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sunsetchicane · 6 months ago

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cowboy like me [LN4]

lando x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

summary: The one where you work on a ranch and it’s everything you know. There’s nothing that can come between you and your love for your home. Not even a handsome stranger who seems to pull the best out of you.

warnings: slight angst, some fluff, horses!, brief sexual innuendo, a singular swear word, and one [sad] kiss.

author’s note: hey! hi! hello! this is my first fic on here (omgggg 🤭) so please, please, please let me know your thoughts/comments/questions! might write a second part to this…thoughts??[xoxo elle]

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Buxton Ranch has been in the Buxton family before Montana even became an official Union state in 1889. Land wasn’t simply a commodity or property back then; it was life or death. William T. Buxton and his wife, Mary Anne, put their boots down on this land along with their four children and they’ve never left. They fought their way over the mountains, survived the unbearable, and have reaped the benefits of their resilience for over a century and a half.

Willamina T. Buxton I, my boss, is the great-something granddaughter of William T. Buxton I. Her father, William T. Buxton VII handed over the ranch to her on her 30th birthday a few years back. The controversy caused ripples through the entire community because even though Willamina is Mr. Buxton’s first born, the ranch has always been handed down to the eldest son. Willa is the first woman to ever have ownership of the ranch.

My family hasn’t been in Montana nearly as long as the Buxtons. My mom and I moved out here in the spring the year I was born. My father skipped out before my mom could even hold herself upright in her hospital bed after laboring with me. She tells me that we came here to Montana for a fresh start, and what better place to go than where the sky is bigger and the air is pure. The mountains became our safe haven, our buffer from the rest of the world and, more importantly, our history. It’s easy to forget up here, to allow your mind to rest. I’ve never been at a loss for why the Buxtons came and never left. Sometimes, in the dark of my room, I pretend that I really am a Buxton, that I truly belong.

However, when the sun breaks across the mountain peaks and the world comes alive once again, I’m forced to realize that I don’t belong to the Buxton dynasty. I simply work for them.

My alarm blares to my right, causing me to shoot upright. With fumbling fingers, I seek for the power button of my alarm clock. When I finally find it and shut off the hellish noise, I fling my legs over the side of my bed. With the heels of my hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. The world around me is painted in a deep blue, still fast asleep and undisturbed by my alarm. I envy it as I rise from my bed and get ready for the day.

Silently, I pull on my bootcut Wranglers and a light green long sleeved button down. My belt and beat up old boots complete the ensemble for the moment being. My next stop is the bathroom where I brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tying my hair off into a low braid so it’ll sit right under my hat takes only a couple minutes. I’ve been wearing my hair the same way to work every day for the past seven years.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen where a pot of coffee is automatically brewing on schedule. I toss a few eggs into a pan as well as two pieces of bread into the toaster. The breakfast of champions and me every single day. After crushing a cup of coffee and my plain breakfast, it’s time to head out. Instead of living on-site with the rest of the ranch hands, I still live with my mom. I’ve been wanting to move out to the ranch for over a year now since I finished college, but the possibility of breaking my mom’s heart stops me from even mentioning it to her.

Glancing at the clock, I know I have plenty of time to spare, but I start to pack up and head out the door anyway. I enjoy being early to the ranch. It’s peaceful and serene before it wakes and rises. Grabbing my work jacket because the winter’s just turning over to spring, my chaps, and my lunch sack, I head out the door. My mom and I share an old, sunburnt orange Chevy truck that just barely runs. I toss my things into the bed of the pickup before sliding into the worn out driver’s seat. As I slide the key into the ignition, I send up a quick prayer that she turns over. When I press the key forward, the engine roars to life. Prayers have been answered this morning and I hope it’s a good omen for the rest of the day.

The drive to Buxton Ranch is short and sweet, all dirt roads and drifting grassy fields. The radio sounds quietly and the engine hums loudly, but everything else is completely still. A distant light orange is just starting to brush the very edges of the horizon in the east. Nature is starting to reach out and stretch its sleepy limbs.

As I pull up to the place where I always park near a stretch of fence, I see a figure dressed in shadows leaning over the wood a few yards away. Once I’ve tossed the pickup into park and yanked out the keys, I jump down from my seat so I can walk over to her. She’s always out here before everyone. Sometimes I see her, most times I don’t. When I do, it feels like fate, like there’s something about today that’s meant to happen this way. Or maybe it’s just Willamina Buxton.

“Good morning, y/n,” she rasps without glancing over at me. Crossing my arms, I lean over the log fence and take in the view. I don’t think there’s a better view in all of Montana than that from Buxton Ranch.

“Good morning, Willa,” I answer quietly. Her brother, Wyatt, was my best friend growing up. She’s only 12 years older than the two of us, but somehow she seems infinitely older and wiser. She’s been a role model for me. We grew closer after Wyatt left for college a few years back. Of course he came back in the summers to visit, but he never stayed long. He wasn’t born for this life. Instead of horses, he dealt with horse power. He always wanted to become an engineer for Formula One. When the opportunity came to go overseas to study in England and intern at McLaren, he hadn’t even thought twice. One day he was here, and the next he was gone.

I struggled with feeling abandoned for a while, but I came to terms with it quickly. I realized that dreams were meant to be chased and he was incredibly fortunate to get this opportunity. I was also chasing my dream, I just had to go down the street instead of across an ocean. We keep in touch, calling frequently and texting nearly every day, but it’s not the same. I miss him.

“Heard from Wyatt recently?” Willa says quietly then takes a sip from her mug of iron black coffee.

“Not in a couple of days. Seems busy,” I mumble. Wyatt’s leaving is a bit of a sore spot for Willa. She wanted him to stay on the ranch and in the family business. Her asking about him is a bit of an anomaly.

She hums, then pauses, then sighs. “Lots to do today. We better get going.”

And just like that the work day starts.

I tend to the horses right away, leading them out into the corral so I can wash out their stalls from over the weekend. I give each of them fresh hay and fill up large troughs of water for the more temperamental ones. Then I lead them one at a time back into their stalls and give them a thorough once over to check how they’re doing.

The last one I have to put away is the youngest of the group. He came to us only last year, unbroke and wild as the river. He’s a black Morgan stallion, sleek and athletic. He’s larger than your typical Morgan, with rippling muscle, and a proud face. He’s beautiful. We call him Jupe.

“Jupe,” I coo kindly to the untamed stallion. “Come on, Jupe.”

He casts a look over his back at me telling me everything I need to know. Sighing, I toss myself over the fence and into the corral. With my palms raised up and in front of me, I show him the leather lead in my hand as I walk over to him slowly.

“Come on, Jupe, we gotta go back inside. I cleaned up real nice for you, boy. Fresh hay, new water, you’re living the five star life, buddy,” I say while creeping up on him. He doesn’t move, but simply tracks my movements with his black eyes. Nerves claw at my stomach as I approach him. Reaching out slowly, I praise him and repeat his name over and over. Finally, I slide the clip of the lead around a loop in his bridle. But there’s no relief yet. I still have to get him into the stables without incident.

“Good boy, Jupe,” I say, reaching out gently to stroke his nose. He pushes at my hand playfully. A surge of pride washes over me. Maybe the two of us are finally making progress. Jupe lets me lead him out of the corral and back to his stall with ease. Today really is my day.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the stallion as I slide the lock shut on his door. Jupe’s head hangs over the short door, his head coming down to level with mine. Patting him gently, I pull a couple sugar cubes from my pack. I hold them up to him on my flat palm and he slurps them up gratefully. A smile that I can do nothing to stop breaks across my face. I’m gonna saddle him up one day. And maybe that day is sooner than I’d anticipated.

“Only you would give that stubborn Morgan a treat,” I hear a familiar voice say. I whip around in disbelief as the tone and inflexion registers in my mind.

“Then again, maybe the two of you have bonded over your mutual stubbornness.” Wyatt hardly gets the words out before I’m taking his arm in mine and wrapping him up in a hug with the other. We laugh as we sway side to side. My hat careens to the side of my head as I hug him and I know I must be getting him all sweaty and dirty, but I can’t find it in myself to care about vanity at the moment. Wyatt’s back.

“Surprise!” He says when I finally let go of him. He’s wearing a bright smile as I pull back. Wyatt reaches up and straightens out my hat for me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say while smacking the back of my hand against his shoulder. “I would’ve gotten off work and…”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he laughs as I slide past him to finish up sweeping this side of the stables.

“You’re right,” I laugh along with him while I sweep. He knows that I love my job too much to step away from it. I hate missing a day and he knows that.

Wyatt takes a seat on a stack of unused hay bales that I’ll have to load back up. He chats with me about school and England and McLaren. I don’t know much about Formula One, just what I picked up on from Wyatt constantly chatting my ear off about it. Most of the stuff that Wyatt has told me, however, goes way over my head. What I do know is that this boy is an engineering genius and McLaren is lucky to have him now as a full-time employee. They offered him a job straight out of university. He’ll be living full time in the UK. My stomach twists at the thought.

“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day?” Wyatt asks after I’ve finished sweeping. I place my hands on top of the broom and lean my chin over my fingers.

“Riley and I were going to take down that rickety south fence and…” I start to say while mentally checking my to-do list.

“Sandy’s helping Riley with that,” Wyatt says matter-of-factly. I cast him a questioning look to which he simply blinks at.

“Alright. Then I have to go to the cattle and check on all of the pregnant…”

“Louise has that covered,” Wyatt informs me while picking at his nails. What is he getting at?

“Why…well, then I have to…” I begin, trying to move away from things that he could possibly know of.

“Go riding with me and my friends!” Wyatt exclaims while hopping off the hay bales and clapping his hands together. “Wonderful idea.”

My jaw drops. There’s no way that he’s trying to make me skip the rest of the day to go riding. Not after we just had a conversation over the fact that I would never do that. That I could never do that. I have an obligation to be here, to get things done.

“Wy, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do,” I say firmly while walking over to hang up my broom. Jupe huffs and brays at Wyatt as he walks briskly over to me.

“No you don’t. I made sure of it,” Wyatt says while grabbing my hands so I have no choice but to stand in front of him. “Willa’s told me to inform you that if you’re found working this afternoon, there’ll be severe consequences.”

At that, I know I have to oblige with Wyatt’s request. If Willa gave the all clear, there’s no reason for me to try and argue. One thing about the Buxtons is they’re nearly as strong-willed as the horses they hold. Not to mention it would be incredibly rude of me to not accept Willa’s generosity. This doesn’t stop me from letting Wyatt know exactly how I feel about him pulling me away from my work. I do so in colorful language the entire walk over to the house.

“You don’t even want to go riding with me, you just want me to be your guide,” I feign an accusation as we approach a small crowd of people on the large front deck of the Buxtons glorious ranch home. I see a few ranch hands and two other men that I don’t know, who must be Wyatt’s friends.

“You are the best guide out here.” His backhanded compliment earns him an eye roll. As we approach the house, he tells me to wait for a second while he calls over his friends. Their heads turn quickly to the two of us when Wyatt calls to them. They say hasty goodbyes to the staff they were chatting with before walking over to Wyatt and I. One is tall and pale, with pale eyes, and pale hair. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink from the chill that still hangs in the spring air. He looks lively and excited, his eyes bouncing around from one thing to another at lightning speed.

The other man is shorter with cropped, dark, curly hair. His hazel eyes are sharp and brilliant against his tanned skin. As he draws nearer, I can tell that he’s very physically fit. He’s wearing a tight long sleeve shirt that hugs his arms, brand new boot cut jeans, and a shiny pair of boots that have obviously never been worn. His eyes, unlike his friend, don’t wander while he walks over to us; they stay trained on me. A small smile falls across his pretty pink lips as he finds me watching him swagger his way over. He’s attractive.

“Never seen a British boy in cowboy boots before,” I say when they stop in front of us, glancing down at the brunette's footwear. When my eyes flick up to his, he still hasn’t stopped looking at me. Clearing my throat, I extend a hand to the blonde.

“Hi, y/n,” I introduce myself while shaking his hand.

“Mitchel,” he says, his accent is sharp and acutely German, which takes me by surprise. I nod, casting him a warm smile. I watch as Mitchel’s eyes flick to Wyatt over my shoulder. Following suit, I catch Wy smiling like a fool and a slight blush that I don’t think has anything to do with the weather coating his cheeks. When he sees me looking at him, he quickly crosses his arms and looks away. My smile widens. Mitchel drops my hand and then stuffs his back into his pockets.

“Y/n,” I say to Wyatt’s other friend who has a bit of a staring problem. He takes my hand in his slowly.

“Lando Norris,” He says crisply, his accent confirming my previous assessment. “Nice to finally meet you, y/n.”

His name catches in my mind, as if I’ve heard it before but I can’t place it. Wyatt must have mentioned him at some point, but for the life of me I can’t remember what about. A moment passes and our hands stay held together in the space between us as I try to place him. My eyes scan over his face and catalog his freckles and scars and the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles. When it dawns on me that I’m now the one with a staring problem, I swiftly pull my hand from his. Briefly, his jaw clenches.

“Finally, huh?” I take his previous statement and run with it. Turning my back to Lando, I glance over at Wyatt. “Just what have you been saying about me?”

“All good things, all good things,” Wy assures me while coming up to clasp me on the shoulder. He leans into me with a big smile that makes my stomach churn at the thought of what he’s actually told his friends. What does Lando think of me? Why does it matter what Lando thinks of me?

“Well,” I say quickly, trying to shake the thought of Lando from my head. “I suppose we should get going if we want to be back by sundown.”

The three boys nod their heads in agreement. The four of us walk over to the stables. Wyatt and Mitchel walk slowly behind me as they chit chat and laugh. Casting a glance over my shoulder at them, I watch as their shoulders bump together and their fingers brush intentionally. I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. Wyatt’s alway had a hard time with romance and partnership just because of where we grew up and the hate he received for simply being himself. Seeing him this way, happy and smitten, makes me feel proud. It affirms that his leaving was necessary in so many ways.

“How long have you been working here?” Lando’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. My attention slides over to him. He’s come up to my left, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes are wide and curious as he looks at me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being analyzed.

“Seven years. But I’ve been on the ranch all my life. I took riding lessons from Willa and then became fast friends with Wyatt,” I tell him while pulling my eyes from his. Returning his gaze seems difficult, so I keep my eyes trained on the stable. He hums in acknowledgement of my response. I can feel his eyes on me still.

“Do you work at McLaren with Wyatt?” I ask my new acquaintance. He chuckles to himself a little, his pretty eyes squinting from his large smile.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, making me feel like I’m missing something. I scoff at his vague response, but don’t press the issue. If he wanted to explain himself, he would. His aura is interesting. He seems so sure of himself, completely at ease with who he is. It’s captivating.

We make it to the entrance of the stable and I instruct Lando and Mitchel to take a seat while Wyatt and I saddle up the horses. It takes us a while to get everyone ready for the trail ride, but with every passing minute, the more excited I get. Wyatt and I used to go out on the trails all the time. During the summer as teenagers, we would stuff our packs full of camping supplies and go for days at a time. Those memories are my most cherished possessions, things that I will never forget. Now whenever I take others up there, I feel as though I’m bearing a part of my soul to them.

Once we’re done getting everything ready, Wyatt leads his and Mitchel’s horses, Rudy and Molly, outside with Mitchel in tow. This leaves me alone with Lando. My stomach twists nervously when I feel his presence looming to my right.

“Ever ridden before?” I ask while petting Luna, a beautiful sorrel tovero paint. She’s older, but strong and steady, a good horse for a beginner.

“Yeah, loads,” Lando says while joining me in stroking Luna. I cast him a critical glance. If he sees it, he ignores me. Rolling my eyes, I really can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. It’s important to know what you’re doing while working with large animals. I make the mental note to keep him in my line of sight at all times while riding.

“Oh, good. Then you’ll be good to lead Ms. Luna out? She’s yours for the day,” I tell him while handing over the reins. I watch his adam's apple bob and his eyebrows lift slightly before nodding and accepting the reins from my hand. When his fingers brush over mine, goosebumps run across my arm. Quickly, I pull my hand away and turn towards Beau, my stallion for today. Fiddling aimlessly with his bridle, I wait until the steps of Luna and Lando have disappeared before releasing a breath. Leaning my forehead against Beau’s neck, I sigh at my stupid behavior. Am I really so touch starved that I get goosebumps at my finger brushing against his? That’s sad.

I take Beau’s reins in my hand and start leading him out to the waiting pack of boys. Just as I’m about to exit the stables, I look over at Jupe. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.

“Don’t give me attitude,” I tell him.

He just blinks at me.

Beau and I join everyone. Wyatt’s running Mitchel through the basics while Lando watches on. He’s pretending to not be listening by petting Luna and quietly talking to her, but I still catch the way he glances over when Wy demonstrates something. I walk around and do a quick double check on everyone’s gear before returning to Beau’s side. With the ease of muscle memory that I don’t think I’ll ever lose, I toss myself up and onto the saddle. Wyatt assists Mitchel into his saddle before climbing into his own. Lando glances over at me before sliding his foot into the stirrup and attempting to pull himself up. He looks out of his depth and slightly awkward as he hauls himself onto the saddle seat. Biting back a laugh, I click my tongue and squeeze my legs a little to get Beau to move for me. The two of us saunter up next to Lando. His easy continence is long gone, replaced by nerves and uncertainty. His hands shake as he grabs onto the reins incorrectly.

“Here, like this,” I correct while reaching out to his hands. My fingers pry his anxious fists open and fix where he’s holding the leather cord. I’m surprised to find calluses littering his palms, a mirror of my own. I maneuver his palm to rest in the right way so he doesn’t agitate Luna. I can feel Lando watching me as I touch and hold his hands. I’ve done this a hundred times when teaching lessons, but this is the first time that I feel an uncomfortable blush creeping onto my cheeks. Lando’s presence has me off axis, spinning out of my routine. I’ve known him for maybe an hour and he’s already getting under my skin.

“Just trust Luna, she knows the way,” I say quietly as I pull away from him. He bites at his lip but nods along with my words. Smiling as warmly as I can, I leave his side to ride up to Wyatt. However, I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder at him. He’s not looking at me, thankfully. Instead, his eyes are trained on his hands as he flexes them on the reins the way I showed him. His focus is endearing, almost cute.

But when his eyes rise to find mine, I snap my head forward in hopes that he didn’t catch me staring at him. The last thing I need is to develop some sort of childish crush on a stranger that I’ll never see again after a few days. I just have to keep my head down and my thoughts off of him.

“Time’s wasting!” Wyatt calls to me, letting me know that everyone is ready to go. Nodding, I take the lead while Wyatt falls to the back. We keep Mitchel and Lando between us so they don’t get caught straying off the path.

Going out for a ride is one of my favorite things. I love going into the mountains, walking along the thin paths, and enjoying the earth. As we go, I hear Mitchel and Wyatt quietly chatting at the back of the pack. However, once we get to the treeline, their voices fall away from my earshot. My senses are overcome by our surroundings. The budding trees are gorgeous as they filter the sunlight into sultry beams that fall onto the new grass along the sides of the gravel path.

“Beautiful,” I hear Lando speak for the first time since we left. I’ve been distracted thankfully, leaving me free from his effect on me. Now, though, I find myself turning to the side to look at him as he comes up next to me. I’m surprised to find him staring at me instead of the lively forest that hems us in. A thought that he might be making a comment about me instead of the scenery flashes through my mind. Quickly, I shove the absurd thought away and chalk it up to wishful thinking.

“It is,” I agree, giving him a small smile. He chuckles a little before turning to look around him. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of him. Somehow he adds to the already perfect scene around me. His hair is being ruffled by the slight, cool breeze, which also lends his skin a gorgeous pink flush. Bright hazel eyes track the swishing branches and fluttering wildlife. His muscles are on display as he engages them to ride Luna. He looks less stiff than he did earlier, as if he’s finding himself at ease here. The idea makes me giddy. I find myself agreeing with Lando’s previous assessment. Beautiful.

“See something you like, cowgirl?” Lando laughs when he catches me staring at him yet again. My eyes go wide and my mouth parts as I scramble for a proper response, a defense, anything. There’s just something about him that makes it nearly impossible to look away. I think I’d like to be able to see him a lot more.

“Cowgirl?” Is all I can come up with. It’s not an inaccurate title, but the way he said it made it sound different. It was tacked onto his question almost like an endearment, or a tease. I laugh a little at his choice of words and the way it sounds in his accent.

“I see a lot of things I like, cowboy. You’ll have to be more specific,” I challenge. This successfully pulls a proper laugh from him. It’s the type of laugh that sends birds flying frantically from their perches and the creatures hidden in the grass scurrying away. It’s impossible to not laugh along with him. My heart flutters and I have to hold on tighter to my reins so I don’t fall off the saddle.

“I may be a lot of things, but I am no cowboy,” he corrects. I nod while continuing to laugh.

“I could have told you that,” I confirm while adjusting my hat.

“Oh really?” Lando says, urging me to explain myself. He tilts his head to the side while his mouth pulls into a closed lipped smile.

“If the brand new jeans and boots didn’t give you away, then you’re riding definitely does. You ride stiff as a board,” I inform him while glancing down at his boots and jeans. His denim clad thighs are tight around Luna’s middle, tense muscles visible through the fabric.

“Alright, teach me then,” he says, his free hand coming to rest on his hip. “Cowgirl.”

I roll my eyes at his words once again, but am resolved to help him nonetheless. There’s nothing like going out and being able to ride properly. I want to ask him why he lied to me about his experience with riding, but I don’t want to bruise his ego any further. Trying something new is challenging enough, and if he’s willing to learn, then I don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Keep sitting up straight, but relax your body. Your hips should shift back and forth in the seat a little. Don’t fight what feels natural. Just watch me,” I tell him. His eyes slide slowly from my face down to my hips. I watch as his eyes track my hips back and forth just slightly with Beau’s steps. Lando’s breathing goes uneven and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth. He’s staring at me like there’s nothing else he’d ever want to look at. It makes my heart race and nerves flutter in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about the more sensual implications of having him watch my hips, but it seems rather obvious now. However, I don’t really mind the way he’s looking at me, or the way his focus is completely attuned to me. Selfishly, I really wish he wouldn’t look at anything else ever again. But that can’t happen.

“Eyes up, cowboy,” I tell him after a few more seconds of letting him watch. “Go ahead.”

Clearing his throat, he shifts a little in the saddle before settling in to do what I asked. I don’t miss the way he avoids looking me in the eye, as if he’s embarrassed. Have I flustered him? The thought makes me just a tiny bit proud. He doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily. He sits up straight and attempts to relax his body. His lower half starts to shift the right way, looking more natural and less jerky than before. Indulging myself, I watch for a few more seconds. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rocks back and forth in the saddle. My mind goes wandering to places that I shouldn’t be thinking about with a man I’ve only known for a day. Less than a day. And yet, I can’t stop myself.

“Maybe we’ll make a real cowboy out of you yet, Lando Norris,” I tell him after I’ve noticed improvements. His focus fractures and he looks over to me.

“I think I’d like that,” He shoots back, a sly smile accompanying his words. The look twists my stomach into nervous knots. There’s something about him, something intangible, that draws you in. Maybe it’s charm or charisma, or maybe it’s just the way he was made. Whatever the circumstances or reasons are, it’s not fair. I feel as though I have hardly a fighting chance to ward off any sort of desire that’s bubbling to the surface. I want to keep getting to know him; I want to teach him anything he asks; I want to never let go of the way he makes me feel.

The walk back to the ranch grounds is much faster than I would have liked. Lando chats with me the entire way back about this and that. He’s smart and funny and my chances of not having a crush on him grow slimmer with every passing minute I spend with him. When we get back to the stables, I find myself taking much longer than I normally would to put everything away. Mitchel and Wyatt decided that a fire would be the best way to end the night, so they ran out to get it started while Lando and I finished up with the horses. He tried his best to help, but kept getting distracted by visiting all of the stalls.

“Who’s this?” Lando says as I finish putting away the last saddle. I say a quick goodbye to Beau before heading down to the last stall near the open barn doors. Lando is standing in front of Jupe’s stall, his arms crossed over his chest. I stop next to him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us, even though I want to come up right next to him and press my shoulder to his.

“This is Jupe. He’s our newest. Bit ornery, but a good boy,” I say while reaching my hand out to pat Jupe’s head. He brays at my touch, but doesn’t pull away. I give him a quick kiss on the nose and coddle him a little. Positive reinforcement does wonders.

“My turn,” Lando says from behind me. Astounded, I turn my face toward him. He’s insinuating that he wants me to kiss him. My brain short circuits at the thought. He’s just standing there with his arms still crossed over his chest and a stupid smile playing across his handsome face. I scoff at his joke, trying not to let on how much it affected me.

“Careful what you wish for, you might end up with a stall of your own,” I jab back. However, keeping him here doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“Being praised, kissed, and ridden by you? Sounds like these guys are living the dream,” Lando says. My jaw hangs loose as his words hit me like a freight train. Shock courses through me, leaving me beyond speechless. Is he being serious? Who says things like that? I blink at him, unsure of how to continue. I can’t lie and say that the images that popped into my head when he spoke were entirely unpleasant. If he’s being serious, there’s a lot to consider here. I could deny my feelings and spare myself the heartache. Or the alternative, which is letting my emotions get the better of me. This would mean that in a few days after spending time together, I would have to deal with heartbreak and come to terms with the fact that I’ll maybe never see him again. Or maybe I could, if there’s something really here. Maybe I have to give into hope for once. There’s never really been anyone who I’ve put ahead of my goals or dreams. I’ve never been tempted to stray from my path by anyone. Sure, I’ve gone out with guys, had a boyfriend for a while. But if something didn’t line up, I made cuts so my life would fit together how I needed it to. Suddenly now, as I stand here in this stable with a man I met only hours ago, I’m finding myself bending my rules for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my whole life.

“Alright, cowboy,” I say while taking a tentative step toward him, I’m ready to play this little game of his. His hands have fallen to his side, so I gently slide my fingers into his. Shining eyes lock onto mine. His tan skin is set aglow by the dying sunrise, highlighting the ridges and curves of his face. I want to memorize every freckle, every line, every corner of him. I’m lost in the way his hand feels around mine and in the way he’s looking at me, and I don’t ever want to find my way out. One of his fingers comes to the front of my hat and pushes the brim up. He draws closer now, his face mere inches from mine. His jaw flexes and his large neck muscles twitch with tension as he dips his head down just enough for his lips to hover over mine.

“We have a fire to get to,” I finish my earlier thought in a whisper. With hooded eyes, I look into his wide ones. Smiling smally, I step away from him. Adjusting my hat back to its original place, I begin walking out the door. Lando is hauled after me with my hand still grasped in his. Giddiness takes me over as I walk hand in hand with him towards the fire pit near the house. My small smile breaks into a much larger one as I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog. Lando’s hand clasps around mine tighter as he adjusts to the new pace. A laugh bubbles from my chest as I bring my free hand to hold onto my hat as I run harder. A sense of carefreeness has corrupted my usual serious disposition. Rarely do I feel as free as I do now. Lando’s lightness has infected me, and I can’t help but fall in love with how it’s buoyed my spirits. It feels like the first hit of a drug; it’s the type of high I’ll be chasing for the rest of my life.

