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rafemotherfuckingcameron · 9 months ago

Note

This might be too much for you but can I request step dad x reader where you mom has fertility issues and readers mom wants Rafe to breed you 🙏

UNNATURAL

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing(s): step!dad Rafe x Reader, reader!mom x reader

Warnings: SMUT, breeding, pregnancy talk

Summary: Your mum asks Rafe to breed you

Masterlist

Sitting on the edge of your bed, the weight of your mother's request heavy on your shoulders, you feel torn between conflicting emotions. On one hand, you can't bear the thought of disappointing the woman who's been there for you through thick and thin, the one person who's always had your back for the past 21 years. But on the other hand, the gravity of what she's asking you to do is almost too much to comprehend.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. This decision isn't one to be taken lightly—it's a choice that will shape the course of your future in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

With a heavy sigh, you close your eyes and try to focus on the facts. Surrogacy is a deeply personal and complex process, one that involves not just your physical well-being, but your emotional and psychological health as well. And to do it for your own mother, with Rafe as the father... it's a scenario straight out of a nightmare.

But as you weigh the pros and cons, you can't shake the feeling that there's more at stake here than just your own future. Your mother's longing for another child of her own is palpable, a desperate plea for fulfilment that tugs at your heartstrings. The weight of your mother's struggle with fertility weighs heavily on your heart as you grapple with the decision before you.

You've seen firsthand the toll it's taken on her—the countless doctor's appointments, the disappointment with each failed attempt, the longing in her eyes every time she sees a young child.

For years, she's been trying to conceive another baby, hoping to fill the void. But despite her unwavering determination and countless efforts, the reality of her fertility issues has remained a bitter pill to swallow.

===

With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, you come to a decision: you'll say yes to your mother's request. Despite the unease and uncertainty swirling within you, you can't bear the thought of letting her down, of denying her the chance to have another child.

“Mum, I have thought long and hard about this and I have to a decision. I’ll do it.” As you utter the words, a weight lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a strange mix of relief and apprehension.

You know that this decision will change your life in ways you can't even begin to imagine, but for now, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Your mother's face lights up with joy and gratitude as you confirm your agreement, her eyes shining with unshed tears. In that moment, you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the doubt and hesitation you harboured just moments before. After all, this is what she's been dreaming of for years—the chance to expand her family and experience the joy of motherhood once more.

Your mother's excitement is palpable, her joy contagious as she envelops you in a tight embrace. "OMG honey, I'm so happy," she squeals, her voice filled with unbridled enthusiasm. "I can't wait to tell Rafe."

You offer her a weak smile, trying to match her enthusiasm despite the knot of unease that's settled in the pit of your stomach. "I'm happy too, Mom," you murmur, though the words ring hollow in your own ears.

As she pulls away, your mother's eyes sparkle with anticipation. "I want to get started straight away," she declares, already reaching for her phone. "I'll text Rafe and tell him we're on for tonight."

Your heart lurches at the mention of tonight, your mind reeling with confusion. "Wait, what? Tonight?" you echo, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them. "Isn't the doctor's office closed?"

Your mother pauses, a puzzled expression flickering across her features. "Y/n, we're not going to the doctor's," she explains gently, as if speaking to a child. "We're doing it naturally, for the best results. I thought you knew that."

A chill runs down your spine at her words, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

You hadn't realised that her plan involved bypassing medical professionals altogether, relying instead on... what? Luck? Chance? The whims of fate?

The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, the gravity of your decision becomes all too real. You're about to embark on a journey that could change your life forever, all in the name of fulfilling your mother's dreams.

“Mum, I’ve never you know” you say trying to make her understand without actually saying it. “What honey?“ she asks generally confused. “You know……..had sex before!” Your cheeks blush with embarrassment.

“Oh, honey thats okay. I’ll make sure Rafe takes good care of you.” She says placing her hand on your knee to assure you. You nod, still a bit hesitant. But still willing to do this for your mother, no matter uncomfortable this situation is going to get.

“Great, and don’t worry, you don’t have to any of that threeplay most people do” she smiles, “ewww mum, and btw its foreplay.” You say trying to hid you smirk.

===

That night your mum ushers you towards the bathroom, her voice soft and reassuring. "Go on, honey. Take a nice warm bath and relax. Rafe will be here soon, and I want you to be feeling your best when he arrives."

As you sink into the soothing embrace of the hot water, the cares of the world seem to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility. As you soak in the tub, lost in your thoughts and the gentle rhythm of the water, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building in your chest.

Just as your about to unplug the bath, you hear someone open the bathroom door. “Hey Y/n, it’s just Rafe. Your mum left for a few hours, to give us some time, so you didn’t feel like you were being waited on.”

Startled by the sudden intrusion, you sit up in the bathtub, water sloshing around you as you turn to see Rafe standing in the doorway. "Hey, Rafe," you greet him, your voice filled with genuine affection. "Thanks for letting me know."

As he steps further into the room, you can't help but feel butterflies in your chest. Rafe walks forward and sits across from you. Breaking the silence, Rafe reaches out to take your hand in his, his touch gentle yet firm.

The connection sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, igniting a fire within that threatens to consume you both. “Your mum mentioned that this is your first time and I wanted to let you know, I’m going to take really good care you.”

Just as your about to speak, his hand slides down your thigh, gently pushing your legs open. Your breath hitches as his fingers find you clit, rubbing tiny circles in it. You legs fall to the sides of the bathtub, letting him move his hand and rest it on you. Soft moans escape your lips as you feel a knot forming in your stomach, a band ready to snap.

Rafe fastens his pace and rubs harder into my bud, something snaps inside me and I feel a gush of liquid spill out of me. He removes his hand and grabs the towel from the wall handing it to me. “Wrap it around you and go and wait on the bed for me, I’m just going to have a quick shower.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the soft creak of the door opening, and my heart skipped a beat. Slowly, Rafe stepped into the room, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he moved forwards, grabbing your arms gently and helping you rise to your feet. He leaned in and started peppering kisses down your neck and collarbone, he undid your towel and let it drop to the floor. Standing their absolutely nude felt weird and uncharted as this was the man that you mum loves.

He twisted you around and pulled you flush against his chest, you felt the bulge behind your butt. His hands roamed your body, one of his hands grabbing at your left boob, squeezing and massaging the hard bud. His other hand reached down and massaged your clit again, although this time you were wetter.

“So wet for daddy huh!” he whispered. Rubbing faster and faster, my breath hitched and loud moans escaped my lips, “Get on the bed………on your hands and knees” He said in an dominant voice, regathering yourself, you pulled your legs into position.

He dropped his towel and his huge cock sprung up spilling pre cum on his chest. Wiping it off his abs with his fingers he placed the cum on your entrance. The feeling of his fingers spreading around your hole was a something you never thought would feel so good.

Stroking himself faster, you felt a harsh smack on you ass, making you flinch, the sting on the red hand print made you even wetter, so you pushed yourself back against his cock.

“You like being spanked by daddy, don’t you?” Rafe said giving you another slap. “Answer me” He yelled, grabbing my hair and tugging on it,

“Yes”

“Yes what?”

“Yes daddy”

Letting go of your hair he laid beside you “Your mum said no foreplay, but seeing you here now, I just can’t help myself” he explained, running his hand over your lower back.

“Hop on top, and face my cock. I want you to suck on it.” He said smirking, you remembered what your mum said about their not being any foreplay, so you were hesitant about doing it.

“Hurry up, or I’ll fuck you hard” He commanded. Jumping onto his chest, he pushed your head down on to his cock, you took him in your mouth only half fitting due to how big we was, you used your hand to compensate your mouth for the rest of him.

Bobbing your head up and down at a fast pace made you wetter by the minute. Suddenly you felt his tongue licking all around your entrance and his nose rubbing against your clit, the sensation made you go faster and grind down on his face.

Feeling his cock start to grow bigger, you felt the band ready to snap inside you. And just like that you squirted all over his tongue and you felt his hot cum ropes down your throat.

Out of breath you fell to the side, wiping your mouth you looked at Rafe as he hovered over you, grabbing his length his pushed in, you dug your nails into his bicep at the stretch, you breath stopping a second to adjust to him. “Relax” he said pushing himself in deeper, rubbing at your clit, you relaxed more and was able to push all the way in. The stretch was insane, it was mix of pain and pleasure, more so pleasure when he started to rock his hips.

Feeling his length pull out than back in sent your eyes rolling back, he quickened his pace, lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder, all while still pounding into your dripping cunt.

You were taking him so well and squeezing around him, your body telling him that you were close, was enough to give him the adrenaline boost he needed, picking up speed as he fucked you deeper into the mattress.

“fuck-” you breathed out. “Daddy, i’m-”

“you wanna cum?” he asked, his fingers now digging into the soft skin on your hips as he held himself up.

“mhm..” you moaned out.

“come on then. be a good girl and ask daddy.” his eyes met yours, almost causing you to come undone immediately. His eyes were now black and a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, his hair to his forehead.

“Daddy, please!”

“yeah, come on, sweetheart. Make a mess all over my dick like the slut you are.”

And make a mess you did. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling as you screwed your eyes shut.

“Look at me while you’re cumming so you know it’s your daddy who’s making you feel this good. Me, my dick, that’s ruining this tight pussy.”

You opened your eyes and held eye contact with rafe as he fucked you out of your high and into his. He let out a string of breathy “fuck”s and “Y/n”s as he released thick ropes of cum into you. Once rafe finally rode out his orgasm, he pulled out of you and flopped onto the bed beside you.

Catching your breath, you laid still until Rafe left the bed and walked into the bathroom, he came back into the room with a washcloth “I’ve never seen anyone squirt as many times as you’ve had. Not even your mother can. Just between me and you, I prefer you over your mother” laughing at his own statement. You made an awkward smile, while he wiped you down.

1 Week Later

“Mum I’m Pregnant” "Oh, Y/n,” your mum exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion. "I can't believe it! You're going to be our surrogate! This is the most incredible gift anyone could ever give us."

Her words washed over you like a wave of warmth, enveloping you in a cocoon of love and gratitude. With tears of happiness streaming down your cheeks, you wrapped your arms around your mom, holding her tightly. "I love you so much, Mom," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I'm so grateful to be able to do this for you."

"Can't wait to fuck the mother of my child again" Rafe whispers, hugging me from behind.

Part 2

🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆🍒💝🤰🏽🍆

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe mf cameron #rafe x reader #obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #pregnant!reader x rafe cameron #rafe smut

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whorediaries-09 · 9 months ago

Text

sweater weather;

pairing- roommate!sirius black x reader warning(s)- fluff, some silly banter, tad bit suggestive. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- aghhh just a brain rot 😞🤍. also this whole series is so self indulgent 🤭

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

he doesn’t like cats.

much to his dismay, you’re bending down and cooing at the little kitten that curls up against your ankle. it has got soft blue eyes which reflect innocence. you run your fingers through its black fur, picking the small animal up. he likes the soft smile on your face. it fills his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling he can’t explain. neither can he explain why his heart skips a few beats when he notices the twinkling in your eyes. it almost makes him drown into a frenzy of warmth.

‘can we keep her?’ you ask. there’s something in your voice that sends sparks of electricity down his spine. it’s as if he’s known you his whole life. he doesn’t want to say no, but he can’t help it. he digs the edge of his boot on the loose gravel of the path. twirling around the loops grocery packet between his fingers, he whispers, scared to let the joy in your eyes leave.

‘no,’ he tries to predict your reaction, but fails to. surely the joy in your eyes melts, but the hope doesn’t. from what he knows about you, he knows you’re a stubborn person who stands their ground. you always get your way around in some way or the other. but you’re also a people pleaser. you hate it when you’ve to truly go against somebody’s wishes to do something you want.

so, he watches as you wrap the little kitten between the folds flannel you’re wearing. there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a small smirk between the curve of your smile. it’s the same one you wear when you read something mildly suggestive in your books.

‘please, sirius,’ you drawl. the kitten mewls from the folds of the fabric, her eyes glinting the same mischief as yours do. he feels his breath palpitate when you move closer, putting the face of the kitten closer to his.

‘look she wants to come with us too, that’s why she’s mewing,’ you justify. he gulps slowly, his barrier of rigidity slowly breaking. he feels his thoughts melt when he stares at your lips. even though he’s never touched them before, he suddenly thinks he knows them. he feels he can carve every shape, every curve of your body with his eyes closed.

‘okay,’ he gulps. you squeal, a quiet sound from your lips.

he thinks it’s melody to his ears.

‘sirius!’ you shout across the room. your kitten, binx, is curled across your chest, purring away silently as you rub your fingers through her fur. you’re laying down, your feet thrown across the sofa, letting the nail paint on your toes dry. the mild winter allows a soft sunbeam to peek through the windows.

‘what?’ he asks, coming out of his door. he has nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist. several tattoos are inked upon his porcelain skin with happy trail on his abdomen which traces down, leaving less to imagination. his hair is wet and droplets of water trace down his defined pectorals. while you’d been living with him for nearly 8 months now, you’d definitely never seen him shirtless. it makes your chest fill with a strange warmth. it makes your brain short circuit for a moment when he smiles, walking towards you.

‘like what you see?’ he teases, wiggling his eyebrow. you gulp slowly, before you regain your composure.

‘i can’t hear you over the loud music,’ you say, getting up. binx falls on your lap, and she scratches your arms with her nails.

