in mind when they designed him, knowing how much he would love her. She truly was his soulmate.

“And so you came to show her how terrible we all are?” she asked him, eyebrow raised. “Or did you come for money? Because you’re not getting a dime.”

“Neither,” he said firmly. “I just wanted you to see me, mom. I wanted to see you.”

She was surprised at his words. The last time he had spoken to her, he had been begging for money. Crying, begging. When she refused, trying to help him in the best way she knew how, he screamed at her about all of her faults. The last words he spoke to her was how he could only hope that he had the courage to kill himself before he turned into her.

“I’m sorry for…for everything,” he told her. “It wasn’t fair of me to blame everything on you.” Y/N squeezed his hand again. He looked down at their hands and he knew he was okay. He would be okay. “I’m like, eight months sober from everything. Not a drop of booze, no drugs. I have a full time job, I volunteer on the weekends at a secondhand store. I’m doing good, mom.”

Tears flooded to her eyes as she looked at him. Her oldest son, the first person she ever truly loved in a selfless manner. She had thought he was completely lost to her. The vicious creature he had been when they last saw each other had melted away entirely.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked him. He could only wordlessly nod, allowing her the time to stand from her chair and walk over to him. She hugged him tighter than she ever had.

He looked over Alicent’s shoulder at Y/N. The woman he loved was watching him with tears of her own, a smile on his face. She was good, too good, for him. She had opened his eyes to a reality he had been scared to face. But she had never once made him face it alone.

And that made all the difference.