As we approach the house, I can hear Wyatt’s laugh ring out from around the corner to the back. Just as we’re about to turn that last corner, Lando’s arms reach around my waist, stopping me from moving another inch. His chest hits my back with no small amount of force, tossing my hat from my head. I’m bent over in his arms as both of our laughs pull the last threads of air from our tired lungs. He hauls us both upright and my head falls back against his shoulder. I suck in a deep breath of the cool, dusk air. It cools me from the inside out. A feeling stirs deep in my stomach as I stare up into the sky while basking in the feeling of Lando’s arms wrapped around me.

Belonging.

It’s something I’ve been chasing my whole life; a sense of knowing where I belong and who I am. And now I feel as though I’ve finally found it: a home; a place to belong; a knowledge of exactly who I am.

Once we’ve regulated our breathing, I break out of his arms. Leaving them isn’t what I want, and as I pull away, I immediately feel much colder. However, we have to accompany Wyatt and Mitchel before they grow suspicious. Carefully, I pick up my hat, but don’t place it back on my head.

“Are you coming?” I ask quickly, tossing a glance to Lando over my shoulder. He shakes his head with a smile, but follows me around the corner without a word. Wyatt’s eyes find us over the roaring fire he’s built. Mitchel is seated right next to him on a log, a thick blanket spread over their laps. Between the warmth of the fire, the blanket, and the present company, I know that the nighttime chill won’t be able to touch me. As I approach Wyatt, he reaches to the side to pick up another blanket with a couple beers and s’mores supplies stacked on top. I accept it with a quick thank you before plopping down on the log next to them. Lando saunters after me, slowly taking a seat to my right.

“Hold this?” I ask while placing the blanket onto his lap. Gently, I set my hat down behind me, then reach over my shoulder to grab the end of my braid. I pull the elastic from the end and go about undoing the braid.

“So, Lando, how was the ride for you?” Wy asks as he brings his beer to his lips. My eyes are on the fire as he speaks, my mind slipping out of focus for a brief moment while I concentrate on my hair. But I’m aware of the fact that Lando doesn’t answer. When I turn to look at him, I find his eyes already on me, following my fingers as they finish pulling out my braid. I run my fingers through my roots to shake out the nasty hat hair that I undoubtedly have.

“Lando?” Wyatt laughs.

“What?” Lando says as he snaps out of his dazed state. His eyes go wide as they shift over to Wyatt who’s chuckling to himself. A goofy smile breaks across Lando’s face as Wyatt restates his question.

“I think I might have to switch professions,” Lando says, his eyes flicking down to me. The fire is lighting his skin with a warm glow. The flames flash lazily in his glossy eyes.

“I think it would be best for you to stick with McLaren,” I joke while cracking both of our cold beers. With a small smile, I hand over one of the bottles to a slightly offended Lando. Laughing to myself, I nudge his shoulder and click the neck of my beer to his. The liquid is cold and fresh against my lips, sending the perfect chill cascading down into my neck and chest.

“Yeah, mate, I think it’s best if you stay in the cockpit rather than the saddle,” Mitchel adds. “Play to your strengths and all that.”

The cockpit? As in the cockpit of a Formula One car? The realization hits me with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Lando Norris; I recognized his name earlier because Wyatt works as an engineer for a driver named Lando Norris. A Formula One driver named Lando Norris. With wide eyes, I stare forward into the fire. Every possibility that I’ve just dreamt up has suddenly become nothing but a fantasy. My body tenses as it physically revolts against my idiocy and naivety. Reality settles into my bones and I have to chide myself for being so stupid to ignore it for as long as I have. Not only did I ignore it, but I created a work of fiction where maybe we could end up together.

“Shit,” I hear Lando breathe next to me. His face is one I don’t recognize, one of seriousness. For the few hours that I’ve known him, which feel more like years, I haven’t seen him lose that little spark that makes him so him. Now it’s nowhere to be seen. He didn’t want me to know that he was a professional driver, one of the most elite in the whole world. It stings because I don’t understand exactly what his intentions were and it allowed me the space to concoct some seriously messed up notions. There’s no way that anything could happen between us now. It’s hard enough to maintain a friendship of years over an ocean with an engineer; imagine trying to hold together a relationship with a driver across continents and seas that constantly change. However, I can’t justify being angry with him. It is his life to be in the public eye constantly. If he came out here to not be recognized for a while and to be treated like just a normal guy, then who am I to deny him that. I just wish he would have given me the opportunity to do that with knowing who he really is. Now I’m stuck with feelings that I know won’t go away in a hurry and thorough embarrassment.

The rest of the night passes monotonously. Wyatt and Mitchel are wrapped up into their own little world, so they hardly notice the ever eroding gap that suddenly formed between Lando and I. We chat a little, but it’s not the same anymore. Roasting marshmallows has suddenly become my new favorite thing because it gives me an excuse to not look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll start to adore his curly hair and the scar over the bridge of his nose and the way that he looks right into your soul with his pretty eyes. I know that if I dare to look at him, I’ll start to believe in fiction once again. That’s not something I can allow; I won’t be the person who falls in love with the idea of something they can never have.

I won’t be the person that falls for someone they can never have.

Wyatt and Mitchel bid us goodnight before walking hand in hand into the house. Envy flares in my chest, jealousy turning my heart an ugly shade of green. The crackling of the dying fire and the rustling of wind through the grass and trees are the only things that greet my ears. Usually, I would be incredibly fond of this quietness. But now, it simply feels like a life sentence of silence. And once again, as the world turns to night, I feel the loneliness creep in at the edges. The night chill has crept into my fingers and toes, slowly creeping inward.

“I’m sorry,” Lando’s voice is gravelly from lack of use. “I should have…”

“You should have,” I agree. My voice isn’t harsh or condescending, it’s soft, softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I understand, though. I just wish I had known before…”

My voice trails off and gets blown away with the smoke that floats lazily into the atmosphere. Clouds have collected across the sky, cutting the stars from our view. With a melancholy heart, I can’t help but admit how fitting that is. I suppose we really weren’t written in the stars. We are the opposite of destined.

Lando’s hand wraps around my cold fingers, but instead of warming me, it burns. The kiss he leaves on my knuckles feels as though my hand was dipped into the embers of a fire. Blinking back the prick in my eyes from impending tears, I watch his face fall into a frown. I hate the way his eyebrows are creased in the middle and the concern that’s painfully evident in his stubborn eyes. It’s not the look I wanted from him tonight. It’s not the face that’s become my brand new favorite. It’s not Lando.

“How long are you staying for?” I find myself asking. I have to know how long I’ll have to endure his presence. But what’s worse: having him here and knowing I can’t have him, or watching him leave and knowing that I’ll never have him?

“We leave on Monday,” he says. Just for the weekend then. I’ll only have to see him on Monday and then I’ll be free of him. I know he’ll torment me in my sleep, when I see someone walking down the street who looks a little like him, when I look at Luna. I’ll never truly escape him.

“Alright,” I mumble. A beat passes without any more conversation. Then Lando’s hand is slipping under my hair and around the side of my neck. My head turns toward him, his touch unprompted and sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. Just once and then we can put it away forever. Alright?” He’s closing that gap between us, both physically and emotionally. His face slows as it hovers in front of mine. My breathing has ceased and fear has seized my heart. Is this the right thing to do? Or will it make it worse?

“Alright,” I find myself agreeing without thinking. Maybe I have to know, too, if this is everything I think it is; if this really is everything that I’m losing.

His kiss is light at first, lips just barely brushing mine. It’s soft and gentle as he uses his hand to bring my face closer to his. When his lips are fully on mine, my mind bursts into stars and streams of color. He kisses me with quiet passion, slow and strong. That belonging that I felt when he had his arms around me flares back to life in my chest. His fingers flex under my jaw, holding onto me tighter like he’s scared I’ll slip out of his grip. Which I am. When we break away from our first and last kiss, I feel as we filter through each other’s fingertips. We’re lost now, never to be found.

A crack in my chest sends me to my feet. Tears suddenly blur my vision.

“Goodbye, Lando,” I find myself saying, my words taking every bit of strength I have left. As I turn away from him for the last time, I find myself wishing I'd have said no to his kiss. As I walk away from him for the last time, I know now that I’m losing the one real thing I’ve ever known.

The truth is he isn’t a cowboy like me.

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explosionkatsu · 2 years ago

Text

"Age doesn't matter" 8

Dad!Bakugo x F!Babysitter!Teacher!Reader

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

"So." Eijiro started as they both exited Y/n's apartment.

Katsuki stayed silent while carrying the sleeping Kazui in his arms along with his things for school.

"She seems nice." Eijiro grinned. "And very helpful." He added as he clicked his car keys unlocking his car.

"Straight to the point," Katsuki mumbled carefully getting in the car.

"Well, you both look close to each other, especially after the news," Eijiro said getting in the driver's seat.

"The news is nothing. They're spouting lies. That's all they fucking do." Katsuki mumbled once again, trying not to wake Kazui.

He's not ready. Not yet. But he sees you fitting to be Kazui's mom knowing how close you were with his son. Of course, he knows him being a single father is fine, but he also knows Kazui will be looking for a mom. Now that he can see other kids being picked up by their mothers.

"What do you think will happen if she saw the news?" Starting the engine, Eijiro slowly drove off of the parking lot.

"The fuck do I care," Katsuki growled lowly. "For all I know she's fucking banging any other guy in every bar she goes to."

He doesn't care.

He doesn't care that they're not officially divorced. He won't accept her back. Not after what she did.

"Hey, that's not how you talk about your-

"She's not my fucking wife. Not ever." Katsuki scowled deepened, but soon disappear when he shifted his eyes to Kazui's peaceful face.

He'll do everything for his son. He'll risk his life if he has to just keep him safe.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Eijiro apologizes.

"Kazui doesn't deserve to know her."

After Eijiro dropped Katsuki at their home, he drove to a secluded area.

His eyes were serious while he focuses on driving. No one knows he's here. Not even Katsuki.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of a dark alleyway and roll the passenger seat's window down.

"Get in." He said.

When the person got in, Eijirou started driving once again.

"You'd be surprised by my intel."

"Tell me," Eijiro said quietly while his eyes focuses ahead.

"Didn't I say she's in the city?"

"Yeah."

"Surprisingly. She got her own home."

Eijiro side glances at him after he what he heard. "We're you able to track her house?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me."

“Good morning, class.”

Friday finally arrive. That means tomorrow, Y/n can finally rest.

“Good morning, Miss Y/n.”

But deep inside Y/n, no matter how tiring her job is, she loves children. Maybe it's because of a quirk? Pft. Of course not. Was it? Seeing the children smile after she mends their booboos away makes her feel warm. So maybe it was indeed her quirk.

“Alright everybody, today we’ll do arts!” Miss Y/n smiled cheerfully.

A loud cheer of small voices engulfed the room.

“Be quiet everyone.” Miss Y/n spoke up clapping her hands to settle the children down. “Take out the art materials that I advised you to bring. If someone needs more art materials, come to my table, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Y/n!”

“Okay! Draw your favorite hero and you will show it to everyone.” Miss Y/n said.

She was about to make her way to her table when suddenly, a loud crash was heard from the other side of the room alerting Miss Y/n. The children began crying due to being frightened.

“Everyone, please evacuate the premises. Everyone, please evacuate immediately.”

Y/n’s eyes widen. What is an attack? No. This is not the right time to think about it. She needs to take the children outside. Then another loud crash was heard.

Then a laugh.

Terror and fright were getting ahead of her. She couldn't think straight. Seeing the children crying around her makes her heart clench.

Think.

Y/n let her eyes roam around her classroom. There must’ve been something she can use.

Think.

Her eyes suddenly focused on the windows. So without any reluctance, she rushed towards it opening it wide enough for the children to fit.

“Children. Come to teacher, we need to leave.” Miss Y/n said as gently as she could say. “Everything will be okay. The heroes will arrive. They will save us.”

One by one, she held the children and pass them through the classroom window with another teacher outside waiting for the children. But her eyes went wide when she was missing one.

Kazui.

“Kazui!” She shouted. “Where are you, come here, baby!”

“Miss Y/n. You need to get out!”

“No no! I’m missing one student.”

Y/n was now panicking. Her eyes were scanning the classroom repeatedly. He was nowhere.

“Kazui, baby!”

Then another crash was heard. But this time, it was the classroom door she was in.

She yelped in terror and surprise.

“Miss Y/n.”

Miss Y/n turned her head to her left. There she saw Kazui hiding under her table.

“Kazui!” Instantly she took him in her arms protecting him. “It's okay. Don't cry.” She needs to be strong for him. She needs to protect him. Y/n was frightened as he is but right at this moment, she was willing to give her life to protect Kazui.

“Isn't that the number 2 hero’s son? Well well, ain't I lucky?”

“Ugh. This is so boring!” Eijiro complained as he walk to the pavement with his buddy.

“That just means the crime rate was decreasing, idiot. Be glad.” Katsuki crosses his arms saying this.

“Oh yeah-

Their communicator suddenly started making a buzzing noise. Someone’s trying to communicate.

“Dynamight! The daycare from ***** is under attack!”

“Shit!!”

Not letting the person on the other line finish, Katsuki blasts his way to where the daycare.

Kazui was all he can think of. He can't lose him.

“Back off!” Y/n yelled at the villain while carrying the crying Kazui in her arms.

“Ya know. You can just show me where the money is. Every money in this establishment then will be all over. You’ll save the heroes from work.” the villain smirked.

“As if I’d tell you! Heroes will come here and they will arrest you!”

Where was this courage coming from?

“Suit yourself,” The villain suddenly launched itself into her but Y/n was quick to dodge and move away. Although, that movement made her catch her breath.

“Aha. You’re fast.” The villain smirked evilly as they slowly pull a knife out of where.

Y/n watches in fear. She doesn't know what to do.

“Oy? Where's that brave face you were wearing? Although I have to say, that look suits you more.” After what the villain said, they once again launched themselves at Y/n.

Y/n manages to run away though. Why hasn't she thought of running away before?

“Miss Y/n I’m scared!!” Kazui cried out loud.

“I know baby, but we’ll be safe. Your papa will protect us!” You said between breaths.

“Where do you think you're going, doll!?” The villain suddenly appeared behind her.

“Papa!” Kazui cried.

Her lungs felt like burning. She's starting to lack oxygen due to running. But she needs to keep both of them safe. She needs to protect Kazui.

All of a sudden she felt immense pain in her back and it made her slow down.

“Miss Y/n!!”

Was all she heard when she felt another. But this time, she knelt, still holding Kazui tightly in her arms.

You were now panting. Every breath you take hurts you.

“Miss Y/n, no!” Kazui was still crying. He slightly pulls himself away from you to look at you.

You were hurt.

“Miss Y/n heal yourself like what you did to Papa and Uncle Kiri!” Kazui cried as he held your face with his small hands.

“Not so tough now, aren't you?” the Villain sneered watching them. “If only you gave me what I want-

“You! Villain! Just wait until Papa came here!” Kazui cried staring angrily at the villain.

“So I was right. You are indeed the no. 2 son!” The villain laughed. “Where was he now though?”

Kazui was sobbing. He shifted his eyes back to you when you suddenly tried to stand up.

You were facing the villain now. You kept Kazui behind you as you stare at the villain. “I will n-never give you want you to want.” You manage to say.

“Come on now. Less the hassle. But eh. It's not like you can fight me. I can just end you right here.” With that, knives were thrown and stabbed right at your shoulder, stomach, and legs.

Everything hurts. Y/n couldn't believe her life will end like this. She always thought she’ll grow old and just die peacefully. Her thoughts are slowly slipping away. Her vision was darkening and her body was numb. She couldn't feel anything.

Y/n’s body just fell on the floor.

“Maybe I wouldn't mind touching you while this kid watches us, eh?”

“Don’t fucking touch my wife.”

Took me a while to do part 8. I'm sorry!

#bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki

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bosbas · 10 months ago

Text

Alternate Ending: I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

series masterlist original ending || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x wife!reader WC: 5.2k words (whoops I got carried away)

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, benedict being so down bad for this woman, unrequited love, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy/birth

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: The timeline for this ending diverges after chapter 12!! This is how life would look like if Chapter 13 and onward didn't happen.

March 3, 1820 - B,

I apologize for my delayed response – I’m sure you’ll understand that I was a tad occupied giving birth. But she’s finally here! It was easier than the other three, so I'm personally delighted, though Anthony seemed just as stressed as usual. And, as usual, he'll most likely be resting for the next five days. If he ever stops looking at her in awe, that is. It would be quite adorable if I didn't need to wrestle her away from him to nurse her every few hours!

Although, I will say that Anthony being taken with her has worked out quite well for me. I was able to finish my novel and get a full night's sleep last night. I'd love to see you soon if you're up for it. You can meet her and we can discuss your latest painting, which I heard was absolutely breathtaking. Anthony and I will both be home for the next week at least, so feel free to pop by any time.

Yours, Y/I

You finished addressing the envelope to Benedict right as Anthony walked into your bedroom holding the tiny form of your newborn daughter. Twisting in your seat to face them, you cooed when you saw her fast asleep in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and you couldn’t help but marvel at her tiny fists opening and closing absentmindedly as she slept. She looked so peaceful in Anthony’s arms, and it was terrifying to think that a human being this small would grow up to be an adult and that you would have to guide her through it. Well, she would have Anthony too, you thought. And the thought did a lot to quell your fears.

For as long as you had known him, Anthony had been a steadfast figure in your life. He’d been the eldest of the Beaumont-Bridgertons, and he certainly acted like it, too. The responsibility he felt for his family was evident in everything he did, and it was one of the qualities you admired most about him. Now, seeing Anthony cradle your newborn daughter with such gentleness and awe only solidified your feelings for him.

You had decidedly not been in love when you had married him, but one couldn’t simply have four children with someone and not develop at least a little affection for them. The two of you had been wonderful friends even before you were married, and you still were, but along the way, it seemed that you had learned to love each other in your own funny sort of way. It wasn’t the sort of all-consuming love you had for Benedict all those years ago, and that perhaps you had still in a corner of your heart. But it was comforting and safe and built upon a deep respect for one another, and your life was all the better for it.

Perhaps you and Ben had never been destined for a life like this, you thought. Your childhood intention to wed Benedict had been just that: a naïve plan. That night in the studio with Benedict, after he had found out in the most unfortunate manner that you and Anthony were courting, you had needed something safe and constant. And Benedict had given you the complete opposite. For so many years, he had been your anchor, but that night you felt like the ground had fallen away below your feet and you were in free fall. You had so much love for Benedict that you didn’t even know where to put it. You could feel it from your heart to your fingertips, and it was terrifying. You thought about Violet and Edmund in that moment, and how destroyed Violet had been when Edmund passed. The thought of that happening to you and Benedict made you sick. The thought of taking the risk and putting your heart in his hands only for it to crumble.

Maybe running away from Benedict at that moment was the cowardly thing to do. Maybe you should have faced your fears and given in to the overpowering love. Maybe you should have kissed your best friend and dealt with the consequences later, holding his hand the whole way through. But you hadn’t. You had sought out safety instead, running up the stairs to Anthony’s room and knocking incessantly until he opened the door, eyes startled and hand holding a handkerchief to his cut lip.

“We’re getting married,” you had declared, breathing ragged and arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, hoping you meant you and Benedict but suspecting otherwise given that you were currently at his door looking furious.

“You and me. And we’re going to do it as soon as possible.”

Anthony uttered a soft, “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. “And Benedict…” he added in a questioning tone.

“No,” you said firmly. “No Benedict.”

He had expected you to say more, but you just stood in front of him, unmoving.

“I suppose I can start the arrangements,” Anthony said finally. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I am sure.”

God, Benedict must have truly done something stupid, he thought. “Very well, then.”

“Good night, Anthony. We can inform our families of our engagement tomorrow morning.”

He just nodded in response, still too stunned to fully process your words.

You cleared your throat and your stoic façade faded slightly. “And thank you, Anthony. For everything,” you said, suddenly very aware of what being married to Anthony might mean.

He shook his head. “No, no. It was nothing. You are family.”

A month later, you were married at the church near Aubrey Hall. Benedict barely stayed long enough to see the two of you say your vows, citing an urgent problem with his cottage in the countryside. His family was kind enough not to question his obviously fabricated excuse, but he couldn’t miss the endless looks of pity sent his way. He had been hurt. Well, you had hurt him. You hurt him when you walked away from him, and you hurt him when you announced your engagement to your family without telling him first, but most of all, you hurt him when you chose Anthony even after two decades of history with Benedict.

Maybe none of your fears would have come true, and you and Ben would have been happy. Maybe he would have treated your heart with the same love and care with which he always treated you. But it didn’t do to dwell on what could have been. Your marriage with Anthony was real. It was concrete and it was grounding, and you couldn’t imagine a more stable presence in your life.

Bringing you out of your musings, you felt Anthony kiss your cheek in greeting and ask, “Do you want to take her?”

You nodded eagerly, setting down the letter in your hand so you could hold your daughter. “I’m surprised you’re willingly letting me have her,” you teased, laughing as Anthony all but collapsed onto the loveseat across from you, clearly exhausted.

He had been an awfully attentive father the past few days, ecstatic to finally have a girl after three boys. Though she had brought out a heightened sense of protectiveness he couldn’t seem to shake. It was rather endearing to see him so frazzled over a baby that weighed less than eight pounds, but you suspected there might be something more to it.

“She’s so tiny!” he defended, gaze fixed on her admittedly minuscule form in your arms. “I can’t help it…” He trailed off, deep in thought. You glanced up at him, noticing the change in his tone and his hunched posture. After five years of marriage, you had him memorized, and reading him came as naturally as reading a book.

“Is anything the matter?” you asked gently, already having a general idea about what was plaguing him.

But he shook his head, murmuring a soft no and focusing on the writing desk behind you instead. “Is that for Benedict?” he inquired, nodding in the direction of the letter.

“Yes, I’m just telling him that she’s here and asking him to come visit,” you answered, still eyeing him carefully.

“So, he’s coming to visit, then?” pressed Anthony, eyes back on your daughter, who was currently sleeping soundly in your arms.

“Well, I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Why do you ask?” You changed tactics, trying to seem nonchalant about your concern.

“Alright. That’s good. Yes, that’s good,” he muttered, seemingly satisfied with your answer but his mind was obviously miles away.

Growing increasingly worried, you stood up and carefully laid your daughter in her crib, ensuring she remained undisturbed. With her settled, you approached Anthony, who hadn't shifted his gaze from where you had been sitting. Kneeling beside him, you reached out and gingerly placed your hand on his. The touch seemed to quiet his restless thoughts, and he turned to meet your eyes, acknowledging the weight of his anxiety.

Anthony spoke softly, carefully. “I just want to make sure that you and the children are taken care of. In case something happens to me. I want you to have someone.”

You should have known that this was what plagued him. During the first year of your marriage, you settled into a comfortable dynamic with Anthony. It was not quite love, but something like it had blossomed between the two of you. However, it was after the birth of your first son, Arthur, that Anthony reached a breaking point. He realized that his grand plan to marry someone he didn’t love to avoid any undue heartbreak was not, in fact, foolproof. Even if there hadn’t been growing affection between you, Anthony completely fell in love with Arthur from the moment he was born. It was like nothing he’d experienced before; beyond anything he could have imagined. And it was terribly frightening.

He had shared his fears with you–he’d had no choice in the matter when you were as stubborn and insistent as you were–and you had shared that you, too, were scared. But you trusted one another, and so the two of you navigated parenthood in tandem and Anthony’s fears subsided. Regardless, you could understand that the birth of your daughter brought back this fear in full force, and he felt a greater need to protect her from danger than he would with his sons.

“Anthony, I won’t need someone. You’re right here, and you always will be.”

He shook his head, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. “How can you know that?”

You pursed your lips, brows furrowing. “Even if you aren’t, it won’t be your fault. You’re a wonderful father. And a wonderful husband.”

With a deep sigh, he clasped your hand and stood up, bringing you with him. “Just promise me you’ll ask Benedict to take care of you if I go?”

Your heart softened. Knowing he needed to hear you say it out loud, you nodded, “I promise.”

---

March 5, 1820 – Y/I,

One would think Anthony had been the one to give birth instead of you! I’ll pop by today to give him a talking-to. And to meet my lovely niece, of course.

Yours, B

You found yourself in the nursery this afternoon, your three boys gathered around you and your daughter fast asleep in her crib. It was a lovely day out; sunny but not too hot, but the boys hardly noticed. Instead, they sat still, completely enthralled as you read from your current novel. Though you adored reading to your children, you found children’s books rather boring and repetitive. Thus, you had shifted to reading them excerpts from your own reading material. It made the endeavor much more interesting, and the boys seemed to love it too, evident as they hung on your every word.

“‘Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder,’” you read, and your sons gasped, not quite understanding the meaning of the word but easily catching onto your surprised reaction. You continued, “‘and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask-’”

“Surely I’ve heard wrong and you’re not reading to your children about murder!” came Benedict’s voice from the doorway.

Immediately, three voices squealed in delight and Frankenstein was completely forgotten as your sons rushed over to their uncle. Charles was only one year old, but his brothers’ excitement only fueled his clumsy crawl toward Benedict’s waiting arms.

“They don’t exactly know what it means, Ben,” you laughed. “Besides, it’s wonderful literature. And it keeps them entertained.”

He picked up Charles in one arm and Arthur in the other, making his way over to you as Bernard clung to his leg. “Well, I’m sure you know better than me, darling,” he commented and kissed you sweetly on the top of your head.

“Isn’t that usually the case?” you teased, standing up to properly greet your best friend. Though you hadn’t joined the welcome committee, you were positively glowing now that Ben had arrived. It had been over a week since you had seen him, and you had missed him terribly. You smiled brightly, instantly at ease in his presence.

Eyebrows raised and eyes shining with mirth, he teased back, “You forget I have three very bloodthirsty boys on my side who have just learned what murder is.”

You looked at Arthur, who was completely focused on attempting to undo Benedict’s cravat, and Charles, who had two fingers in his mouth and was unsuccessfully attempting to put in a third, then glanced back at Benedict.

“Quite bloodthirsty, aren’t they?” you deadpanned as you gently pried Charles’ hand from his mouth.

Ben couldn’t help the waves of laughter rolling off him as he observed your sons. “It seems they still have a way to go before they get there.”

Then, spotting the pink crib across the room, he gasped and set down Arthur and Charles and somewhat successfully shook Bernard off his leg. Walking over to the crib, he stared at her, completely awestruck.

"She’s so tiny!” he exclaimed, careful to keep his voice down so as not to wake her.

You giggled, making your way over. “That’s exactly what Anthony said,” you smiled at him.

But your smile did nothing to soothe the dull ache that had blossomed in his chest as he remembered all the things he could have had with you. The pain was not as unbearable now as it had been five years ago, but he was inclined to think that it would be there for the rest of his life. In the back of his mind, Benedict wondered if he would have been as good of a father as Anthony. He supposed he would never know, having devoted himself completely to his art and extinguishing any lingering hopes Violet had that her second son would ever marry. But you seemed happy, and that was truly all that mattered.

Ignoring the pain in his chest, he smiled sweetly back down at you. “What’s her name? Something starting with a D, I’m sure. Otherwise, Anthony will have lost his mind.”