‘hey hey, calm down little woman!’ sirius says, noticing her scratching you. he takes her into her arms, her little paws trying to scratch at a surface.

‘don’t do that to your mum,’ he says, looking into her eyes. she stops fidgeting for a bit, before she mews loudly throwing her paws on his chest and leaving a long scratch across it. it digs deep into his skin, letting out blood.

‘binx! you naughty menace!’ you scold as she scurries off, jumping from sirius’ hold.

‘asshole,’ he murmurs, grasping his wound.

‘i’ll patch it up for you,’ you say.

‘do you trust me?’ you ask, holding the cotton soaked with the antiseptic with a pair of tweezers. you’re standing in between his thighs. he’s wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, being overly dramatic for the scratch on his chest. while you think it’s adorable, you’re sure it’s just for the shits and giggles.

‘i do, but i feel like I shouldn’t?’ he answers, grinning mischievously. he likes your form between his legs he thinks. it makes him go feral, you looking down at him while you fix his wounds. it makes his imagination go wild. the idea of you touching him while he’s half naked thrills something inside his stomach.

you slap him across his shoulder. it’s a soft playful blow and he laughs. his hands suddenly grip your waist, as he pulls you closer, almost mushing his face with your breasts. he watches the breath get stuck on your throat, as you wet your lip, tongue slowly darting out over your lower lips. you’re unconsciously leaning over his face, soaking the cotton ball into his blood.

he sneers as a soft burning pain grows, and his fingers dig deeper into your waist. you unconsciously arch your hips towards him, your hands falling on shoulder. the tension grows, and the heartbeats palpitate between the both of you. there’s a look of dreaminess in your eyes he’s never seen before. he thinks it makes him weak in the knees. you trail your fingernail on a tattoo, before rubbing the antiseptic on his wound.

your breaths are ragged when you finally close his wound with a patch. your job was done, you’d move away. you should move away. but his touch burns into your soul, but it isn’t enough. it feels familiar on your skin, yet so unfamiliar. you lean closer unconsciously as if from muscle memory. you cradle his face, your noses rubbing-

a loud noise of shattering glass distracts you. you pull apart, a flustered look on your face. heat occupies your skin as you crumble into a shell of embarrassment. he lets go of your waist, and you stutter,

‘binx- the little fucking minx-‘you say, before you run off.

you’re carrying a cup of coffee in your hand, running late for your job. a piece of toast hangs from your lips, and you’re running around the house, trying to find your tie.

‘you can wear mineeeee,’ sirius drawls, closing the battered copy of ‘the picture of dorian gray’.

‘i could if you gave it to me!’ you shout, swallowing the last piece of the butter smothered bread.

‘you’ve a nice swallow game, i see,’ he muses. you groan, gulping down the last bit of your bitter coffee.

‘that’s a really bad one!’ you say, tucking your shirt into your trousers. screaming internally, you realize you can’t find your belt either. sirius enters his room, seemingly searching for his tie.

‘can you give me a belt too?’ you ask, hurrying off behind him. binx runs in front of your feet, and in an attempt to not fall on her, you fall on the floor with a thump, followed by sirius who trips on you.

his locks tickle your face, his grey eyes staring into yours with an intensity which reminds you a memory you never had. it’s a minor flash, something of a haze like dream, but you remember it so clearly. your breathing rages, hotness searing through you as his scent and warmth looms over you. there’s a glint in his eyes you can’t decipher, but your memory has it engrained. as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

‘i like it when you’re under me,’ he whispers. it’s a low rasp, one you’ve never heard before, yet it ignites something in you.

something that excites you.

he’s fleeing when he receives your call. your voice was a timid whisper when you’d called him, laced with fear. he hated it, he hated how it sounded. but when he arrives at the bar, he finds you completely safe, surrounded by your friends. you’re chatting happily, your skin flushed with the alcohol that renders through your body. he’s perplexed, till one of your friends spot him. she bats her eyelashes at you, whistling as he walks towards you.

‘what happened?’ he asks. he holds your fingers, gripping them tight. he’s trying to read through your emotions. he’s trying to read you through the happy smile and shining eyes. but he’s too distracted by how happy you look.

‘it wasz a prankh!’ you cheer happily, your drunk state rendering your words.

‘seriously?’ he asks, rolling his eyes. he’s smiling, he can’t help it. you laugh,

‘yess!’ you try to stand up, but trip on your heels instead. he holds you closer, letting you support your weight on him.

‘you’ve had too much to drink,’ he scolds. you gaze at him happily, your hormones getting the best of you.

‘i know!’ you exclaim, feeling the collywobbles consume you as his scent tantalizes into your senses.

‘don’t you think we should leave?’ he asks.

‘should we?’

‘yes,’ he says, pulling you closer. his fingers dig into your skin, feeling your touch. it calms his nerves. still, he needs to hold you closer, to feel you, to know you’re safe.

‘okay i’ll go. will you take me home?’ you ask, an innocence provoked in your voice. he feels himself melt, scarring him and his memories.

‘i’ll do. i’ll always take you home.’

the stars are shining bright on the dark sky. you’ve his leather jacket wrapped around your form, as he holds you close. you reek of alcohol, but he doesn’t mind it. it’s infused distinctly with your perfume, and he finds his comfort in it.

‘hi,’ you say, wrapping your arm across his waist, pulling him closer. he presses a kiss on your hair, breathing you in. it’s perplexing, the burning emotions you let flee in his chest. the warmth he feels with your presence.

‘hi,’ he whispers back. there’s a glazed look in your eyes. he knows it. he remembers it. it reflects him, and he feels as if there’s no one in the world but you and him. his heart beats raggedly, and he’s afraid it’ll pop out of his chest, when you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, snuggling against him. your heels click against the loose gravel of the path. it’s a moment of softness he wants to cherish forever.

‘but you’re hurting me…so much. i wish i could kiss you. i wish i could hold you like this forever. i wish i could keep you close with me, just for me,’ you ramble.

‘then why don’t you?’ he asks, his fingers cradling your jaw.

‘you’ll kiss me?’ he looks down at you, his eyes scanning your features. the cold air waves over your hair, and he holds your face between his hands. his fingers ghost over your lips. you lean into his hand, as he presses a soft peck on your chin.

‘i’ll do, when you’re sober,’ he promises.

*********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged please reply under this post!)

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders era #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #fanfiction #james & peter & remus & sirius

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movingmusically · 2 days ago

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Caught Feeling - Epilogue

Synopsis:

Y/N and Hank find themselves celebrating Christmas in San Francisco, welcomed into his family’s holiday traditions. As Y/N experiences the warmth of Hank’s childhood home, it’s clear how much their bond has grown. Together, they find comfort in the idea of a future—one that feels like home, no matter where they are.

Author’s Note:

This was meant to be a short chapter with a small time skip to finish the story, but it’s ended up being the longest of all. I’m sure I could have edited it down a bit more but I got carried away.

Thank you so much for reading Caught Feeling! It’s the first time I’ve tried writing anything, and I’ve loved every moment of creating these characters and sharing their journey. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Word Count: 10,074

Masterlist

The flight from New York had been long but filled with a quiet excitement that buzzed between us. As we touched down in San Francisco, I felt a thrill of anticipation mingled with a hint of nerves. Hank stayed close, his fingers laced with mine, grounding me with each reassuring squeeze. The crisp air of the city greeted us as we stepped out of the airport, the warmth of California in December an unfamiliar contrast to the biting chill I was used to back in New York.

We collected our bags and made our way to the hire car I’d arranged in advance. I slid behind the wheel, adjusting to the slight strangeness of being in control after so long, and Hank settled in beside me, a relaxed smile playing on his lips as he reached over to rest a comforting hand on my knee. It was my turn to be the steady one, to navigate this last leg of the journey as he leaned back, gazing out at the passing scenery with a look that was equal parts nostalgic and contemplative.

The streets wound up gently toward his parents’ neighbourhood, a mix of towering palms and cheerful holiday decorations adorning the houses we passed. I couldn’t help but marvel at the unfamiliar sight of Christmas lights twinkling against green lawns, rather than snow-covered streets. It felt surreal—this warmth, this different version of December. Part of me missed the chill of New York, the way it made everything feel more festive, but there was a charm to this as well, a reminder that Christmas could feel like home in more than one way.

Finally, as we approached his parents’ house, my nerves prickled again. Hank must have sensed it, because he reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’re going to love you,” he murmured, his voice filled with that calm assurance I’d come to trust.

Before we even had a chance to knock, the door swung open, and there was his mum, her face lighting up with pure joy at the sight of us. She stepped forward, arms wide open, and pulled Hank into a warm hug before turning to me, her expression radiating a welcome that eased the last of my nerves.

“And you must be Y/N!” she said, her voice full of warmth. She pulled me into a hug that felt instantly comforting, like I was already part of this family.

As she stepped back, Hank’s dad appeared behind her, his smile steady and welcoming. He shook my hand firmly, then clapped Hank on the back with a look of approval that seemed to speak volumes. “Welcome to our home,” he said, his tone genuine and kind.

Inside, the air was filled with the scent of fresh pine and cinnamon, the rooms cozy and inviting with festive touches everywhere—garlands winding up the banister, stockings hanging by the fireplace, and a scattering of old family photos that gave me a glimpse of Hank as a kid. Seeing him in those snapshots—grinning with a gap-toothed smile, his hair bleached from the summer sun—made me feel like I was peeking into a world I’d only heard about before now.

As we stepped further into the house, Hank’s mum moved about with an eager, warm energy, pointing out little mementos and details that made this house a true home. “See this?” she said, pausing by a shelf that displayed a neat row of snow globes. “Henry used to collect these when he was little. Every family trip, we had to find a new one. I think he even tried to convince us once that a trip to the grocery store counted, just so he could get another one.”

Hank let out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was ten, Ma”

She waved a hand, undeterred. “You were persistent! And then there’s this…” She pointed to a photo on the wall of a much younger Hank, arms stretched wide, grinning from ear to ear with a front tooth missing, standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. His dad stood behind him, hands resting on Hank’s shoulders with an expression of fatherly pride, and his mum, laughing beside them, had her arm wrapped around both.

“Look at that smile,” I teased, nudging him gently. “Future heartbreaker right there.”

Hank rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a smile. “I’m sure the missing tooth really did it for the girls.”

His mum chuckled, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, don’t let him fool you. He had the girls at school bringing him cookies every week. Thought I wouldn’t notice how fast he went through his lunch money.”

“Ma…” Hank muttered, his cheeks flushing faintly. He glanced at me, clearly torn between embarrassment and amusement.

“Oh, he’d get so flustered when they’d show up at the door with little love notes!” she continued, her eyes bright with nostalgia. “One Valentine’s Day, I remember finding a whole pile of them stuffed into his backpack.”

His dad chuckled from behind us, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “And he claimed they were ‘extra homework,’ if you can believe it.”

Hank laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe they were revealing all this. “Can we maybe not expose every embarrassing thing I did before age sixteen?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Henry,” his mum said with a wink, “I’m saving the truly good ones for later.”

After we’d settled in and had a delicious dinner filled with laughter and more tales of Hank’s misadventures, his mum brought out a large, well-loved box marked “Christmas” in faded handwriting. “How about a bit of tree decorating?” she suggested, smiling as she handed us each an ornament to start.

I took the small, glittery reindeer she’d handed me, noting its slightly lopsided antler. “Did you make this one?” I asked Hank, holding it up to him with a grin.

He nodded, groaning with an exaggerated sigh. “Fourth Grade art class. I thought glitter was the answer to everything.”

“Well, it’s adorable,” I said, carefully placing it on a branch near the front.

As we continued to unwrap each ornament, his mum handed me a small baseball bat ornament with Hank’s name painted in neat, blocky letters. “This one’s from the first season he played in the local league,” she explained. “We were so proud of him, running the bases with such determination… until he tripped and ended up with a black eye,” she added, laughing.

Hank covered his face with one hand, trying not to laugh. “Why do you remember every single one of my injuries?”

“Because, love,” his mum replied, brushing a hand over his shoulder, “I was the one with the ice packs, the Band-Aids, and the endless worrying. And besides,” she added, glancing at me with a conspiratorial smile, “I knew someday these stories would come in handy.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling warmth settle over me as I looked between them. This was Hank’s history, his foundation, and being here, hearing these stories, felt like getting to know him all over again. It was a privilege, one that I held with a quiet reverence.

As we hung the last few ornaments, Hank’s mum handed me a small, carefully wrapped package. “I have something for you, too,” she said, her voice soft.

I unwrapped it slowly, finding a hand-carved wooden heart painted with delicate floral designs. My breath caught, and I looked up, my eyes meeting hers.

“This is beautiful,” I murmured, touched beyond words.

She smiled, resting her hand on my arm. “Every year, we add a new ornament that represents someone important to us. This year, we thought it was time we added you.”

The gesture rendered me momentarily speechless, a rush of emotion welling up in my chest. I turned to Hank, who was watching with that familiar warmth in his eyes, a look that held both pride and affection.

“Thank you,” I whispered, unable to keep the emotion from my voice. I found a spot on the tree for the heart, carefully hanging it on a branch where it could catch the light. I felt Hank’s hand on my back, steadying me, and I glanced over, catching his gaze.

“Looks perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft.

