#rose ch 11 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anki-of-beleriand · 10 months ago

Text

Bad Liar ch. 15

Summary: Life is about lessons, and Wanda has been learning some harsh facts that had define her life and taken her to a place in which she was given a second chance. Then, all of a sudden, she meets you, and she realizes why it's easier to lie to yourself than to accpet what's right in front of her.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/ Female!reader - America/Kate - Mentions of past Vision/Wanda - past Natasha/Reader - Some Female!Reader/Carol Danvers - Mentions of Natasha/Maria being married

Warnings: Slow burn - Enemies to friends to lovers - Mentions of abusive relationships - Toxic relationships - angst - drama - mentions of abuse - violence - mentios of abused and sexual assault - more tags as the story progress.

Author's note: They needed to find a way out, but it turned out to be a deathly way to deal with the current confrontation.

This chapter was really hard to write because I didn't want to focuse too much on the violence but I did want to put the tension around everyone. They are not agents or people with superpowers, so perhaps their reactions is tied up to what they had seen in movies and who they are more so that because of that expertise. Guys, we are almost there!!! Please rmemeber English is not my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes, hope you like this one.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

Chapter 15

Five minutes to midnight

You let out a groan, your body weighted you down and the world in front of your eyes was spinning out of control. You opened your mouth, but no sound came, only the ragged breathing that created a piercing pain on your chest.

Wanda

Her name came into mind, and soon after panic rose in your mind. You needed to move, and fast, Wanda was outside and she was in danger. With great effort you tried to sit up, pain clutch at your arm and the office spiralled in front of your eyes. You held your head, taking a deep breath that made you open your mouth in discomfort.

You tried to evaluate the damage, your legs were left mostly unharmed, but your midsection, your arms and your head had been harmed quite badly. You grimaced trying to stand up holding onto the table, your eyes closed for a moment before you found the broken mobile on the far corner. Staggering towards the place, you let out a cry when you tried to grab the mobile. The screen had been crushed, and the normal functions of the phone were not available for you.

“Tony.” You rasped out, “Friday call Tony.”

The mobile flickered, the sound was not good and suddenly it just turned off. You dropped the article turning around, it would be up to you to get help. You dragged yourself to the door, each step a painful reminder of the fight you held with the man.

Your hand lifted to the panel to call for the elevator. You waited, taking slow breaths, trying to hold onto your sanity while thinking about Wanda. About your family.

“Y/N!!!!”

You let out a whimper, turning around fast made you crash against the wall. your eyes went wide, and relief soon filled your expression when you noticed Maria coming towards you with the security detail of the building and Nick Fury.

“Maria, Wanda…” you started watching as everyone started checking the floor, Fury held you up with Maria cupping your face, completely pale and trembling.

“Wanda…you didn't tell me…” you groaned trying to glare at the woman, but Maria shook her head.

“I wasn't supposed to, Y/N. Natasha made me promise, it was to make sure Wanda's secret was safe…”

You shook your head glaring at Maria and Fury, “if anything happens to her…”

You groaned again, tears coming out of your eyes, Maria’s lip quivered while putting your face in her hands.

“I'm sorry, they already sent a search and capture warrant with Wanda's car description and plates.” Maria tried to soothe your worries; Fury nodded to the lift where a pair of paramedics came in ready to assist you.

“America, Billy and Tommy…”

“I sent someone over there, everything is being taken care of.” Fury placed you on the floor slowly, the stern glance firmly in place.

“He said something to you, anything else that may help us in our search?”

You shook your head letting the paramedics do their job, you tried to wrap your mind in what was happening, the officials and security looking around the place.

“I just wished you had told me…” You mumbled tiredly; your attention turned to the two men attending to your wounds. “How bad is it?”

“I think we need to take you to the hospital,�� one of them started checking the bruises and the general stated you were in, “some bones may be broken but we cannot be certain unless we take some x-rays or…”

“No, I need…I need a computer.” You replied shaking your head, lifting your face to see Maria there, “call Tony.”

“Y/N I think…” Fury started but your eyes shot a heated glare towards the man.

“My family is in danger, Fury.” You motioned to the paramedics so they could help you up, “you need help, and right now Tony and I are your best hope, you got us into this mess, you better pray to God that this ends well…”

Fury held your stare with his sole eye, he pursed his lips tempted to say something against your plan but you were probably right. He nodded curtly, with Maria already making the call to Tony; you let out a breathy cough shivering while motioning to one of the medics to come closer.

“I need something for the pain, but not to leave me out of it, do you have something like that?”

He hesitated glancing at his partner then at you, “we’re not supposed to….”

“Don’t worry, I will take full responsibility, just…give me your best drug I will need it.” You mumbled making your way to the closest lab, you sat down in one of the chairs while turning on the computer.

“There are two patrols driving right now towards your house, they will be there in twenty minutes,” Fury entered the room with you, his eye glancing curiously at the screen, “Tony is coming over, he will be here in ten. What exactly are you doing?”

“This man…I know you guys want him for the deals he is making but, Maria, how bad is it going to be for Wanda? I need to know everything.”

Fury and Maria glanced at one another, you hit the table with your fist glaring at the both of them while pointing to the screen.

“I can hack into her mobile and his, I can put a tracker on them or the car Wanda is using, but I need to know everything! I need to know she is going to be fine! That nothing is going to happen!!”

This last part was said with tears welling up in your eyes, “tell me you don’t think this man is going to hurt Wanda or Billy or Tommy or even America…and I step aside…”

Maria clenched her jaw sitting right beside you turning on another of the computers, “what do you want me to do?”

Fury huffed putting his mobile out and typing really quick before making a phone call, you winced with your eyesight getting blurry every once in a while, but your fingers moving decisively over the keyboard.

________________

Wanda drove in silence, her mind completely blank reflecting what her face was trying to convey. The world passing her through was moving in slow motion, Wanda could not feel anything at all, she was just going through the motions with the weight of Vision's hand on her thigh gripping her tightly to the point she could almost feel the bruises he was leaving on her.

For a brief moment Wanda played with the idea of crashing her car against a tree or a wall. She could actually spot a couple of places that could work for her plan, she knew that whatever happened her boys would be okay. She liked to think that you wouldn't leave them alone and that maybe Natasha would also come forth to help them out. But Vision cut her hopes off when he punched her thigh pressing the barrel of the gun on her ribs.

“Don't even think about it,” Vision spoke in a dangerous whisper, the cold anger sent shivers down Wanda's back, “if we're not there by the time the clock strikes the six, Agatha will make sure our children join us in death.”

“No…” Wanda held her tongue before she could say something else.

She was not surprised that Agatha's name came into play in the conversation. The young woman had known that their neighbour had been playing on Vision’s side from the very beginning. At first, Wanda had fallen for her good-natured smile and the complicity she came by on that first meeting, it took Wanda some time to realise that all her secrets and mistakes were being told to her husband by the very woman she thought was her friend.

Soon, Wanda discovered Agatha enjoyed her suffering while also flirting with Vision and making her children's life impossible. The fact that, at the end of everything, Agatha had come forth to be with Vision in such a predicament was not a surprise at all.

“Yes, Agatha is a good pet, I have to admit that much.” Vision said offhandedly, he turned to Wanda and this time around his hand drew circles on her thigh going up and down until he was grinding Wanda's crotch pressing his knuckles harshly.

“But you, my love, have the most exquisite moans and tears I have ever seen in a woman,” he clenched his jaw when Wanda grimaced holding back her disgust but unable to hide it from his eyes.

Wanda let out a groan when he hit her hard on her thigh, he did it again, and again, and again until Wanda almost lost control of the wheel.

“Look where you are going, my love, or the kids will suffer. Now you are going to take your punishment quietly, like a good wife, are you not?”

“No.” The word came out of nowhere, it left her lips with more strength and conviction to what she actually felt at the moment.

Wanda flickered her glance through the rear mirror, Vision was left dumbstruck never before having heard such a tone of voice, or that strength behind his wife. He was so tempted to hurt her, to teach her…but, he leaned back on the seat if the car chuckling darkly.

“Sooner or later, my love, you will bend to my will.” He cocked his head pointing to the road, “for now, drive faster, we are almost there and I'm dying to see my kids.”

Wanda clenched her fist tightly around the wheel, she tried to hold back the tears welling up in her eyes. Her mind was screaming in pain, confusion and terror, she was trying desperately to give of a signal to one of the cars moving past her, she was trying to make faces or make sure anyone could see the state Vision was in. But it was as if the world was deaf and blind, for a moment she let go of her thoughts, and soon enough she thought of you.

The panic that had risen inside her went limp for a moment, the memory of your smile and your words almost made her smile. She held onto these memories, while trying to quiet down her worries. She remembered Vision's words, the story of you laying on the floor in a pool made of your own blood.

And now, she was driving to her home begging and hoping that perhaps America had decided to go to her place with the twins or opted to take them out to someplace.

She could only hope, though.

With a heavy heart, and fear she drove down the highway trying to make sure every camera on the road could take a good picture of her and the wounded Vision sitting by her side.

Time, all she needed was time.

__________

Agatha Harness stood by the window, her fingertips caressing the soft texture of the curtains protecting the intimacy of the house. She smiled, the two cops that had parked in front of Wanda's home had finished the inspection on the property talking through their radios before making their way to the car.

She turned around to see America and Kate tied together on the ground while Tommy and Billy had been frozen on the sofa. The little boys were trembling, each one of them wearing the signs of the struggle they tried to put up when they came across the woman.

The ordeal had been far too easy, nor America or Kate knew of her, and by the time the twins were ready to scream she had put the weapon against the Bishop heir. Now, all she had to do was wait.

“I don't suppose your sister keeps the alcohol in the living room, right?” Agatha put a hand on her cheek, her eyes gleaming mischievously at America who was glaring at her. “Yes, I think a house filled with teenagers would make her think twice about the storage of the alcohol.”

America struggled against the ropes on her hands, she lifted her chin in defiance only to be soothed over by the side glance from Kate and the whimpers from Tommy. Agatha rolled her eyes approaching the young teen, her fingers mapping out the features of the young woman.

“You are quite the beauty, Missy, just like your sister,” Agatha lifted a brow walking towards the closest table that held a picture of you and America, “I can see why Wanda fell for her. I have always suspected Wanda was odd, but never imagined she was into women. Tsk, no wonder she could never please Jarvis.”

The woman strolled around the room taking notice of the different objects adorning the living room, the pictures and the technological gadgets, the expensive furniture and the layout of the house. Without a doubt, you had money, and Agatha could appreciate the sleaziness behind Wanda's actions to get you wrapped around her finger. Too bad this wouldn't last,at least at the end you would be grateful that her and Jarvis would free you from such an arrogant, and quite dangerous individual.

The mobile she brought with her rang three times, her face lit up picking up the gadget from the table before turning to the twins.

“Well, boys, I hope you are ready because daddy just got here!” She exclaimed happily clapping while rushing to the sofa, she tried to put a hand on Tommy's shoulder but Billy slapped it away.

“Nos, Billy, don't be like that,” the woman slapped Billy under the muffled protests of America and Kate, she glared at the boys before grabbing both of them harshly. “You two will behave, you will go out there and greet your dad and then we will be on our way. There is a long trip waiting for us, and your dad has made a great effort to make this perfect for the family.”