“Yes, naturally,” you giggled. You tugged on Ben’s sleeve to bring him closer to the crib. “Benedict, meet Diana Bridgerton.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, intently observing your daughter as she slowly blinked her eyes open.

“Quite eager to meet her uncle,” you observed, but Benedict was too mesmerized by her to respond properly.

“She’s got your eyes,” he whispered after a few seconds, turning back to you and placing an arm around you. Your arm snaked around his back, and you drew him in a little closer.

Leaning down to place his cheek on your head and hugging you tighter, he spoke softly, “I thought you might name her Daisy. Flower names and all that. Besides, it starts with a D.”

Benedict didn’t quite know where the comment had come from. You hadn’t mentioned flower names in years, but the thought had suddenly popped into his brain quite unexpectedly and he had been unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. He knew he was so incredibly lucky to know you and to love you and to have a friendship with you, but it was at times like these when he wished he didn’t know you quite so well. At times when knowing you was only a reminder of what he lost.

In that moment, you were thankful to be facing Diana’s crib instead of Benedict, because you could feel the tears prickling at your eyes. The flower names. Of course Benedict would have remembered. You had never truly regretted marrying Anthony, but what you had with Ben transcended anything you could ever have with anyone else, and sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t your person anymore.

Shaking your head to will the tears away, you responded, “No. No, I could never.”

“What? You always said you wanted to name your children flower names.”

“No, Benedict. I wanted to name our children flower names.”

He felt all the air in his lungs escaping all at once. It felt as if someone had reached deep inside of him, taken hold of every organ inside his body, and squeezed very tightly. Wanted to name our children. Our children. Our. Just a simple word, three letters in total, had managed to leave him completely disarmed.

It was silly, really. You were married and had four children with his brother, of all people. And Benedict was still completely and irrevocably in love with you. He rather thought that he would always love you, in some form or another. Benedict suspected that Anthony knew this too, though his older brother was far too tactful to ever broach the subject.

Seemingly unaware of Ben's internal turmoil as he tried to reduce his feelings to their usual dormant state, you grabbed hold of his hand and led him away from Diana toward the door. “Nurse Edwards can watch the children while we go downstairs to have some tea. I must hear about your painting displayed at the National Gallery! I wish I hadn’t been about two days from bursting so I could have gone to see the unveiling.”

---

November 17, 1820 – Benedict,

Y/N has fallen ill, and I am away on business unable to tend to her. Go to Aubrey Hall as soon as possible and make sure she’s alright.

Please.

Anthony

Benedict could barely hear the rain pouring down outside his carriage over his racing heartbeat. Anthony’s frantic note had left Ben in a state of panic. He had left for Aubrey Hall immediately upon receiving the note, but he still worried that he might be too late. What on earth had frightened his older brother to the point of asking Benedict for help? A million possibilities, each one as devastating as the other, raced through his mind.

The sight of your home interrupted his catastrophizing, and he swung the door open and ran toward the entrance before the carriage could come to a complete stop. Benedict was somewhat aware that he was getting completely drenched in the rain, but his mind was far too focused on getting to you to care.

The front door was already open when he reached it, and Benedict burst through, barely hearing the butler’s, “Upstairs in her bedchamber, Mr Bridgerton,” before he was frantically climbing the stairs to get to you.

Once he reached your door, Ben stopped quite suddenly. He didn’t want to startle you by bursting in unannounced, so he waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Finally, he turned the doorknob slowly, hands shaking nervously as he entered your bedroom.

In between shockingly vivid dreams and a splitting headache, you vaguely registered what looked to be Benedict’s tall frame standing in your room. You shook your head, confused by his presence and not quite trusting your own eyes, but the effort left you breathless and you coughed violently.

“It’s alright, darling. You just rest,” he shushed you, shrugging off his drenched coat before he came to your side.

It killed him to see you like this, pale and sweaty as shivers wracked through your tired body. He had never seen you look so ill, not even when you came down with influenza when you were ten years old, and he was trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“Have you called for a medic?” his voice came out a bit strangled as he asked your lady’s maid, Rose, who had been nervously fidgeting off to the side.

"Yes, Mr Bridgerton. It's pneumonia," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "The best we can do is keep her comfortable and give her fluids until her fever breaks."

He nodded, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm down. But you had drifted into fitful sleep, and your shallow, ragged breathing was only making him more worried.

Nevertheless, he had to think clearly. Anthony was away, meaning that Benedict was now entirely responsible for you. The realization steeled his nerves, so he straightened his waistcoat and released a controlled breath, ready to face whatever came his way.

“Where are the children? I trust Nurse Edwards is with them now,” he said firmly.

Rose nodded. “They’re asleep now, but she is there in case they need anything. They’re taken care of,” she reassured.

“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to them.” Then, clearing his throat, “Ring for tea, please,” he instructed. “And bring me towels and a bowl of lukewarm water.”

She nodded, hurrying out of the room. Benedict moved closer to your bedside, his heart twisting at the sight of you in distress. He didn't hesitate, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down beside you. Gently, he reached out to feel your burning forehead, but you immediately flinched, the pain evident in your eyes as they shot open.

“Too cold,” you rasped. “Please don’t.”

He cursed under his breath, heart cracking slightly at your reaction. But he withdrew his hand immediately, settling instead for sitting on a chair next to your bed, watching you intently for any signs that your condition was worsening.

You looked awfully pale, paler than he’d ever seen you, and your lips had turned a concerning shade of purple. Though even when you were drenched in sweat and shivering, you still were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he thought. Even now, years after you had married another man, you remained his muse. The heartbreak he experienced that summer had been an admittedly excellent source of inspiration, and his new works helped propel him forward in the art world. It had served as a distraction, proving especially useful when Ben heard the news that you were pregnant for the first time so soon after the wedding. But now he supposed that art was no longer a distraction, and had instead become his life.

Maybe it was better this way, he sometimes thought. Maybe fate had never intended for him to be with you, though he couldn't fathom why the universe seemed so cruel. But the conclusion that he most often came to is that this was some sort of punishment. And he supposed he rather deserved it. He had continuously run away from the person he loved most, his best friend, the love of his life, time and again while you had only waited patiently for him to love you back.

Looking down at you now, he still felt the need to take care of you. The instinct would never go away. But it was a shame that the only reason he was allowed to do it now was because your husband had asked him to.

Your lady’s maid cleared her throat, standing at the doorway with the items Benedict had requested. He waved her in and had her place the tea on your bedside table, but he took hold of the towels himself and dipped one of them in the bowl of water.

“How long have you been here?” Ben asked Rose, taking in her exhausted appearance.

“Since midmorning, Mr Bridgerton,” she responded, stifling a yawn. "But I'm happy to do it. Lady Bridgerton seems to need it, too."

“Well, I think you ought to go to bed now, Rose,” he responded, gently placing the damp towel on your forehead. You let out a soft sigh of relief, and the tightness in Benedict’s heart loosened the tiniest bit.

Hearing his words, Rose could have collapsed right then and there. “Thank you, Mr Bridgerton. Please call for one of the servants if you need anything,” she said gratefully. And then, before he could change his mind, she hurried out of your bedroom.

The towel had seemed to rouse you from your sleep, and you sat up weakly so you could take in your surroundings.

You opened your eyes, happy to find Benedict still in your room. “Hello, there,” you croaked, but he shushed you, immediately holding a teacup to your lips. You took a hesitant sip, but the warm liquid ran down your throat so soothingly that you grasped the cup with your own hands and drank the entire thing.

Ben laughed softly, delicately taking the teacup from you so as not to touch you, not having forgotten your earlier protests when he placed a hand on your forehead.

“How long have you been here?” you asked Benedict, a particularly strong shiver making your teeth chatter. Noting his look of concern, you rushed to reassure him, “I’m fine, Ben. Promise.” However, you didn’t know how convincing you had sounded, given that you started violently coughing immediately after the words left your lips.

“I can see that. You look great,” teased Benedict.

“I bet,” you shot back, and he was unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “I’m–” you started, but another coughing fit prevented you from continuing. He looked at you, eyes overflowing with worry, and exchanged the towel on your forehead for a fresh one, hoping it would provide at least some relief.

Once your coughing fit subsided, you were overtaken by a wave of exhaustion. Sliding back down into bed, you turned to Benedict. “I think I need to sleep if that’s alright,” you said softly, eyes already drooping shut.

“Mmm, I think so, too,” he agreed.

You reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your joined hands to your chest. “Please stay, Ben,” you said, eyes already closed.

His heart nearly skipped a beat, having completely forgotten just how right your hand felt in his. “Always,” he murmured, reaching over to kiss you on the forehead. Benedict settled into the chair beside your bed, carefully watching you to make sure your breathing remained even.

An hour later, a particularly intense shiver ran through you and you woke up to find that you were still clutching Benedict’s hand. He was staring at you intently, and you felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness for him. Even though you had married Anthony, he was still here by your side, ensuring that you were safe. Even though you probably looked about two minutes away from death, and even though he probably had much more interesting things to do, he was here.

“I’m sorry, you know,” you whispered, not quite sure you wanted him to hear but needing to say it anyway.

His brow furrowed, not quite sure why you were apologizing. “It’s quite alright.”

“No, I am. I’m so sorry,” you said, barely registering the tears running down your face and mixing with your sweat.

Ben wiped away your tears with one hand, the other still holding yours. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered.

You shook your head and the towel fell from your forehead once again, which he immediately replaced with a new one. “I don’t regret marrying him, but I regret hurting you,” you choked back a sob. “It was cowardly of me, and I’m sorry.”

Benedict was at a loss, your confession bringing his complicated feelings to the surface. But before he could find the right words, you had fallen asleep once again, eyes closed peacefully and your breathing even. He sat back in shock, attempting to process the meaning behind your words while still being careful not to move his hand too much so you could sleep peacefully.

Benedict sat there for what felt like hours, his mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart as he watched you sleep, your hand still clasped in his. Surely you were at least a little delirious, he reasoned. How could you apologize for something he had caused?

Hours later, the morning sun filtered through your curtains and you stirred awake. You blinked your eyes open, a bit disoriented as you took in your surroundings. You glanced down, seeing Ben sitting in a chair next to your bed, fast asleep in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Your hand was still clasped in Benedict’s, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a pang of guilt at the sight and cringed slightly as you remembered your tearful apology the previous night.

Sensing that you were awake, Benedict stirred, half opening his eyes to make sure you were alright. Wincing as his neck cracked, he sat up and asked groggily, “How’re you feeling this morning, darling?”

“Much better, actually,” you responded.

A sudden wave of panic washed over you. “Who’s with the children?”

“Don’t worry! They’re alright. Nurse Edwards is with them,” he assured you. “Perhaps it’s for the best; they might get to engage with some books actually meant for children.” He kept his tone light and teasing, not entirely sure if you remembered your apology and not wanting to open up the conversation if you didn’t.

“Oh, thank you,” you sighed in relief, relaxing against your pillows once again. Then, swatting his arm, you scolded, “And they enjoy the literature, mind you!”

“I suppose you are feeling better if you had the strength to hit me,” he remarked amusedly.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have hit you last night. Easily.” But your expression turned sincere. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to be a burden; I know you’re working on a new piece.”

“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand. “You could never be a burden.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “And I meant what I said last night. It was ill-timed, I know, but I am truly sorry.”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “There is nothing to apologize for. I didn’t treat you the way I should have and I was the one who hurt you. I’m just glad I can still have you as a best friend.”

You smiled at him, pulling him into a hug. “We seem to be quite good at that, don’t you think? Being best friends.”

“Oh, the best,” he smiled at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

—

orginal ending || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List: @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti @sopanngon @fanfiction-she-wrote @aureolinb @ambitionspassionscoffee @bbubbllejisoo @marvelspogue @avengersgirlloriannaa @loliakeoghan23 @cierrajhilll @sadprose-auroras @merlieve @khaylin27 @cherrytop02 @little-duck @angerpearl @shondlenoodle @lyssamay52 @bags10 @angerpearl

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separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

Text

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Prologue:

“Go,” Feyre whispered, hands pushing against Elain’s back. It was frigid outside, their boots cracking the ice crusted over the cobblestone streets. It should have smelled like pine and snow, should have been utterly silent as everyone waited for the coming Solstice and the gifts that so often accompanied it.

War had shattered the once idyllic peace, inching closer and closer to the capital of Ellesmere until Elain and her family were forced to flee in the night. Just ahead, her mother grasped Nesta’s hand, weaving through alleyways unfamiliar to the ransacking soldiers.

She knew where they were going. They had practiced this before. One more left, ducking beneath a half-ruined awning, and then a sprint to the docks where a ship was waiting. Her father was nowhere to be seen, though Elain supposed he had a head start on them.

“Go,” her mother urged, pushing Nesta, then Elain, and finally Feyre into the little vessel. A man was waiting, hoisting them beneath with hurried, impatient fingers. “Get down—”

A flaming arrow screamed through the night, missing Feyre by mere inches. It took Elain a minute to realize what had happened—the shield that had saved her youngest sister’s life. Their mother stared, blue eyes like glassy mirrors against her ashen face. Golden brown hair graying at the temples was set aflame. Nesta began screaming, the words ringing in Elain’s ears.

“Go,” their mother mouthed, hitting her knees before she pitched forward. Hands pulled the three of them roughly back into the boat as orders were given to pull up the anchor. Was she crying? It seemed as if she must be given how frozen her face felt.

The world was moving too slow for Elain, making it impossible for her racing thoughts to process. Even as the ship pulled away, dragged by roaring wind, Elain was certain their mother was going to get up.

She didn’t.

“Princess,” the captain was yelling at Nesta, unsteady against the choppy northern sea. “Princess, we need—”

Elain never heard what they needed. The wind drowned out the command which Elain didn’t care much about, anyway. Was Nesta Queen, now? The few sailors moving about eyed her fourteen-year-old sister warily and though Elain couldn’t hear what Nesta said, she recognized the sharpness of her eyes. Nesta was used to giving out such commands. Feyre was gripping the railing of their ship, staring at the water below with a hollow gaze. Elain knew what she needed to do—put on a brave face and take Feyre into the interior of the ship where they could get some sleep, if only to forget what was happening to their home.

Everything was going to be okay. They’d get to the safehouse where relatives would be waiting to usher them to safety. Everyone was okay. A healer would attend to their mother who would be bedridden but otherwise safe.

Deep, deep down Elain knew it was a lie. She needed those lies, at least for now. As the ship rocked, Elain made her way toward Feyre who was still looking outward. The once beautiful city she’d spent her life in was a mere haze of smoke and fire in the distance, half lost to the fog of sea.

“Feyre,” Elain began, though that was all she was able to say before the ship violently lurched to one side. The gods were moody that night, unwilling to offer safe passage despite the circumstances. Elain lost Feyre, hitting her back against the wet wood so roughly it robbed her of breath.

Please, she thought just as water rushed over her. It was shockingly cold, leaving her paralyzed like a rag doll, flung from one end to the other. She could hear nothing, could do nothing, utterly helpless to even draw breath though she desperately wanted to.

Get up get up get up! Her mind screamed with panic. Elain did try to grasp at something when the ship tilted sickeningly again, though her fingers were utterly stiff and unwilling to bend. The world was upside down, a swirl of dark hues of navy and gray.

And then it was silent and salt and made entirely of water. Elain’s body constricted, lungs demanding air though none arrived when she opened her mouth. More water, more fear. She could feel nothing, could see nothing. Just a blur of her own hazy fear and the terrible fear she was going to die.

Elain did try, though it amounted to nothing. There was nothing to cling to, no light to tell her which way was up and which way was down. And as the cold seeped in, somehow driving out the horrible chill, she thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was better to be without fear.

Maybe this was a mercy.

In the end, it was nothing at all.

[ten years later]

Lucien Vanserra stretched out his legs, neck stiff. “Bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword to the muddy ground beneath him. Behind him, the boisterous laugh of his best friend and second-in-command Jurian followed him out of the training pits.

“You’re a sore loser,” Jurian crooned, likely catching the way Lucien’s fists curled and uncurled. “I have half a mind to tell your father you were bested in training again.”

“And I have half a mind to punch you in the face ahead of Lady Vassa’s visit,” Lucien retorted hotly, wiping the smile off Jurian’s face. “Oh. Did you not hear she was coming to court?”

It was Jurian’s turn to look as though he’d like to hit Lucien. Lucien had intended to tell Jurian though it had slipped his awareness given all the other things happening. Now was as good a time as any, besides.

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? Now that mother and father insist I marry, every lord with a daughter under the age of forty will descend upon us hoping to secure a match.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucien snapped, wiping his sweaty brow against his bare forearm. “And Lady Vassa is hardly on mothers shortlist besides. This little ball of hers is not in good faith.”

“Ah, but it will be one last night of debauchery and fun,” Jurian teased, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “This is every firstborn son’s duty, is it not? Get married, carry on the family line, etcetera and so forth?”

Lucien’s mood only darkened at the prospect. It wasn’t that he minded the thought of one day having a son, of becoming king and ruling the empire his father had so strategically built. It was the manner in which he was expected to do it. His own father had been allowed to choose his wife, however ill-advised it had been at the time. Lucien had no intention of stealing another man's wife as his father had done, sweeping her away and leaving six furious sons behind.

He merely wanted the ability to say who he wanted when he wanted.

And, perhaps, he was still a little burned by Jesminda’s rather abrupt dismissal of their courtship. She was gone, left to the countryside with her new husband she loved. Lucien told himself he ought to be happy for her. It had been nearly two years since she’d left, married and beaming—practically glowing, now that he thought about it. He’d been too bitter at the time to notice. He didn’t begrudge her that.

Lucien merely wished she had felt that way about him. He was convinced there was no one else in the world for him and perhaps he’d told his mother so drunkenly a few months earlier. If he’d only kept his big mouth shut, he’d have been allowed to carouse as he liked for at least another year.

Possibly two if he was careful about it.

Now he’d be married by solstice—just in time to parade his new wife around the summit in Velaris while making not-so-veiled threats to Archeron, the utter bastard. He was in the process of marrying off his eldest daughter so he, too, might have a successor to the throne, looking west toward Lucien’s half brother which was a threat in and of itself.

Everyone knew the Vanserras would love to see the southern empire laid to ruin. It was important Lucien married more than ever—ideally into a family with deep pockets to fight the war they all knew was coming. Peace was tentative, brokered when the northern royals lost their queen and a princess all in the same day. Ellesmere ceded territory laden with gold, enriching Lucien’s family and in exchange his father returned their remaining two daughters, rescued at sea.

He still remembered Nesta Archeron. They’d been allowed to live in the palace rather than as prisoners and while Feyre had been mostly mute, glassy eyed and silent, Nesta had raged like a wild animal.

If she still harbored even a lick of resentment, Lucien knew she’d be the driving force behind Eris Vanserra’s throne and her father's bid for revenge. Eris was coming on a diplomatic mission, too, which was the polite way of saying Lucien’s mother was going to throw herself at his feet and hope she forgave her for leaving, while offering up all the same women she was pushing at Lucien, too.

As if Eris were the type for a love match.

Shaking his head, Lucien pushed through the wooden gate to make his way back toward the city. It was unseasonably hot even for summer, the humidity drawing sweat even when he was sitting in the shade. It was miserable just then, boots hitting the sunstone streets with a loud thwack. Behind them, the sounds of clanging metal and groaning soldiers were half drowned by the cheerful white sands and foaming ocean, while ahead of them the bustling city created a chorus of voices. It was Lucien’s favorite sound.

And his favorite sight. The looming palace on the hill made of ivory and gold and the multicolored buildings that circled around, built on a sloping mountainside. Purple flowers dotted along spiky grass while towering palm trees occasionally dropped coconuts to the streets. As a child, Lucien had collected them, begging his father to puncture them so he could drink the milk inside as he strutted about, a pretend sword strapped to his hip.

Now when he stepped onto the main road people lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man they might one day call king. Lucien missed being the former, though—missed the way they’d reach for a strand of his auburn hair or how they’d sneak him little treats when they thought his parents weren’t looking.

Jurian straightened, his expression shifting from Lucien’s friend to Captain of the Guard. One day Jurian would be his General, but for now, this was enough. Jurian was one of them—just another man from Rhodes who had risen through the ranks while making Lucien feel less isolated when he, too, had been shoved into the army. Everyone else treated Lucien with respect.

Jurian had shoved his face into the dirt.

“There’s a way out of immediate marriage,” Jurian began, reminding Lucien once again why he was both Lucien’s best friend and closest advisor.

“Go on,” Lucien murmured, inhaling the smell of grilled meat.

“Velaris is filled with beautiful women. Tell your mother you’re interested in a more political marriage.”

“And when she realizes I’m not interested in a more political marriage?” Lucien asked dryly, trying to think of the last time he’d been inside Velaris. Had he ever? Maybe once when he’d been a boy, the memory eluding him.

“It’ll be winter and half the ladies who visited will be married to other lords. It’s not forever, but maybe another year or two. Nothing will save you from the marriage bed forever.”

“It’s better than anything I considered,” Lucien agreed, dodging a donkey hauling a cart filled with sunmelons.

“And who knows. Maybe the love of your life is up in the mountains,” Jurian added, elbowing Lucien once again.

“I doubt that,” Lucien grumbled, his thoughts once again turning toward Jesminda. How long before she was pregnant, he wondered? How long before she brought her firstborn to court for his father’s blessing, forcing Lucien to see the man and family she’d wanted over him?

Why not me?

Knowing full well Jesminda had never wanted to be a princess and had never wanted to be queen.

He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind even as he entered the opulent palace to a loud argument between two of the philosophers his father insisted be allowed to live at court. Sidestepping them and mumbling a goodbye to Jurian, Lucien took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom. He needed just a little silence and a chance to clear his head.

Flopping onto his bed, still sticky from heat and sweat, Lucien closed his eyes, intending to find a way through the tangled mess that was his mind.

All he found was sleep.

“Come with me,” Vassa urged, reaching for Elain’s hands. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“I don’t belong at court,” Elain interrupted, looking up from her book. Vassa plopped beside her, spreading her hands over the cerulean blue of her skirts. “And you’ll have more fun without me.”

“I won’t. I never do,” Vassa protested, pretty face twisted into a scowl. “The prince is a bore and his court is far too self-satisfied to be of any amusement.”

“Stop, you’re making it sound too fun—”

“Come with me anyway. Rhodes is a wonderful city filled with libraries and museums and amusements beyond your wildest imagination. Plus there will be parties and dancing and you love parties and dancing.”

“Yes, and there will be all these well-bred ladies–”

“You’re a well-bred lady, and my sister to boot.”

Elain offered Vassa a look of exasperation. They were sisters in name only, but not by blood. Elain’s family was yet another casualty in the brutality the north inflicted upon them, razing her village to the ground and tossing her body into the western sea. Had she not been found by Lord Koshington, Elain might have succumbed to exposure. Her life before Vassa was lost to her and in some ways, she knew she was quite fortunate. She’d been given the education of a lady and one day a marriage would be arranged on her behalf.

It was far better than whatever she’d been expecting before the raid, she supposed. But just because Lord Koshington had taken her in didn’t make her an actual lady. Elain had never been brave enough to go to court either, choosing to remain behind rather than be reminded of her inadequacies.

She wanted to see it all, if only once.

“I should stay–”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Please. I’ll do your latin homework for a week if you agree. Or…I’ll give you my gold dress—”

“You wouldn’t,” Elain replied, facing the book in her lap to fully look at Vassa. “You love that gown.”

“I love you more. Is that an agreement, then? You’ll spend a month in Rhodes with me in exchange for my gold dress?”

“And my latin homework. And you’ll work harder on the piano when we return as well. I’m tired of being the only one asked to play when guests come over.”

“Done,” Vassa agreed, blue eyes as bright as the sun itself. “Lucky you agreed because I may have told father this morning you’d agreed to accompany me. We’ll serve as each other's chaperones so he can waste his time droning on and on with the king about politics.”

“Chaperones? Who are you hoping to see?”

Vassa’s bronzed cheeks darkened, her freckles lost beneath the wash of color. Elain forgot her book entirely, surging forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Tell me his name at once!”

“Swear to keep it between us. I would die if he ever learned the depth of my affection. He thinks I loathe him and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re cruel, Vassa.”

“Men prefer to work for our affection and this man is no different. Worse, I suspect, which is why I like him. The prince’s mother is hoping to match someone with her son but I am far more interested in the Captain of the Guard.”

“Is he handsome?” Elain asked, resting the back of her head against the rough bark of the tree behind her.

“Terribly handsome. And horribly stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. I’m certain he’s good at many things…just not winning an argument.”

“Well, no one can win an argument against the likes of you,” Elain said with a laugh. “What will the lord say about it?”

Vassa’s smile dipped a bit. “No, I’m sure. He has no title, no money and will always serve the prince. Still. It’s fun to imagine a world in which we could select our own husbands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Elain admitted. “It seems risky.”

“That’s just what men want you to think. But we’re perfectly capable of knowing our own minds and deciding for ourselves. We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.”

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of planning or plotting.”

Elain rolled her eyes, wondering for the first time just how much Vassa actually liked this man and how far she might be willing to go. Elain pondered it all evening, wondering if she shouldn’t tell someone that sending the two of them mostly alone to Rhodes was a bad idea.

But Vassa’s words lingered in her mind.

We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.

Because Vassa was right. She’d been educated within an inch of her life just for men to waltz around her acting as if she were as new as a freshly born baby. Treated as though it were cute she had opinions when she was supposed to be nothing more than ornamentation while Elain brushed it off because what else could she do?

But Vassa was right, just like she always was. They weren’t stupid—men wanted it both ways. They wanted a wife smart enough to one day oversee the education of their sons, but stupid enough they were always the unchallenged authority. It didn’t mean Elain wouldn’t acquiesce when her time came—she had no other option and no other skills but to be married—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help Vassa escape the expectations.

That was what Elain told herself, anyway. And it helped her sleep at night for the following week as preparations were made to leave the idyllic countryside estate they resided on and make their way further south toward the coast. Lord Koschington was still accompanying them and would be the one to introduce Elain to court—as his niece rather than his daughter. That was the more believable lie without besmirching Elain’s reputation right from the start.

With the gold gown packed in a trunk and the promise of being allowed to coast in her lessons when she returned—assuming Vassa returned with her at all. Elain was dreading the carriage ride not because the journey was long and it was already oppressively hot, even at dawn, but because Lord Koshington loved to hear himself talk.

And in the carriage he had a captive audience.

For five miserable hours, Vassa and Elain sat straight backed and silent while Lord Koschington droned on and on about King Helion’s feud with the King of the North, Archeron. Elain loathed the name like any good southerner, having learned to fear those silver armored warriors that often ducked across the border to raze whole villages to the ground.

He had two daughters and Koschington was fascinated with the oldest, said to be unparalleled in her beauty and destined for the prince to the west, Eris Vanserra. For five hours, all he talked about was the disaster it would be if those two territories united and how Lucien would be the last Spell-Cleaver to ever sit on the sunlit throne. It was the sort of conundrum that kept men like Lord Koshington awake at night but to Elain, who couldn’t remember the war and had been living in nothing but peace for the last decade, it felt more like unwarranted anxiety.

Who cared about a princess’ marriage? Why wouldn’t she marry a prince, besides? Elain had heard rumors that Eris Vanserra was the most handsome prince in the realm, still unmarried as his ancient father crept toward the grave. She imagined there was a line from his bedroom door to the edge of his coast hoping to secure him as a husband.