As we finished decorating, Hank’s dad turned on the Christmas lights, casting a soft glow that made the ornaments sparkle, each one reflecting the memories they held. We all stood back, admiring the tree, and I felt Hank’s arm slip around my waist, pulling me close.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” his mum said warmly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her words settled over me like a blanket, wrapping me in warmth, and in that moment, I felt something profound—a sense of belonging that I hadn’t quite realised I was searching for.

And as we all stood there, the soft hum of a Christmas song filling the room, I looked up at Hank, my heart full. This was his family, his life, and now, I was part of it too.

After a cosy evening with Hank’s family, we nestled together on the sofa in the living room, the soft glow of the fireplace and the twinkling Christmas tree lights creating a warm, quiet space. Hank rested his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my shoulder as I pulled out my phone to video call my family, the anticipation of seeing their familiar faces making my heart flutter. Hank tightened his arm around me, giving me a reassuring squeeze as I hit the call button.

It didn’t take long for the screen to fill with everyone’s faces—Mum front and centre, Dean and Viki leaning in on one side, Barry on the other, and Shaun and Meg squeezing into the frame from the back, each one of them grinning widely. Just seeing them all together brought a flood of warmth, a piece of home I hadn’t realised I’d missed so much.

“Hey! There they are!” Mum said, her voice full of holiday cheer. “Merry Christmas, you two!”

“Merry Christmas!” we chorused back.

Viki waved, giving us a warm smile. “You two look very cosy over there. Not missing the chaos, are you, Y/N?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Oh, I don’t know… I heard there’s a serious Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit gap without me there to answer all the obscure questions.”

Shaun groaned dramatically, giving me a mock glare. “You’ve abandoned us, Y/N! You know we’re struggling without you.”

Mum raised her hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I don’t make the rules! I’m just saying, it’s been a struggle without our trivia queen here… Hank, you’d better be prepared next year. We could use another brain in the game!”

Meg snickered, chiming in, “Yeah, Nan’s barely keeping up. We need all the help we can get!”

Hank chuckled, glancing at me with a glint in his eye. “I’ll be ready, I promise. Y/N’s been preparing me with her endless Tolkien trivia.”

Dean raised his glass, grinning. “You’d better be prepared for more than just trivia, Hank. We’ve got a monopoly champion to defend and Articulate to play. Y/N’s been our reigning champ, but she’s already warned us you might give her a run for her money.”

I shot Hank a teasing look, nudging him gently. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game.”

Viki chimed in with a laugh. “And make sure you’re ready for Mum’s endless spread of food. She’s been feeding us as if we’re preparing for a winter famine.”

Barry leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “Just make sure to bring an appetite, Hank. Mum’s Christmas dinners aren’t for the faint-hearted.”

Meg nudged Barry with a grin. “And don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re on our team for Cards Against Humanity.”

The laughter that filled the room was infectious, Hank fitting so seamlessly into the banter that it felt like he’d been part of this tradition all along. The camera panned around to show the spread of food on the table, so much that it could easily feed twice their number. I shook my head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness welling up inside me.

Hank smiled down at me, his arm tightening slightly as he murmured, “You’ve got a pretty incredible family, you know that?”

I nodded, my heart swelling. “I do. And now they’re stuck with you too.”

Barry leaned closer to the screen, giving Hank a mock-serious look. “Just remember, Hank, if you mess with her, you’re dealing with all of us.”

“Oh, stop it, Barry,” Viki laughed, swatting him playfully. “We’re just glad Y/N’s got someone who makes her smile like that.”

As we wrapped up the call, Dean raised his glass one last time, grinning. “Merry Christmas, guys. See you soon—hope you’re ready for next year!”

We ended the call, and I nestled closer to Hank, feeling a beautiful mix of warmth and contentment as my two worlds had, for the first time, truly intertwined.

As the night drew to a close, and the house settled into a comfortable silence, Hank and I made our way to the guest room, which I quickly realised had once been his bedroom. Though redecorated, I could still feel the lingering essence of his teenage years—a mix of nostalgia and a faint trace of rebellion that seemed to cling to the walls. It wasn’t hard to imagine younger Hank here, the boy with the gap-toothed grin and a heart full of dreams.

“So,” I began with a grin, glancing around at the now-muted colours and neatly arranged furniture. “This is where you had all those boy band posters, right? Somehow, I can just picture it… you, listening to their music, practising your moves in the mirror.”

Hank let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Listen, everyone had a boy band phase. And I’ll have you know I nailed those moves.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I replied, smirking as I pictured a young Hank, probably with a slightly awkward haircut and way too much enthusiasm, doing his best boy band impression. I took in the room around us, letting my mind wander through a version of him I’d never known. A thought nudged at me, and I gave him a sidelong glance, trying to hold back a playful smile.

“You know,” I said slowly, leaning against the desk, “you already told me you’d have noticed me back then… so tell me, how would you have gotten me in here?”

Hank raised an eyebrow, folding his arms with a casual confidence that was slightly undone by the amused glint in his eyes. “Well,” he said slowly, leaning against the door frame, “I’d probably come up with some excuse. Like needing help with a biology assignment or something. Just enough to get you to come over, but not too obvious.”

“Ah,” I replied, nodding as if considering the scenario. “And I’d be the quiet girl who was half-convinced you didn’t even know I existed. So when you asked me to help, I’d probably agree and then spend the entire time overthinking every single thing.”

He laughed softly, stepping a bit closer. “And maybe I’d be sitting there, acting like I didn’t notice how nervous you were. Trying to think of something smooth to say but ending up just staring at my textbook.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you hanging with your grades,” I replied, shooting him a coy smile as I made my way over to the bed, sitting down cross-legged and mimicking the studious expression of someone who took their biology assignments very seriously. “Let’s see… we should probably start with DNA replication, right?”

A glint of amusement crossed his face as he took in what I was doing, his eyes narrowing slightly in a mix of challenge and delight. Hank wandered over, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside me, his posture just shy enough to fit the role but with an undercurrent of something else—like a hidden anticipation.

“Right… DNA replication,” he murmured, glancing down as if he really was trying to piece together the assignment. “To be honest, I’d probably be way too distracted to actually learn anything.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here to help you focus,” I replied, keeping my tone lightly teasing as I pretended to flip through an imaginary textbook, keeping one eye on him as he settled into the character, playing the slightly shy, endearing athlete who’d asked for help but was really hoping for more than just study notes.

We exchanged a glance, both of us holding back smiles as we leaned into the roles. There was a charged undercurrent in the air, a shared understanding that we were toeing the line between the playful and the thrilling, caught up in this little fantasy we were building together. And as he settled beside me, our knees just barely brushing, it felt like we’d created our own private world—one where anticipation simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to unfold.

I watched Hank’s face as I tried to explain the basics of DNA replication, and it was clear he was already lost. His brow furrowed, and he had this slightly blank look, like he was genuinely trying but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I stifled a laugh, realising that my usual approach wasn’t going to cut it.

“Alright, let’s try something different,” I said, scooting a bit closer on the bed. “Think of it like… baseball.”

He perked up, interest sparking in his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Okay,” I began, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “Imagine DNA as the team’s playbook. It holds all the instructions the cell needs to function, just like a playbook has all the strategies for a game.”

He nodded, still looking at me a bit skeptically but clearly trying to follow along.

“So, DNA replication is kind of like making extra copies of the playbook,” I continued. “You’d need multiple copies so every player on the team is on the same page. In a cell, each new cell needs its own full set of DNA instructions to work properly.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Okay, I think I get that part.”

Encouraged, I went on. “Now, think of DNA polymerase as the pitcher. Its job is to add new bases to create the second strand, like a pitcher throwing to different players on the field.”

I could see him focusing harder, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he tried to keep up. “Alright…”

“And the runner is like the replicated strand,” I explained, warming up to the analogy. “When the runner starts, they’re the original strand, but they’re guiding the new strand to ‘bases’ until the replication is complete. It keeps the game moving, ensuring that the DNA copy is accurate and ready for the next ‘game’—or, in this case, the next cell division.”

Hank gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “So… it’s like… every base has its playbook, and everyone’s following along to keep the game from falling apart?”

“Exactly!” I said, unable to hide my excitement at his breakthrough. “And any mistakes in DNA replication are like fouls in the game—if something goes wrong, it messes up the whole play.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I think I get it. Sort of. But only because you somehow made it about baseball.” He leaned in, his expression softening, and I could feel the playful energy between us shifting slightly. “You’re actually really good at this, you know?”

“Well, I’ve had some practice,” I replied, trying to play it cool. But something about the way he was looking at me, that warm, appreciative gaze, made my pulse quicken.

We held each other’s eyes for a moment, and I felt a blush creeping up my neck. He was still sitting close, our knees brushing, and for a split second, I was fully lost in the moment, imagining what it would have been like if we’d really been teenagers, sitting here, caught up in this kind of nervous, thrilling closeness.

Clearing my throat, I tried to steer us back into character, flipping an imaginary page in my pretend textbook. “So, um… now that you understand DNA replication, I guess we should… review it again? Just to be thorough, of course.”

Hank caught onto my tone instantly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned closer. “Of course,” he murmured, his voice low, matching my playfully serious tone. “Wouldn’t want to miss any details.”

The air between us felt charged, our little fantasy blurring into something more, and I could feel my heart racing as he settled even closer beside me, his knee pressing gently against mine.

I tried to stifle a laugh as Hank scratched the back of his neck, looking up at me with the kind of earnestness that felt so out of character for him, it was almost adorable.

“So, uh… DNA replication, right?” he asked, his brow furrowing in mock concentration, though his gaze kept drifting to my waist, lingering a beat longer than necessary on the sliver of skin between my top and skirt.

“Exactly,” I replied, crossing my arms to keep up the facade of a serious study session, though I could feel my lips twitching, dangerously close to breaking into a smile. “Think of it like… you’re the DNA polymerase—the key player here. You’re adding new bases, making sure each base pairs with its partner.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I could see the glint of amusement hiding there, despite his best efforts. “Okay, okay… so I’m, what? The main guy keeping everything in line?”

I leaned in a little, keeping my voice low, as if I were explaining something top-secret. “Exactly. Without you, the whole replication process would fall apart.” I tapped a finger against his shoulder playfully. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a tone that made me feel as though we were teetering on the edge of something more. He shifted, and his knee brushed mine again, the touch sending a little thrill up my spine. But I kept my cool, giving him a look that said, Nice try.

“And just so we’re clear,” I continued, pretending to flip an imaginary page in our “textbook,” “if anything goes wrong in this process, it could mess up the whole ‘game’—it’s your responsibility to keep everything in order.”

“Oh, no pressure, then,” he replied, his voice dipping into something soft, something almost challenging, as his gaze settled on me again. “Good thing I’ve got such a… dedicated tutor.” He was close enough now that I could feel his breath, the warmth of it sending little sparks along my skin. His tone was still teasing, but his eyes had softened, that familiar warmth deepening into something that made my heart stumble.

I tried to steer us back, keeping my voice steady even as I felt the charged energy building between us. “Well, don’t think this means you’re off the hook,” I managed, trying to hold onto the last shreds of our playful act. “I expect you to actually learn something here, Hank.”

He leaned a little closer, his hand coming to rest on my knee, his fingers brushing against the fabric in a way that sent a shiver through me. “Oh, I’m learning a lot,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent, and suddenly, I was the one forgetting where we’d left off in our “lesson.”

My pulse quickened as his hand drifted a little higher, settling at my waist, his thumb tracing a slow, steady line along the edge of my top. His gaze held mine, filled with that warm intensity I’d come to know, yet right now, it felt heightened, amplified by the thrill of this little game we were playing.

He leaned in, his lips just a breath away, and his voice softened as he said, “Think you could give me a little… extra credit?”

The playful edge to his tone made me laugh, even as my heart pounded against my ribs. “That depends,” I replied, voice barely a whisper, feeling as though we were standing on the brink of something new, something that had been building between us since the moment we met.

For a moment, we stayed there, caught between teasing and something deeper, something almost inevitable. And then, slowly, he closed the distance, his lips meeting mine in a way that felt both familiar and entirely fresh—like a first kiss all over again. The room faded away, and all I could feel was him, the warmth of his hand at my waist, the gentle pressure of his lips against mine as we sank further into each other, the rest of the world forgotten.

We stayed wrapped up in the moment, leaning into the fantasy that we were two teenagers, stealing a kiss on the edge of something thrilling and new. There was an innocence to it, a softness, as if we were both trying to channel the nerves and curiosity of a first crush. The tension simmered beneath the surface, charged by the awareness that, despite the pretence, we both knew each other so much more deeply.

His lips brushed mine with a tentative, almost hesitant touch, like he was figuring out what I liked, even though we both knew he’d long since mastered that. But we stayed in character, letting the kiss build slowly, sweetly, as if we were figuring each other out for the very first time. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just a fraction, and I could feel him smiling against my lips, like he was enjoying the challenge of holding back, of letting this fantasy play out.

I pulled back just a little, a grin tugging at my lips. “You’re really committed to this biology tutoring session, aren’t you?”

He chuckled softly, and I could see the spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, you know… I heard the tutor was kind of cute. Thought I might get a little extra help if I showed interest.” His fingers traced a light, teasing line down my arm, his touch just shy enough to fit the role of the slightly nervous high schooler.

“Oh, so that’s what this is,” I replied, arching a brow, though I could feel the warmth of his hand radiating through me, the real connection simmering beneath the surface of our act. “Just trying to sweet-talk the tutor?”