America winced under the biting pressure of the ropes on her hands, she felt the slashes on her wrists and the burning pain running up her arm. To her left, Kate was just breathing with her eyes, the only indicator that she was scared. America felt like an idiot, she knew it was her fault the woman had entered the house that this freaking woman had trapped them in and then dragged them to her house so the police couldn't notice they were missing. Many thoughts were crossing her mind, she was thinking about Wanda that was looking so beautiful that day, with hope and happiness at being on a date with you, she thought about you perhaps back at work ignorant of what was happening. America wished she could do something, but her fight against the binds on her wrist had caused a lot of damage and she couldn't risk anything foolish that would endanger Kate, Billy or Tommy.

Agatha fixed herself pushing the twins forward to the door, she put on a big smile while opening the door. America's breath caught in her throat when her eyes fell on the figure of Wanda Maximoff and Edwin Jarvis. Both of them wore the signs of struggle, blood and bruises covering their bodies but whereas Wanda was scared with her green eyes falling on her children then on America; Jarvis was looking enraged.

“Jarvis!! What happened to you?” The other woman ran to her lover, but the man dismissed her pushing her and Wanda away to greet his children.

“Billy, Tommy, my boys,” he opened his arms waiting for the greeting of her children, his expression changing into one of anger when the boys didn't move from the spot, if anything their eyes went wide open sending glances to Wanda.

“Is this the way I teach you to greet me, boys?” Jarvis never lifted his voice, he spoke calmly, softly with a hint of coldness in his voice.

Wanda nodded at the twins, and after a moment of hesitation they came to Jarvis hugging him with trembling hands. Jarvis smirked ruffling their heads harshly making them wince under the pressure.

“That wasn't so hard, was it?”

The man limped inside the house closing the door behind him, he pushed Wanda further into the house before settling his eyes on America and Kate. He raised a brow quite amused at Agatha who smiled back.

“They were in the way.”

“Indeed.” Jarvis sat down on the sofa, his eyes falling on America for a long moment before pointing at Wanda, “now dear come sit here, we need to talk about the future.”

Wanda held back her facial expression, she tried to conceal the disgust she was feeling at the thought of her sitting on Vision's lap. The man path his thigh three times, and Wanda knew she would need to comply or else, this would end up badly. With some reluctance, she stepped forward knowing America and Kate were looking at her shaking their heads while Tommy and Billy cried silently sitting on the chair in front of them.

“Now, dear, we're going to talk about the future and your misdeeds,” the man passed his hand through Wanda's uncovered knee, his eyes gleaming in lust ignoring the open frown from Agatha.

“You see, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said directing his attention to America, the young woman scowled but said nothing, “I gave everything to my wife, I took her in when no one else loved her, I educated her, dress her, I have her children, a house…and what does she do? She leaves in the middle of the day and takes my children with her. Why? Because she is a bad woman and a bad mother, and she is always defying me and going against my wishes, even though she has been mine since the very first time his father sold her to me.”

Wanda felt her lower lip quivered; the fear she was experimenting soon mixed up with the anger his words were fuelling. The muscles on her arms and shoulders tensed, her fingers twitching trying to form a fist she still didn't dare to throw to the man that had his hand on her thigh. The young woman was trying with all her might to look for a way out, her eyes found those of America and Kate and she regretted the moment she hid the truth from you or rejected the idea of this ever happening. But, what she regretted the most was dragging you and your family into this mess.

Would you still love her if something were to happen to America?

Would you still want Wanda after all of this?

Wanda needed her kids, America and Kate safe, she let her eyes wander around the room before turning to Vision. Nausea raised inside her throat, her heart almost stopping with the shiver of sheer repulsion as she lifted her hand to cup Jarvis face.

The man let her eyes wander back to Wanda, he had not lost his scowl but now there was curiosity in his gestures. He raised a single eyebrow, his lips curling slightly when he spotted the fear and submission in Wanda.

“Are you going to apologize?” He asked Wanda nodded, opening her mouth only to close it again.

The words tangled themselves on her throat, Jarvis snorted lifting his hand only to wrap in around her neck.

“You will have time for that for now I think we need to go.” He grabbed Wanda tightly making her stand up while he did too, letting out a groan of pain.

His face was swelling slowly, while the eye you had hurt was bleeding profusely. Wanda stepped back when he almost fell down, but the man held onto Wanda before straightened up.

“As fun as this has been,” Jarvis turned to America and Kate, “we will leave, I'm sorry about your loss, but surely you understand that when you mess with a taken woman the consequences may be…deathly.”

America opened her eyes, they stinged with unshed tears just as her struggle against the ropes started again. Jarvis smirked when Wanda shook her head, and desperation filled America's face.

“I'm sure you will thank me, once you are able to come upon such a good inheritance.” The man stepped away from Wanda going over to where the twins were sitting, he grasped their clothes pulling them to him harshly making them yelped and Wanda almost went to their rescue. Agatha was right on top of her stopping her before pushing her to the entrance door.

“However, if by any chance, Y/L/N survive then…you may let her know that I make sure to take my wife in body and soul,” Jarvis continued with his rant, “and that the last thing she did before the end was scream my name.”

Kate clenched her jaw trying to hold back her tears, America was still struggling trying to get free to get to her phone. Her mind wrapped around the idea of you being dead or badly wounded without any help.

Jarvis pushed his family to the door, and he was about to close the door when his ears caught the sound of guns getting ready to fire. He turned around only to see five police cars parked on the street cutting off the exit. He snarled, grabbing his own gun and pointing it to Tommy. This time around Wanda did react by hitting Agatha on the face while going to Tommy, she stopped dead in her tracks when Vision pressed the barrel on Tommy's head.

“Are you ready to risk it, dear?”

“Vision, please…take me, just…take me, leave him alone.” Wanda begged, her voice trembling with her eyes wide open.

Tommy started sobbing with Billy gripping his brother wide eyed with tears streaming down his cheeks.

The moment of tension grew amongst them, Vision ready to risk everything to get out of the situation alive. And everything would have ended in tragedy if it wasn't for his phone that started ringing. The man blinked a couple of times confused, he kept the gun pointing to Tommy while also grabbing the phone with a hint of annoyance and curiosity.

His brows got lost on the hairline, with his lips twitching back while the skin around his cheeks tensed. His eyes went quickly to Wanda who was struggling with herself ready to grab her children, Vision huffed, pressing the green button while locking his glance with Wanda.

“I am very surprised to see you survive.” His voice dripped sarcasm, a hint of anger tainting his words.

“I can't say I was left unaffected, but my people were nearby,” you trailed off holding whatever else you wanted to say to the man while fear gripped your heart tightly, “but your failure is not the reason I call you about.”

You winced when Peggy Carter and James Logan glared at you while pointing to the script they had set up for you. The man at the other end of the line chuckled darkly, the scream from Wanda and Tommy almost made you drop the phone.

“I wouldn't call it a failure if you are at the office and I am at your home with them, and your sister.”

You clenched your fists tightly, wincing when the effort tensed the bruises in your body.

“Touché.” You took a deep breath, the words leaving your mouth with a bad taste, “I have a proposal for you.”

This time around Vision was looking extremely interested, he didn't lose sight of the police patrols or the people surrounding the house. He could see everyone waiting for the action while he spoke with you. His eyes soon drifted to Wanda and the kids, before settling in Agatha who had her own weapon tightly grasped on her left hand. He weighed his options, the tension kept growing and he knew any moment now a team of negotiators would arrive to control the situation.

The end of this particular chapter of his life wasn't looking bright, and he hated that he let himself be caught in such a foolish action. He contemplated his options, but your voice soon brought to the table a most suitable deal.

“Kingpin sold you out for a pretty good deal of money you stole from him,” you let out a raspy cough, the pain shooting electric spasm through your body, “you know what will happen, jail would be your grave.”

Vision narrowed his eyes, nodding to Agatha and Wanda to go back inside the house, his hand never wavering while pointing the gun to his son. He frowned, noticing that not since the phone call had anyone done or said anything, no one had dared to even approach him or try to talk him out of the threat. Vision’s mind started working fast through the different possibilities and ways in which he could get out of the situation. Your words had made his blood run cold, a shiver of sheer terror went through him knowing that his previous associate knew of the embezzlement of the money he had done while working for the man.

How did you know him?

Did he really rat Vision out?

“He is a practical man, and I'm a woman of business. Why do you think the police have done nothing to try and take you out and away from my family?”

“Perhaps they are afraid I could keep my promise of putting a bullet in my son's head.” Vision retorted, you sighed in exasperation and the man was really tempted to put the bullet in your forehead.

“You are not an idiot, they won't do anything unless I say so. Money can buy a lot of things, Jarvis.”

Jarvis was starting to feel tired, his head was hurting and his eye was actually killing him. The sight on his right eye was getting blurry and with every minute that passed his body felt heavier and sensitive on his skin.

“And how much does your sister and her girlfriend cost, Y/N?” this time he turned to America who was torn between relief and fear.

“Enough to make an effort and call you back.”

“What about the life of my children and Wanda?”

This time around he could hear the intake of breath on your end, he smirked tilting his head until his eye was mocking Wanda.

“Ah, not that much, I see. Don't worry, I don't blame you, if she did this to me, imagine what she would do to you.”

Wanda was trembling, her arms limped at her sides. She had her eyes on her children, forgetting the tears rolling down her cheeks or the ability to move, her only concern was to get Tommy and Billy out of the situation she was in at the moment. Wanda blinked, turning to Vision wrapping her mind around his words, soon she understood who was behind the line talking to him and her heart almost stopped beating at the relief she felt knowing you were alive. How did they end up in such a mess? How was it possible that Vision had access to you? Or that he had found her and the twins?

So many questions, and Wanda was trying to gather her strength to fight. She could live with the idea of her dying or being taken away by Vision but her children…she had left the man to make sure they could grow in peace. They would have a chance.

Wanda waited with her heart at her throat, and her mind moving through different scenarios while Vision continued talking through the phone.

The room was only filled with the sound of Vision's conversation with you, everyone had their eyes on him waiting. Making time.

Jarvis snarled into the phone, finally giving into his own pain and sitting down. Sweat rolled down his forehead, her hand was trembling while holding the phone against his ear.

“I am a businesswoman, Jarvis, so I have a proposal.”

You took a deep breath; you had rehearsed this speech before but it didn't mean you felt comfortable saying it out loud. Peggy nodded curtly at you; Logan was talking on the other line while Fury was snarling orders to two different teams right outside the van you were in. You waited to hear the laboured breath of the man at the other end of the line, your mind going to your sister, to Wanda, to Kate and the twins. You should have been stronger, you should have hit first and ask questions later, you should have…

A hand placed softly on your shoulder; Tony offered a single smile shaking his head. Your lower lip quivered but the man shook his head placing a hand on his chest before pointing a finger at you. You nodded, turning to face Peggy once more.

“I have resources, I have money…more than you can even imagine.”

“I can imagine a lot.” The man stated before adding, “but right now I am imagining my freedom, and my life…with my family, of course.”

“You don't need the kids, but you need Wanda and Agatha.” You made a face, scrunching up your nose paled and nauseous, “they can be bred and I can get you someone suitable for your tastes.”

Jarvis chuckled darkly, he glanced at Wanda putting his phone out of his ear and putting the conversation on speaker.

“Are you really telling me to leave my children and breed my wife again?” Jarvis smirked when Wanda's expression faltered at those words, “how fast is the affection you held for her.”

“Again, I deal with business, not so much emotions. I needed a good time, and Wanda offered that.” You closed your eyes before continuing, “I have a jet ready, a country without extradition and the means to make you rich, give you a new life and stop Kingpin from torturing you after you decided to steal from him.”