As for herself, well. She was glad to not be in such a position. Elain didn’t think she cared for that kind of responsibility.

Eventually, even Lord Koschington was silenced by the heat, sweat sliding down the temples of his face. His once onyx hair was threaded with silver and his face lined with age though he was easily a good-looking man. Elain sometimes wondered why he’d never remarried after the passing of his wife though she’d never had the guts to ask him. That was private—personal.

He wasn’t her father, either. He’d cared for her, taken her in when that had never been his obligation and treated her as well as his own daughter.

Elain knew better than to upset him. Though he’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise, some part of her suspected that if she acted outside of his will, he might withdraw his support. Better to be above reproach in all things so he felt his investment was worth it.

Elain had never been more grateful in her life to stumble out of a carriage. At first glance, she saw the women in the capitol wore far fewer layers than they had been out in the country. No laces, no petticoats, no sleeves. Gods above, but Elain was desperate to update her wardrobe with the breezy fabrics and shorter sleeves, even if some part of her felt slightly scandalized by the scooping backs and the clingy bodices.

She noticed the palace itself next. Set atop a rather steep hill and half-carved into a mountain overlooking the southern sea, the sprawling structure was made of ivory and gold, lined with swaying green palms, while purple flowers dotted against the lawn.

Rows of carriages circled to the front of the drive spilling ladies in all manner of garb toward the towering pillars where they were greeted by an elderly man draped in white. Elain and Vassa both dipped into curtseys when it was their turn as Lord Koshington announced, “My daughters, Vassa and Elain.” Elain’s pulse hammered.

My daughter.

He’d told her she would be introduced as a cousin. Daughter? Blinking rapidly lest she burst into tears, Elain grasped Vassa’s hand so hard she was certain there was no blood flow. Putting aside his kind words and his willingness to pretend she was wholly his, Elain and Vassa stepped into the palace. She’d expected more of the miserable, oppressive heat but somehow it was cool. Not cold, but chilly enough a shiver raced up her spine the moment the air hit her skin.

They were hardly the most anticipated guests—no royals to greet them, no decadent rooms. Lord Koshington had his own while the girls were given a suite of interconnected bedrooms that were larger than anything Elain had ever seen. Draped in cream and gold, her bedroom had the good fortune of overlooking the sea and the gardens just below.

Elain was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to wake up.

Nesta Archeron took the spiraling, stone steps two at a time, navy skirts gathered in one hand to keep her from plummeting right back down. Chilly hair nipped at her cheeks, drawing color that wouldn’t otherwise exist. The air itself stung her eyes, making them seem glassy like she’d been crying.

Nesta Archeron never cried.

Hiding at the top of the tower stood her younger sister Feyre, fingers bright red from the cold. “Have they arrived?” Nesta asked, shouldering beside Feyre to peer out of the little arched window overlooking the whole of the city.

“There,” Feyre said, nodding toward the black and silver banners marching toward the palace gates. Nesta’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting atop a black steed, his matching cape fluttering in the wind. She couldn’t see him well, but every ounce him screamed warrior king.

King Rhysand of the East.They called him the King of Nightmares for his reputation for being ruthless—he didn’t kill those who slipped over his border looking to destabilize his regime. Rhysand had them tortured, broke their minds, and sent them back home.

He was flanked on either side by two men who might have been brothers. The distance obscured their features, though Nesta could make out the broad shoulders and lethal sword hilt of the one on the left and the slimmer build of the one on the right. She supposed the one on the left was the terrifying Lord of Bloodshed, Rhysand’s general, and the other was the torture master himself, Azriel.

For the first time in living memory, the North was welcoming the East into their borders. Nesta wasn’t foolish enough to think it was mere diplomacy, though she’d already promised the prince of the west her home, her throne, and her body, too, if he returned with a way into the south.

But should he fail, she’d do what her father was hoping and she’d marry Rhysand if he could offer her the revenge she was so desperate for.

Nesta’s nightmares were still plagued of Elain, wide-eyed and shivering as she made her way toward Feyre in the dark. She still dreamt of the ricocheting canon that slammed into their ship and how she and Feyre were whisked into a lifeboat. How they’d been kept political prisoners by Helion himself, their lives used to forge the treaty that now bound both nations.

While Elain had never been found, her body still haunting the sea bed.

And Nesta might have been able to forgive the death of her mother. But she’d sworn her life to protecting Elain the very night she’d failed. It was the only way to convince Elain to leave.

I’ll protect you. Please. Come with me.

How she’d failed.

Nesta was old enough to inherit her father’s throne though law dictated she needed a husband and so Nesta had begun a campaign of finding the right man. She didn’t need love—didn’t want love. She wanted vengeance and none of the men at court were equipped to give her that.

Eris Vanserra wanted it nearly as badly as she did, and was just as practical. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a love match and would look the other way if she chose to take a lover so long as she was discreet about it—and he had no question regarding any future offspring.

Fine.

He would be there now, poking through Helion’s secrets. Looking for weaknesses, mapping out their borders, the walls of Rhodes, and anything else he could glean. Nesta would give him everything, ruining her father’s careful legacy in favor of turning her family into Vanserras, giving her husband total control her territory, her wealth, her armies.

And she’d be the one to drive the blade straight through Helion’s blackened heart.

Rhysand was her backup plan and her father’s first choice. Eris Vanserra was a snake in the grass, untrustworthy and perhaps more damning, a Vanserra. Their family had ruled longer than any other on the continent, with a legacy that predated the oldest written record.

But for all Eris’ faults, Nesta knew vengeance was personal for him. Helion had stolen his mother away in the night, forced her into marriage, and made her his wife. Those kinds of scars lingered, lasted. Rhysand wasn’t that sort of man from what she’d gathered.

He was a shadowed mystery, his motivations unclear. She didn’t know if he even wanted conquest, or if he was merely interested in seeing her home. She’d sent several letters which he’d returned with short, polite answers. Nothing helpful, no hidden message she could read between the lines. Only a gentleman’s words that were utterly banal and uninteresting to her.

Gentleman be damned.

She needed someone bloodthirsty and cruel.

Beside her, Feyre turned her head, chestnut hair whipping against her face. She knew, even if Nesta had never once explicitly said what she planned. Feyre knew, watchful as she was. Whether she approved or not didn’t matter, though Nesta had never known Feyre to be terribly soft-hearted. And she suspected she carried the same weighty guilt over Elain’s death, held the same deep-seated need to see someone pay for it.

“We should be ready to greet them,” Nesta said, well aware Feyre would slip up into the rafters to listen without anyone watching.

“You go, then. I have no interest in any more princes or kings,” she replied, blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Nor do I wish to assist father in selling us off like livestock.”

“Not us. Me. You are safe—and once I’m married, you can pick whatever lovely northern gentleman is hounding your steps. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t want a husband. We don’t need any of these horrible men to get what we want, Nesta. Take the throne, rewrite the laws—”

“The nobility would revolt. They’d throw me in prison or worse, force a marriage on me, wait until I gave them a son, and then stage some timely yet tragic accident. It’s better to have a say in it. To decide for myself and direct it as best I can.”

“None of them are trustworthy and I fear this king—Rhysand— is the worst of them.”

“Worse than Vanserra?” Nesta replied, genuinely curious which Feyre would prefer ruling their home.

Feyre glanced back out the window, eyes narrowing. “He looks like a liar.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

Feyre blew out a breath, crossing her arms over the rosy pink dress she wore. Neither of them would acknowledge what they were both thinking—Lord Tamlin Rosewood, who’d asked for Feyre’s hand in marriage and then struck her in a fit of frustration over some problem with the dowry. It had been, he claimed, an accident.

He had been expelled from court, banished to the countryside and Feyre locked in her room until the bruising on her face faded. Everyone wanted to pretend it had never happened but to Nesta, it merely highlighted that she needed to be the one to secure their family so Feyre could have a small sliver of peace.

Love was for the lower classes, besides. Perhaps Ferye understood that, now.

“Come on,” Nesta said, hoping she wouldn’t have to go alone. She would, but she would feel less anxiety if she weren’t by herself.

For once, Feyre didn’t put up a fight. Perhaps she recognized Nesta’s own vulnerability. Or maybe she wanted to stare the foreign king down with that lethal gaze of hers that made men wither to dust. Nesta thought it would be something to see them cower before her petite sister rethinking whatever strategy she was certain they must have.

The halls were utterly emptied, leaving only the watchful sentries posted by windows and doors, none of whom were allowed to meet their gaze. She still remembered Elain trying so hard to get the ones at the throne room door to smile and how she’d nearly always succeeded.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t bother.

Their father was waiting, sitting on his icy, iron throne crowned in the blue diamonds that could be found only in the ancient mountains of the Spine, the natural border between their home and Rhysand’s. Nesta wondered if Rhysand would come wearing them, too. Nesta was wearing them around her neck, so heavy it made her spine ache. She’d carefully braided her hair off her face and put on a rather sumptuous, though conservative, gown.

She was beautiful and she knew it. Nesta also knew that men liked a woman who presented herself well—Eris Vanserra had certainly been taken with her presentation, and she assumed Rhysand would be, too. There was no harm in letting him see what he wanted. A wellbred, obedient wife was the expectation. It wasn’t the reality, but that was a problem for another day.

Nesta and Feyre took their place on either side of their father, staring across the room lined with nobility as the sounds of heavy footsteps began echoing louder and louder. For one moment, something in Nesta quaked with fear, blood icy as though death itself was making its way for her.

It was only a man—a man she didn’t want, didn’t like, and would never love. Rhysand and his right hands were the only ones who came in, strangely unadorned.

He was, objectively, attractive enough. High cheekbones set in a symmetrical face, with eyes so blue they were nearly violet and dark hair styled to look as though the wind had merely tousled it. A silver circlet of stars adorned his brow and one heavy ring was perched on his middle finger while the rest of him was rather bare in comparison to her father.

He looked like a warrior king in his dark black leathers and the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders. He lacked all the pomp and circumstance Eris had brought with him along with the warmth, too. His whole presence exuded ice and instinctively, Nesta took a step back.

His eyes were on her, and then her father as he swept into a bow. Nesta watched, as he came back up, how his gaze slid to Feyre.

And remained there.

“Rhysand,” her father began, his voice sharp and clear. “I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble.”

A cat’s smile slid across his features, eyes flicking back to their father. “None at all.”

Nesta didn’t hear her father’s response, buzzing filling her ears as she took a moment to survey the other men who’d come to join their king. The tallest one had removed the heavy helmet he wore, tucking it beneath one muscular arm and oh, Nesta wished he hadn’t. His face, scarred just at the eyebrow and again across full lips, was perhaps the most beautiful face she’d ever laid eyes on. Not classically, of course—for one, he was far too large. The sconce on the wall across the room was, perhaps, as tall as this man was and the muscle packed on his body spoke to an active life, never mind the twin, curved swords looming over his shoulders.

A light layer of dark stubble graced a perfect jaw while strange, whirling black inked tattoos peeked from beneath the neckline of his armor. She wondered what they meant, what their purpose was. Nesta drank in his slightly crooked nose, likely broken in some battle he’d won and the curved scar across his throat that must have been brutal when he’d first received it. He had his large hands clasped in front of him and when she looked up to take in the color of his eyes—hazel, more green than brown—she found he was grinning at her.

He’d caught her looking at him and wanted her to know it. Nesta immediately looked away, unable to hide the damning flush creeping up her own neck.

Nesta swore he’d never catch her looking at him again.

Hands in his pockets, Rhys allowed Archeron to show him around the palace. These visits never failed to bore him. Look at this painting, survey my wealth. Did you see my daughters? Aren’t they lovely?

Usually the answer was covert eyerolls and shared smirks with Cassian and Azriel. Today, though, Rhys felt moody. Unsettled. Disturbed, even, by the younger daughter he hadn’t known existed and hadn’t expected to see.

Rumors swirled about Nesta Archeron and the possible marriage her father was considering with heir apparent Eris Vanserra. His father was on death’s door and a marriage between North and West almost certainly promised a brutal and bloody war.

When Helion had learned, he’d sent word to Rhysand. What is going on in the Spine?

Nothing smart. Rhysand intended to do what he did best—lie. Pretend he had interest in Nesta, jerk her around for a year while he drew up marriage contracts that had to be written and rewritten and written again, wasting her time while Eris inevitably moved on to some nice noble in his own court.

And then Rhys could withdraw, free to continue philandering until his advisors put their foot down. His presence was purely nefarious—two months freezing his balls off in the frigid north while Cassian inspected the army and Azriel devoured secrets.

And yet…and yet.

Rhysand’s mind slipped toward the younger daughter and those eyes. They looked like the same stars that hung over the Illyrian Mountains, silvery and bright and so very alive. Rhys had spent his entire life gazing up at them—he would have recognized them anywhere. Even in the face of that woman, who spared only a passing glance before she fixed her stare on the wall behind him, clearly underwhelmed by their presence.

He wanted to talk to her. He’d seen beautiful women before, though perhaps this was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty was often exhausted the moment they opened their mouth to speak to him.

Easier said than done. Rhys tried, but Nesta Archeron became the ambassador for the Archerons, silently watching him without ever speaking a word. He found that unnerving all through dinner and wasn’t the only one. The moment he, Azriel, and Cassian were locked away in the suite of rooms, Azriel was the first to speak.

“This place feels like a tomb,” he said, looking around the dark interior.

“Why don’t the princesses speak?” Cassian added, pulling open the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the dim light. “Are they allowed?”

“We should have brought Morrigan,” Azriel grumbled, flopping gracelessly onto a floral sofa.

“She doesn’t deserve the archaic practices of Archeron,” Rhys replied, running a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace. A thin layer of dust came with it, proving the North rarely hosted guests.

They were far too untrusting.

He supposed he didn’t blame Archeron given the horror of that final invasion. Rhysand couldn’t imagine losing both a wife and a daughter, no matter how, frankly, deserved Rhysand still found the entire thing. After all—Archeron had marched into a neutral city, the third largest in the West, blocked all routes in and out, and burned it entirely to the ground in the matter of a week.

War was hell and there were no heroes. Helion’s father had retaliated, breaking into the capital city and sacking it over the course of a night. In the aftermath, he’d taken the two surviving daughters hostage and only agreed to return them when a peace treaty had been brokered, redefining old borders and returning both stolen land and land long contested.

Oh, but it was all such a mess even a decade later. Those wounds had been left to fester and no matter how Rhysand looked at it, he could see no path forward that didn’t explode into utter disaster. Maybe if Lucien Spell-Cleaver married an Archeron they could avoid war, but he’d heard the prince was far too spoiled and sheltered to be offered up like a political pawn.

And having seen Nesta, he doubted she was willing to subject herself to another hurt at the hands of the West.

“What did you think of Nesta?” Cassian asked, his words carrying a strange ribbon of curiosity. Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again, trying to find words that were both honest without being cruel.

“I doubt a marriage is in our collective futures. Still—maybe she’ll surprise me.”

“With a dagger to your throat,” Azriel commented lightly, causing Cassian to grin at the thought.

“We don’t need to worry about them other than distracting them. Any one of us can accomplish that,” Rhys declared, wondering why the image of Azriel and Feyre annoyed him so much.

“Let's get what we came for and let’s get out of this miserable city.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Azriel murmured, stretching out his legs.

“I can already tell you their military is weak in compared to our own,” Cassian half whispered, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to ask to train with them tomorrow—”

“Trotting out the dumb brute act?” Azriel questioned, a gleam in his eyes.

“My favorite,” Cassian agreed. “I just love swinging a sword and no one ever taught me to read.”

“There must be more of them. Up in the mountains?” Azriel suggested, glancing toward the windows. “Archeron wouldn’t be so stupid to leave his entire kingdom undefended just to protect one city.”

“Helion decimated them a decade ago. Men don’t grow up so quickly,” Rhys reminded them both. “The north has gold, and diamonds from the Spine. Vanserra has manpower and a navy none of us could fend off should he bring it to our shores. It makes sense that Nesta would go to Eris first if she lacked manpower.”

“Then why are we here?” Cassian asked, drumming his fingers against his knee.

“Perhaps Vanserra isn’t sold on the idea?” Rhys suggested, uncertain himself. “Or her father wants to explore all his options? We’re here to prevent another war that would almost certainly drag us into it,” he added, looking at his general and spymaster.

“We’re just waiting out the summer, then?” Azriel questioned.

Rhys nodded. “We can give them all a little taste of what war might mean for them this time.”

Knowing his objective didn’t do much for Rhys’s restless mind, though. While his brothers got ready for the evening, making jokes and generally amused by the entire situation, Rhys slipped from the suite of rooms they shared to walk the halls. It unnerved him how many people were watching under the guise of not watching at all. The sentries and guards never looked at him and he knew his steps would be reported to the king before breakfast.

Getting around undetected was Azriel’s domain. Rhys had never tried, commanded too much attention. He was always the distraction, besides. No one gave Azriel and Cassian much thought, certain he must be the knife in the dark. Slick smiles and double entendre made everyone assume he was far more clever than he was.

Cassian was the dumb brute, Azriel obsessed with cruelty which left Rhys as the one worth watching. He just seemed like a two-faced bastard. And to be fair…he was. But he had help, had chosen his inner circle carefully.

His feet took him to a set of stone steps that spiraled upward into a tower. It was a decent vantage point over the dreary city. Fog hung like a curtain, floating from the mountains that kept the warmer air Velaris received from reaching them. Rhys heard there were years where Ellesmere experienced nothing but rain every single day.

No wonder they liked war so much. What else was there for them?

At the top of this tower, rather than more oppressive fog, sat the younger princess. Rhys hesitated, drinking in the sight of her propped up in that window, one leg dangling precariously over the edge. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and propped on the wall beside her, a bow with a quiver of arrows.

Another sentry, far prettier than any of the others he’d seen. Rhys couldn’t help himself, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned her head to look, those starry blue eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, causing Rhys to take a step into the candle lit, chilly room.

“Oh, but you seem like such fine company,” he crooned, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could give me a tour—”

“I’ll leave that to Nesta,” Feyre snapped. It was a dismissal given she turned back to looking out at the city and any rational man would have turned around and left.

But Rhys was famously stupid, if his cousin Mor was to be believed so he came closer, desperate for anything to say to her. He was a fool to have any interest in this woman at all, to want a moment of her time when he’d come here to betray her.

“Why are you here?” she asked when Rhys couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say.

“I’m looking for a wife, darling,” he heard himself say. Heart thudding, Rhys recalled telling his advisors not a week earlier he had no interest in a wife and to stop pushing him on it. What absurdity to say it while looking at her, knowing damn well she wasn’t for the likes of him.

He barely knew her at all.

“It's strange how many men suddenly find themselves desperate to be married,” Feyre commented, swinging her legs over the edge of the window before righting herself. “We came of age years ago. Surely you’re not interested in women as old as we are.”

“You think me so shallow? I like a conversation partner—”

“You don’t worry we’ve been ruined?”

Oh, what man touched her he wondered? What man would Rhys have to murder? The urge washed over him stronger than any other emotion he’d felt in recent months. It wasn’t that she had potentially been with another man but the defiant way she asked him if that somehow diminished her worth.

“A lot of things keep me awake at night, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, taking a measured step toward the princess. “Your activities in the bedroom are not one of them.”

“That’s good, given you’re here to court my sister.”

“I’m here for the princess of the North. You are a princess, are you not?”

“I am a princess, I live in the North,” she agreed, those eyes of hers flashing. And Rhys knew whatever words came out of her mouth next were about to wreck him. His whole body went tight at the prospect.

“And I will never be your wife,” she added with that same, light tone. “I am not interested in a husband, especially one who looks like he lies as easily as he breathes.”

Rhys flashed a smile. He wanted her. What a revelation. “We’ll see,” he replied as she sauntered past him, shouldering her bow with ease.

Feyre only shook her head, eyes rolling upward in her skull. “That wasn’t a challenge. You repulse me.”

Rhys only laughed.

They’d see about that, too.

#im gonna upload on a tues/thurs schedule until its done (i only have 5 chapters written)#elucien #feysand #nessian #DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME OR WAS I SUBTLE?

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dellalyra · 2 years ago

Text

Family Formation - Part Eight

Summary: Yuuta joins the family, and the events of JJK0 are explored.

CW: sexual references, swearing, suggestive themes, canon typical violence, mentions of blood and wounds.

A/N: sorry this took so long guys I’m working on my 1.5k followers celebration too so this took a back burner but I gotta say thank u all so much for such amazing support ily all <3 don’t forget requests for this series are always open and so are requests for my 1.5k celebration!!

Masterlist

Your husband comes through the front door of your cottage, strangely quietly – which is your first indication of something being amiss, your peaceful house when you come home is usually sounds of music and the occasional meow of a cat and whistle of a kettle, and soft chatter between you and Megumi, but it’s always broken by a “Wifey! I’m home! ‘Gumi, come see your darling papa and welcome him home!”, so the silence was disconcerting.

Hearing footsteps from behind you, you spin from your place at the stove, freezing at the sight of a slightly uncharacteristically serious Satoru.

“What’s up?” You say.

“Where’s Megumi?” You reply.

“Studying at the library, he’ll be home by 8 pm. What’s wrong, Satoru?” You put your hands on his shoulders and see them loosen under your touch.

“Remember that I was visiting the cursed kid today? After the school thing?”

“Yeah? Okkotsu, right? Poor kid.”

“Yeah. Well, he’s in the hall.”

“Hm?”

“He’s in the hall, the kid. Like – in there.” He says pointing to the entryway of your house.

“Well, I’m glad I made extra food. It’s like I have a sixth sense. Now we can’t leave him out there, bring him in. We’ll talk later.” You say, kissing your husband on his cheek. Contrary to what many people think, your husband never does anything without thinking it through – and you trust him implicitly. Details could be dealt with later.

He kisses the top of your head and leans into the hall.

“C’mere Yuuta, it’s your turn to meet the world’s most beautiful woman!” He shouts and you roll your eyes, smiling.

In the doorway appears a boy, thin and slightly gaunt in the face – he looks so tired you almost worry he’ll keel straight over. You think he’s a little older than Megumi, maybe 2 years his senior. He’s tall enough, probably the same height as your son. His eyes dart from the ground up to you, then around the room. You can just feel the nerves rolling from him.

“You must be Yuuta! It’s so nice to have you here, I’m Y/N, Gojo’s wife. I hope you’re hungry, we’ve lots of food, I made spaghetti tonight.”

“Thank you for having me, ma’am. I’m very sorry to be imposing on you like this.” Such a polite boy, you think, with wonderful manners.

“Oh don’t be silly you’re not doing anything of the sort! I’m just sorry if my husband dragged you here. Want me to take your coat?” You lean toward him, and he flinches and shies away, eyes looking to Satoru. You look between them.

“Rika… she’s a bit, eh, protective.” He says.

“Ha! Don’t worry about Y/N, Yuuta. She’s special grade too, like me and Rika.” Satoru laughs ruffling your hair, passing by into the kitchen.

“We’re all safe here, Yuuta, don’t worry.” You softly say, nodding toward the dining room.

You serve up some food for Satoru and Yuuta, who both eat like they hadn’t in days. You don’t eat yet, saying you’ll eat with Megumi when he gets home.

“Our sons about your age Yuuta, how old are you?”

“16. How do you guys have a son my age?” He asks, obviously curious about how two people in their mid-twenties could have a teen.

“Ah, well, he’s adopted. We took in Megumi and Tsumiki when they were little, Tsumiki’s your age. But she’s… she’s not here.” You say, still unsure of what to say about where your daughter is.

“Tsumiki was cursed. She’s in the hospital, sleeping, she has been for a while now.” Satoru fills in when he finds you faltering, squeezing your hand.

“Cursed, like Rika?” He asks.

“Kinda. We don’t know what happened to either of them or why they’re both cursed. But Tsumiki is alive – and human.” Satoru says.

“Would you mind telling me about Rika, Yuuta?” You ask him.

He looks at Gojo, who nods and smiles.

“She was my friend when we were small. She told me we’d be together forever and she loved me and gave me this ring. But, she died. She was hit by a car. She stays with me now. She’s, really protective of me. That’s … what happened at the school.” He says head bowed, fiddling with his ring.

“Well, you can tell Rika she and you are both safe here.” You knew that wasn’t a promise you could keep, if Rika threatened your family - you’d have to take action.

Yuuta smiles, and you stand up from the table.

“Yuuta, the TV is on if you want to relax for a while. Satoru, will you help me set up the guest room?” You ask, hoping he’ll tag along and fill you in on what happened.

He follows along, and in the room, changing the bedsheets so a boy harbouring a special grade cursed spirit can stay the night, he tells you all about the higher-ups, the execution order, Rika’s sheer power and the rest of the story.

“He’s enrolled at the school. I just don’t trust the higher-ups enough yet to let him stay there. It’s why I brought him home. He can stay until I can be sure.” He nods resolutely.

“Sounds good. I’ll come into school early tomorrow, I’ll speak to the higher-ups too. Pressure from us both should have them back off somewhat. I’ll look at his dorm too, see what seals I can put on it, for extra peace of mind.” You wrap your arms around his torso, and he reciprocates.

“Thank you, Princess. What a team we make, huh? It’s like we were born to torment the elders together. If you’re going to shout at the old men though, I’m coming too. I will never miss a chance to see that, you’re just so damn sexy when you fight them. Might have to sneak you off to an empty classroom after.” He winks, lightly slapping the rounds of your ass.

“Like I’ll ever say no to that, ‘Toru. Time honoured tradition since 2008.” You nip his neck and he groans at the steamy memories through the years, but you saunter off, with a little extra swing in your hips. Biting his lip, and smiling at the view, he follows you – as always.

The next few weeks slipped by, Megumi was not even slightly phased (as always) by the situation, he knew you guys well enough by now to never be shocked. Yuuta settling into school, netting the first years and attending classes with both you and Satoru. He was getting more and more comfortable with you both, and relaxing too. You were quickly discovering that Yuuta was a truly sweet boy, he was kind, caring and so thoughtful, with quite the sense of humour to boot. You were sitting in the living room one night when you noticed Yuuta repeatedly pushing his hair from his eyes.

“You want me to trim your hair, honey?” You say to him.

“Would you? That would be awesome. I’ve been worried to go to the barber because I didn’t think Rika would react too well to a stranger coming at me with scissors.” He huffs out a tiny laugh.

“Do you think she’d mind if I did it?” You say you had started to approach Rika through Yuuta, hoping he could feel safer if she felt safer. You treated her always like a toddler who was desperately protecting her toy, and it seemed to be working. Satoru always smiled at you when you included her in something, the sheer expanse of your heart would never fail to amaze him, along with your emotional intelligence – he saw how you approached the situation calmly and softly and was amazed at the progress you’d made. He may have been in charge of teaching Yuuta to handle Rika’s powers, but you were teaching him how to handle Rika.

He nods, smiling that adorable smile.

You set him on a stool, hair scissors in hand and a towel on the ground. With a soft comb to boot. You both chit-chat about school while you work, he asks about your cursed technique and you realise how much you like spending time with this kid. He was just so warm and personable, it was impossible to not grow attached – you felt you understood Rika a bit more.

As you finish up, Yuuta grows a little stiff – and quiet.