He looked away, feigning a shy smile that I knew all too well was part of the role. “Maybe… if she doesn’t mind.” His gaze flicked back to mine, and there was something there, a playful glint mixed with genuine warmth, making me feel like we were perfectly balanced between make-believe and something real.

I bit my lip, playing along, letting my voice dip into a softer tone. “Well, I suppose I could be convinced… if you keep up the good work.” I leaned in, brushing my lips against his again, feeling his hand settle more confidently on my waist, the touch grounding us even as we danced around the edges of this little fantasy.

His fingers tightened slightly, as if he was losing himself in the moment, and I felt the same. It was intoxicating, letting ourselves pretend this was something brand new, even though we both knew the comfort and depth that had already grown between us. And yet, somehow, that made it even sweeter—the thrill of rediscovering each other as if for the first time, layered with everything we knew and loved about each other.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, he let out a soft laugh. “You know, if this were high school, I’d probably be way too nervous to actually go through with this.”

I smiled, keeping my voice low, as if we really were sneaking around, just shy of being caught. “Good thing it’s just role-play, then. This time, you’re allowed to be a little brave.”

He grinned, his thumb brushing along my waist in a way that made my pulse jump. “Good thing,” he murmured, his voice soft, playful, but with that edge of sincerity that reminded me we weren’t just acting.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible, but I felt it—a tension slipping through, breaking the thin barrier of our little game. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate line along my waist, his touch a little firmer, no longer holding back as much. The playful air that had hung between us melted, replaced by something deeper, something that had been simmering just beneath the surface all along.

I looked up at him, and the glint of amusement in his eyes had softened, replaced by an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. We weren’t pretending anymore, and we both knew it.

“Hank…” I whispered, the name barely a breath, filled with a meaning I couldn’t quite put into words. His hand slid up, cupping my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek in a way that felt so achingly familiar, yet electric, as if it was the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice low, rough around the edges, like he was just as caught up in this as I was. His gaze held mine, unwavering, and I could feel my heart pounding, every beat echoing through me, pulling me closer to him, grounding me in the moment.

I couldn’t keep up the act, couldn’t pretend this was just another game. My hands slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath my fingertips, tracing the lines of someone I knew so well, yet felt like I was discovering anew. And in that moment, I didn’t care about the pretence, didn’t care about anything beyond the warmth of him, the way his presence filled every inch of the room, of me.

Without a word, he leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was deep, real, filled with an urgency that stole the breath from my lungs. His hand slipped to the small of my back, pulling me closer until there wasn’t an inch between us, until I could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, grounding me even as it sent a thrill through every nerve.

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roamed over me, familiar yet thrilling, like he was rediscovering every inch, every curve. The playful pretence was long gone, replaced by something raw, something that felt like it had been waiting to break free all along.

We were lost in each other, in the quiet intensity that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface. His lips trailed down my neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, and I felt myself arch into him, my body responding instinctively, surrendering to the moment, to him.

With a surge of confidence, I pushed him back, and he fell onto the edge of the bed, his eyes lighting up with a spark of surprise that quickly turned into something darker, something full of intent. Before I could even process the thrill of taking the lead, his hands gripped my waist, steady and sure, and he shifted us, turning me so that I was lying beneath him, his body hovering over mine, a quiet challenge in his gaze.

For a moment, he held himself there, his weight balanced just enough that I felt his presence without feeling trapped, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. His fingers brushed along my sides, tracing a slow, steady path down, sending a trail of warmth that lingered long after his touch moved on.

And then, his hands reached the hem of my skirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric with a deliberateness that made my pulse race. His touch was firm but unhurried, like he wanted to savour every second, each moment stretching out between us, charged and electric. He kept his gaze on mine, a silent question passing between us as he eased the skirt up, his hands travelling along the bare skin of my calves, then thighs, his fingers warm and grounding.

I could feel every inch of his touch as he lifted the fabric higher, his grip tightening slightly as his hands moved, the air between us thickening with each passing second. The deliberate pace, the way he held himself above me, exuding both strength and gentleness, was enough to make me lose myself entirely.

His lips brushed against my jaw, then drifted down, trailing heat along my neck, his breath warm against my skin. He paused, hovering just at the curve of my shoulder, his fingers tracing small, languid circles along the top of my thigh, as if teasing us both, drawing out the moment until the tension felt like it could snap.

I arched into him, my hands finding their way to his back, gripping him, urging him closer, needing more of him, every inch. And he responded, his hands slipping just a bit higher, his touch grounding me even as it made me feel weightless, our breaths mingling, each beat of my heart thrumming in rhythm with his.

Hank’s hands slid down to the edge of my skirt, fingers grazing the soft fabric before slipping beneath, tracing a line along my thighs. His touch was deliberate, his movements slow as he lifted the skirt higher, exposing more skin with each gentle push of his hands. I could feel the warmth of his breath close to my neck, his lips barely an inch away as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric of my panties, lingering just for a second before he hooked his thumbs under the waistband.

Our eyes met, and there was a flash of something playful in his gaze, softened by the intensity that simmered beneath. He tugged my panties down slowly, his hands steady as he slipped them off, his touch lingering on my legs as he pulled them past my knees and then let the fabric fall away. His gaze flicked down, and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he noticed the tell-tale dampness that had already formed on the fabric.

His smirk deepened as he held up my panties, glancing at the damp spot with that familiar glint in his eyes. “Looks like someone was already waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing.

I bit my lip, feeling a rush of heat under his gaze, but I wasn’t about to let him have all the fun. “You could say I was prepared,” I shot back, my tone equally playful, daring, as I reached up and tugged him closer by the collar of his shirt. “And here you are, taking your sweet time.”

That did it. His smirk faded into something darker, more intense, and his eyes narrowed slightly, as though I’d just issued a challenge he was more than ready to accept. He tossed the panties aside without another thought, his hands sliding up to grip my waist, firm and possessive, holding me in place as his gaze swept over me, taking in every inch with a hunger that made my skin flush.

“Taking my time?” he echoed, his voice low, rough with a promise that made my pulse skip. “Guess I’ll have to make up for that.”

He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was fierce, unrestrained, all pretence and patience gone, replaced by a need that bordered on desperation. He gripped the hem of my top, tugging it up and over my head in one swift motion, discarding it carelessly to the floor. I barely had time to catch my breath before his fingers slipped beneath my bra strap, pushing it off my shoulder with a roughness that sent a thrill through me, his movements no longer restrained.

He leaned in, his lips brushing along my collarbone, his hands settling on my hips and pulling me flush against him. I could feel the heat of him, his heart beating hard through the fabric of his shirt, and it was enough to make me feel dizzy with need. My hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward, and he lifted his arms just enough for me to pull it over his head, tossing it aside as I let my hands roam over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingertips.

He let out a low, satisfied sound as I traced my hands along the hard lines of his torso, my fingers gliding over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating beneath. As I ventured lower, my touch met the trail of hair starting just below his navel, leading down in a way that was both enticing and grounding, a subtle invitation that left my own pulse racing. The roughness of his breath against my neck told me I was driving him just as wild, his chest rising and falling beneath my touch, each shallow inhale and exhale a silent testament to the restraint he was barely holding onto. It was intoxicating, knowing that every small movement, every lingering touch, was unraveling him in the same way he was unraveling me.

I matched his intensity, my hands moving to the waistband of his jeans, fingers working quickly to undo the button, and he shifted just enough to help me push them down, the denim sliding to the floor. As he kicked them off, he pulled me close again, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was raw, full of the need we’d been holding back for too long.

My hand slipped down, feeling the heat and hardness of him straining through his boxers. I pressed my palm against him, feeling the dampness at the tip, the evidence of his desire sending a thrill through me. He let out a low, rough sound that made my pulse race, his hips pushing into my hand, silently asking for more.

I couldn’t resist a teasing smile, looking up at him as I whispered, “Guess I’m not the only one who was waiting.”

His answering grin was dark, his gaze full of intent that left no doubt about where this was heading. “You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

In one swift movement, he pushed my skirt higher, fingers hooking under the remaining fabric and freeing me completely. With his hands still tracing up my thighs, he paused, his gaze flicking to mine for a heartbeat before he leaned down, his lips trailing a path from my collarbone downward, his touch both reverent and filled with raw hunger.

His mouth found my breast, lips brushing over the sensitive skin, his breath warm as he began to press slow, deliberate kisses along the curve, igniting every nerve in its wake. His hand slipped around, cupping me, his thumb grazing over the peak, making me shiver as he took his time, letting the anticipation build.

When his lips finally closed around my nipple, a gasp escaped me, my back arching into him, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure straight through me. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin, slow and teasing, before sucking gently, his gaze lifting to meet mine with a dark intensity that left me breathless. The roughness of his stubble against my skin, paired with the warmth of his mouth, was almost too much, every touch stoking the fire that had been building between us.

His free hand moved down, tracing along my waist before he shifted slightly, pressing himself closer, the hardness of him through his boxers a reminder of just how far gone we both were. My hand slipped down instinctively, feeling him again through the fabric, harder now, the dampness at the tip that sent another thrill through me.

“Don’t stop,” I murmured, barely able to form words, lost in the feel of him, in the way his mouth and hands moved over me, each touch leaving me aching for more. His lips moved to my other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and teasing until I felt like I might come undone.

With a low groan, he finally leaned back, his hands slipping to the waistband of his boxers. He gave me a look that was both a question and a promise, his gaze locked on mine as he tugged them down, finally freeing himself completely. The sight of him above me, every inch bare and unrestrained, sent a shiver through me, my body responding instinctively, every nerve alive with the anticipation of what was to come.

My hand drifted down, wrapping around him, feeling the warmth and hardness beneath my fingers. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath, his hips pressing forward instinctively, responding to my touch. I stroked him slowly, savouring the weight of him, the way he fit so perfectly against my hand, each movement building a rhythm that left us both breathless.

I leaned up, capturing his mouth in a soft, lingering kiss, feeling the heat radiating between us as our bodies moved closer, all pretence gone. Without a word, I turned, giving him a playful glance over my shoulder as I bent forward, resting on my hands, inviting him. The air between us thickened, charged with anticipation, and I felt my heart race as he positioned himself behind me, his hands firm on my hips, steadying us both.

I could feel the wetness between my thighs, the undeniable evidence of my need, and when he moved, pressing himself against me, his hardness was almost overwhelming, grounding me in the intensity of the moment. He entered me slowly, filling me in a way that made me gasp, my hands gripping the sheets as we both adjusted to the closeness, the perfect, electrifying fit.

For a moment, we stayed still, caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Then he leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up so we were both on our knees, our bodies fitting together seamlessly. His mouth found the curve of my neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along my skin, making me shiver as he began to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, drawing us both deeper into the moment.

One of his hands found my breast, his fingers brushing over my nipple, sending a surge of pleasure through me as he continued to kiss my neck, his breath hot and unsteady against my skin. His other hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the sensitive spot between my thighs, adding another layer to the intensity building between us.

“Keep quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, a teasing edge in his tone as his fingers continued their deliberate movements, each touch leaving me feeling more unraveled, more vulnerable in the best possible way. I bit my lip, trying to stifle a moan, my breath shaky as I leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart against my back.

Then he paused, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder. I felt him shift, his hands guiding me as he turned me around to face him, his gaze soft and full of that familiar warmth that always made me feel safe. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering along my cheek, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that left me feeling completely exposed, but in the best way.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as his hands settled on my waist, steady and sure, pulling me close until there wasn’t a breath between us. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to me, letting our foreheads touch as our breaths mingled, the world outside fading completely.

“So beautiful… and all mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that sent a thrill through me, his lips brushing against my shoulder, lingering as though he wanted me to feel every word. I felt the warmth of his breath on my skin, each syllable wrapping around me, grounding me in his presence.

“I’m yours,” I whispered back, my voice soft but full of meaning, hoping he could feel everything I was trying to say, every layer of trust and love I was offering him in those two simple words.

We stayed close, our bodies pressed together, moving in sync, his hands steady on my waist as he held me. His mouth found mine, capturing me in a kiss that was both soft and intense, as if he wanted to savour every second. I felt his hand slip to the small of my back, guiding us gently down onto the bed, his body lowering over me, fitting perfectly against mine as he settled between my thighs.

His gaze held mine as he entered me again, filling me completely, every inch grounding me in the depth of what we shared. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, letting myself sink into the moment, feeling the warmth and weight of him, our bodies fitting together in perfect harmony.

Our bodies moved together, falling into a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing, like an unspoken language we both understood. His forehead rested against mine, and he whispered, his voice barely a breath, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

I felt a smile tug at my lips, my hand moving to trace along his jaw, feeling the strength and gentleness in every inch of him. “So are you, baby,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion, letting my fingers trail over his skin, grounding myself in the closeness we’d built. The way he looked at me, his gaze soft and full of something unbreakable, made my heart swell, and I felt like I was seeing every layer of him, every part he’d ever trusted me with.

As he pulled me closer, our bodies fitting perfectly, his lips brushed over my shoulder, each kiss filled with a tenderness that left me breathless. I arched into him, feeling my breath catch, every nerve alight as his mouth moved to my neck, leaving a trail of warmth that seemed to linger, grounding me in the intensity of the moment.