Wanda couldn't help but lowered her eyes at your words, she was confused but she also knew there was something else behind what you were saying. She had to hope, she had to wait. Jarvis shifted on the sofa, for the very first time since this whole mess started he finally took into consideration the woman that had come to him into this mess. Agatha approached him tentatively, her hand brushing his hair away from his face.

“Do you think it is true? Do you think she is offering a good deal?” The woman was not so sure, she had seen you beside Wanda and the twins, you looked pretty much in love with Wanda and this was a little fishy for her, but so far she had let Vision's lead the way and was not about to contradict him.

Jarvis tilted his head glancing with his good eye to the woman, he grabbed her by the hair crashing his lips to hers.

“What is the catch?” Jarvis finally asked and you chuckled.

“Let my sister and Kate Bishop go with the twins, the police are not going to stop you once you leave the house with Wanda and the other woman.” You stated flatly, your eyes burning with rage, “I will be your bargaining chip, they won't dare to hurt me or intervene in any way, and you will have access to my power, my money.”

Everyone in the room went silent, America opened her eyes shaking her head in disbelief with Kate frowning. Wanda felt dizzy, her heart dripping to her feet while she tried to wrap her mind around what you just said. Jarvis weighed his options, his good eye flickered to the kids and the teens, undoubtedly they would be too much dead weight to carry around while trying to get away from the police. Wanda was the easiest option, she and Agatha would obey Jarvis's instructions if necessary while also a great source of amusement for him. Besides, you were offering something equally interesting: yourself.

Could this be a trap? Yes, of course, but Jarvis bet he could play his cards carefully and get away with it. He could get freedom, money, and a new life.

“You have yourself a deal, Y/N but I will put the conditions to ensure I'm not double crossed.”

“Very well, tell me what conditions do you have?”

___________________

No one was speaking, your hand held the kevlar best with your eyes examining the article closely. Fury and Tony waited patiently for you, pursed on your lips telling the two men you were not convinced about using this for the mission. The bulletproof vest was body contoured built to adjust to your torso to offer the best protection, it was a near-fit of military engineering.

Still, you were not convinced.

Jarvis could notice the article, and everything they had been working for could fall down in a second. Besides, Wanda's life depended on you doing your job well.

“I won't do it, Wanda's life is still on the line.” You fault out refused the item putting on your jacket, your eyes glancing from Tony to Fury.

“Y/N, this is a dangerous mission and you're a civilian, you're being sent because…” Fury started for the tenth time, you lifted a single hand shutting him immediately, much to his surprise.

“You got me and my family in this mess while keeping the identity of this maniac a secret.” There was a heavy huff behind your words, your stare hardening as you continued, “don't try to patronise me with this, you messed up and you need me, so I'll do this part my way.”

Fury rolled his sole eye ready to fight when Peggy Carter entered the trailer, her sharp eyes pinning you to the spot.

*Everything is ready, are you sure you don't want the protection?” She asked curtly, you shook your head and after a second of hesitation Peggy nodded.

“Your car is right outside, you have your phone and the tracker and the teams are getting ready.” The older woman hesitated before stepping closer to you, “your sister is doing okay, she is being looked after by Hope and Natasha, the twin and Ms. Bishop is doing fine though a little scared.”

“Thank you for the update.”

“You know the plan?”

You nodded curtly; the older woman smirked her eyes twinkling smartly at you.

“Then, let's move it.”

Jarvis had chosen an abandoned military station in the midst of a forgotten highway. The place had hosted the secret service working against the Nazis back in the 30’s, night was already there the lights of the cars had disappeared almost forty minutes ago while the radio finally gave in to the lack of signal. You drove fast, as fast as the speed limit and your car allowed it, your heart had not stopped beating with a constant thud with your mind going over and over through the plan that you had been subjected to by the authorities.

New year was closed now.

And Camp David was just around the corner.

The place looked empty, the gates had been opened recently and you could see a car parked in the distance the lights still on. Your body trembled with anticipation, the pain of your wounds pulsating through your senses keeping you awake while the night engulfed the place in a dark, and sinister silence. The car came to a stop with the lights falling upon the form of Edwin ‘Vision’ Jarvis, who was wearing the signs of the fight you two engaged in hours ago. Tension is quite obvious, the fact the man trusted you enough to come here without any questions was enough to tell you he was desperate. As much as you were.

The door of the car closed with a dry thump; your eyes shifted to Wanda who was sitting by the passenger’s seat trying to hold onto the tears while Agatha had a gun to her head. Vision smirked when he realized you kept your word of coming alone, of giving into his demands and getting him closer to the escape he needed to have his freedom filled with money and pleasure.

“You kept your word.”

“I am a woman of my word, Jarvis.” You replied limping towards the man, his smile grew nastier noticing the pain and the effort it took you to make your way towards him.

“So it seems.” Jarvis nodded to the car, and in that moment your eyes crossed for the very first time with those of Wanda. Something inside you stirred with violence, you wished you could go to her and comfort her, to tell her the children were fine and that everything would be fine.

But you couldn’t, and what you did was to drift your stare to go back to Jarvis.

“Very well then let’s get this over with, you and I need medical attention and I already have someone in mind.”

Without any warning he lifted his hand wrapping it around your neck and squeezing hard, “I think you are in no position to order me around.”

You lifted your chin holding onto his eyes, he made sure that his hand never left your throat until your face turned into a nasty red colour and your eyes filled with tears. He kept his grip on you, growling while putting his face closer to yours.

“Jarvis, please!” Your heart fluttered tenderly when your heard Wanda speaking, and you couldn’t help the curve on your lips when the man let go of you.

You took a deep breath massaging your neck, your eyes gleaming with anger and defiance, an expression Vision would have a pleasure to take off of you as soon as you kept your part of the bargain.

“I hope you know that if you double cross me or if you try something against me nor Agatha, Wanda will end up with a bullet in her head.”

You clenched your jaw tightly, nodding curtly while nodding towards the car. Jarvis snorted pushing you hard against the car opening the driver’s door.

“Come on, time is of essence right now.”

The car smell like blood and sweat, your eyes found those of Wanda and for a brief moment you could see the doubt in her green eyes, you could sense her fears and the uncertainty of the whole situation. Agatha huffed hitting Wanda with the gun, she then turned to you making a face of pure disgust.

The car was put into motion, you glanced out of the window while giving the directions to the closest private airport. Without a doubt, Jarvis knew his way around the seclude parts in the country, and while he didn’t fancy to have anyone know where he was about to go, it was quite obvious for him he needed you and this place to get away from the authorities. He didn’t trust you that much, if the police had arrived at your home he knew they would be looking for you and him after the scene at your place.

Jarvis drove fast, erratically showing the signs of exhaustion and pain that had been consuming him all through the afternoon. You could see him losing the battle against his wounds and the state he was in, just as you could notice the craziness consuming the woman sitting beside you with the gun tightly pressed against Wanda’s head. The silence in the car was only interrupted by Jarvis ragged breathing, and the engine of the car.

Soon, and after more than an hour of driving you saw the gates leading to the private airport. The place was empty, the guard that was supposed to be watching over the gates was absent though the security hut held onto white light flickering from time to time. Jarvis stopped the car holding onto his grunts before turning his eyes to you.

“Well?”

You frowned leaning forward, your head turned left and right shrugging.

“The guard is not supposed to leave his post.” You commented softly, a sigh left your lips with your eyes flickering to Wanda, “I can try and see…”

“No, Agatha, give me the gun go and see who is in there and open the gate.”

Agatha hesitated before giving in and handing the gun to Jarvis, the man enjoyed the control he had over the women in the car. Not only did Wanda obey without protesting and was now as she had always been, quiet and submissive, but Agatha was ready to comply with all he needed and wanted and you…well, you were smart, you did nothing to jeopardy your security and that of Wanda, with time Jarvis would make sure to correct your sexual deviation while submitting you to him.

The place looked empty, though Jarvis could see the workers of the night shift filling out the hangars, small cars moving in and out before settling for the night. Everything looked quite normal, a night in a private airport in which charter planes waited for a new trip, you shifted in the back seat glancing around the place while directing Jarvis to the last entrance.

“When is the plane schedule to leave?” Jarvis asked glancing back at you through the rearview mirror, you furrowed your brows putting your phone from your pocket before handling it over to the man.

“Five minutes to midnight.”

“Why? Why so late?” Agatha asked with tension dripping from her voice.

Jarvis quirked a brow, he too was quite interested in the answer to such a question. He had never known of a plane to take off at such an hour, his eyes went back to the road taking close attention to everything and everyone making sure no one would dare to stop them.

“We need to justify the flight, I told the pilot I was needed it in Paris for a meeting.” You replied shrugging, “I told him I didn’t want to wait so he got the permissions and that’s the latest we could get.”

“Permission? I thought that you could fly whenever you want.” Agatha furrowed her brows, but it was Jarvis the one who laughed shaking his head.

“Don’t be an idiot, we need to ask for permission to take off, it’s not like grabbing a car or anything like that…” Jarvis then shrugged, “I did think it would be faster…”

You huffed rolling your eyes, “no, flying it is far more complicated than driving.”

“Very well, do we go in or stay outside?” Jarvis was approaching the last Hangar, he lifted his eyes to you.

“Let’s get in.”

The place was lit up by the white and yellowish lights of lamps hanging from the ceiling; the gate was completely open with the nose of the plane pointing to the runaway ready for the trip. Jarvis exited the car walking around to stretch his hand to Wanda, the young woman hesitated enough for him to lean in and gripped her forearm tightly. You tried to step closer but Agatha stood by your side pressing painfully the barrel of the gun on your ribs.

The place was alone, but the plane had the cabin door open with the stairs down waiting to be boarded.

“Look at the efficiency of your lover, dear.” Jarvis whispered in Wanda’s ear, “soon, you will know pain, and I won’t let you die until I have taken new children off of you. Until you are begging me to end your life.”

Wanda shivered clenching her jaw while keeping her eyes ahead of her, you shifted letting your eyes wandered around before settling on Jarvis. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement in the cockpit, Agatha narrowed her eyes shifting uneasily at the silence in the room.

You worked hard on what you were supposed to do, Jarvis needed to go inside the cabin with Agatha but Wanda was a problem. You saw movement inside the plane once more, and you could feel eyes on you.

“We can wait inside the plane,” you suddenly offered, your voice trembling while you grabbed the phone, “I can call the pilot asking where he is.”

Jarvis frowned turning to you, “why is he not here?”

“I don’t know? Maybe you can ask him when he comes,” you replied harshly earning yourself a hard hit from the gun Agatha was holding, you were seeing stars while trying to hold onto your consciousness.

“I would hold back my tongue if I were you, Agatha doesn’t appreciate rudeness, much less if it is directed against me.” Jarvis commented approaching you, he snatched the phone off of your hands narrowing his eyes he tried to see that your communications were being done with the pilot.

He read the messages, his hand clenching into the mobile when he caught sight of those messages you had exchanged with Wanda.

“Very well, I think I need a drink, I hope you have a good whiskey inside.”

You scowled lifting your chin, “I do.”

Your heart was beating really hard, so far you had only seen one gun and it was the one that Agatha had been flashing all night threatening Wanda and then you. Your eyes drifted quickly to the cockpit and then to the back office in the Hangar. Your muscles tensed in anticipation, counting in your mind so as to distracted yourself from the growing anxiety inside your chest.

You followed Jarvis who pushed Wanda ahead of him, then he went behind her and Agatha staggered behind you. From the moment she arrived to the airport, Agatha had felt uneasy; there was just something so…strange about this. It was so easy, without any unwanted encounters.