“What’s up, Yu?” You say, hand on his shoulder.

“It’s, it’s Rika. She – I told her no, please don’t worry, but she asked if you’d comb her hair and I told her no she’s not like that anymore-” he begins to ramble, and through your shock, you realise that this curse – the Queen of Curses - isn’t just that, she’s also just a little girl. A little girl stuck in a terrible fate, all because she loved a boy.

“Yuuta, tell her yes.”

“What?”

“I’ll comb her hair, but tell her she has to be a good girl, okay?” You say, smiling gently. He stands in shock, but he trusts you. And for some reason, he’s started to trust Rika.

Behind Yuuta, emerges a shape – taller and bigger than him - there’s a resemblance to a human, faint but - it’s there. A small giggle – a giggle, comes from the mouth of the curse. You step toward her, as you would a wild cat. You are sure to soften your gaze and your voice.

“Hello, Rika. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Y/N. I’m a friend of Yuuta’s too. I’ve been excited to meet you.” You say, waving your hand.

To your shock, which you hide, a childish girly voice says ‘Hello pretty lady. Yuuta said you will comb my hair.’

You nod and softly beckon Yuuta to the side, he follows your lead and you turn to Rika, you notice she has no hair, not anymore, but tendrils instead – you figure you’ll make do.

“Of course Rika. Do you want to sit down so I can do it?” You pat the cushion on the ground and Rika makes herself a bit smaller and moves and curls her lower half, almost snake-like, onto the floor.

You move behind the curse, and for a moment you shake your head – how the hell did you get yourself into these situations? You’re combing the head tendrils of a curse on your living room floor. You guess Satoru was right – you do have to be a bit crazy in this life. You also enjoy the thought of the heart attacks the scene would give the higher-ups. That feels good.

You reach your hand out and stroke her head, up and down, separating the tendrils to mimic the motions of brushing long hair.

“My momma used to sing to me when she combed my hair when I was little, would you like that to Rika?” You say.

An affirmative hum of ‘Yes songs please, Rika and Yuuta-like songs’ comes from the strange voice of the curse.

You begin to hum the soft song your mother did as a child as you continue to comb through her tendrils. You used to do this for Tsumiki too, and you think that maybe you just have an affinity for cursed young girls.

Yuuta just stands in shock.

You spend about 20 minutes doing this, and Rika just sits and holds Yuuta’s hand.

You tell her you’re done, and her hair looks wonderful. Yuuta tells her to thank you and before she retreats to wherever she goes, she does thank you, and she also says.

“You are nice to my Yuuta. Thank you, pretty lady. We both keep him safe.” And with that, she’s gone.

Tears flood to your eyes and you pull Yuuta into him. Wishing you could absorb some of the sadness he feels.

That night, you and Yuuta grew so much closer. Yuuta told Megumi when he got home, and Megumi just shrugged,

“Mom’s equally as nuts as Dad, but she knows what she’s doing.”

As you told the story to Satoru in bed that night, he just smiles at you.

“God you’re something else Princess was made for me, you’re crazy and I love it.” He says tickling your sides as you both laugh.

Months pass quietly enough as you eventually move Yuuta into his dorm. You have some classes with the first years, so you get to see the blossoming friendships.

Things are peaceful.

Until they aren’t.

Everything happens in a whirlwind and then in front of you stood the man who was once your brother.

You tensed, standing beside Nanami – as you take in the man after so many years of his absence. His clothes have changed, and his hair is down – like you used to tell him to wear it. He still has the gauges and the smile, he still smiles that same smile reserved only for Satoru.

You then notice he has his arm around Yuuta, you move to push forward but Satoru tells him to step away from the kids. You study the form of your husband - he’s radiating strength, power and energy but only you can see the slight line of hardness in his neck, he’s scared. Not scared of losing, he knows he’d win, scared of the inevitability of him having to kill his only best friend.

Suguru releases Yuuta and you push the boy behind you. You think of the last time you saw him. It was the day he left for the mission in the village, he was up early, as usual, and you stumbled half asleep into the kitchen of the dorm, Satoru’s sweatshirt long and comfy. You chatted about the missions you both had that day and as per your daily routine – he poured your coffee just how you liked it and you made toast for you both. You knew he wasn’t himself lately, you’d been there for him, doing what you could. So before he left he pulled you into a hug, patting your hair.

“See you tomorrow, oniisan. Don’t forget bar at 8 pm, okay?”

“Sure, I won’t forget.”

And with that, he was gone.

And now, he looked at you – older, hair longer, more refined, more sure in your stance, but that same glint of passionate determination in your eyes.

A declaration of war was made that day, and a date was set. A party to which none of you wanted an invite but attendance was mandatory.

And then he was gone.

That night, Satoru collapsed into you, breathing harshly and ragged. It was rare to see the strongest so unravelled but he was safe with you. He knew what would happen. He knew what he’d be forced to do. After all, he was society’s greatest weapon.

You let him heave into your chest. You stroked his hair, during bubbling in you like an unholy soup of loathing and hatred. You hated the world, the higher ups, the hierarchy, for driving Suguru to this – but also hating Suguru, for doing this to Satoru. You’d be okay, both of you. But right now, you needed each other.

The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

That’s what it had been called. Battle plans were drawn up. Yuuta and Maki stayed at school, everyone else to Shinjuku. You were grateful for Suguru’s advance notice, it gave you time to send Megumi to your mom’s house. You guessed he had someone minding the twins too. Parenthood can interfere with war.

Through the fight your main objective was offence, sure you were strong. Incredibly so. You were capable of causing unrivalled destruction. Ironic, you always thought, given it was also the technique capable of causing unrivalled beauty.

You vaguely caught glimpses of Nanami and Mei Mei through the fight, but soon enough your husband caught up to you.

“He’s not here.”

“I thought he’d go straight for you.”

Something clicked in his head.

“He’s going for something more valuable to him.”

The school. Yuuta. Rika.

Fuck.

“You stay, Satoru. They need you here. I’ll go. Finish up here, then come.”

He was about to fight you on it when an explosion echoed loudly. He hadn’t doubted your judgment or abilities in 9 years – and he wouldn’t start now.

“Take Inumaki, and Panda.”

“Can you send us there?”

And with that you and the two students were in a circle, being warped by your husband back to high school.

And in front of you was chaos.

Maki was unconscious, you checked her pulse quickly – confirming she was alive and moved to find Yuuta.

But in a way, you had been too late. Rika stood gloriously behind Yuuta. A deal was struck between them. You couldn’t get close enough in time, flashes of light blinded you for a second and then you somehow found yourself following a trail of blood.

Suguru was leaning his head against a wall.

He was dying. You could tell that much.

Your Yuuta had saved so many people.

Wordlessly, you slid down the opposite wall, sitting facing him. Blood and ash caked your body, the smell of destruction and iron filled the narrow alley. You knew Satoru would be here soon. Suguru did too.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You say.

He lets out a laugh.

“Come here often?” He replies.

“To sit with my dying friend who just tried to kill the boy I see as my son and waged war on the love of my life in an alley? Yeah, most weekends.” You smirk at him, lowering your daggers to you sides.

“Nice ring.” He says, pointing to the wedding ring on your finger.

You hum in agreement.

“The wedding looked beautiful. You did too, you made a model bride and groom.” He said.

“You got the photos we sent?” You and Satoru had secretly sent photos of the wedding in an unmarked envelope 2 years ago. Something soothing for you both.

He nodded.

“How drunk was Shoko and Utahime?” He laughs.

“Very. They also got together that night.” You laugh.

Silence for a moment, a smile on his bloodied lips.

Some people would think this suicide, sitting with a terrorist catching up on old times. But he was no threat to you, not now, he was dying and he knew that. He would put up no fight. You think he always knew that.

“You should have been his best man.” Your eyes droop, looking across the gravel.

“Nanami did a good job.” He replies.

“But he wasn’t you.”

“Any mini Satoru’s yet?” He asks.

“Not yet. Two kids though. Adopted.” You smile. “The twins, are they still with you?”

“Nanako and Mimiko.” He smiles fondly.

There’s silence for a few moments.

“Don’t make this harder for him, Suguru. Please, he doesn’t deserve it.” He will know what you mean.

“I won’t. None of us deserved it.”

“No, we didn’t.”

A figure appears in the alley, you lock eyes with blue crystals. No words need saying. You smile sadly at Satoru. He looks between you and the man on the ground. You stand up, and walk to Suguru. You kiss the top of his head.

“See you later, oniisan.”

You stop beside Satoru, you grab his hand and squeeze.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

He squeezes back, you walk back to the school – you need to check on your kids. One last look behind you and Satoru is crouching beside him.

He needed to do this alone. This was not something you were part of. It was between them. Blood brothers and the strongest. Best friends. You would pick up your husband’s pieces and glue them back with love and care, but this action was his alone. Destiny wasn’t something to be toyed with.

In the school, you embrace Yuuta, tears on his face – he told you about Rika. The curse was broken. You held him and whispered softness to him.

You help Maki to Shoko, Inumaki too. Panda is fretting over them all.

You think of the boys in the alley. You think of the tragedy that was forced upon your love – he didn’t deserve this. But he deserved love. So that’s what you’d provide.

Several months later.

“Okay, that should be everything. Now remember, sunscreen – no matter how busy you are, okay?”

“Don’t worry Y/N, I won’t forget.” A slightly taller Yuuta agrees. You had helped him pack for his overseas trip with Miguel. You and Satoru were about to send him off.

“She’s going to text you to remind you everyday anyway.” Satoru smirks patting the boys head. You glare at him playfully.

You both lead him to the school gates and hand him off to Miguel. Like sending a boy to summer camp and not a special grade sorcerer on a long overseas mission.

You kiss him on the cheek and tearfully tell him goodbye and stay in touch. You hand him one of your silver daggers, 4 had been given to you when you started Jujutsu High by your family, they were heirlooms. A cursed tool, strong and imbued with power.

“This will keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Y/N. Really, for everything.”

“Our boy! Moving away! They grow up too fast!” Satoru is whining beside you.

“Miguel, he’s allergic to shellfish so be careful okay.” You warn the tall man beside Yuuta who nods, staring bewilderingly at the man who beat him to a pulp months ago whining over a boy going on a trip.

And then he’s off.

“One leaves the nest.” Satoru says and you hum, grabbing his hand and leading him to the school.

“What do you think about refilling the house? With Gojo’s maybe?” You say. Hoping he’ll pick it up.

“With my clan elders? God no, why would you even suggest having those wrinkly ballsacks in our home. They’ll taint it!” He shivers comically.

“No, Toru, I mean little ones. Very little ones. Small Y/L/N Gojo’s.”

He stops in his tracks and stares at you.

“Then I’d say let’s get to work straight away.” You laugh joyfully and squeal as he throws you over his shoulder.

Safe to say, saying your child was conceived in the empty classroom which was you and your husband’s designated sex classroom was sweet, after all, it was tradition.

TAGLIST: @vesta-ro @lilithlunas @mialexandruh @sassy-cat-in-town @madam-ri @cjm-cookiethief

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #jjk #anime #dad!gojo #gojo smut #geto suguru #pixie writes: family formations

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somepsychopomp · 16 days ago

Note

How does Calypso's island go down in the omega Odysseus au?

How'd I know someone else would ask about this LMAO

so I've imagined Calypso in a couple of different scenarios but here's the 3 I like to ponder the most:

One, gods can change their shape to take on any appearance/secondary gender, though they do have a preferred way of presenting. I'd imagine Calypso would present herself as an alpha when Odysseus first washes up on her isle. She'd be like "omg my husband's finally here! Hm but he's an omega... well that's no problem I guess I'll be the alpha teehee :)"

And she'll do all her typical Calypso things while also trying to court Odysseus through her scent (she smells of warm wood, amber, and lily petals on the water), healing his injuries, cooking, and doing everything else to "provide" for him. When Odysseus continues to refuse her advances, she becomes more physically needy and aggressive. She won't hit him no, but she'll cling to him, force him to eat and bathe with her, force him to let her dress his body, will rub her scent all over him and his clothes, and basically make it impossible for Odysseus to ignore her presence on his body.

Calypso gets so excited for his first heat on her island, but is stunned to find that Odysseus becomes anxious and physically aggressive while in heat. He did spend 10 years at war without his true alpha; his body has learned to take his massive hormonal upswing and turn it into aggression rather than what little Calypso knows of meek, demure omegas. She can barely get close to Odysseus, even when he's empty handed, because he'll claw, kick, and bite until she leaves his space.

Calypso feels terribly hurt and upset by such a stark rejection, but she rationalizes it in her mind as, "Oh, this poor omega! He's been so badly hurt by the outside world that he no longer knows when he's safe. He can no longer recognize love or someone who wants to love him!"

So she'll wait. She will wait until the heat where Odysseus does eventually break and the slick runs down his thighs as he begs for her touch. It'll happen any day now, just you wait, Odysseus...

Alternatively,

I kinda really like the idea of Odysseus waking up on Ogygia and being relieved to come across a fellow omega for once. Omega Calypso would be ecstatic to have someone to share her habits and instincts with, including "platonic" scent sharing. Odysseus isn't immediately on guard like in canon in this instance, so as he recovers from his old injuries, he lets Calypso caress him and comb his hair. Maybe he'll even lean into her touch a little bit. After all, to him, this is nothing more than a kindly omega helping him recover.

The fact that Calypso invites him into her bed is a bit strange, but nest-sharing among omegas is quite common. (Though under most circumstances, the omegas would know each other quite well in order to share the same sleeping space.) Odysseus thinks Calypso is just being extremely generous. He doesn't want to offend his host, so he rests in her bed alongside her, and damn, if it's not the best sleep he's gotten in years. Even if he wakes to Calypso cradling him against her as if they're mates...

To Calypso, the fact that they're both omegas is no obstacle. They can share their heats together and oh! wouldn't it be the dream for their cycles to sync up?

They could keep each other company forever and ever. They don't need a stinky, bossy alpha to bother them; they could live in peace here as mated omegas to each other. Calypso can't stop dreaming about the shared nest they'll build together. Or the way they'll spend every night cuddling before bed, purring to each other the way only omegas could.

When Odysseus gets wise to her plans, he tries to gently reject Calypso, saying he's still mated to his wife at home and that he's not interested in anyone else. Does she listen? Of course not. From there, it's basically the same as canon where Ody can't escape Ogygia and is constantly "comforted" by Calypso.

And lastly, the idea that I've lowkey been kinda wanting to turn into a standalone fic (tw for assault/abuse):

Omega Odysseus washes up on alpha Calypso's shore... and she forces herself upon him. And that's how Nausithous & Nausinous came to be.

Odysseus blames himself for being so weak. He was caught up in the throes of his heat and in mental anguish from having lost his final few men. He was at his lowest point both physically and mentally, and let another alpha take him to bed. He betrayed his Penelope, his wife, his alpha. He betrayed his son Telemachus, who he still longed to know.

Odysseus cannot help but hate Calypso and resent his "illegitimate" children. He doesn't even view them as children, for as they grew inside of him, he found them to be more like parasites thrust upon him by Calypso. They robbed him of his strength throughout his pregnancy, forcing him to depend on his captor for sustenance, care, and shelter.

Odysseus then falls into a deep, persistent postpartum depression that's coupled with his preexisting guilt/shame from losing all his men + his intense longing for home.

The twins grow up hearing stories from their sire about how she found their dam on her isle one day, that Odysseus was sent to her by the gods to give her a family. For the most part, the boys grow up thinking that their dam is similar to the ocean.

Odysseus is sometimes silent and still. He won't speak for days on end, will hardly eat, and might not leave his bed. On the rare occasion, he may let them cuddle against his side or weave flowers into his hair, but he won't reciprocate or thank them.

At other times, their dam becomes a raging tempest. He'll cry and wail, lashing out at their poor sire when she comes close to comfort him. He'll throw plates or stones or whatever's nearest and will scream at their children to not come any closer. He's brought Nausithous and Nausinous to tears more than once, for they do not understand why they are not loved.

Meanwhile, Odysseus thinks he's going mad. Originally, he tried to keep track of the days spent on Ogygia. But weeks turned to months, and then the twins came, and then months turned into years, and now he has no idea how long it's been. All he knows is that the boys are growing up.

(In my mind, since the twins were born on Ogygia, they're immortal beings like Calypso despite having a technically mortal father. And since they're not actually human, they grow up a lot faster than human kids would. In the span of only 7 years, they go from babies to young adults.)

Odysseus would obviously not take this well. Since the boys are the only real marker to judge the passage of time, he thinks he's spent a lifetime on Ogygia already. He becomes possessed by what might've happened to Penelope and Telemachus in such a long time. Odysseus hadn't returned home in, what, a minimum of 30 years?

They must surely hate him, if they even remember him at all. But even then, Odysseus cannot help but long for his old home on Ithaca and what he used to know. He just needs closure. Even if he were to find Penelope and learn that she's moved on, he just needs to know.

I think by the time the twins are closer to adults, they can start to see the cracks forming in their parents' relationship. They wonder why Odysseus flinches from Calypso's voice or touch despite him being the "abuser"/negligent parent. They hear him waking up screaming from nightmares- sometimes he wails about monsters, other times its names they don't recognize, but more often than not, they wake to hear their dam crying about someone named Penelope. They witness him begging the gods for salvation, only to be met with silence.

By the time Hermes arrives, Odysseus nearly faints from relief when he learns it's only been seven years instead of like, 18-20+. Still not great, but way better than what he thought was happening.

Idk how exactly I'd go from here. I would kind of like to imagine that while Calypso is mad and upset that her omega is leaving her, their children actually encourage Ody to leave because they can see so clearly now that he's not happy here and never has been.

To amp up the angst though, I've also considered Odysseus recovering somewhat from his postpartum depression and not necessarily treating Nausithous & Nausinous as his kids, but more so his proteges. Either consciously or unconsciously, he develops a relationship similar to the one he had with Athena where, since he doesn't have anything else to do, he trains his sons to fight. He also teaches them riddles and how to read/write poetry, in order to sharpen their minds. Calypso mistakes it as Odysseus finally settling into his life with her at last, but in Odysseus' mind, this is sort of his redemption for dropping that infant from the wall of Troy/all his other mistakes. He took one innocent life, and lost many more, but he can at least do what he can to salvage and nurture the products of his unwilling pregnancy.

He still hopes that someday, he'll leave and never have to return to this wretched island and his captor. But he doesn't want to leave his children defenseless with their monster of a sire. It's not an easy situation to be in, but Odysseus is only doing the best that he can.

(There's also the added twist of both Nausithous and Nausinous wanting to go with him when he can finally leave...)

#omegaverse au #odysseus of ithaca #calypso #omega odysseus #alpha calypso #omega calypso #tw abuse #tw assault #poor odysseus #epic the musical

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brinxxxx · 1 year ago

Text

A Bang Chan FF (content warning 18+!!) (smut)

Whipped For You

Chapter 8: Thunderous

Chan POV:

Last night...was amazing. I wasn't expecting her to go through with it. But after the first time we relaxed into each other touch, enjoying the nice company until I felt my cum dripping down my leg. Until the opportunity to do something I've never done before but I knew she would LOVE.

I went down to her heat and licked her out. My cum and her juiced in my mouth i kissed her the moans she made made me rock hard again and we fucked for a second time. This time rougher than the last. Honestly it felt like I was in heaven.

I got ready to go to work. I checked my phone. No missed calls or messages. I change into my clothes and leave Y/N in peace. I left her a note I didn't want to leave without saying anything. It felt nice to finally have that time with her. That special moment. It was perfect. I wanted more. I wanted her.

I got to the office where the boys were sitting outside my office "what's up? You all look constipated?"

"Hyung you've not seen the articles have you?"

"What do you mean Changbin?"

He have me his phone. My "fiancé" posted another stupid article about me sleeping around. Not coming home when asked. Yet she can have a boyfriend and no one bats an eye. I get a text from Y/N.

"You told me she wouldn't care! You told me she wouldn't bat an eye. Wtf is this!?"

"Y/N calm down. I'll fix it"

"I knew we shouldn't have spent the night together. She's gonna kill me."

"She won't."

"I don't believe you."

"CHAN! Dude. Stop texting and listen. Where did you go last night if you didn't go home?"

"I was home"

"Chan you're in the same clothes as last night. You're bad at lying"

"Okay this doesn't go anywhere else but here okay...? Can we got one do your offices. I don't trust mine to be safe "

We go to Lee Knows office. They all sit down staring me. "Don't freak out. I was with Y/N last night."

"I KNEW IT!" Seungmin and Hyunjin cried.

"MY SISTER!?" Lee know pointed out. Not shocked but still grossed out.

"Lee know Hyung! WHAT!?"

"That's a story for another time. We can circle back. Chan are you serious did you..."

"Yes we had sex. Last night and this morning. Please keep this between us I don't want PDnim getting involved. See how she found out and is posting it everywhere however she doesn't say WHO I was with. Still. Please. Can we find a way to shut these articles down? I need to call my father. I have little over 6 months to avoid marriage. I need your help to make it happen. Me and Y/N. Can you do that?"

"Hyung we aren't a match making service. What the fuck are we meant to do?"

"Report articles to stay this ain't true.

Do them to but if there's loads of us doing that it'll get the message across that she's spitting fake news. Though it's not but it's not the point. I want my relationship with Y/N to be private. Okay?"

"Yes Hyung" they shout. Ready to battle.

*a few hours later.*

Author POV:

After a few hours the guys as a collective managed to come up with articles that were good enough to divert the claims on Chan and aiming at his soon be to wife. Chan's father was livid at her. Not at him. He was very happy that he found someone after trying for so many years.

Which is weird since he was the one to make them get married in the first place. Anyways. Chan texts Y/N about the news.

*Chans text:*

Chan-ah: hey babygirl. It's okay we have worked things out. So no need to stress okay? I'm sorry for scaring you and upsetting you. Please don't hate me.

Babygirl:

Hey Daddy, it's okay im calmer now

*sends a naughty pic to Chan*

It's a shame Daddy has to work all day when im at home looking like this hmmm?

Chan-ah: ohhh Babygirl. You can't do that. You can't tease Daddy like that. Remember bad girls get punished.

He was enjoying how confident she was all of a sudden. He secretly wanted more but wouldn't be able to control his pants situation if it did continue. Chan was deep in though when his soon to be wife calls him...

"Take those articles down. Right now Chan!"

"You're the one who's been boasting about a fake relationship I seem to be having. Which by the way thanks for the heads up I didn't know I was in some sort of relationship with another woman! *he lies* seriously. You have a boyfriend. You have your person why are you making this difficult for me. You know if I don't find someone we still get married. We don't want that do we!?"

"No you don't want that but I still do!"

"What why!?"

"Why do you think Chan? Don't worry it's not out of love. Ewww. I don't love you like that."

"For the money?"

"Wow Daddy's boy is smart! Yes dumbass. I want the money. Then get an emolument and go out septet ways"

"You didn't read the contract huh? It says we cannot split up. No matter what. If we are married to to each other till death parts us."

"I don't want that."

"Me neither. So cut the crap and stop messing with my life. Please."

"Okay fine but if you piss me off I will come down on you like s tone of bricks. Got that?"

"Yes sure now please im working."

He hangs up. He looks at his phone 20 messages from Y/N. All photos and videos of her. Captions saying "Daddy's not here to play so I guess I have to myself."

"Daddy's not answering me"

So on and so forth. Chan runs to the toilet and watches the videos of you. Playing with yourself. Screaming his name. The moans. It was all so hot. Too hot infact. It was getting to lunch time and chan had the perfect plan.

He calmly walks out managing to hide his bulging erection. "Hey guys I'm gonna go home and get changed into more appropriate clothes. I'll see you after lunch?"

They nodd. They knew exactly where he was going. And it wasn't home.

#stray kids #christopher bang #skz fanfic #bangchan x reader #bang chan #skz smut #skz x reader #bang chan smut

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alielyan · 1 month ago

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Title: "I Am Ali Alayan: Our Family's Story… Help Us Live With Dignity"

My name is Ali Alayan, I am 31 years old, and I am a son of a family torn apart by war and burdened with suffering. We were a simple family, dreaming of a stable life in our modest home in Gaza. But the bombing took everything from us—our home, our peace, and our hope. We were forced to scatter, with some of us in the north and others in the south, each living under unbearable conditions.

Our Story:

My father, Ahed Alayan, 55 years old, and my mother, Raeda Alayan, 54 years old, have always been the pillars of strength for our large family. But after losing our home, we were displaced. My father now lives with my younger siblings in northern Gaza, under constant bombardment. Meanwhile, my brother Mohammad (26 years old) and I fled to the south with our families, where we now live in a tent in Al-Zawaida.

I live with my wife, Hanin (22 years old), and our three children:

Sham (5 years old): A little girl who longs for a warm bed and the toys she lost.

Zina (4 years old): Struggling with malnutrition, she lacks the healthy food she needs to grow.

Ahed Jr. (1 year old): A baby who spends his days crying from hunger and cold, in need of care I cannot provide.

Life in the Tent:

The tent where my brother Mohammad and I live with our families offers no shelter from the harshness of nature. In the summer, the heat is suffocating, and in the winter, rainwater floods the tent and the cold becomes unbearable. My children sleep on the cold ground and often wake up crying from hunger. Mohammad and I work tirelessly to meet our basic needs, but opportunities are scarce, and survival has become almost impossible.

My Father’s Struggle in the North:

My father and the rest of our family in the north face even greater challenges. The bombing never stops, and hunger has become a constant companion. My father, who has always been our protector and role model, is now unable to provide for the family. His only dream is to reunite us under one roof, but he lacks the means to make that dream come true.

A Heartfelt Plea:

I, Ali Alayan, am writing to ask for your help during this crisis. We are not asking for much—just enough to restore our dignity and humanity. I want to see my children play in safety and to reunite with my parents and siblings. I dream of a simple house that brings us all together, far from fear and hunger.

Your donation can provide us with:

A safe home where we can live together as one family.

Essential supplies like food and medicine for my children and family.

An opportunity for my children to have a dignified life, education, and a better future.

How You Can Help:

Every contribution, no matter how small, can make a significant difference in our lives. Your donation could mean milk for Ahed Jr., a bed for Sham and Zina, or safety for my entire family.

Please help us rebuild our lives and reunite our family. Your generosity and compassion are the only hope we have left.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,

Ali Alayan

#free palestine #save palestine #palestinian genocide #all eyes on palestine #i stand with palestine #free gaza #gaza genocide #gaza strip #gaza #gazaunderattack #go fund them #go fund me

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melishade · 11 months ago

Note

Damn it, I lost count again. Number 31?

This ask game

Peaceful Timeline. Dealing with Ymir's second pregnancy.

Oshern was in a...interesting predicament. Not one that he was particularly fond of.

When his wife, Ymir, had gotten sick and had thrown up, there was an obvious concern for her well being. What had happened? Would she be alright? Then Optimus had examined her and explained to them all that she was with child, or 'pregnant'...these new phrases and terms were rattling him.

That didn't mean that Oshern wasn't happy. He was ecstatic. He never thought that he would have a child come from him directly. He didn't think he would even have a family as big and strange as this. But...he's also been used to being alone for...years. And going from being alone to a house of...technically four has had it's ups and downs.