I let out a soft gasp, my fingers pressing into his shoulders, anchoring us both as we moved together, the rhythm between us building, steady and unrelenting, yet filled with a reverence that made it feel like we were rediscovering each other. He looked into my eyes, his gaze deep and unwavering, and I could see every feeling reflected there, every emotion he couldn’t put into words.

As the intensity grew, he wrapped an arm around my waist, lifting me just enough so that our bodies pressed even closer, amplifying the connection between us. His hand found mine, fingers intertwining, our grips tightening as we both reached that tipping point, holding onto each other as if we were afraid to let go.

He looked down at me, his gaze soft and filled with that familiar warmth that made me feel safe, cherished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with sincerity, his hands tightening around me, holding me as if he didn’t want to let go, as if he was afraid the moment would slip away.

The weight of his words, the depth in his eyes, made my heart swell, and I tightened my grip on him, feeling every beat of his heart, matching the rhythm of our bodies, our connection grounding us in something that felt endless. “I love you too,” I replied, “So much,” my voice soft but full of the certainty that came from knowing he was a part of me.

He kissed me deeply, our breaths mingling as we found our rhythm again, each movement building, drawing us closer. I could feel the intensity growing, every touch, every whispered word amplifying the connection between us, making it impossible to think of anything but him, but us.

When we finally came undone together, it was in a shared breath, a moment that felt endless, timeless, as though everything else in the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of us wrapped in each other. We stayed like that, holding each other close, letting the warmth and comfort of our connection settle around us, knowing that this—this shared intimacy and closeness—was exactly where we both wanted to be.

After, we lay together in the soft glow of the room, wrapped in the warmth of each other, the silence between us comfortable and filled with an understanding that needed no words. I nestled into him, feeling his fingers lazily tracing circles along my back, his other hand entwined with mine, both of us simply basking in the afterglow, letting the moment settle over us.

After a while, Hank let out a soft sigh, his gaze drifting around the room, a pensive look crossing his face. “It’s… surreal, you know?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Being here with you. Thinking about how much has changed since… since I was that kid growing up here.”

He paused, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he looked back at me. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still trying to shake off parts of who I was back then… like I’m always fighting to be something more.”

I squeezed his hand gently, letting him know I understood. “You’re not that boy anymore, Hank,” I said softly, my voice steady, filled with every bit of truth I felt. “You’ve become someone stronger. And I love who you’ve become.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at me, his gaze softening, that familiar warmth returning to his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “For seeing me… for all of it.”

I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, grounding us both in the quiet reassurance that, here together, we’d found something solid, something that embraced not just who we were but who we’d become. We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the comfort of the moment hold us close.

The next morning, a soft glow filtered in through the curtains, casting a gentle light across the room as I stirred awake, feeling the familiar warmth of Hank beside me. We shared a sleepy smile, our faces inches apart as we lay there, basking in the quiet comfort of the moment before finally getting up. The sounds of soft laughter and holiday music drifted up from the kitchen below, filling the house with a warmth that felt like home.

Hank wrapped an arm around my waist as we headed downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon drawing us in. His parents were already seated at the table, both beaming as they welcomed us into the cosy chaos of Christmas morning. The table was spread with all kinds of treats—freshly baked cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a small stack of pancakes his mum insisted was “just in case anyone was still hungry.” It was the kind of meal that made the house feel full of love, and I felt myself sink into the warmth of it, cherishing every moment.

After breakfast, we exchanged small, thoughtful gifts, an unexpected delight as we each presented our tokens of appreciation. Hank gifted his mum a delicate necklace with a small heart pendant, her face lighting up as she clutched it to her chest with teary eyes. For his dad, he handed over a beautifully bound edition of a classic baseball book they’d bonded over when he was a kid. Watching the pride in his dad’s eyes as he accepted the gift, I could see the shared memories, the way those moments had shaped Hank into who he was.

When it was my turn, I handed Hank a flat, square package wrapped neatly in silver paper with a hint of red ribbon. He raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing on his lips as he carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a custom vinyl record, the cover designed with a simple but meaningful image of two coffee mugs resting together—a nod to the mornings we’d shared at our favourite café.

He opened the record sleeve and pulled out the insert, his face softening as he realised it was filled with personal notes about each song I’d chosen, each one a small piece of our journey together. I’d written why each track mattered—how certain songs reminded me of our first night together, our shared moments, and the music we’d bonded over, filling each line with memories and meaning.

He looked up, his eyes shining with emotion. “You made me a record?” he murmured, almost in disbelief, his thumb tracing along the edge of the sleeve. “With our songs?”

I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “It’s a mix tape… but a bit more permanent,” I said softly, watching him absorb each detail. “I thought… whenever you listen to it, you’ll have a little piece of us, no matter where we are.”

He let out a quiet laugh, almost overwhelmed, and pulled me close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “Thank you, baby.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling my heart swell as I watched him run his fingers over the vinyl, already knowing he’d treasure it. This wasn’t just a gift—it was a piece of our story, something we could carry with us as a reminder of all the small moments that had brought us here.

Then, with a slight smirk, he handed me a small package wrapped neatly in red paper. I unwrapped it carefully, revealing a beautiful bracelet with three tiny charms—a book, a coffee cup, and a small disk. The book and coffee cup charms were sweet nods to our shared moments at the coffee shop, representing both my love of reading and our quiet mornings together. But it was the disk that caught my breath. Engraved on one side were our initials, and on the other, the date we first met at the bar—the night that had changed everything.

I traced a fingertip over the tiny engraving, feeling a rush of warmth as I looked down at the bracelet, each charm holding a piece of us. I slipped it on, feeling my heart swell, and leaned over to press a grateful kiss to his cheek, my fingers lacing with his as he gave my hand another squeeze. It was so perfectly us—simple yet filled with meaning, grounding me in the love and connection that filled the room.

After the gifts, we gathered in the living room for one of his family’s traditions—a viewing of White Christmas. His parents had set up a nest of blankets and pillows, and Hank and I settled onto the sofa, snuggled close with a blanket wrapped around us. As the movie played, we shared warm, loving glances and small touches, feeling completely at home in each other’s presence. Hank’s mum hummed along to the songs, and his dad recited lines he’d probably memorised years ago. There was something so comforting, so right, about being here, a part of this cherished tradition, experiencing the warmth and love that filled the room.

Every so often, Hank would glance down at me, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my hand, as if to remind me, without words, how much it meant to him that I was there. And in those shared, silent moments, I felt truly at home, wrapped in both his family’s love and his.

In the afternoon, Hank and I bundled up and headed out for a quiet walk through a nearby park. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and coastal pine, mingled with the faint salt of the nearby ocean. The ground was soft beneath our feet, scattered with leaves that had fallen from the evergreens lining the winding path. A gentle mist clung to the air, giving everything a quiet, peaceful atmosphere that felt almost magical. I slipped my hand into his, feeling the warmth of his fingers laced with mine as we wandered side by side, letting the calmness of the moment settle around us.

After a while, our conversation turned reflective. Hank paused, his gaze drifting out over the lake glimmering in the distance, his face thoughtful. “You know… being here with you feels so different,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand in a gentle, grounding motion. “It’s strange—almost surreal. There was a time when I felt stuck, like I’d never quite measure up. But having you here… it’s like everything makes sense in a way it didn’t before.”

A familiar warmth blossomed in my chest, and I felt the weight of his words settling over me. Standing here with him, the world muted around us, I realised this wasn’t just about him finding his place—it was about us finding something lasting in each other. My thoughts wandered to New York, to all the places and routines that had once felt so unchangeable, the city’s hustle grounding me in its own way. But here, with Hank beside me, I felt the same sense of belonging I’d known in my favourite café, our lazy Sundays, the quiet, familiar corners of our life together.

I looked up at him, my voice soft but filled with the truth of what I felt. “You’ve changed so much, Hank. You’re not that boy anymore… you’ve grown into someone I admire so deeply,” I said softly, my voice filled with all the love I felt for him. “I couldn’t be prouder of who you are now, and I’m so grateful to be part of your life.”

He looked down at me, his eyes softening, and I could see the gratitude there, the quiet appreciation for being seen and loved just as he was. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “For being here… for helping me find my way when I didn’t know how.”

We continued our walk, our steps falling into an easy rhythm, the quietness between us filled with an understanding that went beyond words. After a while, our conversation turned to the future, the idea of what we could build together. Hank paused, turning to face me, his gaze steady and filled with a gentle determination. “I know it’s just a thought, but… it’s amazing to realise that home doesn’t have to be one place. It’s more about who I’m with. And with you… I feel like I’m already there.”

I felt my heart swell at his words, a warmth blooming in my chest as I reached up to brush a hand along his cheek. “You make me feel so loved, Hank,” I whispered, my voice filled with the truth of it. “In a way I never expected. You make me feel like I belong, like I’m seen for everything I am.”

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a gentle, heartfelt kiss, a quiet promise of everything we’d shared and everything yet to come. As he pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, I could feel the silent vow between us—a promise to build a life together, wherever that might take us.

Hand in hand, we walked back toward his family home, the warmth of his presence grounding me, the sense of belonging settling into every corner of my heart. And as we approached the familiar, welcoming sight of his parents’ house, I felt a quiet confidence—a certainty that whatever the future held, we’d face it together.

We shared one last, lingering look before stepping inside, his fingers squeezing mine, a silent promise that spoke louder than words. And with that, we walked into the warmth of his family’s home, ready to face the future, side by side.

Masterlist

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moonsandmobilityaids · 28 days ago

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Muggle Benefits

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You get news about your benefits. Warnings: Disability, financial anxiety, ableism, references to invasive government assessments. Notes: This references the UK disability benefits DLA and PIP as those are the benefits I am deeply familiar with. Reader gets the benefits she needs in this fic. Series Masterlist

You’re in your room, sitting in your wheelchair by the window, when an owl swoops in, dropping a letter onto your lap before taking off again. Picking it up, you notice straight away that this isn't a normal Hogwarts missive. It's forwarded from home—from your mum—with the distinctive markings of a muggle stamp on the envelope. Its official look makes your stomach churn: Department for Work and Pensions, it reads, followed by your full name and home address neatly typed out.

An icy tendril of anticipation curls around your heart as your fingers, trembling ever so slightly, tear into the paper. You unfold the crisp sheets within, the crinkle seeming too loud in the silent expanse of your private space. You don't need to read the words to know what this is about—you've been expecting it, dreading it, ever since your sixteenth birthday came and went.

The shift from Disability Living Allowance to Personal Independence Payment was never going to be easy. Even though you were on the highest rate for DLA, the spectre of applying for PIP had loomed over you like the shadow of some unnameable beast. But at least this means they've made a decision—right?

You unfold the letter, your heart pounding as you scan the printed lines. Words and phrases jump out at you: "award," "enhanced rate," "daily living component"—each one a shard of hope piercing through the fog of uncertainty.

A gasp leaves your lips before you can stop it. Enhanced rates for both the daily living and mobility components. You knew what this could mean in theory, but seeing it confirmed in black and white sends a jolt through you that's part relief, part disbelief.

"Your weekly amounts will be..." Your eyes flicker down to the numbers, then widen. For daily living, £108.55. For mobility, £75.75. A total of £184.30 every week—equivalent to £737.20 every four weeks. The figures blur before your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion making them swim.

This is more than you were expecting. More than you dared to hope for. It's significantly higher than the £434.20 you've been receiving on DLA every four weeks. But it's also a lifeline. With this, you might just stay afloat.

Unconsciously, your fingers tighten around the paper, creasing its edges. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, not from joy but from sheer, overwhelming relief. Your shoulders slump as tension seeps out of them, leaving you feeling strangely light.

But there's a knot in your stomach that won't unwind. Not yet. Because now comes the hard part: explaining all of this to James, Sirius, and Remus—your partners who share your heart but live in a world where money works differently, where disability isn't quantified by assessments and payment tiers.

They've seen you in pain, held you through dizzy spells and fatigue so deep it feels like gravity itself pulling at your bones. But they haven't seen the paperwork, the assessments, the endless justifications to faceless bureaucrats who hold your financial stability in their hands.

And why would they? This is a part of your life that exists outside Hogwarts' stone walls, tangled up in muggle laws and systems too complex to explain between classes or over dinner in the Great Hall. You haven't hidden it—not consciously, anyway—but when has there ever been time to sit down and discuss something as mundane as benefits?

But now, with this letter clutched tight in your grasp, you realise how much you've kept from them without meaning to. The PIP application alone took hours filled with medical jargon and questions designed to strip away dignity piece by piece. And then came the assessment—a probing examination that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways you can't begin to articulate.

You sit on your bed, the letter still in your hands. The parchment is smooth beneath your fingers, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. How do you explain this world of assessments and payments, of medical evidence and tribunal appeals? How can you make them understand what it means to be constantly evaluated, your worth determined by a system that sees only limitations?

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. You want to keep this part of your life separate, tucked away where it can't touch the magic of Hogwarts or the warmth of their love for you. But you know it's futile. This isn't just about you anymore; it's about all four of you.

The realisation settles heavily in your chest, its weight threatening to crush you. But there's also relief—a glimmer of hope amidst the fear. They're your partners, after all. They deserve to know, even if the truth is messy and complicated.

Your hand hovers over the envelope, then slowly, resolutely, you fold the letter back along its creases. It fits snugly inside, like a secret waiting to be shared. As you seal it once more, you make a silent promise—to yourself, to them—not to hide any longer.