Silence filled the place, you took a deep breath.

You trusted Fury and Peggy and all the forces that had filled out your building were capable of doing what they said they would without harming anyone. Your eyes flickered again to the cockpit window, this time around you could see the reflection of someone wearing military gear inside, then the swift movement in the back office and you knew you would need to get to Wanda before Jarvis could do something.

Behind you, and totally forgotten, was Agatha.

The woman that had obsessed over Jarvis, ready to do his biding as long as she got to enjoy a piece pf affection from him. She grabbed the gun, her eyes going big as saucers when they caught sight of someone inside the plane.

Everything happened in a second.

Wanda and Jarvis crossed the threshold of the plane’s gate, with you almost putting a foot on the stairs when the woman shrieked for Jarvis to come down. She grabbed you by your hair pulling hard, while Jarvis having heard and understood the meaning behind such a scream grabbed Wanda by her neck punching her several times on the ribs and abdomen making sure his grip on her was tight almost to the point of choking.

“GO! GO! GO!”

You grunted struggling against the older woman, your elbow finding her abdomen hitting her hard until she had to let go of your hair. You heard more than saw the screams and heavy footsteps moving towards you, you turned around hearing Wanda’s gasp and tiny scream for help.

“NOO!”

Agatha screamed and then, you stood there…

You didn’t even register the sound of the gun.

But you felt the bite from the bullet, the burning pain running through your body. And then, you knew no more.

______________________________________________________________

Next Chapter: Wanda can't sleep, the twins don't know how to deal and America is trying to hold it together. What is the price of happiness?

#fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader

148 notes · View notes

formulaforza · 1 year ago

Text

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him.

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open.

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside.

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart.

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs.

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools.

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says.

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom.

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house.

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby.

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable.

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch.

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger.

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good.

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house.

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt.

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too.

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a—

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence.

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones.

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection.

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug.

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake.

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces.

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat.

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks.

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi.

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming. He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place.

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes.

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover.

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of.

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter.

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening.

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him.

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects.

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her.

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house.

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted.

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker.

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs.

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called. He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to.

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up.

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid.

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest.

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it.

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one.

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric.

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter.

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to.

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered.

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze.

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks.

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid.

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly.

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though.

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside.

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes.

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing.

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired.

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door. She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt.

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long.

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights.

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of.

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always.

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath.

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside.

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without.

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep.

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it.

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share.

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly.

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day.

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies.

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions.

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day.

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special.

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said.

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour.

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter.

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it.

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase.

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course.

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf.

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside.

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night.

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings.

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings.

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants.

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy.

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.”

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes.

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless.

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out.

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks.

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party.

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space.

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is.

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor.

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them.

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase.

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks.

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top.

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor.

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw.

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd.

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner.

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions.

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease.

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter.

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be.

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one.

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor.

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her.

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep.

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains.

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties.

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries.

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off.

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa.

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three.

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows.

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features.

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human.

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them.

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers.

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth.

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug, and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs.

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris.

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction.

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of.

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower.

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them.

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend.

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings.

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that.

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world.

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink.

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah.

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat.

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal.

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat.

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back.

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s.

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one.

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn.

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good.

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over.

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy.

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them.

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of.

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech.

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected.

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that.

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive.

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend.

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so.

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green.

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body.

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question.

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie.

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her.

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you. Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

last chapter masterlist next chapter

#ma&thp #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 imagine #ferrari f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #scuderia ferrari

225 notes · View notes

fanfics-i-wanna-read · 1 year ago

Text

Swan Queen Fake Dating Fanfics Masterlist

Canon-compliant*:

Temporary Distractions by amycarey (12/12 chapters)

Not So Fake Relationship (version 1) by edean13 (one shot)

Not So Fake Relationship (version 2) by edean13 (one shot)

Showtime by mustdefine (one shot)

One date by PhoenixTat (one shot)

Fauxlationship by CarrotLucky13 (one shot)

I Wear the Pants by inkheart9459 (one shot)

Look Who Came To Dinner by brokenmimir (one shot)

SwanQueen Week Summer 2014 (Ch. 2) by EmmaShalforever (one shot)

I Can Almost Hear Your Harmony by swansaloft (one shot)

See I Look For You In The Morning by BrokenEvilRegal (one shot)

Operation Albatross (or something like that) by perfection_located (6/6 chapters)

Milk Bottles and Misunderstandings by boxxybrown506 (one shot)

our tiktok remix is both atrocious and catchy by coalitiongirl (one shot)

Love Triangles Are For Losers by seriousfic (one shot)

See l Look For You In The Morning by BrokenEvilRegal (one shot)

Pretend We Used To Be Lesbian Lovers! Do It For The Children! by seriousfic (2/2 chapters)

Girlfriendy Displays by TheOnlySPL (one shot)

The Door to the Heart Is Open and Shut by undergroundlegends (one shot)

I thought love was only true in fairy-tales by OceanAndARock (one shot)

The Truth Always Comes Out by angstbot (16/16 chapters)

Fake Relationship by EmmaShalforever (one shot)

Fake Relationship by imaginecreatebefall (one shot)

My Girlfriend, Regina by giftofamber (one shot)

Not a Bad Thing by ofendlesswonder (one shot)

The Long Con by lostlilsnail (one shot)

AU:

The Story of It All by Sage1982 (14/14 chapters)

Date in the Name of the Law by apples-a-day (one shot)

For Love or Money by starsthatburn (38/38 chapters)

I'll Be Home For Christmas (With My Fake Girlfriend) by nakedrednailpolish (14/14 chapters)

Wedding Crasher by misscanteloupe (one shot)

Marry Me (Because I'd Like to Date You) by starsthatburn (10/10 chapters)

Faking It by YoungTruthLP (one shot)

Gonna Go Down in Flames by amycarey (one shot)

Let’s Play Pretend by shopfront (one shot)

Suitor in the garden by Sparring Woodpecker (one shot)

Right Kind of Wrong by cynarabueno (20/28 chapters, in progress)

This Baby is Not an Excuse by AlexRyzlinGold (one shot)

where dwell the brave at heart by coalitiongirl (one shot)

A bed of roses by sunofthemoon (10/10 chapters)

All I want for Christmas is you by FadedRiddler (one shot)

Complex Relations by MoonlitRamblings (11/11 chapters)

A Christmas Game by BlueHoneyBee (long one shot)

First Comes Marriage by Alternate8reality (7/7 chapters)

We haven't mended by HelveticaBrown (8/8 chapters)

Christmas at the Mills' by Swen and Chill (anotherouatwriter) (one shot)

Make Me Dance (I Want To Surrender) by glowswen (one shot)

*By "canon-compliant" I just mean that the story takes place in the universe of the show, it may still diverge drastically from the canon storylines at one point or have slight changes to canon.

#swan queen #swanqueen #emma swan #regina mills #once upon a time #ouat #swan queen fanfic #swan queen fanfiction

219 notes · View notes

bonesandthebees · 2 months ago

Note

absolutely horrible that schlatt died of alcohol poisoning..... Oh well im sure this won't have any repercussions in the future! Ik damn well tommy was STRESSING. Wilbur please don't get caught I like him too much 😞

how tragic... I'm sure this won't have any lasting repercussions on a 13 year old's impressionable psyche...

#ask #anon #rose ch 11

19 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 10 months ago

Text

Vampire Waltz - Epilogue

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 13.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Pregnancy. Some healing of generational trauma, reconciliation, regret, past pain. But mostly fluff. Summary: In the time after returning to your original timeline, life seems to have many more surprises left for you and Max. Notes: Editing this chapter has been a good old fashioned cry at my laptop, I will admit that entirely. This little family has given us such a wild ride, and we are so grateful to each one of you for reading along for every twist and turn. Please join us for Hummingbird Has Landed, starting next week!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17

Six months fly by in the blink of an eye, and before you know it the day of the wedding has arrived. Seacliff has been thrown open for the occasion, decorated top to bottom in roses accented with spring wildflowers and with every curtain thrown open to let the sunlight in. At the end of your second trimester, you tend to get tired earlier in the night so you and Max had opted for an afternoon wedding with sort of an high tea theme for the food. The music is all perfect for dancing to, of course, and everyone from the dance studios you now frequent to the girls from the coven to your extended vampiric family has been invited. He’s even made a few friends at the firm where he now works, opting to go into real estate this time around. After spending a hundred years building different houses, he knows a thing or two about it.

Allison and Eddie will be the ones to stand up for you today, of course, as Allison learns each day a little bit more of what it means to be a vampire who has kept her humanity through every step of the change. You and Max had stood up with them at City Hall a few months ago and helped throw their more laid-back wedding reception at Chateau-sur-Mer. Now everything is set up for today’s success as well. All that’s left, really, is for Max’s surprise to arrive.

Max hovers, a habit that he’s developed even more as your stomach has grown. In love with the slow heartbeat of his child in your stomach and the sweet smell of your blood. He craves you more than you know, but he’s refused to drink from you since finding out that you are carrying his child. Not willing to risk anything, even after decades of taking your blood.

“Everything’s fine, love.” He’s always been a doting partner but for the last few months it’s increased exponentially and somehow you’re even more in love with him for it. “We’ve had weddings before. Everything will be just fine.”

“I know.” He does know that, but for some reason, this is the one that is making him nervous. “I’m excited.” He admits quietly. “This one is us. Our original timeline.” He pushes away the pang of sadness that seems to be creeping up every time the baby moves, or he thinks about being a father. The loss of his family is more poignant in this time because there’s no good reason they are not here.

“That’s why this one is exactly what we wanted. Good music, good food, not too fancy but not too casual.” You reach out and squeeze his hand, rubbing gently along his arm. “It’s the Goldilocks of weddings.”

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, shaking away his disappointment that parents who don’t care about him aren’t sitting on the groom’s side and focuses on you. “You should sit before the ceremony.” After so many years together and so many weddings, it seems ridiculous to observe the ‘no seeing the bride before the ceremony’ tradition. “The baby was really active last night; I know your sleep wasn’t the best.”

“The baby’s excited.” Over your second trimester you’ve started to get the feeling that your little witch-vampire pup can sense your emotions, and he knows you’re excited for today. “And Tracy brewed me a little potion for today. Energy without caffeine so I won’t get too tired and I can enjoy the day.”

He eyes you, but he doesn’t say anything. Always wary about portions because he’s paranoid, not because he doesn’t trust the witches that make up your very supportive coven. “Do you want a little massage before we start?” He offers, knowing how much you enjoy the back and foot massages he’s gotten pretty good at.

“It’s perfectly safe,” you assure him, but you’re already sitting back in your favourite chair with bare feet ready for rubbing. This is not going to be a day for silk stockings or anything delicate like that. “It’s one of Lina’s recipes. Tracy is having fun going through her grimoire.”

Max chuckles at how quickly you move when you are offered a massage. It’s cute how much you enjoy being pampered and he loves to remind you that you are the absolute love of his life. “Honestly? I trust them. I’m just worrying to worry.” He tells you as he sits down on the little foot stool. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are today?”

"Hmmm, only once." Max starts in on your swollen, achy feet right away and you hum happily, sinking back into your chair and letting your hands cradle the large bump that threatens to take over your entire torso. Max Phillips makes big babies, apparently. "The grey suit is one of my favourites, by the way," you hum, referencing the three-piece heather grey suit he chose for today with dark red accents that match your bouquet of roses and Allison's red bridesmaid dress. "You look like a dream."