Everyone had to accommodate for Ymir’s changing body, although the one taking it the hardest was clearly Optimus, since he was trying to control every aspect of the pregnancy. Which had led to a few arguments between him and Optimus about his skills. He hasn’t felt that angry in a while.

They still made it work for the most part, but now he was in a very compromising position. He was lying on his side in bed, with a three month pregnant woman still sleeping and latching onto him so tight from behind. He could hear the gentle snores coming from her, and any other circumstances, he would have found this welcoming. Ymir had complained about getting a full night’s rest and this is the most that she has slept.

But Oshern really needed to go to the bathroom. But he didn’t want to wake up his wife! Damn it! No one had even come into the room yet! It was morning! Someone open the door! He didn’t have the heart to wake up Ymir!

Oshern nearly screamed with jubilation when someone had opened the door, but nearly got annoyed when he saw that it was Optimus in his human form. He still wasn't going to be stubborn about it, and used his pinned arm to wave to the Prime for help. He hated how Optimus looked amused at the situation, and...was he holding back laughter!

"Help!" Oshern nearly yelled. He covered his mouth when he felt Ymir moving a little bit.

"She looks very well rested," Optimus whispered.

"Yes, she does, but I need to go to the bathroom and I don't have the heart to wake her," Oshern whispered, “Help me.”

Optimus looked like he was debating his options, which made Oshern annoyed. “Look, you can’t just be angry with me because I’m not following your strict rules.”

“How many hours of sleep has she gotten?” Optimus asked him.

“She slept the whole night,” Oshern replied, “Can you help me?”

“…Let her sleep a little more,” Optimus decided.

Oshern glared at the Prime, but he was unwavering in his decision. “Optimus-!”

“I know you are annoyed with me, as is Megatron,” Optimus began, “But…before you, before Maria, and before Megatron, it was just the two of us: me and IronSpark. My knowledge of humans were already limited, but to take care of a pregnant woman is one of the hardest challenges I had to do. I had to find her a proper home, a proper place of rest, food that was safe to eat. I was out of my depth. I had no one to ask for help without compromising her safety. Additionally, the suffering she went through under the Eldian king.”

Oshern’s expression grew tight and grim. Of course if came back to the Eldian Empire.

“I just…I know our family has grown and that we have more help, but it is hard to let go of my fears and concerns,” Optimus explained, “I am trying, but…forgive me if I do not meet expectations.”

Oshern sighed, his head slumping against the bed. “I know. You mean well…but you don’t have to control every part of her life.”

“I know,” Optimus agreed, “And I am sorry for my actions. You have much of a say in this, and I do not mean to ignore your input.”

“Apology accepted,” Oshern said.

Oshern felt the sheets rustle and the bed sink a little. Ymir had released her hold of him and sat up on her side. She slowly blinked her tired eyes before rubbing them with her hand. Her hair was a complete mess, and there was a bit of drool coming down from her lip. But Oshern realized something: he was free!

“Freedom!” Oshern rolled out of bed and hit the floor, startling Optimus and scaring Ymir awake. Oshern stood up and looked at her concern and messy wife. He grabbed her cheeks and kissed her on the lips.

“Morning!” Oshern greeted, “I just need to go to the bathroom!”

The two watched Oshern rush out the room to the bathroom, causing Ymir to look at Optimus in confusion.

“He just did not wish to disturb your sleep,” Optimus explained.

Ymir realized the implication of Oshern’s actions and couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t mean to do that to him, but he was so thoughtful.

(Definitely a stark contrast to when Ymir was first pregnant. Anyway, 17 is still on the back burner. For that one, I’m going to be going into spoiler territory for the dark timeline and I need to build up some context. But the rest is free game!)

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theyluvkarolina · 6 months ago

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౨ৎSLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Being a father was everything Fernando wanted on top of his racing career, but his age causes concerns. But your there to lift his spirits.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Fernando Alsondo x Wife!Reader (not really but very implied)

WARNINGS ౨ৎ a bit of a age gap! (not drastic, reader is AT LEAST 25 but is targeted to be 28. It makes me uncomfy if it’s anything younger tbh haha)

A/N ౨ৎ Absolutely loved this 🥹 “slipping through my fingers” never fails to make me cry. As someone also with a older dad, I loved this request! This one is pretty short but i decided to make it short and sweet. enjoy!! (GIRL DAD FERNANDO FANS RISE!!) Daughter also has a name! I choose Camila :)

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

BEING A FATHER was everything Fernando dreamed of. Nevermind the mesmerized corners of every race, every counted lap, or every podium finish that brought a rush of adrenaline and satisfaction. Now, his new satisfaction stems from the birth of his daughter. The joy he felt holding his newborn daughter in his arms. The once-deafening roars of engines were now replaced by the gentle cries and giggles of his baby girl.

Fernando sat in the dimly lit nursery in your home in Spain, the soft hum of the lullaby playing in the background. The pastel-colored walls, adorned with tiny butterflies and stars, felt like a sanctuary from the high-octane world of racing. His eyes, usually focused with steely determination on the track, now softened as he watched his daughter sleep. Every rise and fall of her tiny chest, every flutter of her eyelashes, brought a sense of peace and fulfillment that no championship ever could.

He remembers every part of preparing this nursery, in fact, it was the same day you told him you were expecting.

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

The sound of clanging in the usual baren room quickly caught your attention.

“What’s going on in here, mi vida? Is everything okay..?” You entered the previously barren room to be met with Fernando in the room of the nursery, a paintbrush in one hand and a can of pastel pink paint in the other. The room, once a bland, unused space, was now a canvas for his little girl. He had spent the better part of his career perfecting the art of precision and speed, but thiswas a different kind of project. It required patience, love, and a vision that went beyond the finish line.

“Mi amour, you should be resting, not walking around.” Fernando voiced, placing the paint and brush down onto the floor.

You let out a amoused laugh. “Nando, I’m barely even 2 months along, I’m more than okay to be walking around. What’s all of this for?” You coaxed looking around at the half painted room.

“For Camila.” Her said nonchalantly.

“Camila?” You raised a brow, surprised by the name, yet you loved the name.

“Sì. Camila.” He smiled fondly.

“I didn’t know we were certain on having a girl.” You gave a slight smirk at his certainty.

“I just know we are having a girl.” He replied, looking at you, grin evident on his face.

“Well, I'm sure that ‘Camila’ would love it.” You affirm, walking over to Fernando and placing a tender kiss on his cheek. "It's going smoothly I hope?"

Fernando turned to you “It's coming along. I think she's going to love it.”

You moved closer to the walls, inspecting his work. “It's perfect. She's going to feel so loved and safe in here.”

He paused, looking around the room, then back at you. “I hope so. I just want everything to be perfect for mi princesa.”

“You already have a nickname picked out?” You glanced at him, a giggle leaving your lips.

“Mi amour, the nickname has been picked out for our little girl the moment you told me you were expecting.”

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

Fernando let a grin slip past his lips at the memory before he glanced at the framed photo on the dresser—a snapshot of his younger self, clad in his racing suit, holding up a trophy with a triumphant grin. Then, there was one of you both smiling, his arm on your waist while he held the 3rd place trophy when he re-entered the world of Formula One, getting the podium in Bahrain. Next to it was a recent picture of him cradling his daughter, his face glowing with a different kind of pride. The juxtaposition of these two images often brought a lump to his throat. He wouldn’t change a single thing. Besides one thing. His age. He was no longer the young, fearless racer he once was. Time had etched lines on his face, and every ache in his body served as a reminder of the years gone by.

Being an older father with a noticeably younger wife in a world filled with younger parents wasn't easy. At every birthday party or playdate he would take Camila to, he would be met with acute whispers and curious glances made at you both. Comments about his age, masked as innocent remarks, pricked at his confidence. Hell, he wasn’t deaf to the comments even some of the women you hanged out with made.

“What about when he needs to walk her down the aisle?”

“How will he walk her to school?”

“Are you… are you sure you are happy he is your husband?”

God how he hated them. It’s almost as if they forgot he is a world-class athlete… a 2x Formula One World Champion at that! But now, he wondered if he really could keep up. If he could be the father his daughter needed as she grew up. That little voice in the back of his head finally becoming vocal.

` Will you be able to walk her down the aisle? `

` How can he walk her to school with all the stares they would get? Surely he looks more like her grandfather than father.. `

` Are you even happy with him? Do you regret being with him? `

But then, there was you. You, with your unwavering support and infectious optimism, were always there to lift his spirits. That’s why he loved you so much. That’s why he was so drawn to you since the beginning. You had a way of silencing his doubts, making him feel invincible. Your love was his anchor, your laughter the melody that drowned out his fears.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the nursery window, Fernando found himself lost in thought. He was gently rocking his daughter in her rocking chair, her tiny hand wrapped around his finger as if it were her lifeline. You entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment.

“Hey… so that’s where you two ran off to..” You whispered, not wanting to wake your sleeping daughter. The sudden voice made Fernando jump, causing Camila to squirm a bit in father’s arms.

“Dios mío Y/N… you scared me.” He mumbled, placing a hand onto his chest in a joking manner.

“Sorry.” You gave a soft laugh at his teasing. “I was looking all over for you guys for about a hour.”

“I was just thinking... about everything.” Fernando replied, his eyes still fixed on the sleeping baby.

“Really? About what?” You asked, smiling at the sight of your husband and the baby.

“First of all.. about how lucky I am to have you and Camila. But…” He stops in his tracks, causing you to frown.

“But what, my love?” You questioned, entering the room and standing next to the pair, you placing a hand onto his shoulder.

“…but also, how old I feel.” Fernando came clean.

“What do you mean, Nando? You know I could care less about your age…Look at her. She doesn't care how old you are. She just needs you to love her, to be there for her. Which you are already doing.” You attempt to comfort him.

“I know.. but Y/N, I’m 42 and just had my first child… I’m not the like the other fathers. !hat if I can't keep up? What if I'm not around long enough to see her grow up? Who will be there to tie her shoes and play with her without needing so many breaks? What about all the stares I would get walking her to school? …Who will be there to walk her down the aisle for her wedding if I’m not there?” He began to ramble.

You shook your head at his comments, squeezing his arm gently. “Fernando, look at me, will you? You're here now. You're the best father she could ever have. And you'll be here for as long as you can be, giving her all the love and wisdom that only you can provide. That's what matters. Don’t talk about all of this as if you won’t be there to see her live her life… you very well will be there for her. No matter what age.”

Fernando took a deep breath, your words washing over him like a shower. He knew you were right. It doesn’t completely take away all of his worries, but it definitely eases them. His age might be a concern, but it didn't define his ability to be a good father. It didn't measure the depth of his love for his little girl.

He will be there when she says her first word. He will be there when she begins to walk. He will be there to tie her shoes before she goes off to her first day of school as she waves goodbye to him, toothy smile on her face. He will be there when she finally falls in love. But most of all, he will be there to walk her down the aisle. Because to Fernando, no matter how old she will be or himself, she will always be his little girl and to her, he will always be her dad.

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

2043

Fernando stood in the small, private room of the chapel, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and nostalgia as he watched Camila, prepare for the biggest day of her life. He had always known this day would come, but it still felt surreal. It felt like it was yesterday when he was teaching her to walk in the paddock and now, nis little girl was about to walk down the aisle and start a new chapter with the love of her life.

“Papà…don’t stare at me like that…” Camila mumbled, fidgeting with her newly painted nails.

“¿Cómo qué? (Like what?)” Fernando snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to his daughter.

She was all grown up now, in her white wedding dress he always imagined seeing her in. She looked radiant—every bit the beautiful woman he had always known she would become.

“Like I’m still a little girl.” Camila sighed a bit embarrassed by his eyes on her, her eyes sparkling with tenderness.

He smiled, his eyes misting over ever so slightly. “It feels like I am. You look so beautiful, mi princesa.”

“Para… don’t make me cry. I just did my makeup.” She brought a finger under her eyes to not smudge her makeup.

Fernando chuckled softly, stepping closer to her. He reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll try, but it’s hard. You’ve grown up so fast. It’s like you’re slipping through my fingers all the time… I still remember when you just said your first word.”

Camila took a deep breath, her expression softening as she looked at her father. “I know, Papà. But I’ll always be your little girl.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the occasion settling in. Fernando’s thoughts drifted back to the years gone by—the first time he held her, her first steps, the bedtime stories, the scraped knees he’d bandaged, the late-night talks. And now, this. This beautiful, bittersweet moment.

“You know,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “being your father has been the greatest joy of my life. Even more than racing.”

“Even more than racing?” Camila voiced, her tone slightly shaky.

“Siempre más que carreras (Always more than racing). ” He assured, pulling her into a tender hug.

They held each other for a moment longer, then Fernando stepped back, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

Camila nodded, her nerves settling into a calm determination. “Yes, I am. As long as you’re by my side.”

The room goes silent for a moment.

“Papà, I’m happy that I grew up being your daughter.” Camila turned to Fernando with a smile. Fernando blinked, a tear threatening to spill from his eye that he quickly wiped away.

“And I’m happy that out of anyone in the world, it’s you who is always going to be my daughter, mi princesa.”

𝐀/𝐍 2 ୨୧ I CRIED MAKING THIS WTF 😭😭

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writingintheshadowsforever · 2 years ago

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Imagine Namor and Queen Ramonda forgiving each other on your behalf

The crashing waves, the whistling of a passing breeze, the chirping crickets, and the rustling of trees were the only sounds to fill the air. For the longest as Namor and Queen Ramonda simply stared each other down. Waiting for the other to cave and look away. Nakia had to be the one to break the silence.

"Neither of you came here tonight to have a staring contest. You're here to make peace with each other, so this alliance starts feeling more real on both sides. And not the result of a forced marriage" she reminded them. Her voice holding a tone of authority.

"I did not force your princess to marry me." Namor protested turning his attention to Nakia with a frown.

"Well its not like I left her with many other choices now did you?" Queen Ramonda shot back with a glare.

Just like that his attention was back on her, and he took a menacing step forward.

Nakia placed herself between both of them. "Careful Namor your wife will not be happy if any harm befalls either of us."

Namor looked away feeling a little ashamed at letting his anger get the best of him so easily. He was supposed to making peace, and here he was arguing with the Queen like a child. You would be disappointed in him if you were present.

"Where is my daughter right now?" Queen Ramonda asked him over Nakia's shoulder. She refused to move even if it did seem like he was no longer a threat.

Namor looked up to catch her eyes with his own, and saw something he wasn't use to with other people. Vulnerability.

You were her daughter and for the past three days she had been unable to contact or see you. Not to mention you were located in another nation not totally inaccessible to her, but not somewhere she could reach in a moment’s notice. Of course she was worried for your well-being.

"She is located in the underwater caves for now, and was sleeping when I left. Your daughter is safe and perfectly fine Queen" Namor reassured her. He tried to sound as if he really didn't care but the undertone was there.

"The Talokanil woman that I killed when I infuriated your home. I'm truly for her death" Nakia spoke up. She decided that someone had to apologize first. Why not her especially when it was her actions that led to the invasion on Wakanda.

Namor tilted his head to the side as he studied her trying to see if she was sincere. Nakia held his gaze.

Ten long seconds went by before he finally let out a sigh. "I sent my soldiers to ambush the Princess and the General in America on purpose. You just responded to my actions, and then I acted hastily nearly destroying the alliance I wanted to build so badly. I'm sorry for that." His gaze flickered back to the Queen whose eyes shone with disbelief. "I'm sorry for the lives your country lost during my attack, and I'm sorry for nearly taking yours."

"Why should I believe you?" The Queen asked.

"Queen mother" Nakia hissed.

"What this could be some ploy to earn our trust" she exclaimed in anger. It was obvious she wasn't ready to forgive the King of Talokan yet.

Namor nodded in understanding. "I told both of your daughters I have no love for the surface world, and it is true. Even now as I stand before you trying to fix my relationship with you so our kingdoms can be united in peace. My hatred for mankind has always stemmed from their hatred of people like me. The surface love has never shown me or my people any love."

"What about the ones on the island?" Nakia insisted.

"They worship me as a God that is different. I'm civil to them but only because most of them haven't truly conformed to the way of the world. I brought all of my wrath down on Wakanda out of fear and paranoia. Humans have nearly discovered our existence in the past so many times. We had to relocate to stay safe for the past couple of decades. Talokan has remained safe where it is now, but all that changed when your son revealed your resources to the entire world. None of you had any intention on sharing with the other nations, but knew they would come looking-"

"We weren't aware of your exis-" The Queen tried to remind him, but he cut her off with a roar.

"It doesn't matter you put my people and home in jeopardy. I was blinded and was willing to do anything to protect my people. I didn't think it was possible for a human to be accepted in Talokan, but your daughter has proved me wrong. That is why I'm here now apologizing because I realize maybe if I had approached the situation differently all of this could’ve been avoided." Namor brought his voice back down to quieter level as he reached the end.

Ramonda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. While there was a part of her that wanted to hold onto the grudge. She knew it was time to let it go, if Namor could find it in him to admit his mistakes and apologize. So could she.

"I accept you apology Namor, and I am truly sorry for how my country’s action have affected your own nations." She said stepping around Nakia to face him directly.

Namor gave her a nod.

A silent agreement passed through both of them as they looked at each other. This was a new beginning for Wakanda and Talokan.

Namor turned around to make his way back into the ocean. He did what he set out to do, there was no reason for him to stick around any longer. But he paused right as his body entered the water too look back at both of them. They were still standing in the same spot watching him leave. "I will take care of your daughter Queen Ramonda her well-being is not something you need to concern yourself with. I promise if it makes you feel any better the marriage is on hold till we learn to truly love each other."

Ramonda let out a sigh unable to hold back the small smile taking form on her face. As relief flooded through her body she didn't know why, but his words brought her some much needed comfort. Knowing you weren't whisked away into some underwater marriage ceremony the day you left made her feel better. "Namor wait take this with you." She called out to him pulling something from her sleeves.

It was a gold chain with a large purplish black ring on it. He tilted his head to the side as he walked back out of the ocean to go get it. "What is it?"

"Its T'Challa's ring her brother I want her to have it promise me she gets it" Queen Ramonda told him.

He observed the ring closely like it was a secret weapon.

"Its just a ring Namor it belonged to their own father. Its just something to make her feel more connected to Wakanda this isn't some trap" Nakia reassured him exasperated with his hesitation.

He glanced in her direction with a raised eyebrow, but still reached out to gently take the chain from the Queen. "I will give it to her." With those words he turned back around and descended back into the ocean. There were no goodbyes exchanged between the two, but progress had been made.

Next Morning

You were stretched out in the hammock on your stomach sleeping peacefully. Your face pressed into a pillow that Namor had put under your head when he got back. Your body was still cocooned in his robe despite the blanket at the bottom. It was still folded neatly, and was nestled under your feet. He wondered if he was going to get the robe back from you.

He was leaned back into a sofa positioned right across from the hammock. Namor had it built specifically for you wanting to make this cave as close to your home as it could get. The platform for the sofa was made out rock material from the ocean itself. Which they were able to mold perfectly as well as the more than comfortable soft cushioning.

Namor had been watching you sleep for about an hour so far. Once he returned from his meeting with the queen. He retired for the night to his own sleeping chambers in the cave. Sleep didn't come easily too him considering it wasn't something he did very often. Unlike his people and you his body last way longer without a sufficient amount of rest. So he only rested whenever the need arose, and although he felt drained a little mentally. Last night physically he was fine and felt as if he could go another two days or so. But he slept anyway with nothing else to worry about.

You started to shift around letting out a soft groan. Your eyes squeezed themselves tightly as you frowned. Consciousness had come to way too early for your liking, and the material wrapped around your body coupled with the cloud you were sleeping in. Made you want to go back under, but for some reason you couldn't go back. You opened your eyes pulling the robe up to cover your face slightly to block out any light. And that was when it hit you no need to try and dim the morning sunlight. Even the glow worms plastered all over the cave ceiling lit up the cave. The light wasn't overwhelming for your fresh morning eyes.

"Maybe sticking with this hammock isn't such a bad idea" You murmured sitting up.

"I'm happy you found your sleeping arrangements accommodating" Namor spoke up.

You let out a small yelp jumping a bit with your head whipping in the direction of his voice. He was sitting on a sofa leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. His hands were clasped together as he regarded with a proud look on his face.

"Were you watching me sleep?" You asked.

"Only for a while in yakunaj" He replied softly.

You raised an eyebrow trying to figure what he had just called you. It probably wasn't anything bad, but it was a bit annoying not being to understand his language sometimes. "Are you ever going to tell me what that means?" He had used that term more than once.

"No its fun trying to see you figure it out" Namor said with a teasing smile.

You threw your head with a chuckle not use to this side of him. It was the first time Namor had joked with you. Then something sitting on the small table between the hammock and sofa caught your attention. You threw your legs up and over standing up in one fluid motion, and walked over to the table. Tears formed in your eyes as you let out a little gasp in shock. It was T'Challa's ring resting on a gold chain. The one that passed down in your family for generations. You had decided that after his death the ring would go to Shuri, so how was it here now. Your gaze moved from the ring to Namor who's face had soften even more now.

"Your mother asked that I give that to you" He told you.

"My mother but how?" You asked in confusion.

"You asked me to make peace so I made peace my Queen" Namor answered getting to his feet.

Your eyes widened in surprised as you were taken back that he had actually done it. Honestly you didn't think he would nor did you think your mother would be willing to forgive him so soon. You picked the chain up to place it around your neck, and overcome with emotion. You threw yourself at Namor wrapping your arms around his neck placing your chin on his shoulder.

Namor didn't respond right away caught off guard with the physical show of affection from you. It wasn't something he was use to so for at first he just stood there frozen. Until finally he constricted his own arms around your waist pulling your body closer to his own.

"Thank you Namor" You whispered into his ear.

"You're welcome" He replied back.

You pulled your face back to look him in the eyes. "Should we go check on the city?"

Namor gave you a small nod knowing right then you had his heart. Nothing in the world could stop him from falling in love with you right now. He might have went about getting your hand in marriage the wrong way, but from here on out Namor made a promise that. He was going to do everything else right.

Tag List: @omgsuperstarg @local-bxbby @nebulastarr @historygeekqueen @realm-of-azrael @lia-losing-it @queenotaku23 @creamecafe @dngnmtr-blog @lullabaesstuff @polireader @alinefrank @pearlsyeaaa @astronautelilanded @riri53 @undermoonlightwalk @1andonlytashae @riverjane-d @zeeader @farleyis @ziayamikaelson @leahnicole1219 @redcitisiren @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa @looneylikesbooks @thighella @http-isabela @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @motivation-idontknowher

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #black panther imagine #namor x reader #namor imagine #queen ramonda x reader #nakia

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theshelbyclan · 4 years ago

Text

Love Language

Summary: Tommy doesn’t say ‘I love you’.

(Gif by @nofckingfighting)

A/N: Sweet anon asked: Hello i love you're writing! Can i request a tommy one shot imagine where the reader (his girlfriend or wife) finds out in his office, one of the locked drawers has everytning shes ever given to him? Maybe like love letters or random flowers everything he keep 😍🤍 thank you so mych. This request was so amazing to me, because you it made me feel like you understand this character so well? Either way, it made me think, and this is the result. It’s kinda different but I hope you like it! Words: 1448

***

“Tommy?” “Hmm,” the preoccupied reply came. You sounded defeated, against your best efforts, “I love you.” “I know.”

***

There’s blood on his shirt. It’s the first thing you noticed when he walked in. Not the mud, not his eyes, not his energy, just the blood on his shirt.

“Who’s is it,” you asked as casually as you could. Tommy lit a cigarette in reply. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” he drew out the ‘s’ like he usually did when annoyed or tired. “Who was it?” you continued. “Y/N,” he held up a hand, “not tonight, eh? Not with the hundred fucking questions tonight, alright?” You remained silent for as long as you could bear, “Just need to know you’re safe.” “You knew who you married,” a low voice replied. “I did.” Tommy stood up again slowly started to walk away.

“Do not,” you hissed, “walk away from me.” “Y/N, what the fuck do you want from me, eh?” he raised his voice, “This is me. This is who I am. And I’m doing it all to give you everything you want. To keep you safe. Alright?” You leaned forward and tried to lock eyes with him, “What I want, Thomas Shelby, is you. In one piece, preferably.” “I know,” he lowered his voice again, “And I understand.” He waved a hand like he was about to say more, but didn’t. “It’s because I love you,” you emphasized. He nodded slowly, “And that’s why I’m doing all of this.”

***

You were sitting at your desk writing. Some people seemed to think that being married to Tommy Shelby was a fulltime job and it could be if you’d let it, but not for you. Even before Tommy you’d been a writer, a journalist and an author of short stories. Neatly you typed them out and send them to the publishers in question. It was the one thing in life that always offered you solace.

“You spelled ‘enthusiastic’ wrong,” you husband commented helpfully after having popped up suddenly behind you. You ripped the page irritably, “Says the man who never even went to school.” “Life taught me how to spell, Y/N,” he sort of joked. “Life taught youhow to spell ‘enthusiastic’? Can’t remember the last time you were ever enthusiastic about anything…” He raised one eyebrow slowly, “How about ‘sarcasm’, can you spell that? Or ‘devil’, how about that, eh?” You pouted theatrically, “Sometimes I’m not even sure you take me and my work seriously…” “Oh, I take it seriously,” Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, “I know it’s enough to keep my wife away from me.” You smiled back at him when he did, but still a pang of hurt went through you: you’d give up everything just to have him say ‘I’m so proud of you sweetheart’. Just once.

***

“Come on,” he whispered. You looked up. “Come on,” he repeated, cigarette hanging from his lips, “let’s go upstairs.” “Why?” you asked, as you already started to follow him. Once inside the bedroom, he started undressing you with surprising tenderness. “Tommy,” you breathed, “look at me. What is it you want?” As a reply without words he gazed at your body, like he was drinking in very detail and getting drunk at the mere sight of it. “You and me, Tommy,” you said in between kisses, “remember it’s you and me. Fuck the rest of them. Fuck your family. Fuck the whole world. I love you and you love me. It’s you and me and nothing can ever come between us, right?” As he took off his own shirt, he gently pushed you down onto the bed.

“You and me, right Tommy?” you repeated, a little breathless as his head disappeared between your legs. “No,” he finally spoke, “you.”

*** Thomas Shelby had a long day of dealing with renegade family and dangerous enemies, so when he got back home, all he wanted was his wife and some peace and quiet.

“I cooked,” you said as you lingered against the doorpost. Tommy looked tired, worn-out, dead almost, with his head in his hands, “even told the cook to take the evening off,” you commented while your voice sounded flat. It was funny, because your emotions were all over the place, but your exterior just didn’t show any of it.

He slowly lifted his head, “You did, eh?” “Thought you might like it…” you fidgeted in spite of yourself. “I pay that cook for her to actually fucking cook,” he grumbled. “Fine,” you snapped, “I’ll feed it to the dog,” and you started to walk away. “Wait…” “What?” You didn’t even really turn around. Tommy sighed again and for a moment it was like he noticed the disappointment in your eyes, “What did you cook?” “Mint leaves. Your favourite.” And then a minor miracle took place and Tommy Shelby actually smiled a little.

***

“You were late today. I waited.” “I’m sorry.” “Are you?” “I am.” “Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Tell me.” “I do. Every day.” “Not with words…” “No, not with words.” “Tommy, tell me again.” ***

You were still half-asleep in Tommy’s arms. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. Outside, the sun wasn’t up yet, but it wouldn’t take long now.