A knock at the door startles you out of your thoughts. "Y/N?" James calls through the wood, his voice muffled but unmistakable. "Can we come in?"

You clear your throat, tucking the letter behind you as you call back, "Yeah, it's open."

The door swings inward, revealing James first, his glasses slightly askew and a sheepish grin on his face. Sirius follows, his hair tousled from the wind outside, carrying a plate stacked high with sandwiches. Behind them, Remus slips into the room, balancing several cups precariously in his arms.

"Hope you're hungry," Sirius says, setting the food down on your bedside table. "We may have liberated some things from the Great Hall."

Despite everything, you can't help but laugh. "Liberated, huh? I think there's another word for that."

James flops onto the bed beside you, his arm brushing against yours. The contact sends a jolt through you—comforting, familiar. Safe. He nudges you gently, a playful glint in his eye. "Well, if you don't want any..."

"Hey, I didn't say that." You reach for a sandwich, taking a bite and savouring the taste of something other than worry. For a moment, everything feels almost normal again.

Almost.

Remus sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching you with soft concern. "You okay, Y/N? You seem a bit... off."

"Yeah," Sirius adds, frowning slightly. "Is everything alright? Did something happen while we were gone?"

There it is—the question you've been dreading and longing for all at once. You set your sandwich aside, suddenly aware of the letter still hidden behind you. Could you brush it off, tell them it's nothing? Maybe. But that would only delay the inevitable. And you owe them more than half-truths and deflections.

"No, nothing happened," you begin, reaching behind you for the envelope. Your fingers close around it, the edges sharp against your skin. "I just... got some news today. News I should probably share with you."

James leans closer, curiosity sparking in his hazel eyes. "News? What kind of—"

His words cut off as you bring the letter into view, its official seal catching the light. "News about my DLA and PIP."

The boys' expressions shift at your words—curiosity giving way to confusion—as they exchange a glance.

"D...L...A?" James repeats slowly, as if testing the unfamiliar acronym on his tongue. "What's that?"

"Disability Living Allowance," you explain, tracing the edge of the envelope with your thumb. "It's money I've been receiving from the government for years because of my disabilities."

You look up to find them watching you intently, the earlier levity gone from their faces. Even Sirius has stopped eating, his sandwich half-forgotten on the plate before him.

"And PIP... it's Personal Independence Payment." Your voice is steady, betraying none of the anxiety coiling in your stomach. "When you turn sixteen, you have to apply for it instead of DLA."

"So this..." James gestures towards the letter, brow furrowed in thought, "this is about whether or not you'll get that payment?"

"Exactly." You nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The room feels suddenly smaller, the walls closing in as you peel back layers of a reality you'd hoped never to expose them to.

"But why didn't you tell us?" Sirius asks, his grey eyes searching yours. "We could've helped somehow, couldn't we?"

"That's just it, Sirius," you sigh softly, folding your hands in your lap. "There's no magic solution here. Just paperwork and waiting and hoping they see me as disabled enough."

You can see the questions forming in their minds, the gears turning as they try to make sense of something so alien to their world. But there's also understanding dawning in their eyes—a shared acknowledgement of the unseen battles you fight every day.

“They've awarded me the enhanced rate for both daily living and mobility components," you explain, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's higher than what I was getting on DLA."

The relief that floods you is palpable, but so too is the guilt—for every pound they give you, there are countless others who need it just as much, if not more. You swallow hard, trying to stave off the lump forming in your throat.

"That money helps with all the extra costs that come with being disabled," you continue, willing your hands to stop shaking. "Medical supplies, mobility aids, adaptations to my home..."

"And let me guess," James interjects, his tone edged with frustration, "the magical world doesn't have anything like this? We're expected to just pay for everything ourselves?"

Your laugh is hollow, void of any real humour. "Got it in one. No help for potions, tests, nothing."

Sirius' brow furrows deeper at your words, his gaze shifting between you and the letter still clutched tightly in your hand. "But that's... that's not right. It's not fair."

“That's just it, isn't it?" you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Fair doesn't really come into play."

Remus, who has been silent until now, leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes never leave the letter as he absorbs each word, each implication with a quiet intensity that speaks volumes.

Sirius shifts closer to you, his arm settling around your shoulders—a protective barrier against the tide of injustice threatening to pull you under. You lean into the embrace, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

"But what does this mean for you now?" James asks, ever practical amidst the emotional storm. "You said the PIP is higher than the DLA—how much more are we talking?"

"You don't have to—" Remus begins, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"It's okay," you assure them, pulling the envelope open once more. A sense of finality settles over you as you unfold the crisp paper inside. "I want you to understand."

"DLA was £108.55 per week," you begin, tracing your finger along the printed lines of text. "PIP... the daily living component is £108.55 per week, so the same as DLA, but the mobility component is £75.75 per week."

"So that's an extra seventy five quid every week," James murmurs, mostly to himself. "Every four weeks, that'll be..."

"Around seven hundred and forty pounds, or three hundred pound more than I got before," you finish for him, tucking the letter back into its envelope. The room falls silent again, save for the distant hum of life outside the castle walls. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine a future not so constrained by financial burdens—a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

"Well, then," James says at last, breaking the silence with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess we won't be running out of chocolate frogs any time soon."

"More than that," says Remus, his voice carrying a note of gravity. "It means Y/N can afford the care they need without constantly worrying about money."

"Yes," you agree, though your mind still races with what-ifs and how-tos.

The conversation continues, branching out from the benefits themselves to broader implications—what this means for day-to-day living, for future plans, for the fear that has been a constant companion since your diagnosis. Their questions are not limited to the financial aspect, but also extend to what you need, how they can help, and what this means for you going forward.

"You'll have more freedom now, won't you?" Sirius asks, his arm tightening around you ever so slightly—a silent promise of support that warms you despite the chill seeping in through the stone walls.

"I suppose so." A half-smile tugs at your lips as you consider the possibilities. More independence, less reliance on others—it's a daunting prospect, but one tinged with hope.

For a moment, silence settles over the room once again, broken only by the crackling fire and distant sounds of life beyond these ancient walls.

"How do you feel about it all, really?" James finally asks, leaning back in his chair with an air of cautious curiosity.

You pause, considering the question. How do you feel? Relief, certainly. Hope, perhaps. But there's something else too—a sense of unease that lingers just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of your newfound optimism.

"It's... complicated," you admit, tracing invisible patterns on the worn upholstery beneath your fingers.

"But we're here for you, Y/N," Remus assures you, reaching across the space between you to place a comforting hand on your arm. "Whatever you need, however we can help��we're in this together."

His words hang heavy in the air, each syllable underscored by the sincerity etched into his features. You glance at each of them in turn—James with his earnest concern, Sirius' protective gaze never wavering, and Remus, steady and unwavering like the moon itself—and something inside you shifts.

It's not pity you see in their eyes, nor discomfort at the reality of your situation. Instead, it's understanding—or, at least, the desire to understand—that shines back at you.

#Poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #Sirius black x reader #Sirius black x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfic

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j4m3s-b4k3r · 4 months ago

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The Darkest Of Angels

The latest instalment in the MAD MAX series, FURIOSA, is not as inventive as its predecessor, FURY ROAD. There are few moments to match the kooky joy of seeing the DOOF WARRIOR thrashing his guitar made out of a bedpan, atop a truck full of Taiko drummers in this movie. But FURIOSA delivered, and not in the ways expected. It is dark. A post-nuclear Dickensian western. A harrowing tale of an orphan taken to the Wasteland workhouse. With no inheritance to save her day, she wants revenge. There's plenty of George Miller’s signature kinetic storytelling. This isn't mere mayhem, but a thoughtful meditation on war, revenge, grief, and hope, told in 5 chapters.

1: The Pole of Inaccessibility

“Do Not Look Away, You Mustn’t Look Away.”

The tale begins in the “Green Place”, an EDEN hidden in the Wasteland. Instead of an apple, a peach is plucked by a little girl - a much younger FURIOSA. For the first hour, the titular character is played by Alyla Browne, who gives an absolutely riveting performance. Many of the traumatic moments that will shape the character are dealt with by this incredible young actor.

Furiosa is soon kidnapped by the motorbike crazies that populate the MAD MAX films. Unfortunately for the goons, Furiosa’s mum MARY JABASSA is a veritable fury, and relentlessly hunts them down. Played by Charlee Fraser, the character isn’t in the story for long but she absolutely fizzes with intensity while she’s on screen. Leaving a white hot afterglow that lasts for the rest of the film. Unfortunately, she is soon dealt with by the villain of the tale.

When we first meet DEMENTUS, he is clothed in white robes, like a desert messiah in his tent. Hemsworth’s performance is one of the highlights of the film. Dementus has a rural Australian accent, and a speaking style reminiscent of earlier generations. This may be lost on anyone without a small town Australian grandfather, but for me it had a chilling effect. At once folksy, familiar and terrifying. Most of the quotable lines from this film are from Dementus. He’s a bad egg, but eminently watchable. A Long John Silver of the desert.

2: Lessons from the Wasteland

"Who's got the goods? The bollocks, the testes to ride with Dementus?! "

Anya Taylor-Joy was arresting, and did wonders with a largely non verbal role. She was a strange choice for the role though. Alyla Browne believably played a child version of Charlize Theron, but Anya Taylor-Joy’s distinctive features and slight frame aren’t going to look like Theron in 10-15 years time.

When Charlize Theron’s FURIOSA spoke with a north American accent in FURY ROAD, I accepted it as possible in Miller’s Wasteland. After all, we’d already learned years ago that way out in the middle of the outback, you might meet... TINA TURNER. So yeah, that accent made sense in 2015. However, we now know that Furiosa’s parents and childhood accent were both Australian. Then, she somehow acquires a North American accent growing up in the Citadel. Surrounded by Aussie War Boys?

George Miller deservedly gets praise for his imaginative visual world building and storytelling, but sometimes his world doesn’t make ‘sense’. I know that these films are best taken as kinetic & operatic comic books, taking place in a mythic world. However, inconsistencies sometimes break the spell, popping me out of the movie watching experience, to ask real world questions.

However, Tom Burke’s Aussie accent was flawless, and his turn as PRAETORIAN JACK was wonderful. A stoic character, with as many wounds and losses as any other wretch in this misbegotten landscape, but who hasn’t lost the ability to be humane.

3: The Stowaway

“Didja see that? How they fought for each other, this little army of two? Where were they going, so full of hope?”

Each MAD MAX film thus far took us to a completely new part of the Wasteland. FURIOSA too shows us a new location, the Green Place. Experienced for mere moments, before being hauled to locations we’d previously seen in FURY ROAD.

Though shown 15-20 years earlier, they looked exactly the same. Instead of seeing The Citadel only partially built, ruled by a younger Immortan Joe (perhaps not yet needing his mask, but already showing the signs of physical frailties?) characters & locations look as they did in a movie set 15-20 years later.The only character who shows the passage of time is Furiosa herself.

George Miller takes big swings with these MAD MAX films, but in completely different ways with each one. FURIOSA is back to a revenge story, which is where the series began, but with a completely different structure this time. Ending on a dialogue in the desert, instead of blow-the-hinges off action sequence. After the excitement of what came before, a verbal showdown in the desert was anticlimactic for some. ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, climaxing with jibber jabber instead of Leone’s gunfight. For me though, this ending (and Hemsworth’s speech) was one of the high points of the film.

The film has many images that stay with me - A time-lapse shot of a young tree growing from a discarded wig. A lizard eats flies buzzing around a skull in the desert, only to be crushed under a racing motorbike tire. Parasailing marauders attack a giant truck from the sky. The sadistically twisted villain wears a child’s teddy bear. Owned by a victim? Or his own children from long ago? What a grimly beautiful world this is.

4: Homeward

“There will always be war. But to get home, Furiosa fought the world.”

Some critics said FURIOSA was “an epic slice of myth-making”, while others called it “a joyless, pointless, pretentious and inartistic slog”. Generally though, critical response was effusive. 90% on Rotten Tomatoes with an 89% audience score. Interestingly, these action films are consistently rated higher by critics than by audiences:

FURIOSA: 90%/89% FURY ROAD: 97%/86% BEYOND THUNDERDOME: 79%/49% ROAD WARRIOR: 94%/86% MAD MAX: 90%/70%

Also interesting, is that FURIOSA’s audience score is the highest of all the 5 films. Stranger still is that this favourable response didn’t result in box office success.. There are many theories as to why this is so. Although some say that this is the best prequel ever, any prequel is by definition unnecessary. Perhaps those that focus on a sidekick character will have a harder time connecting with audiences. Especially if the franchise’s main character is a no show. (Likewise, SHORT ROUND: AN INDIANA JONES SAGA might tank at the box office too, if Indy only has a cameo of mere seconds.)

This gets to why an audience decides to go see a movie. Personally, I just needed to know that George Miller - a director I’ve followed since my teens - was making another movie. That’s it. I was already in line before I knew what it was about. But most people, even MAD MAX fans, lost interest when they heard the famous character wasn’t in it. Joe & Jane Public bond with actors and characters. Directors not so much.

5. Beyond Vengeance

“D’ya have it in ya to make it epic?”