“Not nearly as dreamy as my pregnant, gorgeous, glowing wife-to-be.” He teases, winking at you. Since the beginning of the week, he’s called you his fiancée or wife-to-be. The new ring on your finger would never replace the original that has so much meaning for the both of you, but he has always given you new rings for every wedding. “But I have to try to look my best when I will be by your side.”

"I hope you don't mind." Holding up your other hand, you show him the original engagement ring he gave you in 1885 sitting on your finger, like a family heirloom accenting the beautiful sapphire ring he chose for you in this timeline. Your something blue, he had told you with a grin. "I felt like this time was the time to wear both."

“Whatever you want.” He promises with a grin. “Eventually we will have enough rings you can wear a different one every day.”

"I'll have a very full jewelry box for our son to pick from when he eventually proposes to his soulmate." Finding out you're carrying a little boy had had both of you crying in the doctor's office, overwhelmed and emotional about the next generation of your family to come.

“Very true.” He presses his thumb to the arch of your foot and he grins when you groan.

"I'm so glad I decided not to wear heels today," you huff, laughing slightly as your head falls back on your chair.

“Me too.” Max snorts. The sparkly white shoes you have chosen are cute and practical. “Although I still like the barefoot and pregnant wedding idea.” He teases with a wink.

"Maybe next time." That draws a deep laugh from you, and you lean back even more. "We'll have that one in summer, when being barefoot doesn't mean stepping on cold floors."

“Next time.” He agrees, although he doesn’t know if there would be a next time. All that matters is your comfort. “We still have an hour and a half before the ceremony.” He chuckles. “Maybe we’ve become too efficient at getting ready for these things.”

"Probably. Sixth time's the charm, I guess." You both laugh, enjoying the quiet and the comfort of being together upstairs in your bedroom. The Taylors, Renee, and Mr. Finchley were all invited to come today as guests but they had balked at the idea of not helping to put together today's event. As a result you've had twice the staff in getting the house ready today and everything is ready ahead of schedule. "Although..." you glance up at the clock and realize it's almost time. "I did plan a sort of...surprise for you today."

“Sweetheart…” he tilts his head and pouts at you adorably. “I thought we said that we were going to keep it low key?” He huffs. “Now my surprise is just going to be a normal wedding gift exchange.”

"I know what we said, and your wedding present is entirely separate." The photo album isn't technically complete anyway, since it has photographs of your first five wedding days already set in it but has left plenty of room for your sixth. "This is just for you."

“Is it something kinky?” He asks with a wicked grin on his face. “I can get behind that. Unless you want to get behind me???” He jokes.

"Not until this little pup comes out to greet us," you laugh, knowing your maneuverability isn't great these days.

“I don’t know, you were pretty kinky last night.” He reminds you. “Or was that someone else that wanted to ride my cock while I gave her tits all the attention?”

"Oh no, that was the horny pregnant woman you're marrying today." And damn last night was a good night.

“I know, and I love her.” He laughs and looks around. “So tell me about this surprise?”

As if on cue, there is a knock at your bedroom door and your own housekeeper clears her throat gently on the other side. "Mrs. Phillips? It's time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Moreau. We'll be down directly." Thankfully your shoes are nearby, and you flash Max a small smile. "Ready, love?" You ask, knowing that he has no idea what's waiting for him downstairs.

“Sure.” He shoots you a suspicious look but quickly applies himself to putting your shoes on. “You’re lucky you don’t have stinky feet.” He teases and pats your knee when he puts your foot down, both of them now wearing comfortable shoes.

The result of about three months' worth of phone calls is waiting downstairs, and you take Max's hand to walk downstairs together. There's a chance he'll be upset with you. Angry, even. But you've known him for long enough now that you don't think he will be – or at least you hope that he will see the gesture for what it is. A loving attempt at bringing him the happiness that you know he's been missing from his life.

He’s curious when he sees that the formal parlor is where you are guiding him. Wondering what you’ve had delivered and he stops dead when he hears a voice he has not heard for a lifetime. He wouldn’t recognize it for the fact that it was permanently attached to a thousand different childhood memories.

"I reached out about three months ago," you explain, feeling him stop dead beside you in the hall. "I told them that we were getting married and that we're expecting, and honey...they miss you so much."

“They— you called them?” He asked dumbly. “That’s— that’s my parents in there?” He asks, feeling like he’s in a dream even though he’s not dreamed since he’s been changed.

"I'll let them tell you everything." He isn't shouting or refusing to see them, so you're taking his quiet wonder as a very good sign. "But...I obviously left out the whole time travel, magic, and vampirism part of our story. I did tell them we're Wiccan, though. So they wouldn't be confused by the handfasting today."

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. Still process the fact that his parents are beyond those doors. People who had abandoned him when he needed them most. Part of him wants to run away, to refuse to see them, but you are squeezing his hand and looking so hopeful when he finally looks at you.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay.” They’ll be disappointed, and so will you a little, but you’ll all understand. “I just knew that if I asked you about having them over, you would refuse on principle.”

“No.” He chokes out, shaking his head and for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry. “I just can’t believe they came.”

“Well…” When you look up at him again, you offer him the softest, gentlest smile possible. “They wanted to apologize in person.”

“What did you say to them?” He asks, unable to believe the people who had disowned him, told him they never wanted to see him again, want to apologize.

“I actually did very little of the talking.” You nod to the door and squeeze his hand again, ready with a handkerchief if he ends up needing it. “Do you want to go in?”

“Um, sure.” With his free hand, he meticulously straightens his vest and his hair before he moves. He’s nervous and honestly a little afraid his parents want to ruin today for him.

When the door opens there are two people standing by the windows, looking down the lawn where your wedding ceremony will be and out to the sparkling ocean. Jeff and Maria Phillips stand together in a moment of awe before Maria is rushing forward and stops still in front of Max with one arm outstretched. “Max.” Her instinct is to call him honey, but she doesn’t know just how much he would hate that. “You—we tried everything we could think of to find you and we’re—” She chokes up almost instantly, The regret painted on her face as obviously as daylight.

“We’re so sorry, son.” Jeff has come up behind his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. “We should have taken you at your word when everything happened and we didn’t. That’s—we can’t undo it, Max. But we’ve regretted it every day.”

“Why?” That is the question that plagued him for years. The thing that had broken his heart and confused him. His parents weren’t the warmest people, but he had thought they had loved him enough to believe him. “You told me I was a disgrace to the Phillips name, that you wished I had never been born.” He reminds them. “Why?” His hand lets go of yours and rests on your stomach protectively. “I can never imagine telling my son something so cruel.”

“We received a phone call from the young man who…who accused you.” Usually quite a proud man, Jeff Phillips flounders in explaining himself to his son — a fully grown and obviously proud man in his own respect. “And from the Dean of your college, as well. We were told the proof was irrefutable and we knew you were ambitious, it all just…” he stops, shaking his head and letting it hang in a moment of shame. “Your great-grandfather, my grandfather, had done a lot of very unfortunate, mostly illegal things to get ahead in his lifetime. I tried to raise you as far away from that kind of life as I possibly could, and it—it was a lie that hit too close to home. And I thought I’d failed you. Instead of taking responsibility for that, I lashed out. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for it. But your soulmate reached out to us and said you were getting married, so we wanted to at least tell you that we love you on your wedding day.” The gift they had brought was out on the table in the foyer with a few others that had been mailed — an heirloom for the baby with a long letter of explanation and apology. That way even if Max didn’t want to see them, they could at least leave him with words of love in another way. The Phillips family crib and baby blankets made by Max’s grandmother belonged with him now.

Max swallows harshly, knowing that before you, before his time in the past, he would have sent them away for the pure pleasure of watching them hurt the way they had hurt him. To lash out and make them feel the rejection and heartache he had lived with for years. Except, he had to watch history repeat itself in a sense. Knowing the path that was before a headstrong daughter and equally stubborn parents. Watching the silent heartbreak and pain when their daughter distanced themselves from them. Knowing the further heartache that was awaiting them. He had sworn that he would be better than his parents and if he sends them away, what does that teach his son? His parents only have a small amount of time left, should he deny himself that time out of some childish need for punishment? Over the centuries, Max would like to believe he’s matured.

He frowns, looking at the table that has the gifts on them and then looks back at his parents. “Are you staying?” He asks, unsure if they wanted to stay or if they just wanted to make peace.

“We’d like to,” his mother offers, eyes flickering once over to you and then back to her son. She knows the decision isn’t theirs or yours. “But only if you want us to.”

“What made you look for me? Do you think that I’m telling the truth? Or—” Max has to know, he has to know what changed their minds.

“We tried to look for you just a couple of weeks after everything happened.” Maria takes a small step forward, so deeply hopeful that Max will forgive them. “The school said they couldn’t tell us anything besides the fact that your transcripts had been forwarded to another university, and there wasn’t a Find My Phone or anything like that, that we could use to try to find you.” Her voice wavers, obviously emotional, and she sniffles softly. “We realized that the son we’d raised…you didn’t deserve to be shunned even if you had made a mistake. We’d just been so shocked that we reacted on instinct.” Another small shake of her head comes with a few small tears that Maria quickly wipes away. “We should have believed what you told us over anything else. Over any other fear or story. The more times we talked through it, the more we realized…cheating was never the shortcut you were going to take. You always worked too hard for that. And we’d pushed you away for nothing.”

“I had to go to Romania to find a school that would accept me.” Max tells them, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he wrestles with himself. “You lost the son you knew there.”

Your hand slips gently over his, holding it in yours and wondering if this was a mistake. You know how much Max misses his parents, but some hurts are just too deep. It would be truly unfortunate if this was one of them.

“It’s obvious you’ve become a good man even without us.” His father acknowledges, nodding sadly. He knows he failed his son in so many ways, and he really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. Maria had fought him in the beginning and brought him around to the truth in time. “But if you’d let us, we’d like to get to know the man you are now.”

“There’s something you need to know before you make that decision.” Max opens his eyes and looks at the older man who is so much like him, even though he has his mother’s ears. Then over to his mother who looks like she is about to break down sobbing. “I’ve wanted you in my life for years, but I won’t let you back in only for you to run away when you find out.”

“Whatever you want to share with us, we want to hear.” It’s a promise, and Jeff Phillips doesn’t take that lightly after all this time.

“Technically….” Max squeezes your hand gently. “Your son, I— died in Romania.” He admits quietly. “I was turned into a vampire.”

The quiet in the room could be cut by a knife, and you hold Max’s hand tightly while his parents process what he’s just said. It’s confusion — deep confusion — more than anything else, but after a seemingly interminable few minutes, Maria nods. “Are you happy?” She asks, aware that her husband must be looking at her like she has three heads right now.

“I am.” Max nods. “I have my soulmate and our child. I’ve done things you would never believe. And now, I am seeing you again.” He gives her a small smile. “After I— was changed, I came back. I saw you from a distance.”

“The world gave you a witch so you would have someone to understand you.” Maria observes, nodding solemnly. You had explained the pertinent parts of being Wiccan to his father over the phone months ago but hadn’t had that conversation directly with his mother so you hadn’t heard her reaction personally. “When did you come to see us, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. It’s a term he hasn’t heard from his mother in over ten years in this timeline and it makes him bite his lip. “August 14th, 2013.” He gives a small shrug. “Your birthday.”