Next to you, there was a gun on the table. Tommy had just taught you how to shoot. He’d shown you over and over again, even though you’d protested. But he said you might need it one day. On the other side there were his cigarettes and whiskey. His medicine. His comfort. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady. But for how long? How long would it be until he’d die by his own gun, or get killed in some fight? Or met some other girl, prettier and smarter than you? As if he could read your insecurities, he shifted in his sleep and hugged you even closer to him. Thomas Shelby might not be perfect or a gentleman or eloquent when it came to expressing his love, but he did hold you at night.

***

“Tommy?” you shouted out through the house, “THOMAS!” “Fucking hell, woman,” his head appeared around the corner, “What is it?” Slightly embarrassed by your own volume, you said, “I can’t find the scissors.” “They’re in my desk somewhere,” he put on his cap and added, “I need to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” You made your way to the desk that was always so tidy and neat. So you did as any sensible woman would do and turned over everything in search of a pair of scissors. Nothing. Angrily you threw down a pile of papers. And that’s when you noticed it. One drawer hadn’t been opened at all. When you tried it, you found it locked. But you were a girl from Small Heath and no locked drawer could stop you. In less than twenty seconds you had managed to force the lock en slid the secret hiding place open. Inside there were more papers, neatly stacked and tied together with pieces of string in different piles. Breathlessly you took them from the drawer and examined them one by one. “Still looking for those scissors, eh?” a low voice grumbled in your ear and you practically jumped from fear. “For fuck’s sake, Thomas,” you mumbled as you tried to hide the papers you’d just found. Tommy was eyeing them already, but didn’t say a word.

So you went back through them, “These are the letters I wrote to you, when you were in France. I thought you threw away everything. Your medals, everything…” He didn’t reply. Tears sprang into your eyes as you examined the second pile, “And these are all my short stories. Did you cut them from the papers? Did you really keep them all?” You quickly went through them and they were all there, from the very first one ever published, “And these, my articles…”

Tommy cleared his throat once and cast his eyes down when you looked at him. Lastly there was a small box. When you opened it, you found, “The rose I wore, when we were kids. The one my brother stole…” And now you couldn’t find the words, “I hardly… I didn’t even know you… back then. Why?” Tommy grabbed his case and started searching for a cigarette. “Tommy,” you insisted, “I had no idea. Why did you keep all of these?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked lightly. You stared at the content of the secret drawer and decided that nothing was ever obvious when it came to Thomas Shelby. “Well?” you questioned. “I love you.”

*** Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #the shelby clan #love language

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cherienymphe · 4 years ago

Text

Twice Mine (Stucky x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, mentions of NON-CON, vampire!Stucky, jealous!Stucky, violence, toxic relationships, murder, animal cruelty, bloodplay

➥ this is the much anticipated final part to Twice Bitten and Twice Burned

I had a lot of fun with this series, and I hope you guys enjoy!

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ Italics = things that have already happened

➥ Non italics = present day

summary: King Steve has the reputation of the kindest king in all the land. How sad it is that such a man always seems to be burying a wife, leaving him lonely and searching for another. Seeing how Queen Margaret’s death affected you, the king hopes to raise your spirits by marrying you off to the handsome Duke, James Barnes, unbeknownst to you, sealing your fate.

The large living room was alight with the glow of the fire, the flames the only source of light in the entire room. The mansion was quiet, as it tended to be, but for the past week or so, it was a different kind of quiet. A heavy silence that was almost suffocating had descended over the place. You barely turned your head to the side, swallowing down a sigh.

You felt him before you heard him, a strong concern that didn’t belong to you taking up residence in your heart beside your own. You pressed your hand to your chest, the weight within it increasing as the sound of his footsteps reached your ears. His large hands soon found a place on your shoulders, fingers kneading into your bare flesh in what was meant to be a calming gesture. You hadn’t been calm in days.

“Come to bed,” he murmured, voice gravelly, still riddled with sleep.

You shook your head, eyes focused on the flames.

“I can’t sleep.”

He sighed, an exasperated sound as his fingers danced along your throat.

“You can’t sleep...you can’t eat…”

You swallowed, heart sinking at the knowledge that you’d been found out.

“...I’m fine,” you told him.

“Remember what happened the last time you went so long without feeding…”

His words made your eyes cloud over, the memory so fresh in your mind you would’ve thought it happened yesterday instead of centuries ago.

“...it nearly broke you,” he whispered. “I don’t want to see you like that again.”

You didn’t respond, eyes instead falling to the floor as his grip tightened.

“Y/N.”

You shook your head.

“He was supposed to be back days ago,” you murmured, throat tight. “We haven’t heard from him in days.”

He exhaled, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in.

“Can you still feel him? Focus...just like I taught you...”

You could. It was faint, and you had to search deep within yourself, but you could still feel him there within your chest. A light warmth that had been there since you’d first woken up into this new life.

“I can.”

“Then he’s alright…”

“Then why hasn’t he called? Or let us know that he’s okay?” you wondered, standing now as frustration colored your tone.

“It’s not the first time, doll. He will be fine, he always is, but you won’t be if you don’t drink something…”

The dull burn in your throat became all the more prominent as he reminded you of your thirst. A thirst that you hadn’t satiated in days. You turned, reluctantly lifting your eyes to meet the blue of his.

“I don’t think I can...not without…”

You trailed off, recalling the last and only time you had practically starved yourself. The lack of control you’d had… A small sigh reached your ears, and you watched as he nodded, stepping closer until his chest grazed yours.

“Drink from me for now...and then we’ll go hunting tomorrow.”

His hand was on your wrist, pulling you with him as he stepped back. He sank into the armchair, and you straddled him, fingers pressing into his shoulders as you made yourself comfortable. He gazed up at you like you had his heart in your hands, and the corner of your mouth lifted ever so slightly.

“Anywhere you want,” he breathed.

Brushing your tongue over your bottom lip, you leaned in and sank your teeth into his throat. His hips lifted up into yours, hands curled around your waist as a low groan escaped you. Your eyes rolled as your body welcomed his blood into your system, coursing through your veins to give you much needed strength.

A hungry moan bubbled in your throat, and Steve sighed.

Someone was yelling. Even through the jumbled haze that was your mind, you could recognize that much. It was also hard to breathe. Did you even need to breathe now? Probably not, but surely you did if the way you were clutching your chest and gasping for breath was anything to go by. Could vampires have panic attacks? Could vampires go into shock?

“You killed her!”

You had heard someone scream that only moments ago, and yet here they were again. There was so much yelling, so much chaos, and through it all, the voice became clear. Both voices became clear. It was James...and Steve…

The thought of the blond made your lips curl, and you shakily pulled yourself to your feet. You glanced down at your dress, taking note of the faded blood. Your blood. You had tried to kill yourself, you remembered that now...and James had found you… Both James and Steve had found you. Then Steve had killed you.

The memories were coming back so fast. You could hardly make sense of it all, and it took some time before you remembered your awakening...James...Steve… Mary Jane. Your lips parted as you eyed the fresh blood on your dress...your hands… It did not take long for your eyes to find Mary Jane’s still body just at the foot of the bed.

“No...no, no,” you mumbled, falling to your knees once again at her side.

Had you done this? You could not recall. There were blanks in your mind, but if you thought hard enough, you could conjure the uncontrollable thirst that had taken over you. You could remember the way James had attempted to stop you, the way Steve had laughed as you brutally drank from your maid. You could hear yourself scream, grief and rage hitting you all at once just before laying waste to the room.

You glanced up, eyes widening at the torn bedding and broken furniture. There were feathers everywhere. A soft sob left you as you cradled the lifeless girl in your arms. James and Steve were still arguing, fighting even, and you squeezed your eyes shut. This all felt like a bad dream. A nightmare...fueled by the vampire in the next room.

Had you been filled with less rage, you would have marveled at how quickly you moved. You found yourself in the receiving chamber, pinning Steve to the wall before you even realized what had happened. He merely chuckled, sharp teeth winking at you, blue eyes filled with mirth at your crisis.

“You did this to me,” you screamed, hitting at him. “You did this-!”

You cut yourself off with a sob just as James wrapped his arms around you, pulling you away from the other man. He shushed you, trying so hard to calm you, but you were inconsolable. The reality of the situation, your new reality, was finally starting to sink in, and you thought that the weight in your chest would crush you.

If it was not for James’ hold, you would have fallen to the floor. You had the hardest time breathing, setting your vision straight, and you shook so violently in his arms. You could feel him pressing kisses into your hair, still damp from what had transpired only hours ago.

“Go.”

That single word broke through, and it took you a moment to realize that he was not speaking to you. He was speaking to Steve. It seemed that both you and Steve came to the realization at the same time.

“Surely you are joking…”

“I mean it, Steve. You should not be here...not right now…”

“James-.”

Steve swallowed his words as you escaped and dug your nails into his throat, and while your attack did not last long, Steve easily fending you off, you were satisfied with the blood you had drawn. You fell to the floor but made no move to stand, hands pressed into the rug as you keeled over with another sob.

“You killed her, Steve.”

“Really? Because she seems to be alive and well from where I am standing,” the king sneered. “I have the marks to prove it.”

“You threw her off of the balcony!”

There was so much venom in James’ voice, and the silence that followed was thick.

“She would have left us. Both you and I know that she would have tried again, and she would have succeeded! Is that what you would have wanted?”

You heard the wall shake.

“She did not deserve that,” James spat. “She deserved better. She deserved a painless death and a peaceful transition.”

Your nails scraped along the fabric of the rug as you recalled the pain of your body slamming into the stones below. The fear that had been enough to paralyze you once you realized what Steve had done.

“Now I must undo what you have done. I have to make this right for her...and I cannot do that with you around. You need to stay away from her for a while.”

You slowly lifted your head at James’ words, eyes taking in the scene before you. James had his hand at Steve’s throat, and you were surprised to find Steve’s cold gaze on you instead of James. He stared at you with such hatred, such contempt, and to your shock, you evenly stared back at him with the same look.

“You’re in trouble, you know that right?”

Steve’s quiet words reached where you stood all the way at the top of the stairs. You heard James sigh, and your relief at his safe return was unfortunately overshadowed by the fact that he’d gone an entire week with no call, no text, no nothing to let you know that he was okay.

He finally stepped out of the foyer and into the living room, Steve just behind him, and he at least had the gall to look sheepish. You wrapped your arms around yourself, far from cold, but just a force of habit whenever you felt particularly pouty. James threw you a small smile to which you did not return.

“I’m home, my love.”

You didn’t respond, and his smile faltered.

“You look radiant…”

Again, you ignored his words as you finally made your way down the stairs, the bottom of your dress kissing your feet. His face fell when you brushed past him and instead made your way to Steve.

“Steve, I’m thirsty,” you said with a frown, and the blond bit back a smirk.

“You just ate yesterday,” he reminded you.

“Well, I want to go again,” you argued.

You huffed when he gripped your shoulders, forcing you to face James. The dark-haired man resembled a kicked puppy, and you looked away. Steve leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“Cut him some slack, doll. You know how demanding business can be,” he told you.

He briefly squeezed your shoulders before leaving you altogether, and you reluctantly met James’ eye. His shoulders fell, and he took a step towards you.

“The deal didn’t go as smoothly as we thought it would. Would you believe me if I told you that doing business with humans is easier than with our own kind?”

Again, you didn’t respond. At least, not right away, and you simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do phones not work in Romania?”

He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh.

“I was worried-.”

“I was fine.”

“...and how was I to know that?”

He tilted his head at you, pressing the palm of his hand to your chest where your heart would beat if it could. That warmth was more prominent now that he was near, and you could feel his remorse for his lack of communication with you while he was away. His blue eyes were soft as he gazed at you.

“This is how you know,” he said.

“That’s...not the point, James,” you sighed, turning away. “I get anxious. You know that…”

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“I know.”

“I don’t like it when we’re not all together. I hate when you go on these business trips by yourself,” you told him, turning in his hold. “Poor Steve has to put in twice the work just so I won’t miss you.”

James smirked, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Somehow, he manages to power through it, I’m sure,” he sarcastically replied.

You leaned in, brushing your lips along his chin, satisfied when James released a shaky breath.

“Are you coming hunting with us? I feel like it’s been so long with the three of us…”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, pink lips curving even more as he drank you in.

“Didn’t Steve say you just went hunting…?”

“...so?” you wondered, raising an eyebrow.

James chuckled, lips brushing yours as he spoke.

“You can’t get everything you want, my love.”

“You say that...and yet I always do,” you wondered, spinning away.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N. We have to be careful,” he argued, halting your movements with a hand on your wrist. “This is a rather small town, and we stand out enough as it is.”

You didn’t respond, and he continued.

“Remember the last small town and your appetite?” he probed.

“It’s not my fault their community was filled with abusive and rapist scum. Besides, wasn’t that when I was snapping Steve’s neck every other week or so? I had to fully take out my frustrations on someone.”

He pulled you closer.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“...and you want to stay for a long time, right?”

“...yes,” you reluctantly replied. “...but I’m thirsty, so…”

You ran your eyes along his frame.

“Somehow, some way, I’m drinking someone’s blood tonight.”

The scream that you let out was gut-wrenching, and you were thankful that you were deep in the woods. Far away from the village and the kingdom. The only light came from that of the moon as it hung in the sky, and for once, you wished that you were bathed in darkness instead. You did not want to see the consequences of your actions, see what you had done.

You were reminded of that first night in your new life. You could hardly breathe and hardly make sense of what was happening. Like before, the memories came to you quickly, filling in the holes that had been missing from the last day or so.

The thought of drinking blood, harming another, even if it did not cost them their life, was enough to disgust you. You had had enough, and had refused to drink for days. James had warned you. Oh God, he had warned you. You thought yourself above this life. You thought that your heart was too good for this life and that your will would overpower your nature. You were wrong, and the lifeless body in your arms was proof of that.

The boy was young, so young. He had long passed the precipice of childhood, but had yet to reach that of a man, and now he never would. You did not even remember smelling him, nor snatching him away, but when you closed your eyes, you could see it. You could see how unaware he had been as he poked through bushes to find some berries to pick. You could see the way you zeroed in on him. You could see the monster that you had become.

Another loud sob escaped your trembling lips as you rocked him in your arms, wishing and hoping that he would wake up. That it would all be a nightmare, he would wake up, and prove that you were not the monster you now thought yourself to be.

You felt him before you saw him, and when you reluctantly lifted your head, you were surprised to come face to face with Steve...not James.

“I killed him,” you sobbed.

Steve sighed, frowning at you as he approached. You had not seen him in months, only in passing really, and you had forgotten just how much you hated him. However, in this moment, you did not wish to be alone. You wished for someone to reassure you that you were not some crazed beast. Anything to stop the pain.

“Yes, well… James told me of the grand conclusion you came to, thinking yourself above your nature,” he scoffed, and you frowned.

He shook his head at you.

“Honestly, Y/N. What did you think would transpire?”

There it was again, that rage, and your lip curled.

“This is your fault. All of this is your fault!”

You were standing now, and Steve tilted his head at you.

“You did this to me. I am like this because of you...because of what you forced onto me.”

Steve took a step towards you, something in his eyes that you could not place.

“What is done, is done. This,” he pointed to the lifeless body at your feet. “...happened because of you, because you refused to accept your new reality. This happened because you tried to go against nature, your nature.”

His words filled you with an anger that you could hardly fathom, and before you knew it, your hands were on his head and then he was at your feet, neck twisted at an odd angle. You blinked, eyes widening as you realized what you had done, and you stumbled back. You hated Steve, God knows you did, but James would be far from happy about this.

As if you summoned him up, he was suddenly there, and you jumped at the sight. Your wide eyes met his just before he took in the mess you left behind, and he sighed when his eyes landed onto the boy.

“Oh, Y/N,” he breathed, sounding sad.

“I…”

You glanced at Steve’s still form.

“Steve...he...I…”

You did not know how to tell him that you had killed his best friend, but James merely glanced at Steve before chuckling.

“I assure you, Steve is fine.”

You frowned, and he elaborated.

“You did not kill him...not permanently, at least,” he explained. “You just snapped his neck. It is something like a temporary death for us. He will be alright. It is rather painful though, but...even I must admit that he had it coming.”

“He will be angry with me,” you murmured. “...but he always seems to be angry with me. He blames me for your...separation.”

“Steve has no one to blame but himself, my love” he said, kneeling beside the nameless boy.

“You...were right, James,” you whispered, choked up.

He looked to you, eyes heavy with a myriad of emotions you could not even begin to name. Regret being the most evident one.

“I thought that I could fight it. I thought that I could make myself be something that I am not. Steve was right when he said that I did not want to accept my new reality, and I hate admitting that.”

“I will help you through this-.”

“No.”

He blinked at you, standing now as he worriedly eyed you.

“I cannot do this,” you confessed.

“Y/N-.”

“I am sorry. I am...so sorry,” you whispered, leaving him there in the blink of an eye.

Your fingers tangled in Steve’s hair as he swirled his tongue in and out of you. His lips couldn’t get enough, and he pressed his fingers into your thighs, holding you down. James was far on the other side of the room, face torn between hunger and disappointment. Despite the fact that he was safe and sound, you were still miffed about his lack of communication.

“You can look...but you can’t touch.”

That was what you’d told him, and even though it was obvious how much he wanted to protest, he obeyed. Now he stood as still as a statue, hands balled into fists, face taut as he fought to prevent himself from tasting you as Steve was currently doing.

Your chest was pointed towards the ceiling, mouth parted as moans climbed out of your throat. Steve was ravenous between your legs, groans escaping here and there to send vibrations through you, making you clench around his tongue.

“Steve,” you moaned, eyes rolling.

That was what you both loved and hated about Steve. He could remain between your thighs for days on end if you allowed him to. Your voice caught when he pushed you over the edge, chest heaving and stomach tightening while the blond greedily lapped at you, refusing to waste a single drop. You could hear James swallow as Steve crawled up your spent frame, blue eyes narrowing like that of a feline.

He pulled you into his lap, bare chest pressed to yours, arms wrapped around your waist. You threw your own around his neck, nose brushing his as you let out a happy sigh.

“I think I’ve tortured James enough, don’t you?”

You grinned at him, and Steve returned it, leaning up. You pulled back, smile widening as you evaded his kiss.

“I don’t know, doll. I think he could stand some more,” he purred.

The mischief in his eyes matched your own, and you both turned to leer at James, your cheek pressed against Steve’s. You offered your hand to James, and it was impressive how fast he moved, taking your hand and pressing his lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss while Steve trailed his own lips to your neck.

Your teeth scraped along James’ mouth, drawing blood, and your body buzzed at the taste. A low moan crawled from James’ lips as you leaned down to sink your teeth into his throat, his hand coming up to twist into your hair. You pulled away with a sigh, Steve’s mouth seeking out your own, eager to taste James on your tongue. You could hear the dark-haired man swiftly undressing, pressing his chest to your back in no time, eager to make his absence up to you.

“You need to come back.”

You froze, eyes focused on Steve as he stood in the tiny cottage you had taken up residence in, making the space look that much smaller. You swallowed as you eyed him, recalling the last time you saw him in which you had snapped his neck. That was the last time you saw James too. That was months ago. Your emotions must have been all over your face because Steve simply smirked.

“Relax. I am not here to snap your neck as you did mine,” he assured you, stepping further into the place.

He looked as regal as he always did, blond hair neatly pushed out of his face.

“Nor would you be in the right to. If anything, you had it coming from the moment you killed me,” you hissed.

He narrowed his eyes at you, and you continued before he could speak.

“Why are you here? How did you find me?” you demanded, genuine confusion coloring your tone.

“Do not be daft, sweet Y/N. We have known of your whereabouts this entire time. If it were not for James, I would have dragged you back to the castle long ago, but he insisted that you needed time,” he explained.

“...and yet here you are.”

Steve’s jaw ticked, and he neared you.

“Yes. Here I am, because you need to come back,” he repeated.

“Why?” you scoffed. “...so you can torture me some more? Make my life as miserable as your heart?”

“He is not the same,” Steve suddenly said, making you swallow your words. “He needs you.”

The thought of James sullen and wasting himself away was enough to make your heart clench, but you simply folded your arms over your chest, glancing away.

“I am happy here,” you told him.

“Really? Happy here to feed on the squirrels and the deer like some beast of the wild?” he sneered.

“What is it to you?”

He was on you in a flash, fingers pressing into your jaw so harshly you could have sworn you heard it crack. His nose brushed against yours as he glared into your eyes, an untamable fire behind his own.

“It means something to me because I wish to see him happy. As much as I despise your very presence...he is not himself whilst you are gone,” Steve told you.

You scoffed.

“Are you no longer enough for him? Funny, because whenever I was around, all he seemed to do was put you first-.”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he slammed you into the wall, the small house shaking from the force. Your eyes watered and your lips trembled as you glared at the man before you, the man who had killed you.

“I am giving you one week. One week to do what you must. Drink from all the animals you like, tear through every tree while imagining my face on them, get whatever you must out of your system,” he began.

You looked away, and he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“If you have not returned in a week, if you run, I will find you...and I will drag you back...but not before reminding you of just how cruel I can be,” he purred.

You pushed against him, and he merely moved to catch your wrists, slamming them into the wall. Steve's forehead was pressed to yours, and you could not meet his eye.

“You may not be as weak as you once were,” he started, forcing his knee between your legs. “...but you will never be strong enough to fend me off. I have no problem reminding you of that.”

He brushed his lips over your trembling ones, and then he was gone, ruining your peace once again. You cried for the first time in weeks that night. You had no doubt that if you ran, Steve would find you. You did not know how they even found you to begin with, but it was scary to think that they knew where you were this entire time without your knowledge. What else were they capable of?

As much as you did not want to, it was exactly one week later that you found yourself returning to the castle. It was late in the night, all of the servants and any other guests fast asleep, when you walked through the doors. James was there before you hardly got a foot inside, and you were in his arms before you knew it.

“I have missed you,” he sighed, squeezing you to him.

He breathed you in, and you found yourself doing the same, reluctant to admit that you missed him too. For a moment, you were reminded of a time where you felt safe in his arms, and you wondered if you would ever feel that again. When soft footsteps reached your ears, you looked up, Steve’s eyes meeting yours as he stood behind James, practically bathed in darkness. It was then that you realized the answer was no. You would probably never feel that again. Not while Steve was around.

Contrary to what you had thought, the time that followed was far from miserable. Steve still kept a safe distance, and James did his best to teach you about your new life. Whenever you did see Steve though, it was cordial...polite...but tense. There was something unspoken in the air that you were reluctant to give attention to. It stewed for the longest time until James was the one to finally bring attention to it.

“We need to talk, my love,” he said to you one evening.

You had frowned a bit, but eventually closed your book, giving him your full attention. You could not read his face, and that worried you.

“It is about Steve,” he began.

You swallowed, straightening.

“What about Steve…?”

At this point, it had been two years since your death that was somehow both literal and metaphorical, and you had not come any closer to softening your heart towards the king. You hardly saw him, hardly spoke to him as he continued to do as James asked and gave you the space to make your transition into this life much smoother.

James sighed, reaching up to brush his thumb along your cheek.

“It is meant to be the three of us…”

You looked away, heart sinking as you realized what this was about.

“That is how I envisioned our future, and I hope that we can get back to that some day.”

“James…”

“I am not rushing you. Believe me, there is still much anger in my heart towards him for what he did, and I know that my anger cannot ever compare to yours. I only wish to remind you that this is what I hope for us some day.”

You did not respond, and he continued.

“I am bringing this up because I have spoken with Steve...and he will be doing his best to make amends. I want you to expect that…”

Yours eyes met his, and he left you with a small smile. You soon found out that Steve’s version of making amends was to buy you things you had never asked for.

“It is all the rage in France,” Steve huffed as you turned your nose up at the gaudy necklace.

“Well, I am sure they will appreciate having it returned to them,” you snidely commented

Fed up, he threw the necklace to the ground, pointing a finger at you.

“You are being unnecessarily difficult,” he hissed.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted as you stared at him as if he had grown a second head before your very eyes.

“This...,” you picked up the other jewels he had brought. “...means nothing. All of this means nothing!”

You threw them at him, taking great satisfaction in the offended look he wore.

“You killed me!”

Two years worth of anger and hurt had been stewing. Your fingers trembled and your body vibrated and your eyes burned as you stared at the blond man before you. Your murderer.

“You taunted me and made my life hell for years! And then...and then you tossed me...off of a balcony,” you shakily gasped. “...and you think that your money will atone for that?”

Steve said nothing, face taut as your words hit him square on.

“You think these meaningless things will undo what you have done? How on earth did you manage to keep the throne all these years with nothing between those ears of yours?”

He was quick in invading your space, and his chest heaved with barely contained anger as you glared at him.

“You will watch how you speak to me.”

“Or what? You shall kill me? Again?”

He said nothing, and his nostrils flared.

“James will end your pitiful existence the minute that you do,” you spat.

The words had just barely left your mouth when his hand found your throat. Having anticipated this because Steve was nothing if not predictable, you grabbed the bejeweled dagger he had tried to gift you, plunging it straight into his chest. You felt no disgust when he coughed, blood flying past his lips and onto your face. You could only feel satisfaction as you watched the pain register on his features.

Your gratification did not last long as you watched him swallow down the ache, a troubling laugh escaping his bloody lips. His wide eyes took you in with something you could not name, but if you did not know any better, you would think it was pride. He chuckled again, his hand coming up to cover your own that still held the knife in his chest. He leaned in, with difficulty, and brushed his blood-stained lips over your own.

“Word of advice...a piece of wood is what you desire.”

He tightened his grip on your hand, and you winced, gaze never parting from his.

“Also...you might want to aim a bit higher next time,” he said through clenched teeth just before ripping it out.

You gasped as he snatched it from your fingers, quickly fisting his other hand into your hair, pressing the blade to your throat. You just felt a trickle of blood when James came bursting into the room. He was quick to pull Steve away, pinning the king to the wall.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Steve merely chuckled, a smirk on his pink lips.

“We were just having some fun. Right, Y/N?”

He looked to you, and you merely huffed, brushing past them both, ignoring James as he called for you. You did not see a future in which you would ever forgive Steve for what he did, what he put you through, but you could not accept one in which the two of you were constantly at each other’s throats. Something had to give.

Is this what you had come to? Is this who you were now? The thought was enough to make you sick, but surely it was the only way? Right…? Steve did not stir, and his body was warm beneath yours as you tightened your hands around the stake. The entire time that you whittled it, you kept wondering to yourself if this was what you really wanted to do? Could you even do this?

You pressed the end of it to his chest and swallowed. Would James hate you? He would be mad, that was for sure. That was to be expected even, but surely he could grow past this right? If your heart was able to beat, you were positive that it would be threatening to leap from your chest this very moment. Why were you scared? Why were you nervous? Steve deserved this...a thousand times over.

You were having doubts, and you did not want to admit that. You had stewed over this for months. Months of arguing and fighting. How many times had you drawn blood from him and vice versa? How many more? You jumped, startled when a hand closed around both of yours, and you lifted your gaze to meet the unflinching one of Steve. It suddenly occurred to you that he may have been awake this entire time.