Movies used to be cheap entertainment, that audiences could afford to take a chance on, but they are expensive nowadays. Especially with all the bells & whistles of IMAX and reserved seating. People have been burned so many times by gushing press luring them to lame movies, that positive reviews and ‘buzz’ are now simply assumed to be studio psyops. Flatly ignored. Instead, if it’s a film they are unsure of, many prefer to wait a few weeks and try movies at home, affordably. On the big screen TVs & sound systems bought during the pandemic.

Given FURIOSA’s poor box office, we may never get the 6th instalment in the MAD MAX saga; WASTELAND. Which makes me regret that George Miller hadn’t made that film before this one. FURIOSA isn’t my fave of the MAD MAX films, but ranks high in my personal list. A fantastic addition to this series, that deserved more success than it got, sadly. Seeing George Miller stretch himself, in this mythic world he has constructed over decades, is a true cinematic joy.

“To feel alive, we seek sensation — any sensation to wash away the cranky black sorrow!”

#furiosa #dementus #mad max furiosa #imperator furiosa #illustration #praetorian jack #mary jabassa #cartoons

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fernandopiastri28 · 5 months ago

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quand c’est - part 6 ~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Yet now at 24, he feels a shell of that aspiring kid. The one who truly believed he would be a world champion. That dream, the realness of it seems to have fizzled. Not just because of the diagnosis, but because he knows Oscar, he sees Oscar’s raw talent in his second year of racing. He saw it in Oscar’s rookie year too- and he knows he’ll never have that.

Warnings: sickness, illness, cancer

Lando wakes up, and he’s still sick. It’s expected- no one recovers from brain cancer in a matter of hours, but a part of him continues to believe this is some awful nightmare or a really sick joke.

It must’ve been a fair few hours since he’d gotten the news, because it’s already getting dark outside again.

Lando’s blurry vision slowly clears up the more he blinks. He tries his best to sit up, his arms not complying with him- heavy with the weight of being pierced with IVs and drips.

He leans over as best as he could, a slow calculated move. He checks his phone, calls and messages as far as he could see from his family and the other drivers.

Carlos: Landito

Carlos: Landito are you okay?

Carlos: Is Oscar taking care of you?

Carlos: Mierda

Carlos: You are in my thoughts and prayers. It was a bad crash.

Thanks for the reminder Carlos, Lando fucking knew it was an awful crash. An awful crash during an awful race from an awful driver. Just awful.

Daniel: Lando mate r u aluroght?

Daniel: *alright

Daniel: thinkin of u rn mate

Daniel: i hope you’re feeling better

Lando wonders how many people knew he was in the hospital. He wonders if Oscar had been calling anyone else beyond Logan to talk about how Lando was an insane man who had no care for his own health.

Max V: Hello Lando. I hope you are feeling well and are doing okay. Cannot wait to see you in cota you absolute weapon. You’ll be bonzer.

Max V: Daniel taught me that word. I think it is bonzer or bonza. Not sure

Lando smiles at Max’s messages, his body hurting too much to be able to laugh. Clearly the dutch man has been spending far too much with Daniel as his dialect was becoming more like the Australian’s each day.

Max V: Daniel is very worried for you, I am too.

He presses onto his chat with his mum, clicking to call her. He has 12 missed calls from her, no doubt about whether she knew about not only the hospital, but also the diagnosis. Oscar would’ve been on top of that.

It feels nice to hear his mum’s voice on the other end of the call, even if her voice was scratchy and hard to understand from crying. He asks about his sisters and brother, trying to skirt around the elephant in the room.

When the phone call eventually ends, he swipes his hand over Oscar’s mess of hair. It’s no longer that perfect swoop, more like how he remembered it being in Singapore a year ago, stuck to his forehead and falling down with the humidity.

It’s strange to think of anything about Singapore last year now. Strange to think about his first time being on the podium with his best friend. Strange to think about the ice baths with Oscar, playing padel with George, the feeling of being so disgustingly sweaty at the end of the race- but pure adrenaline and joy overpowering that discomfort.

Now he was left rotting away in a hospital bed, unable to do those same simple and ‘mundane’ tasks.

He misses George, for some reason, a lot.

And Alex, he misses the 2019 rookies group. He misses the beginning of his F1 career- where he didn’t have a care in the world and truly believed he was ‘exceptional’ for being at the top category of motor sports at 18.

If there’s going to be a world champion of either of them, It’ll be Oscar, and it kills Lando that he has to be happy for Oscar knowing that.

A nurse comes in every hour on the dot to either give him another round of either medicine or to note down how his body is reacting to the painkillers. To be fair, he does feel relatively good. His head doesn’t hurt, and he doesn’t really feel anything at all.

Oscar wakes up after a while and just sits with him, making some dry jokes in an attempt to make Lando laugh. He doesn’t laugh as much as he usually would, but that’s because he sometimes only catches every second word. He’s sure Oscar’s being pretty funny though, so sometimes he laughs for the sake of ensuring Oscar keeps talking.

Lando has energy for one thing, and one thing only- kissing. Oscar’s wary about that, cautious like a few little pecks are going to absolutely destroy Lando.

To Lando, he has already braced himself for the fact that he’s going to change with the effects of surgery and chemo- mentally and physically. Maybe future Lando won’t want to kiss Oscar as much.

And maybe he’ll get so ugly that Oscar won’t want to kiss Lando either.

But Oscar caves, as he usually does, and it’s so sweet, so perfect. They kiss, and Oscar laughs into Lando’s mouth when he makes a stupid one liner, not funny to anyone other than Oscar, who is the easiest person in the world to make laugh.

Well, when it comes to Lando. Otherwise, Lando takes the cake for that title.

It feels like being a teenager again, or what Lando imagines teenage romance would’ve felt like. He was too busy with F4, F3, F2 and then obviously all the prep for F1 to ever have enough time to consider having a relationship. But being with Oscar, kissing in a hospital room and quickly separating when a doctor or a nurse walks in is just like how it’s described in movies.

Before Oscar, he only dated Luisinha, which besides the off season and some weekends that weren’t race weekends, he’s never really had time with his partner to be like this.

He has as much of Oscar as he wants right now, has all the time in the world to kiss and cuddle and laugh and talk without having a hundred cameras in their faces.

Lando wants to stay like this forever. Forever adoring, forever adored.

After a few days, the doctors rule him ‘well enough’ to be discharged, which isn’t even something Lando thought would happen. Clearly he’s got a lot about brain cancer to research, because he truly believed he’d be permanently hospital bound.

In reality, he’s only leaving to go back to Monaco and have the surgery there. If he had the surgery in Singapore, he’d be stuck there for months. As much as he likes Singapore- it’s not home, and it’s so humid.

The doctors that have been treating him in Singapore have been in contact with a set of surgeons at a private hospital in Monaco- discussing each precise detail to the tumour and the ideal route of how to remove it. Lando doesn’t listen when the doctors describe it to him, he goes to his happy place instead.

Miami, Florida- the 5th of May 2024

Oscar does listen on the other hand. He’s attentive, noting down each piece of information onto a little pocket book Logan had given the aussie for his birthday back in April. Where Lando zones out and goes spacey, Oscar remembers everything so he can explain it to Lando if he wants to know.

However, Lando does sometimes listen when they speak about the time after the surgery. It isn’t clear when he’s going to be able to race again as it all depends on how much of the tumour they’re able to remove and how his body will react to the chemotherapy.

COTA is completely out of the picture in terms of what he might be able to race in, and to be fair, the rest of the season is a wary grey area. Anything beyond Australia at the beginning of next year just seems too soon, as recovery from brain tumour surgery is 6-12 weeks, and that’s for normal activities- much less racing F1 cars.

For once, he decides to take that advice. Not listening to someone who was genuinely looking out for his health got him into this situation, badly bruised up from a crash on top of the existing tumour and cancer.

Oscar helps draft out an email from Lando to the McLaren team, explaining a situation they are already completely caught up on. Lando watches Oscar’s fingers tap across his laptop keyboard, using all the fancy jargon that Lando wouldn’t even know exists.

If he’s lucky and the tumour can be successfully removed, the doctors tell him he’ll return to his old self. He won’t have the headaches, the brain fog, the poor vision, the nausea. He’ll just be Lando Norris again- maybe slightly different, but better than now.

They don’t like to discuss what will happen if he’s unlucky though.

The bad thing about the tumour is that even though they are able to shrink it through chemotherapy if the surgery is unsuccessful, they’re not sure of the exact spread of it through his brain just yet. The MRI scan didn’t show the complete extent of the tumour, so they won’t know just how bad the situation is until they actually get in there for the surgery.

That’s the exact reason they’re pushing for it to happen as soon as possible- within the week ideally. Because the longer they wait, the more it spreads.

Lando’s had so many doctors and nurses tell him he was lucky that he crashed and ended up in hospital, as it was likely that the tumour would have remained undetected for a solid few more weeks, which could’ve killed him if he left it any longer than he did.

But Lando can’t help but think if he really was lucky, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He wouldn’t have a growing brain tumour, he wouldn't be in hospital, he wouldn’t be going in for surgery.

He’d be racing, he’d be on podiums- he’d be fine.

#f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri #lando Norris #sick fic #fernandopiastri28 #f1 2024 #logan sargeant #carlos sainz #landoscar #lando x Oscar

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azari-31 · 1 year ago

Text

Two worlds collide - Namor x OC/reader

A/U: so.... it's finally here. Im bad at writing a romantic non angst things, cuz i love angst. I had no idea how to write some scenes, but maybe in a few weeks i'll update it with this missing scenes. For now - enjoy this "masterpiece". Sorry for some mistakes, but i'm not good at english as i want to be. the end. now...

Enjoy!

words; 3700-ish

She hid behind the column and prayed to any deity to stay unseen. Tears ran from her eyes and a silent sob escaped her mouth. She wanted to come back home, to hug her mum. She wanted to reunite with her mother!

The blue people were killing everyone one by one. Screams of guards and priests hurt her ears. She covered them with her small hands, but it didn't help much. That was horrifying. Unconsciously, Azula called to her magic and a fire ring appeared around her protecting her from anyone.

Soon after everything ended.

Screams and yanking of steel; everything went silent. The only sounds were grunts of dying soldiers. Girl managed to open her eyes and looked at the battlefield. Flames slowly went out and left a burned mark on the ground.

A young boy looked at her and offered his hand. He spoke something to her in an unknown language. Terrified, she was looking at him for a relatively long time until one of her fellow prisoners said to her.

-He's asking you to join him. - the closest woman translated the newcomer's words. - He said he sees your talent and that he can provide you with shelter.

-Why? - she turned to this boy and the chains on her ankles crunched. Azula felt as the blood flowed down from wounds. She was weak. Very weak. Girl stumbled, but quickly regained her balance. Chains weighed her down and irritated her wounds. Pain was almost unbearable. She clenched her teeth.

In a matter of seconds one foreign warrior came to her and broke her shackles. With no word she grabbed the warrior’s arm and rested all of her weight on him. Girl didn’t even notice K’uk’ulkan walking towards her.

-Friends? - she looked surprised at the boy's hand and then at him. He wanted to be her friend? It was strange and uncommon for her.

She took a glimpse at the surroundings and finally answered:

-Friends. - flame in her eyes ignited with joy in her heart.

~*~

Many years have passed. Azula has excelled at magic as a witch. Her body was adjusted and used to do more demanding and experienced magic. A curse of fire in her blood was still a problem, but thanks to Namor it wasn’t that much of a problem.

After all these years her friendship with the king of Talokan grew stronger. They were inseparable. They could end each other’s sentences like they read their minds. This bond was something they needed. Both of them had time and no biological family to love. Two kids from different worlds – the surface and underwater. Something no one could think would work. Their feelings grew stronger and suddenly they couldn’t live without each other.

Azula was doing some ancient ritual when Namor came out of the sea. Spirits of the dead were surrounding her and the campfire. It was the time of year, when the spirits of ancestors wanted to meet with the living ones, but in Azula’s tradition it was about giving power to the dead. Her clan believed spirits had to consume their descendants’ magic to be able to survive.

Namor sat down on the rock silently and watched her moves with admiration. This woman was graceful and delicate despite the power that was surging inside. He saw a few burns and wounds from her fire. They made beautiful marks like tattoos, but painful. Many times he had to tend to her wounds, because she was exhausted.

-I got you, Mi Reina. - he said as he caught her. The love for her was so strong.

-K’uk’ulkan. - a smile appeared on her face at the same moment as she saw his face. - Thank you.

-You know I could burn the world for you. - he caressed her face and kissed her forehead.

-It’s my thing, Elio. Your domain is water and stick to it. - she winked with greater smile.

~*~

She barged into the ruined throne room right after M’Baku. She looked around and her eyes stopped at one point. There he was, in the broken window, looking at the young crying princess. For a second she laid eyes on the floor and saw Ramonda’s unconscious body. From that moment everything went silent.

-Bury the dead. Mourn your losses. You’re the Queen now. - Suddenly, the meaning of Namor’s words came to the witch. One look at the scene; Shuri stopped by M’Baku, Okoye and Nakia trying to resuscitate Ramonda and Riri. This was enough for her. K’uk’ulkan looked at Azula for the last time before he decided to go back. Her rage turned into blue-ish flames covering her arms.

-Estas muerto, Namor. - she threatened and sent a fireball at him. Before Namor disappeared, she could see the betrayal in his eyes. When he was already gone, she snapped out of trans and didn’t think twice of what she was doing. The flames vanished spontaneously leaving her skin burned.