It’s heartwarming, and unexpected, to know that he had missed them too. Just because you had said so in your call — it did not mean it ran deeply. But Max and his mother had always shared a mutual fondness for birthdays. “I wish you had come inside,” his mother admits, although she smiles in a sort of lopsided way. “Although…could you have? If we had not invited you? You’ll have to tell us what is real and what is legend.”

It’s curious that his mother automatically believes him, and he wonders if they think this is some kind of test. He’s testing to see they will believe him and chosen the most outrageous thing. “I don’t have to be invited in.” He laughs.

“Do you remember Vera?” His mother asks, seeing skepticism in her son’s eyes before looking back at her husband too. “The woman who lived next door and would babysit for us when Max was little?” To you she explains, “He would get off the school bus and go to our next-door neighbor’s house for a few hours until Jeff or I got out of work. Whichever one of us got home first would go next door and tell him we were home.”

“Yes?” Jeff frowns slightly, wondering why his wife would bring up a neighbor that was long moved away.

“When Max was a baby, and I would go over to her house during the day for a little change of scenery?” She pauses and looks back over at you with a smile. “Maternity leave can make you feel like your mind is melting sometimes. Find a safe place to get out of your own house. Even if it’s just someone else’s house.” The advice to you seems decent enough, and you barely have time to smile in acknowledgment before she’s looking back to her husband and son again. “Vera used to tell me stories from home,” Maria explains. “And…folktales are always founded in a little bit of truth, aren’t they?”

“She was Romanian.” Max remembers suddenly. “She told you about vampires, didn’t she?”

“She did.” Maria nods, but ends up shrugging reluctantly. “I thought she was an eccentric old lady, but I was grateful for the company. Now…I wish I had taken notes.” Stepping forward one more time, Maria takes a chance and reaches out for Max’s free hand. “We already lost you once, sweetheart. If this means we’ll never lose you again? That your soulmate and your son will never lose you? Then it’s a blessing.”

“I just— I didn’t want you to find out and throw me away again.” Max murmurs quietly. “I had planned on honoring your wishes, to never see you again. But— I— I’m glad you’re here.”

"We never should have said those things." Jeff was the one who said most of it, and he's been humbled enough by regret over the last decade to just...accept whatever it is that life puts out in front of him and his family. He may not understand it, but better to be confused and follow his wife's good example than to risk losing everything all over again. "We missed you, son."

Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, Max exhales loudly, trying to keep from crying. The whole in his heart that he’s refused to acknowledge since the day they had disowned him, finally starting to heal. “I’ve missed you too, Dad.”

The hesitation is cut from the room as Max's parents lurch forward to throw their arms around him and hold on to him tightly. As much as he hates to let go of your hand, he does, needing to basically catch his parents as they hug him. Closing his eyes and trying not to bawl like a baby as he inhales the scent of the people he had never imagined being close to again.

Maria is the one who cries, being dainty about it because she doesn't want her makeup to run or to stain her son's immaculate suit, but she can't help herself. It was not so long ago that she thought she would never get to even see Max again, let alone hug him.

The embrace goes on for longer than he had ever imagined until they break apart and Max turns his head towards you to find you crying quietly into a handkerchief. “Dolly, come here, my love.”

"I'm sorry," you murmur, laughing at yourself a little as you dab at your eyes. This is the reason you hadn't done your eye makeup yet. "Pregnancy hormones."

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” As soon as you are close, you are bundled into his arms and he is pressing his lips to yours. “I love you. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

"I'd do anything for you." And as many times as you've said it, the meaning always holds true. You would turn the world upside down for him – and you even have the power to do it after a hundred years spent honing your magic. "I love you so much."

“I love you too.” He promises gently. Kissing you once more before he turns to his parents. “Let me properly introduce you.” He offers. “Even though you’ve spoken on the phone.”

"We want to know everything." Max's father has handed his wife his handkerchief and is obviously stifling his own emotional reaction – and doing a very poor job of it.

Max pulls you closer to his side and his other hand is proudly protective on your stomach. “This is Dolly.” He does mention your real name, but wants them to know that you prefer your nickname. “My soulmate. The most wonderful woman in the world and the woman I will waltz through eternity with.”

Maria moves to embrace you without hesitation, but Jeff’s head tilts in obvious confusion and curiosity. “Waltz?”

Right. He had never really danced when he was with them. It was picked up in Romania. "I started ballroom dancing." He explains. "An elective in Romania. Dolly also ballroom danced competitively. My favorite thing to do is to waltz with this beautiful lady." He admits proudly.

“We choreographed our first dance,” you tell them proudly, as soft as ever at Max’s side. “You’ll see. He’s an exceptional dancer.”

Maria bites her lip, aware of missing so much time with her son because of their foolish mistake and she nods. "He is exceptional." She reaches out for one of his hands and squeezes it gently. "And you seem so happy." That's all that matters to her.

“We are.” If anything, that is the thing you can promise them. That you’re happy and living the very best, most fulfilling life you possibly can be. “Max is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

"And...his being a vampire is what caused you to meet?" Jeff asks, curious to how the two of you met and trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.

“My grandfather was one of Max’s professors in Romania.” This is the part that is going to get careful explanation, as you hadn’t gone into it over the phone. “He is also Max’s sire. That is…the vampire that turned him. My grandfather took Max under his wing, and even brought him to live with my grandmother here in Newport before she died. I met Max when I moved into that house, as well.”

"I see." There's obviously more to the story, but he won't pry. Right now, he is just glad the boy is talking to him. He knows that Max inherited his stubborn streak, and he could have been rightfully turned away with an expletive and he would have deserved it.

“You’ll meet him today, if you stay for the wedding.” There are still a few more months on Yayo’s ticking clock to join his wife and daughter in the afterlife, but he is waiting until your son is born to leave this world. He had smiled when the decision was made, telling you that wanted to bring good news to Cookie and Annie in the next life. “My grandfather is…a little dramatic,” you smile, stifling a laugh. “I’m afraid it’s a family trait.”

Max chuckles. "And since he is a vampire as well, he looks younger than you, Dad." He warns the other man. "However, Dolly's grandfather is the first vampire. The oldest in existence and has walked the earth for thousands of years."

“It’s a bit of a long story.” The expressions on both of his parents’ faces are something like an undergrad trying to work out a complex math problem, and you shake your head while running a soothing hand over your belly. “Can I offer you a tour of the house?” That, at least, is semi normal. Even if your house was built in 1888 and is still a functional Gilded Age mansion.

“It is beautiful.” Maria nods instantly and Jeff shakes his head. “Do you mind if I speak to Max privately?” He asks you before looking at his son. “Would you, son?”

You look to Max for his confirmation, and when he nods and leans over to kiss you, you offer him an encouraging smile. “I’ll show your mother the library first.”

Max nods, his eyes following you out of the room and he wants to follow you, but he is curious to what his father wants to say privately. Only when he can't see you anymore, do his eyes turn towards Jeff and he arches a brow.

“She’s quite a girl.” He says after the door closes, gesturing to where you have escorted his mother from the room with grace and surety.

"Yes she is." Max will always agree with that. His proud little smile on the corner of his mouth shows his happiness at being matched with you. "She's been through a lot and is still the kindest woman I've ever known."

"When she called us the first time, your mother thought she was an angel." Jeff smiles at that, his wife always has been the gentler out of the two of them. Just like with you and Max.

"In a lot of ways, she is." Max nods. "I normally call her Queenie, as another nickname." He tells his father. "And she is amazingly graceful, carrying a half vampiric child."

"And her..." his father clears his throat. "Her grandfather is...also a vampire?" He's not willing to go against a single second of this, his son is too precious to him after all this time, but he wants to at least make sure that he has everything he's being told straight.

"Yes." Max looks at his father. "I would have met her at Vanderbilt. Discovered that we were soulmates there. I actually had a blind date with her the day I was kicked out." He reveals. "But that didn't happen and luckily her grandfather recognized her birthmark on my arm and changed me." He slides his hands into his pockets, a defense against the hurt that is still there but slowly lessening. Ever more so now that his parents want to be in his life. "He arranged for us to have the meeting we should have had nearly fourteen years ago."

"Jesus..." If his wife was in the room, Maria would scold him for taking the Lord's name in vain, but Jeff just shakes his head. "I..." Jeff blows out a breath. "I know saying that I'm sorry will never be enough. But I really...I'll never stop saying it, if that's what it takes for you to believe how much we regret what happened."

"I believe you." Max has become closely acquainted with actions taken in anger and regretted later. He believes that your mother would have eventually broken the magic binding if she had lived. "Dolly and I talked about reaching out, but for a long time, I was so hurt, I wouldn't have come to you for anything." He sighs softly. "My wife doesn't have much family left. Her parents are gone, and I know she wants as much love for our son as possible. It doesn't surprise me that she contacted you."

"She said she lost her parents, and that you shouldn't have to lose yours as well." It's sweet, Jeff thinks, that his son already refers to his soulmate as his wife on the morning of their wedding day, but he doesn't say anything. It seems like your lives are complicated and he doesn't want to judge. On that, he has learned his lesson. "Max, you should...you should know..." He clears his throat again and casts an eye around the room. "I never actually changed my will. By the time I came out of the fog enough to even talk to our lawyer, I realized the mistake I had made. But it was already too late to find you."

Max frowns slightly, wondering why that would matter to him. Why he would be concerned with his father's will, but then it clicks. His father wants to talk to him about some kind of inheritance. He tilts his head curiously. "I see...."

"Obviously you don't...you don't need my help." The house his son lives in now is a literal mansion. It's far bigger and better than anything that he and Maria were able to give Max growing up. But there is a matter of principle and pride in making sure that they leave what they can to their son when they leave this world. "I had a cousin. A distant cousin, I mean. Who died two years ago. And the guy left behind a big plot of land as well as some assets. Combined with what your mother and I had planned to leave you...it's pretty substantial." He shrugs his shoulders a little, hands in his pockets in a posture that mirrors his son's. "Do whatever you like with it. It's yours. Or maybe your boy's, who knows?"

"Dad...I appreciate that." He promises, meaning it. He had long written off the idea of anything from his parents. "More than you know."

"Maye we can all take a trip together sometime?" He's lost so much time with Max that even being called Dad again has him close to tears, but he shakes it off for now. The day is already emotional. "I guess my mother's side of the family had some money, so it's a nice piece of land in upstate New York. Tuxedo Park. 'Pullman House', I think it's called. Can you imagine having enough money that your house has a name?" He chuckles at the idea, not realizing that his son’s current home most definitely has a name, and shaking his head.

Max freezes for a moment, his eyes widening slightly and he has to take a moment. "Pullman House?" He asks, remembering visiting the house, the last time being a very somber affair. "I— are you serious?"

"Yeah." Jeff nods, taking out his phone to pull up the pictures of the house and grounds that the estate lawyer had sent over. "Have you heard of it?"

"I— I didn't know we were related to the Pullman's." He admits, never looking into his family tree when he was back in time with you. He hadn't wanted to. "How?"

"My grandmother was a Pullman." He doesn't quite see why it matters, but Max seems to recognize the family name so he hands over his phone with photographs of the sprawling mansion. "They made train cars, I think? Back after the Civil War. Must have made quite a bit of money at it, to have a house like that, but it's not in the best shape now. We, uh...your mother and I thought, we could invest a little in it now to fix it up and rent the house out while we're alive. And once we're gone it's yours to do whatever you want with."

"I've been there before." Max tells him with a nod, "I mean, in the area. Tuxedo Park. It's gorgeous from what I remember." He lifts a brow and decides that maybe he should put forth an idea of his own. "It could be something we do together?" He offers. "Dolly and I love historical architecture. Obviously." He chuckles as he glances around the room. "We can start the restoration and see what happens?"