You sharply inhaled, but he simply smiled, pink lips curving upwards ever so slightly.

“Do it,” he urged.

Your eyes widened, and you almost listened to him, but you faltered.

“Go on...do it…”

His blue eyes glinted with something unknown, and his teeth winked at you as he grinned.

“...why?” you suddenly wondered. “Why do you want me to?”

He tilted his head at you.

“You must learn to survive this life one way or another…”

You frowned, heart sinking at that.

“I… James…”

Steve hummed, nodding.

“Yes. He will be quite angry. I daresay he might even kill you,” he told you.

Your eyes widened at that, chest clenching.

“...the same he would do to me should I ever take you away from him.”

Your shoulders dropped at that, and you blinked.

“He loves us both...and he does not intend to live the rest of his days without either one of us by his side. I may not like this, but I have come to accept it.”

You glanced away, his words taking up residence within you.

“...but if you cannot accept this, then by all means...drive that stake through my heart. Truly become what you are and take what you must. That is how you survive this life…”

There was that phrase again. You did not like it, did not like the way it made you feel, and with a disgusted gasp, you dropped the stake. You held your hands up and away from Steve, chest heaving as you shook your head.

“No...no. That is...not how I wish to survive this life,” you told him.

You chanced a glance at him, finding that his eyes had darkened considerably. With a growl, the stake was in his hand, and he had flipped you, hovering over you as you trembled beneath him.

“Then you are weak!”

“Fine!”

He had not expected that response, and he looked taken aback. His fair hair brushed his forehead, thin shirt hanging off of his shoulder as he frowned at you.

“Fine...then I am weak. Call me whatever you like, Steve, but that is not me...and it shall never be me.”

You could feel the tip of the stake pressing into you through the fabric of your gown, and you swallowed, eyes boring into his.

“If you wish to drive that stake through my heart, to take what you want, then you may do so, but that is not who I am,” you quietly said. “I am not you.”

As much as you wished you could be, you were not like Steve. God knows that you hated him, and a part of you even hated James too, but killing Steve would hurt James, and you could not do that. You would not be able to live with yourself. Steve stared at you for a long time, and for a moment you thought that he would, but all too soon, you heard the piece of wood clatter to the floor. He remained hovering over you, hand on your neck now, and you swallowed as a shudder passed through you. His chambers were quiet as you simply stared at one another, and you thought to yourself how horrible it was that someone so demented could be so beautiful. Life was most cruel.

“I hate you,” you suddenly whispered.

Your words did not affect him, but you repeated them anyway.

“I hate you so much. I do not think you can ever imagine just how much I truly hate you, Steve,” you mumbled, tears kissing your eyes.

The king leaned down, nose brushing along yours as he hummed. Your lashes fluttered, hating the way heat swirled in your gut with his movements.

“I shall never forgive you.”

“It is not your forgiveness I seek,” he said.

He settled in between your legs, forcing them around his waist as his lips pressed against your neck.

“Then what do you seek from me…?”

His sharp teeth grazed your throat, and you curled your hands into fists, nails pressing into your palms. Your world was suddenly spinning, and you found yourself on top of Steve yet again. One of his hands pressed into your waist, holding you to him while you laid your palms on his chest. Even in the dark, the blue of his eyes appeared darker. Just as you were about to move to get off of him, he sat up, pressing his chest to yours.

“I-.”

Your words died on your tongue when he pressed his thumb to your mouth, scraping it over your teeth, and your eyes rolled when his blood fell onto your tongue.

“Show me how much you hate me,” he purred, leaning in to sink his own teeth into the skin just above your breast, piercing it through the fabric of your gown.

You had your way with Steve that night, hips moving over his as you sought out your climax again and again. You bit him, scratched him, left marks on every piece of flesh you could get your hands on, and he welcomed it all. Steve enjoyed a bit of pain, you realized, and you were shocked to find out just how much you enjoyed giving it to him.

By the time you were done, the sun peaking through the window, the sheets were stained with blood. Steve was fast asleep, breathing faint, and you were leaving his chambers, feeling a bit shameful in your bloody gown from the night before. You were surprised to find James awaiting you when you entered the corridor, and you jumped a bit, pressing a hand to your chest.

You were unsure of what to say. For some reason, you thought James would be mad, but then you remembered that this is what he wanted. You frowned as he approached you, leaning in to press his lips to yours, tasting Steve’s blood on them. He did not completely pull away, and you felt the corner of his mouth lift.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

You reared back, eyeing him and the small smirk on his lips, and you suddenly wondered just how coincidental your night with Steve was...or if outside forces had come into play.

You glided through the sea of bodies, the flashing lights doing little to obstruct your vision. The club was otherwise dark, everyone around you too preoccupied with drugs or alcohol or the person next to them. Steve and James were currently knocked out at home, and while vampire blood quelled the thirst, it wasn’t what your body lived on. Venturing out for a few hours wouldn’t hurt anyone...or so you intended.

Unimpressed with the slim pickings before you, you exited the club. It was a nice summer night, but it would be much nicer if you could find something quick to eat. You heard the footsteps behind you as you made your way to your car parked on the side of the street, but you didn’t think much of it. At least, not until a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. You spun, eyes wide and confused.

The man before you had a fair complexion, hair dark and eyes darker. His facial hair was tasteful, jawline sharp, and under different circumstances, you might have found him attractive, but he wreaked of malicious intentions. You only discovered what those intentions were when he pushed against you. You allowed him to, looking at him like he had a death wish as he pinned you to your car.

“I saw you inside the club,” he said.

“...and?” you wondered, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Just a bit surprised to see a girl like you all alone… Dressed like that, you must be looking for something,” he grinned.

You scoffed, pushing against him.

“Get lost, creep.”

He snatched your hand, applying what you were sure he thought was painful pressure. You glowered at him as he pressed himself more firmly against you, and you could feel him hot and hard beneath his jeans.

“I really hate teases like you, you know,” he sneered. “You come out dressed like whores, knowing exactly what you look like, what kind of attention you’re looking for, and then when you get it… You get all surprised on us.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing.

“Nobody plays hard to get anymore. We see right through it.”

You pressed your lips together, mind whirling as you looked away. With a smirk, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. He groaned into your mouth, tight grip still on your hand. When you pulled back, you licked your lips, brushing your nose against his.

“You caught me,” you chuckled. “Wanna come back to my place? I’ll drive.”

He grinned at you with a nod, taking a step back. By the time you got behind the wheel, he was already seated. He whistled at the interior of the car, and you threw him a sly smile as you started it.

“This yours?”

“It’s my ex’s,” you told him with a shrug.

It wasn’t a lie. James had been your ex at the time, angry with him for something you could hardly recall. The not-so-breakup breakup lasting a few months before Steve intervened. You just didn’t mention that you and said ex were happily back together.

The would be rapist talked the entire way as you sped down the road to upstate New York. If he took note of the long commute, he didn’t comment on it. Then again, why would he? He was far too preoccupied with getting laid. When you pulled up in front of the large and isolated mansion, you noticed the way his eyes briefly widened. The corner of your lips lifted just a bit as you took note of the way his heart skipped a beat.

The house was quiet, lighting dim when you entered, and you wondered if they were still asleep. You hoped not. You knew they had to be hungry. Before you could think more on it, the man behind you, Brock was what he called himself, wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. You didn’t react as he pressed kisses to your neck, your hungry eyes looking around for any sign of Steve or James instead.

“This is a nice place, kind of big for one woman.” he commented.

Footsteps reached your ears, far too soft for him to notice, and you bit your lip, fighting a smile.

“I agree,” you breathed, spinning around to cover his lips with your own.

His hands were tight on your waist, lips hungry and tongue searching, and the only reason disgust didn’t fill you was because you knew this would be worth it in only a matter of seconds.

“Doll…?”

You pulled away, ignoring the look on Brock’s face as you turned to grin at Steve. Your hands were on the raven-haired man’s face, your own visage practically glowing.

“Stevie,” you coolly responded.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as he took in the way the strange man held you, and your stomach flipped. You skipped towards him, hanging onto his arm as he continued to stare at the other man, a thousand ways to kill him running through his head, no doubt.

“What is the meaning of this?” he quietly demanded.

“What the fuck is going on?”

You ignored Brock, pouting at the blond man.

“He thought he could make me do whatever he wanted, Steve,” you whispered.

His head snapped towards you, jaw clenching as he ran his eyes over you. He knew that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, but it was a habit he had no intentions of breaking.

“...so...I thought I’d bring him home…”

A smirk danced along his lips.

“Is that so?” he wondered, slowly turning to face the other man who was seconds away from leaving.

Too quickly for his eye to see, Steve was upon him, a hand digging into his shoulder. Brock barely had time to make any kind of noise before your husband was brutally tearing into his throat. You quietly approached them as Steve greedily drank from the skeevy man. He was dead by the time you reached them, and Steve lifted his head towards you, face stained, blood crawling down his neck.

He growled before smashing his lips against yours. You were reluctant to admit that the dead scum tasted better than you thought he would, but fear always did make the blood taste sweeter. You heard his body drop to the ground as Steve pressed his hands into your neck, tongue tasting the inside of your mouth while yours tasted the blood on his. You only pulled away when you heard a sigh, and you both turned to face James at the bottom of the stairs.

“What have I said about in the house?”

He sounded exasperated, but didn’t look particularly upset. You had the distinct feeling that he heard everything, and the reluctant smile that found its way onto his lips confirmed that. He beckoned you over, and you complied.

“Still mad at me?” he wondered, pinching your chin.

“No,” you said, shaking your head.

He pecked your lips.

“Good. I’ll help you get rid of that, Steve...and my love?”

He had brushed past you, and you turned to look at him expectantly.

“Yes…?”

“Never in the house,” he lightly scolded.

You returned his scowl with a grin.

The shard broke off deep into his neck, and Steve hissed, reaching to dig it out just as you plunged the other half into his chest.

“Fucking hell!”

Your palm connected with his cheek just before he shoved himself away from you, and you were determined to follow when strong familiar arms wrapped around you from behind, pinning your arms at your side.

“Let go of me,” you cried.

“Y/N-.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me!”

James did not listen, and instead you found yourself pinned to the wall, his arms preventing you from moving. You glared past his shoulder, trying in vain to kill Steve with your vision alone. The blond winced as he tore the broken glass from his neck, blood soaking into his shirt.

“He killed him,” you spat, lips trembling as the pain in your chest flared with the reminder of what Steve had done.

The man in question snapped his head up, eyes dark with anger and jealousy while his lip curled over his teeth.

“And I would happily do it again,” he sneered.

“He was my friend!”

“He coveted you,” Steve hissed, face only a hair’s width away from your own now. “You would think that after 400 plus years on this God forsaken earth, you would realize that.”

You frantically shook your head.

“No. Not everyone is like you, Steve. Not everyone has the worst intentions,” you screamed.

Steve simply rolled his eyes, turning away as he removed his shirt. You looked to James for help, anything to back you up, but he did not look the least bit remorseful about what Steve had done. He sighed, and you frowned.

“I gave Steve the okay,” he quietly confessed.

Your eyes widened, and you stumbled back out of his now loose hold. You stared at him in confusion, fighting to understand what he was telling you.

“W-what? You...you told him to kill Clint?”

James did not respond, and you swallowed, a sharp pain traveling through your chest.

“...why?” you softly asked. “He was my friend. He made me laugh, he listened to me…”

You ignored Steve’s scoff, and James reached out to brush his thumb over your chin.

“We cannot get attached to humans.”

“You did,” you threw at him. “Or have you forgotten how I ended up in this situation to begin with?”

Anger briefly flashed over his features, and you tilted your head at him.

“That was different-.”

“How so? Was it different because you can do whatever you want while I cannot? Or is it different because you felt threatened by him?”

James pressed his chest to yours, staring you down with a look you had never been on the receiving end of before. You shuddered, and he took another step forward, forcing you back.

“Threatened by a mere human who we snuffed out like it was nothing?”

“I enjoyed being around him. I enjoyed learning about the ever changing world. He reminded me of a life that Steve so cruelly ripped away from me, and you hated it,” you whispered.

James’ silence spoke volumes.

“Admit it. You were terrified that I would...what...turn him? Then run off into the sunset, leaving the two of you behind?”

Now it was your turn to scoff.

“How quickly you forget that I am nothing like you...and that I could never do to someone else what you have done to me,” you snidely told him.

James sharply inhaled, straightening to his full height.

“You are ours, and it will remain that way until the end of time.”

You looked down, but James’ hand on your chin forced you to hold his uncharacteristically cold gaze.

“...and Steve and I will kill whomever we see fit to ensure nothing disrupts that.”

You snatched your face out of his grip, tears in your eyes.

“He did not taste half bad. You should have drank from him when you had the chance,” Steve chuckled.

Only a moment later, your hands were on his face, and he collapsed at your feet. Anger coursed through you as you stared down at him, wishing you had the strength and callousness to drive a stake through his heart. James heaved a sigh from behind you, and you felt him approach.

“You cannot keep doing that every time he upsets you, my love.”

You turned to face him, frown deepening when he placed his hand on your cheek. You copied him, placing your other hand on his other cheek, before breaking his neck with a grimace. You scoffed, shaking your head at them both before storming out of the room.

The storm raged around you as you stared down into the overgrown grass. Centuries upon centuries had passed, and while it was certainly not as grand as it had once been, the basic structure of the castle remained. You had no doubt that in the years to come, it would be a tourist attraction. Nothing else from the building mattered much. The only thing that was of some importance, the balcony, remained, and that was all that you cared about.

You pressed your hand to your lips as you looked around, feeling like it was only yesterday that you had been here. If you thought hard enough, you could recall the early days of your marriage, filled with innocence and naivety. You could even recall the respect and admiration you’d had for Steve then, back when he was a king. Your relationship with the blond was much more complicated these days than you cared to admit.

And if you really relaxed, really thought hard enough, you could see her smile. You could see the way her hair caught the sun, looking almost red at times. You could hear her laugh at some jest that was far too inappropriate for a woman to make back then. If you thought hard enough, you could see...her.

You didn’t realize that you had closed your eyes until they snapped open at the familiar warmth in your chest that was growing by the minute. You hadn’t intended to bond with Steve that night, it sort of just happened, and the damage had been done. At least he had taught you how to feel his presence deep within your chest, a warmth that was always there but had not realized was James...and now Steve too. It was how James always found you every time you took off. You didn’t like that he’d hidden that from you…

You didn’t need to turn around to know that he was there. You could feel him like he was touching you instead of way on the other side of the room. He didn’t say anything, and you got the feeling that James had grown worried, had told him to come find you. After all, it had been a few months since you last saw them. It was how you coped when you couldn’t stand to look at their faces. You could feel Steve’s surprise at finding you here.

“Why did you kill her?” you suddenly wondered, voice quiet.

The rain was loud, words drowned out even more as you were on the balcony, but you knew that he heard you all the same.

“I loved her...and you took her away from me. Why?”

“...because I couldn’t control her,” he eventually responded, equally low voice reaching your ears.

Steve didn’t sound boastful, he didn’t even sound satisfied with himself. In fact, the vampire behind you almost sounded regretful.

“...and me?”

You blinked, tears skipping down your face as you finally turned to face him. Your eyes met his, and his jaw clenched as he took note of the way your own shined.

“Why did you kill me?”

Steve didn’t answer, and you stumbled towards him.

“Why, Steve? You...you threw me off of that balcony. You took my life into your hands, and you just crushed it! Like it was nothing… You killed me.”

“I know-.”

“You killed me!”

You shoved him, and he let you. He swallowed, reaching for you. It was always so fresh in your mind. Your fear, the cruel smirk on his face, his heartlessness...and then the pain. The way he laughed when you had killed your maid. Mary Jane. So many had died as the result of his own selfish desires...

“I know, I know.”

“You killed me, Steve,” you cried, hitting his chest, his shoulders, his face.

He merely blinked as you slapped him again. You could feel his own regret and his own despair and it made you angrier. It was centuries too late.

“You killed me, you killed me, you killed me,” you repeatedly sobbed, shoving him and shaking him over and over again. “Why?”

You fisted your hands into his shirt, yanking him.

“Why did you kill me, Steve? Why...why did you do that to me?” you shakily mumbled, lips trembling.

Steve pressed his hand into the back of your head, the other at the small of your back, and you fought against him.

“You were going to leave us,” he reluctantly said. “You were going to leave me…”

You didn’t meet his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“My feelings then may have been just as complicated as they are now, but I only knew that I couldn't let you leave,” he confessed.

You shook your head, a sob caught in your throat.

“You would have tried again...and you would have succeeded,” he breathed.

He was right. You both knew that he was right, and you would have tried again. After all, at the time, you thought it was your only way to get away from him. Steve’s lips sought out yours, and you turned your head away. His regret threatened to suffocate you.

“I’m sorry,” he exhaled.

You shook your head again, turning away every time he reached for your face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, lips finding yours.

Your back hit the wall, and you could feel his own lips trembling against yours. Your salty tears mixed in with the kiss, and you cried harder at your despair, his regret, and your inability to change the past.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded into your mouth.

“No,” you whispered back.

His lips traveled to your jaw and then your neck before kissing the fabric of your dress as Steve fell to his knees, begging for your forgiveness every step of the way.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” he chanted.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he fiercely kissed your stomach, pressing his face into your dress as he continued to beg for your forgiveness. You never thought you’d see the day where Steve would be on his knees, begging you to forgive him. After all, once upon a time, he’d told you that your forgiveness was not what he sought...and once upon a time, you said you’d never give it.

As your fingers tightened in his hair, you thought to yourself that perhaps you could forgive him. You could feel his remorse, feel how what he’d done had been eating at him. It had been doing so for quite some time, but you’d always tried to ignore it. You never thought a day would come where you’d even consider forgiving him for making your life hell, killing Peggy...killing you, but as his pleas reached your ears, you were tempted to give in. Maybe you would forgive him some day…

In one quick movement, you’d snapped Steve’s neck, and he heavily fell at your feet. You stood against the wall, trembling and crying. Your fingers shook, and in all the years you’d done that whenever Steve made you incredibly angry, for the first time ever, it did not bring you joy.

Maybe you would forgive Steve someday...but today was not that day.

Your watchful eyes followed the children as they ran across the street. Despite their ratty clothing and dirty faces, bright smiles adorned their lips as they laughed and played with one another. The owner of the orphanage, a kind and homely woman, ushered them along. You caught her eye and she waved. You returned it with a smile, James and Steve hardly paying you mind as they conversed about their investments.

You had more money than you could ever dream of, so you donated to the orphanage often. The children who always lived there always looked their best now, but you could see that these kids were new. You watched the way they played amongst each other, running around Ms. Jane, their giggles reaching your ears as she fought to settle them down.

“My love?”

You were pulled from the scene at the sound of James’ voice. His brows were furrowed, and he looked concerned.

“Are you alright…?”

You nodded at him.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true either. You were certain that James could feel that, and that was probably why his face briefly pinched before it smoothed out. He reached past Steve to brush a finger over your cheek, a small smile on his lips just before he turned away. You quickly glanced at the children again before tightening your hold on Steve’s arm.

“Steve…”

You glanced to him just as he turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Can vampires procreate?”

You didn’t like to ask James these things. He had a habit of withholding information from you or even just downright sugarcoating things. You could feel his eyes on you, and you ignored his gaze as you waited for Steve to answer. He threw you a strained smile.

“No...but we sure love to try,” he joked, and you reluctantly chuckled.

You looked away from him, and he brushed a finger over the back of your hand.

“Why do you ask?”

Your eyes strayed to the laughing children again, and you shrugged.

“Just curious, I guess…”

You could feel their concern, but you ignored it, and days later, the conversation was forgotten altogether. But every now and then, you thought about those children, about where they lived. Despite the fact that you’d put a lot of money into the place, they still deserved a proper home.

Steve and James were gone when you left. It was late, and they were meeting with shady businessmen, no doubt. Times were different. It was the 1910’s, an age of cars and alcohol and money, and every man wanted to do business with the elusive Steve Rogers and James Barnes. You smirked to yourself, thinking on how everyone thought them to be descendants of royal blood, unaware that they were indeed the original royal blood everyone thought them to be related to.

The night was cold, not that you could tell, but the frost on the windows and the shivers from the men that you passed told you so. You ignored the strange looks they gave you, a woman such as yourself out so late by your lonesome? That was one thing that hadn’t changed in the years to come. The orphanage was in a better part of town, away from the seedy bar and brothel, no predatory and violent men around to disturb the peace of the children.

You could hear a horse and carriage far off in the distance as you stared up at the building. All of the windows were covered with curtains, and when you listened closely, you could hear the calm and even heartbeats of all the children inside. All except one. You frowned when the door opened and a little boy stood in the open doorway with an empty pail. His eyes widened at the sight of you before a smile eventually graced his lips.

“H-hello,” he hesitantly stuttered.

You stared at him for a long while, blinking at him before eventually squatting to meet him at eye level. He couldn’t have been any older than seven.

“Hi,” you breathed. “What are you doing up so late?”

If he was frightened by your sharp teeth, he did not show it. His heart didn’t even stutter. He held up the bucket with a shrug.

“I wanted to get some water for in the morning, so that Ms. Jane wouldn’t have to,” he told you.

You let out a light laugh.

“That is so sweet. What is your name?”

“Billy…”

You quietly repeated it to yourself, and you stared at him, your heart already making your next decision for you before your mind could catch up. You slowly stood, extending your hand towards him with an inviting smile.

“Are you hungry, Billy?”

You got the feeling that he was going to protest, but his stomach told on him before he got the chance.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod, looking sheepish.

Your smile widened, and your heart soared when he stumbled towards you, placing his smaller hand in yours. As you walked him back to the house, he told you of how Ms. Jane did the best she could with the donations, but the orphanage was filling up with more and more kids each year. He was fairly new, only having been there for all of three months. He marveled at your mansion, brown eyes alight with wonder.

He was well behaved, waiting patiently while you fixed him something to eat. You were happy that he was comfortable with you, talking your ear off the entire time. You made sure to fix him a hearty soup, filled with vegetables and plenty of meat. He didn’t seem to mind as you studied him, far too engrossed in the food before him.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

“Y/N.”

Startled, you turned, looking up to find James and Steve standing in the entryway to the living room. Billy and you were on the floor, the fire lit to keep him warm, and you hurriedly stood. James hardly ever called you by your name, and you did not need to look within yourself to know that he was angry. It was written all over his face.

“Is that your name?” Billy asked you.

You turned to him with a strained smile and nod.

“You stay right here, okay?”

You ruffled his hair, and he smiled at you with an obedient nod. You swallowed as you turned to approach James and Steve, not missing the way James’ eyes never left you. You could feel their worry, and that confused you.

“What have you done?” James demanded, and you flinched at his tone.

“I…”

You gestured to Billy.

“There are so many children in the orphanage, so I-.”

“So you brought him here? To a house full of vampires?”

He talked to you like you were stupid, and you looked to Steve for help, but his own face was pinched with worry, blue eyes flickering between you and the boy.

“We can raise him,” you quietly said. “He’ll never have to want for anything-.”

“No,” James snapped.

“James-.”

“You could have killed him. Exposed all of us,” he argued. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that he could be ours,” you weakly replied, hating the way your voice trembled.

James’ eyes softened, shoulders sagging as he heaved a sigh. You looked to Steve, the blond the more open minded of the two, eyes pleading as you reached for him.

“Steve…? Tell him, Steve,” you said, pushing yourself against him. “Let me keep him.”

Steve’s eyes landed on James, the dark-haired man almost daring Steve to say something.

“Let’s just think about it-.”

“Absolutely not. We’ll be lucky if no one has already noticed his absence…”

“No,” you breathed. “James, no.”

“I’m taking him back. Now,” he hissed, brushing past you.

“No,” you cried, standing in his way. “I hardly ask you for anything.”

James’ eyes widened at your uncharacteristic behavior, and you clutched his shirt.

“...and I should. I should ask you for the world. I deserve it! I can take care of him, James.”

Your voice was small, and James gave you a regretful look before glancing away.

“Let me have this one thing,” you softly begged.

James was quiet, so was Steve, and the only sound was that of Billy finishing his food. James clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring before finally speaking.

“Steve.”

You fought in Steve’s hold as he grabbed you, holding you back as James approached Billy. You screamed as he stared into the boy’s eyes, Billy falling asleep only moments later, James catching him with ease.

“Fuck you, James,” you spat as he passed you. “Fuck you!”

You could feel the pain that your words caused, but you didn’t care. You turned to press your face into Steve’s chest as the door slammed shut, collapsing in his arms. He tightened his arms around you, shushing you as sobs wracked your frame.

“You could have killed him.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t have done that-.”

“You don’t know that,” he said. “You’re still fairly young. You could have easily killed him, and then what?”

You shoved yourself away from Steve, wrapping your arms around yourself as you sniffed.

“You did this to me,” you mumbled.

It was an old argument. You and Steve were in a far better place than what you used to be, but you were still so far from where you could be. You looked to him, eyes hard and lip curling over your teeth.

“I wanted kids. I always wanted kids, and you took that away from me…”

Steve sighed, looking down.

“I want to blame you...but the truth is...a part of me hates James too,” you confessed.

“Y/N-.”

“...because the truth is...that life was gone the moment James decided that I was to be his.”

Steve reached for you, but you stepped away. Your eyes briefly fluttered close, a soft scoff escaping your lips.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered, shaking your head. “It’s not fair.”

You flurried past him, slamming your shoulder into his as you passed by.

Steve’s hold was almost bruising on your hips, his own pushing up into yours over and over again with every thrust. You dug your nails into his chest, head thrown back to accommodate for James, his lips tasting the skin of your neck and shoulder. Your lashes fluttered as you clenched around Steve, and James’ nails pressed into your skin.

“I don’t like that he touched you,” he murmured against your skin.

You sighed when Steve wrapped his lips around a hardened bud.

“It was a means to an end…”

James hummed, Steve far too preoccupied with the way his cock slid in and out of you.

“...and if I had to seduce some other woman as a means to an end?” he wondered.

His tone was teasing, and you all knew he wasn’t serious, but you froze anyway, turning your head to stare into his eyes. Your own hardened considerably, and James chuckled at the fire in your eyes.

“A bit of a double standard, no?”

“James,” Steve dragged out, frustrated that you’d stopped moving. “Why must you choose now of all times to upset her?”

“It was a simple question,” the dark-haired man said with a shrug.

“The day you seduce someone else, a means to an end or not, is the day I finally drive a stake through your heart,” you calmly told him.

James smirked, brushing his lips over yours.

“Come now, my love. I was only teasing…”

With a devious smile of your own, you twisted your hand into his hair, thankful that he’d never cut it too short, before forcing him onto his back beside Steve. You dragged your nails along his chest, drawing blood and taking great satisfaction in the way he’d hissed. You moved your hips over Steve’s as you leaned over to glide your tongue over his skin, James moaning at the feel. Your teeth ached, the desire to sink your teeth into him strong. Your lips moved against his heaving chest as you spoke.

“I don’t joke about what’s mine.”

tags: @mcudarklibrary @harryspet @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203 @patzammit @mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy @mrsdeanwinchester19 @ahoemine @9daykrisr

#dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark steve x reader #dark bucky x reader #vampire!stucky #Dark fics #marvel fanfiction #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader

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