Okoye was still trying to resuscitate Ramonda, but her efforts were in vain

-She has passed. - silent words came out of Nakia’s mouth. Everyone heard it, but not Azula. Witch forced her whole body to move. As she was close, she pushed Okoye away and kneeled beside Ramonda. Azula took a knife out of her pocket and cut the inside of her hand. Then she put it on the queen’s chest, tainting the material of the dress.

-It’s not too late. - Azula said to herself. - There’s still hope. I feel her spirit. - she wiped tears away from her face and started some incantations. Her voice was cracking, breaking every few words. Even breath control didn’t help. She put everything in that spell; her emotions, feelings, even her soul. Damn it, she would sell it to Satan himself if she could. She couldn’t fail this time, she just couldn’t.

Witch felt the curse kicking in, but it didn’t stop her, even made her sacrifice more for a friend. The feeling of her magic devouring her from inside was excruciatingly painful. At some point she heard her scream. Azula forced every molecule of her body to do as she commanded. The flames subtly covered Ramonda’s body and pumped life energy inside.

Suddenly she encountered a void. An empty vessel without even the smallest signs of life. Azula’s magic hasn't had anything to become an anchor. Nothing worked. Even draining from her life forces didn't help. Flame in her dangerously dimmed inside.

Like behind the mist, she saw Shuri crying over her mother's corpses. She failed. Again. Tears started to flow from her eyes and blurring her vision. Drained out of energy, Azula barely stood up by herself. She looked at the ruined throne room and tragedy in front of her before she left them. She had unfinished business with someone.

~*~

Azula entered Namor’s chamber like it was her own. Inside she encountered his third-in-command. They weren’t friends for a long time, but now this “not caring about the other” turned into hatred.

-Leave us alone. - she commanded with her strong voice, but the warrior didn’t even flinch. Commander waited for her King’s reaction. He nodded and the talokanian warrior left the room. From now on they were the only people inside. The silence between them was terrifying and tension was almost touchable.

-Long time no see, Zaz… - he wanted to greet his friend, but didn’t have a chance. She pushed away his hands. Next thing she did was attack him verbally.

-Cut that shit, Namor. We both know what you did.

-So it's no longer 'Mi Corazón'? Not even Elio? - he asked playfully, with a little bit of sarcasm. But under this facade he hid the little fear. She had magic in her possession. Five hundred years of magical experience and knowledge.

-You attacked Wakanda against our agreements. - The witch's voice was harsh and washed from emotions. - The country of my beloved friend!

-They didn’t pick a side and that was my warning. And now I need you to help me destroy them once and for all. - the calm in his voice sent chills down her spine. For a moment she forgot how dangerous he was. Underwater, in his domain, she had low chances for winning in a direct fight. Of course Azula could beat him, even kill him, but it required time. And he wouldn’t give her that in a fight.

-You killed their Queen! - she shouted, but her voice seemed flat, once again washed from any form of emotion. Her eyes were piercing his very soul. He wanted to flinch, but his pride didn't let him. When he looked at her, in her irises he saw something that he didn't think he would see again. It was something primal, something wild and untamed. Something from her past.

-That was necessary. And I don’t owe you any explanation. - he said and looked away from her piercing gaze. It was often fascinating, but this time it was paralyzing. Sometimes he felt like beneath Azula’s skin a monster was hidden. Like she was a monster in human flesh. Or rather unsatisfied, ferocious flame.

-I can curse you forever and you will never experience the feeling of water again. - she started her tirade on him. She didn’t even try to hold her magic anymore. She wanted to do a scary spectacle. - I can make you as weak as the human race is, even weaker than them. - woman threatened him with magic focused in the palm of her hand.

Her fingers touched his skin subtly as the magic tightened its grip on his throat. Suddenly he felt like his power and vitals left him. The feeling lasted only for a short amount of time, but it was strange, almost frightening for him. Now he knew Azula thrived as a magic user and was much more powerful than before, when she left Talokan and him for the surface world. But still he didn’t know her full potential, neither did she.

-Even then I will not change my decision. - he hissed through his teeth. He couldn't let her know how scared he was. - My people will follow me and do everything to protect Talokan. - he answered with confidence and calm worthy of the greatest king and warrior.

-You’re ready to start a war with the surface? - Azula was surprised by the decision of her friend and the idiocy of the plan. But the rage was more powerful and it quickly covered every other thoughts and emotions. - Fully knowing the consequences of not having an alliance with Wakanda? Or any powerful ally?

-I won't make a pact with them anymore. They had their chance. - he turned to the paintings and it looked like he studied it for a moment. The picture showed a short story about how Azula met him and became the Protector of this city. And his heart. - And they rejected my offer.

-Why? - she asked while holding her anger and grief in check. They both knew bad emotions were the best fuel for her dark magic, even better than sacrifices. He learnt it the wrong way a long time ago and didn't want a reround.

-One of them killed a guard. - as the meaning of words came to her, she looked at him stunned. Someone didn’t tell her all the facts and truth. She knew Talokanil meant everything to Namor. He could do anything for them, even die if that meant he protected them. The fact that someone killed one of his subjects was terrifying. For sure it was Nakia, because Shuri and Riri had no weapons to execute anyone. - That is the real reason for my aggression towards Wakanda. That’s how Talokanil and K’uk’ulkan return the favor.

-Tell me one thing. - she asked, fighting with the urge to destroy something and crying from helplessness. She kept her composure with the last piece of energy she had left. - Why am I not even surprised by what you want to do? - the pain in her voice was almost touchable for the ruler of the underwater kingdom. - You killed their queen, destroyed their capital and you want more?!

-I'll bring justice for my people.

-That’s not justice! That was pure revenge. - she hissed. Magic flames almost covered her irises for a brief moment. And yet he took a step towards her.

-I must secure Talokan’s future. That was always my goal and you knew it from the beginning of our relation. - K’uk’ulkan answered confidently, trying to keep his emotions and feelings hidden. Now he wasn’t sure about which side Azula picked. Just in case, he must’ve been prepared for everything. - And Wakanda will be our warning for the surface world.

-I could kill you right now ‘cause of your broken promise. - she warned him while she stepped further from him. The feeling of her magic surprised him again. It was climbing from his feet. They looked deeply in each other's eyes fighting a wordless battle. The face of a man she loved so deeply for years; now she didn’t recognize it, like it belonged to a completely different person.

-We were friends once. Why can’t we go back to those times? - he asked, and his look softened. He tucked a strand of her hair in his fingers and gently put it behind her ear. She knew he was trying to make her choose him, but she already decided. - Join me and … - he started, but the witch stopped him in the middle of the sentence.

-In the name of the friendship we once shared, from the respect to each other we once had I won’t kill you this time. - she said and turned her back to him. She made a few steps to the doors, but stopped about 1 meter in front of the exit. - Next time we’ll meet on the battlefield… We won’t fight on the same side. And I won't be that merciful as I am today. - K’uk’ulkan noticed gathering tears in her eyes. Instincts forced him to wipe them away, but he resisted this urge. It wasn’t appropriate and wanted by her. It would end terribly for both of them.

-Azula… - he tried again, but he failed once more. All his thoughts were focused on this woman and how he could persuade her to stay with him and fight by his side. He couldn’t lose her as an ally, but mostly as a friend. Not because she was powerful, but because she was the closest person he had after his mother. But something she said next broke his heart into a million pieces irrevocably.

-You really are a niño sin amor. - she said before vanishing from Namor’s chamber. A one single drop of tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. Today she lost two of her friends. How much must she lose before she can live peacefully? - she asked herself while she went back to her room in Wakanda's palace. She only prayed that the upcoming war won't end by his or Shuri’s death.

Why does she always have to suffer? Why can’t anything go strictly as it was planned? And why does it always involve hurting someone close to her?

~*~

She sat alone on a rock for a long time now thinking about everything that happened. She knew she did everything she could, but couldn’t help herself. She blamed herself for Ramonda’s and T’Challa’s deaths. She could prevent those events from happening, but she failed. And now she had to pay the price.

-Zaz? - he asked, surprised while walking out of the water. He didn’t expect her coming to Talokan nor even calling him ever again. They were enemies with a shared, and maybe for her, unwanted past. But there she was, waiting for him.

-You came. - she smiled slightly. Namor could only see her right profile. Her eyes were directed into the sunset. The beach she chose meant something to both of them. They met here for the first time and became friends.

-You called. - he answered and took a few steps in her direction. He stopped right in front of her and sat beside the rock. They watched the sunset together in complete silence. Instinctively she put her hand on Namor’s head and started playing with his hair.

In this precise moment there was nothing else, but them and the setting sun. He gently put his head on the side of her thigh. Namor just wanted to be a normal man, even for a short while. And all that mattered for her was to be with him.

-Mi corazón. - she whispered, still looking at the horizon. It felt like they went back in time, when they were just lost, abandoned kids. - Do you remember our talk about our lifespans? - he nodded in agreement. - I wasn't entirely honest with you that day.

-What do you mean?

-You can live for about how many years more, huh? It's gonna be at least 500 years. We don't know that. - she shrugged without any other move - On the other hand, I knew that you would outlive me. I use dark magic and this type of magic focuses on sacrifices, like plants or animals. Or the user's life force. I did it to extend my life, but it was only temporary. I always knew that.

-But you perform sacrifices every time. You were very cautious about it. - a sad smile showed on her face for a second and quickly faded.

-I told you this a long time ago and I'm gonna tell you again. Every…

-What did you do? - he asked, scared of what she could do or already did. He couldn't afford to lose her now. Nor ever.

-...thing has a price. And I didn't pay the price for defying death twice.

-What do you mean by "defying death"? - he asked, terrified. As the last words came out of his mouth, Azula turned to him and showed her full face. The left part was missing. It looked like it was burned. Namor looked at her in shock.

-Year ago I tried to bring T'Challa back to life. It didn't go well and from that moment I balanced between life and death. Second time was right before Shuri took the throne. I struggled with resurrecting Ramonda, but that went even worse than I expected. - she spoke last words shyly, like she didn’t want to admit it to him. Admit that she failed. Even if it was his fault.

-How long… - the man tried to ask, but he couldn't say anything.

-I have a few minutes, maybe less. - she replied shortly. - If it's about how long I hid this from you and others… - she pointed at the scarred part and tried to smile, but it didn't work. - More than a year. It became worse after T’Challa’s failed resurrection.

-No… - Namor said, still not believing in Azula's words.

-You craved for an answer why I called you today. So here it is. I wanted to see my old friend and the love of my life for the last time. - she smiled slightly. Her answer seemed honest and genuine; no hooks or hidden meanings.

-I asked you once if you could be Mi Reina. - he smiled and joined their hands together. It felt good, like they were meant for eachother.

-And I said 'over my dead body'. - woman chuckled quietly.

-But you already were the queen of my heart. - He confessed and looked at her. In her eyes he saw joy and tiredness. Both feelings were fighting with each other for dominance, but neither could win. For now, all she felt was overwhelming joy. She'll die in the arms of a man she loved for so long.

-Can I ask you for something?

-Anything for you, Mi Reina. - he couldn’t hold back his tears anymore, but he had to. That was her goodbye to the world and to him. And he couldn’t stop it.

-Try to love the surface and its people. They've changed, the world has changed. And you will find someone worth trusting. Just give them a chance. - she asked him. All she ever wanted was to be with him. Just like now, only two ordinary people, no more nor less. But that was a dream, and her dreams never came true.

-You are the only part of the surface world I love. - his attempts to hold his tears failed. Soon one tear ran down his cheek and after this another came. It shocked Azula to her core. Last time she saw Namor crying was after his mother’s death.

-But not the last. - her words were full of hope and kindness. He couldn’t believe how she could be so kind and happy and hopeful in her last moments of life. He barely believed that moment existed and it was real.

-I always loved you, Mi Reina. - he said with a fading smile. He did not hold back his tears. - And I always will. - he gently put a kiss on her forehead.

-See? They were wrong. - she smiled through her and his tears. - You can love. - he watched as she took her last breath and her eyes closed for eternity. Her grip on his hand loosened up and the heart stopped beating. With tearing eyes he hugged her dead body to his own. All those years lost because of thought he knew better. Her death was caused by his selfishness and not listening to his best advisor. The flame in her was gone. And with that his last piece of love for the surface world.

~*~

He already missed her heartbeat and her smile. Her true happy smile. Everyone he loved was dead. But Talokan still existed. And with it her flame and dream did too. That was the only thing that mattered now.

The funeral ceremony was made with great respect.Talokanil farewelled her like a Queen, whom she was for them. He wanted to bury her underwater, near him and his people. But that was his selfishness speaking.

Long time ago she confessed to him about her wishes of last destination. She mentioned one place. A small city by the sea, near Alicante. Her hometown. That, he remembered. And she deserved this, to be buried in her ancestors’ home. Nevertheless, she deserved to live even more.

-K’uk’ulkan. - Namora greeted her king. Even she felt grief. Azula gave her heart to this kingdom and its people.

-Yes?

-Queen Shuri is asking you to take Azula’s tomb. What shall I say?

-That I’m going with them to make sure her last wish will be executed properly. - Namor commanded. He took a glimpse at the mosaic of him and Azula. Kids from 2 different worlds marked with violence for the rest of their days. Even after 5 centuries he would do the same thing; he would still ask Azula to be his friend. And he would finally ask her to become his queen.

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