Jeff obviously hadn’t expected that kind of enthusiasm, and when he nods he put his hand out to his son to shake. “I’d like the chance to get to know the man my son has become,” he agrees, on the verge of being choked up again. “And I’ll never say no to getting to see my grandson. It sounds pretty perfect.”

Max looks at the offered hand and reaches out to shake it firmly. "That sounds good." He tells him. "But first, I need to make sure that my soulmate officially carries the Phillips last name." He jokes.

“Why don’t we catch up with our soulmates before they start making plans of their own?” His father suggests with a chuckle, knowing that Maria’s sweet disposition means it could very well happen.

"I'm glad you came." Max admits softly, frowning slightly even though he's completely happy. He's frowning so he doesn't cry, but there's a certain mistiness to his eyes.

“I’m glad, too.” On instinct, Jeff tugs gently on Max’s hand and gratefully holds onto his son once more in a strong hug. They’re both emotional, but if there was ever a time for it in their lives — this seems as appropriate a time as any to shed a few tears in each other’s presence. “I love you, Max. I’m sorry it’s not something you heard often when you were growing up.”

"Always thought I had done something wrong." Max confesses. "If I made the team, you'd love me. If I graduated with honors, you'd love me." He flashes an amused, self-deprecating grin. "If I was a ladies’ man, you'd – at least be proud of me." He snorts. "Always wondered why it was never quite enough. If I was just that much of a disappointment. So instead of talking about it, I decided being a cocky shit and show that I didn't really care what people thought of me."

“I pushed you hard because I knew you were going to do something incredible one day.” They’re both teary, standing together in that room, but it’s okay. It’s always been okay to show his son what he feels, he just didn’t know that. “Your Mom, um…she’s had me doing work on myself. I mean, we’ve been doing it together, but it’s mostly for…” He huffs, rolling his eyes at himself. “She comes to therapy with me a lot. Got plenty of shit to work out and I don’t want it to affect you anymore. And I really don’t want it to affect my grandson. So I’m…I’m working on me. I just really hope it helps. Because you were always enough, Bud. And I always loved you. I just didn’t know how to tell you that.”

"I understand." Max nods. "I've done my own bit of therapy." He doesn't mention it was back before therapy was a thing and it had been with his sire. "Dolly has insisted on it, because of her own issues and it's a good thing. To be the best version of ourselves for each other and our son."

“Do you have any names yet?” Motioning to the door, Jeff means to walk and talk if they can, trying to make the most of every second he has with Max. Of course there’s probably things to finalize before the wedding starts, but they at least have time to catch up to their soulmates.

"We were thinking Johnathan, for Dolly's grandfather and my sire." He smiles slightly. "Johnathan Jeffery Phillips." He watches his father, wondering how he would react to the middle name.

It’s instant, the way Jeff tears up all over again, and this time two thick tears escape his eyes before he can stop them. “Really?” He has to ask, wondering if his son had forgiven him long enough ago to have considered naming his son after the father who had made such an enormous mistake.

"We had long talks about it." Many hours spent talking while you laid in his arms and later when he was stroking the rounded stomach that houses his child even now. "If my son couldn't have his grandfather in his life, at least he would carry a piece of him with him." It was how you had phrased it and Max had nearly cried then too.

“Well goddamn.” Gobsmacked, Jeff wipes his hands down his face and then claps Max on the back with a sigh. “I don’t even know what to say. Except thank you.”

There's nothing else to say at the moment, so Max just nods as you and his mother come into view. "There they are." He hums, smiling at the sight of you absently stroking your stomach as you chat with Maria.

“Hey, my love.” In your wedding dress, all ready for the day, you have been telling your mother-in-law a little about the history of the house and showing her some of the older books in the library. Seeing Max’s softened expression though, you reach out to him immediately. “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” He loves that you worry about him, it makes him feel loved. “I was telling my dad about the name we’ve picked out for the baby.”

“Ah,” you hum, leaning over the bump between you to kiss him softly. “Hence the tears?”

“A little emotional.” Max admits shamelessly, enjoying the bump of his heart as he presses his lips to yours.

“That’s good.” You tilt your head to kiss his nose as well and wink. “It’s our wedding day after all.”

"You are amazing, you know that?" He asks softly, kissing you again. "I can't believe you did this. Thank you, my love."

“You deserve to be happy.” The gentle reminder comes with a smile, and you squeeze his hand. “And I know you missed them.”

"You know me too well." He smirks. "Almost like you've lived with me forever."

“Hmm.” Humming a little, you end up giggling instead. “Almost like.”

There’s an inside joke there somewhere, making Jeff and Maria smile awkwardly as the two of you share a moment. “Did you tell Mom?” He asks you, wanting to make sure everyone was aware of the name.

“Not yet.” You look back at his parents but shake your head. “I thought you would want to tell them.”

He flashes you a grin, knowing you are aware that he still has a love of attention, but this is truly special. “Our son is going to be named Johnathan Jeffery Phillips.” He tells Maria, rubbing your belly gently.

“Sweetheart.” His mother is nearly in tears all over again, reaching for Max with overwhelming affection just as earnestly as her other hand goes to her husband. “Is it…” her hands are occupied, but her eyes move to you. “Was Johnathan your father’s name?” She asks as gently as she can.

“It’s my grandfather’s,” you tell her, touched that she would think to ask. “We think we’ll call him JJ for short, but we wanted him to have family names.” JJ is also a sort of family name; in a way you can’t really explain. Lina’s youngest son — little JJ Astor — was sort of your spiritual godson after he wanted to start learning his magic as a young man. You mourned him as dearly as the rest of his family did after the Titanic went down, even though you knew it was coming. That didn’t stop you from missing him.

“I— it’s a beautiful name.” Maria assures you. “JJ is a proper little boy’s name and then he can decide if he wants to keep it or go by Johnathan.” She is so touched that Max would include them in the naming of his child, despite the troubles from before. It will be one of the greatest regrets of her life.

“No matter what, he’ll always be loved.” Your hand smooths the underside of your belly as JJ himself makes an appearance in the conversation, kicking happily to show his approval — or at least his enthusiasm.

Max chuckles proudly. “He’s always so active. Giving mom his opinions on everything. He seems to like his name.” He tells his parents.

“I hate to interrupt, sir. Madam.” The petite figure of your housekeeper appears in the open library doorway. Mrs. Moreau has been with you since the house was finished in 1888, a determined and intelligent middle-aged woman-turned-vampire from Louisiana that prided herself on her skills as a caretaker. “But the other guests have begun to arrive. Mr. And Mrs. Perez are asking for you.”

“Of course.” Max nods and looks towards his parents. “I would like you to stay.” He tells them. “Please? We can talk and if you haven’t booked a hotel, you are welcomed to stay here.” He glances at you for confirmation, but he’s well aware that you’ve probably already planned for such an event.

“I already asked Mrs. Moreau to make up a guest room.” Obviously you had been hopeful that this reunion would go well, but you had really asked your housekeeper to make sure a few guest rooms were ready just in case anyone over indulged at the wedding. Safety first.

“Oh, well – are you sure?” The last thing they want to do is intrude on their son on his wedding night, but they also aren’t ready to let him out of their sight for too long as well. They hadn’t booked a hotel in case he refused to see them; the heartbreak would have been too much.

“We insist.” This is the outcome you were hoping for, after all, and you’re glad to see that Max and his parents are going to be able to patch things up. However slowly it happens, the work has begun. And that’s what matters most. “We aren’t leaving for our honeymoon for another week. And we’d like very much if you stayed.” The little train ride down to Washington DC will be welcome, and you had planned to take in museums and eat good food for a week or two before coming home again and making sure you have everything you need for the baby.

Maria bites her lip and looks at Jeff, wanting this more than anything. She’s missed her son, her only baby and now she’s being given another chance. “We accept.” She tells you with a happy grin. “As long as we can help in some small way. However we can.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” You assure her, but for now you link your fingers through Max’s and smile. “We’re going to go finish getting ready. Please have a drink if you’d like and enjoy looking around a little before you take your seats in the garden. Mrs. Moreau will help you get settled.” There’s something to be said for having come into your own as a woman and a hostess in the Gilded Age, and with the help of women like your grandmother, Mrs. Astor, and Mrs. Vanderbilt. It has made you gracious and thoughtful, and very well prepared.

“Thank you again.” Jeff nods, looking at both of you as he compares the boy he had last known and the man and father-to-be that stands in front of him. “We will speak later.”

“We shouldn’t keep Eddie and Allison waiting.” A squeeze of his hand reminds Max to walk with you, and you hurry upstairs quickly to avoid being spotted by your newly arriving guests.

“Any other surprises that I need to be aware of?” Max asks with a smirk as he keeps his hand on your back, just in case.

“I talked my grandfather into cutting his toast in half.” The grin on your face is unrepentant. At the first of your weddings, Yayo’s reception toast was early forty minutes long. “Surprise.”

Laughing, Max shakes his head. “Yeah but now, we might have to have a speech from my father.”

“I’m rather looking forward to it.” At the top of the stairs, you can hear your brother and sister-in-law in your bedroom, humming over flowers and such. “I love you, Max. Forever. And I take that promise very literally.”

“I love you too.” Max stops you and cups your cheek. “You continue to surprise me, and I will never take you for granted one day during our existence.”

******

There are things about returning to Tuxedo Park that make you very nostalgic in a way that you cannot express to anyone besides Max. You came here together for Emmanuel’s funeral, supporting your grieving mother as her friends. It had been his parents’ wish to bury him here on the property, and now a large weeping beech tree oversees a small family plot on one end of the acreage. The distant cousin Max hadn’t known was buried here also, and had stored generations of family heirlooms inside the many rooms of Pullman House.

Going through these rooms is a lot of organizational work, but thankfully you can do quite a bit of it sitting at the dining room table with JJ in his Grow-With-Me chair beside you, kicking at musical keys and playing with the knobs, soft toys, and multicolored rings that the stationary play station has for his little mind to engage with. He seems to like the house well enough – although he did not like the drive here – and is currently staring and babbling happily at the far corner of the room while you look through old staff records and maintenance books kept by the superintendent.

“Hey love.” Max breezes into the room, taking on the role of handyman seriously, complete with walking about the house in flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up and a tool belt around his hips. Not that he was really using it right now, but you seem to enjoy the view.

“Hey Daddy.” You stretch your neck to invite a kiss and he leans over obligingly as your six-month-old gurgles happily a foot away. “Are your parents back from town yet?”

“Just pulled in.” He grins and presses his lips to yours several times. “How’s my favorite girl. And my little biter?”

“He’s got a favorite spot on the wall to babble at and I’m reading through staffing records. Apparently the house got hit hard by Spanish flu and lost a few people.” You bite your lip, almost hating to say his name, but you have to. “Emmanuel’s nieces both died, and a few members of staff.”

Max sighs softly. “It feels like he should walk through the door.” He admits quietly. “Asking if we have time to check a design he had built and give our opinions.”

“Is it weird that I’ve always wished I could introduce him to my father?” The two men your mother had loved definitely had had more in common than not. Which makes sense, of course, in that your mother had a type. “I just know they would have been friends.”

“It’s not strange.” Max shakes his head. “Just like you shouldn’t feel bad for loving Emmanuel like we did. I think they would have loved each other.”

“I don’t feel bad. I mean it took some adjusting to…to realize that I miss him as my friend and he very well could have been my father.” You shrug slightly, reaching out your fingers to adjust one of JJ’s toys in his chair. “Being here just brings it all back. I’m sure if we were in the house I grew up in, I’d be thinking about my Dad instead.”

“Of course you would.” Max nods seriously. “Have you thought about my offer?” He asks softly.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.” Ever since reuniting with his parents and the birth of his son, Max has been fully family oriented. He’s been endlessly helpful in every aspect of adjusting the way you live to make way for more family, and that included a very generous suggestion a week ago. “I think I’d like it very much, honestly. Bringing Mom and Dad back to Newport seems…it seems right. The family plot at Island Cemetery has plenty of room and it would be nice to not feel so disconnected from them.”

“You would be able to visit her whenever you want.” Max agrees. You’ve visited your parents’ graves a few times, but it’s too far to travel now that JJ is here. “I will have all the arrangements made.”

“Thank you, love.” A half-smile graces your lips, which grows when JJ babbles at the corner again happily. “And when we’re here, we can visit Emmanuel.”

“What is he babbling at?” Max wonders, looking over at his son with a curious pride. “It’s like he’s talking to someone.”

“I don’t know, he’s been at it the whole time I’ve—” But turning your head to actually look at the area where your son is focused makes you almost swallow your tongue. “Oh gods…”

“What?” Max’s fangs descend in a flash and he’s speeding over to JJ to whisk him into his arms. He might be a little overprotective, but this is his son.

"Emmanuel?" The ghostly figure in the corner is unmistakable, his tousled hair and immaculate clothing exactly the way he looked in life, if significantly more transparent and...somewhat more sad.

“What?” This time Max’s eyes are wide, not fearful or protective, but confused. “What do you see?” He demands again, staring at the spot where JJ has been babbling.

"I see Emmanuel," you repeat again, more carefully, seeing the figure of your old friend looking back at you. "That...that is you, isn't it?" The fact that Max can't see him makes you think it must be your and JJ's witch's blood at work, and you stand up from your chair carefully. "Can you see me, too?"

"Oh..." The shadowy memory of Emmanuel sighs quietly. "I can see you. And hear you. It's...I didn't know you could see me," he admits.

“What’s he saying? Is he talking back?” Max asks, looking back and forth between the corner and you.

"He didn't know that we could see him," you explain to Max, tears brimming in your eyes to see your old friend again. "But I—I don't understand." When you look back to the corner, Emmanuel has taken a step forward. "How long have you been here? I had no idea someone who had been a vampire could become a ghost."

Max tilts his head as you seemingly talk to thin air, but Emmanuel has to be there if you say he is. “Since I was destroyed.” He admits quietly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Max. “But you are here and— Annie? She’s your mother?”

“I suppose there’s…a bit to explain.” You glance back at Max where he is holding JJ close to his chest and bouncing your son gently in his arms. “This is when we are originally from. One of my powers is the ability to time travel, and I brought us back to your time by accident. But…yes. Annie was my mother. And the Browns were actually my grandparents.” You smile softly, almost laughing in disbelief. “And this is our son, JJ. Who apparently could see you all day today and simply couldn’t tell me.”

Emmanuel bites his lip as he stares at you. “I— I thought I was doing the right thing.” He tells you, having had decades to reflect on his mistakes.

“So did my grandfather.” Although you nod, regret sticks in your throat as though you were somehow complicit in the decision to sire your mother’s soulmate purely because you didn’t stop it. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Is that what happened?” Emmanuel asks softly, frowning fiercely as he tries to remember those last moments. There was just a fog, a hunger he had never felt before and then seeing Annie’s eyes filled with regret and pain. Realizing she had staked him. “I— I could never hurt her. She is my world.”

“I know.” Magic isn’t merciful enough to let you touch him — hug him — to offer him comfort, but at least you can give your friend some kind of reassurance. “And Mom knew that, too. That it wasn’t you, when it happened.” Maybe that’s how he ended up a ghost, instead of moving on? You can’t be sure. “No one who ever saw you together could ever doubt how much you loved each other.”

“I— oh god.” He closes his eyes, pain etched across his face. “I hurt her. I— I just wanted to live through eternity with her. To give her the world. I would have never…” Regret laces his words, fills his tone and he wishes once again, that he had never changed.

“Emmanuel…” Cutting him off softly, you find yourself reaching out a hand to him even though you know you can’t touch him. It’s just instinct. “It’s—it’s done with. And…even if you had lived on? It’s…Annie died in a car accident when I was eighteen. She was still mortal, Emmanuel. Despite having such a long life. There’s just… there’s nothing that any of us can do sometimes to prevent tragedy. I know that might not be the most comforting thing in the world, but please don’t torture yourself thinking that she’s still walking the earth in pain.”

“She’s— Annie is gone?” He chokes out, the pain of knowing his soulmate no longer exists, blooming. He had thought he couldn’t feel the crushing pain of loss as a ghost after so many years of haunting Pullman House, but apparently he could. “Dolly— I— she’s gone?”

“I’m sorry.” Maybe you should have eased into the news a little, but you had honestly thought it would be comforting to know she wasn’t in pain anymore. “It’s been almost fifteen years now.”

“Why am I still here?” Emmanuel asks, unable to ask the question to anyone else since he has shown up here to haunt the halls.

“I don’t know.” You tell him honestly. “I’ve…you’re the first ghost I’ve ever met.”

He nods and his eyes slide over to Max and JJ. “Is he—?” He asks, eyes longing as they look at the child. The child that in his mind, should be his grandchild. “Are you happy?”

It almost feels rude to tell him just how happy you really are, but there is such a small chance that knowing your family is happy and healthy might actually help him somehow — and you cannot lie to your friend. Not anymore. You’ve already kept so much from him. “Yes,” you nod, knowing that Max is right behind you with JJ in his arms and that every moment your family has together is not to be taken for granted. “We’re still very happy.”

“Good.” Emmanuel smiles and looks back at the baby again. “Your son?” He asks. “He’s bright. He saw me right away.”

“He’s six months old today.” You can’t help the immensely proud way you beam when talking about your son. JJ is your pride and joy and you absolutely will talk about him from dawn until dusk. “Seeing you is…it’s the first sign of magic he’s shown. And I’m so very glad.”

“Does he...need blood?” He asks curiously.

“Some.” And you’re grateful you had been prepared for that, otherwise it would have been a very rude awakening. “But according to Cookie, Annie stopped needing blood after she stopped growing.”

“And you?” He asks, curious as to what you experienced as a child. “Did you need blood?”

“Not that I remember.” It isn’t impossible that you were given it as a baby and simply don’t remember, but even with your memory as clear as it is you don’t recall any sippy cups of blood in your childhood. “But I do take some of Max’s now. To prolong my life.”

“That is good.” Emmanuel nods. “You deserve a long life. You were always so kind to me. Even if you obviously knew what my fate was.”

“You loved my mother.” It’s as simple as that, to you at least, and again you just desperately wish you could hug him. “And you were a wonderful friend to Max and to me. You deserve as much kindness as every other good person in the world. I’m just…I’m very glad that I could be one of the people you find it in.”

“I am sorry.” Emmanuel murmurs softly. “For all the pain I cause your mother.” He’s had plenty of time to regret his change and now that he knows that he had hurt her, he is even more so.

“I wish it didn’t torture you the way it does.” It’s a sort of vain hope…or least a far-fetched one, but it is honest. “We are all of us only human, after all. Even witches and even vampires. We still make all the same mistakes and have all the same feelings.”

“I just hope that she was happy.” Emmanuel confesses. “After my time with her had ended.”

“In my memories of her, she was very happy.” It would be cruel to harp on the fact that your father was a good man and a good partner for her, and you won’t mention him at all, but you do smile reflexively. “Life when I was growing up was simple, and quiet, and happy. I can promise you that.”

“Good.” He smiles, nodding at the imagery you are producing. “That is all I can ask for.”

“You should know.” Stepping away from the topic of your mother or his regret for a moment is the gentlest thing you can think of in this moment. “Max and I…we’re helping his parents restore this house. They own it now. So we’ll be here, in and out, from now on.”

“Truly?” His eyes light up, delighted to maybe have company at some points during his existence as a ghost. “Would you— perhaps we could talk more? Not always, but some moments when you have time?”

“Of course we can talk more. And as JJ gets older, he’ll be able to talk to you, too.” His joy makes your heart ache, just like the very idea that you might not want to talk to him is absurd. “We’ve missed you, Emmanuel. Very much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He promises with a small, sardonic smirk. “Although it’s amusing that Max cannot see me.”

“We’ll have to talk about him while he’s in the room,” you tease, throwing a grin back at your soulmate. “It will drive him crazy.”

“Don’t you dare talk about me.” Max huffs, frowning fiercely at the idea.

"Love you, babe." A grin over your shoulder tells him you're only teasing.

Max huffs and rolls his eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll start calling you ‘Manny’.” He threatens his old friend, not meaning a word of it.

“You’ll do that anyway,” Emmanuel replies, knowing his friend can’t hear him but enjoying the comfort that you can. You’re the first person to ever see him and actually hear what he says and it’s more comforting than he can possibly say.

“He says you’ll do that anyway,” you pass the message along with a grin.

Max tries to look innocent but fails miserably when he grins. “True.” He snorts and steps closer to the corner with the baby in his arms. “I can’t see you, but I’m glad that you’re— not gone.” He settles for that and shrugs. “I don’t know what to call it, but I’ve missed our billiards games.”

“It’s hard to play billiards without a body,” Emmanuel chuckles. “But maybe your wife will be kind enough to help us play chess.”

“He says I should help you play chess.” Translating between them makes you smile. Something you never expected but it warms your heart. “And I happily agree.”

“We will have to do it.” Max nods and gives a small chuckle. “No cheating though. I know you.”

That makes you snicker, but you hold up both hands in innocence. “I promise I won’t help him cheat,” you vow, wiggling your fingers in his direction. “Now, can I hold our son, please?”

“Sure.” Now that there’s no danger, Max has no problem handing over JJ to you. The boy goes easily, babbling happily and pointing at the corner.

"Sweetheart, I want you to meet somebody." Cooing to your son, you press a kiss to JJ's forehead and carry him a little closer to where Emmanuel is standing, past the table and past the chairs you had been sitting on all day. "This is Uncle Emmanuel." How much of what you're telling him is actually sinking into his curious little mind, you can't be sure. At six months old, he's definitely not piecing together a family tree in his mind. "He lives here, so we're going to be very nice to his house, okay Bud?" Picking up his little hand in yours, you grin when your son giggles approvingly. "Wave hi, Bud! Hi Uncle Emmanuel!"

JJ has learned to wave and he throws his entire body into it. Babbling and gurgling with a giant grin on his face as he damn near wiggles out of your arms.

If Emmanuel could still cry, he would have tears in his eyes. But as it is, the emotion sticking in his throat gives him away. “He is a blessing.” He manages to say, regarding the little boy in your arms.

“Yes.” You will agree to that every time, and never contest it for even a moment. “He absolutely is.”

******

Despite it being over 100 years of you sleeping beside him while he stays awake, Max doesn’t leave the bed. Too content to hold you as your breathing is nice and slow. Unless JJ is fussy and then he leaves you sleeping to handle the baby. He slips out of the bed as you groan and turn over to hug his pillow.

Your dreams have gotten slightly stranger since starting to take Max’s blood — the strangest were during pregnancy, but thank the gods that’s over — but it wouldn’t be uncommon to dream of magic or anthropomorphic anything or even create entire other universes in your mind. That makes this dream, as Max slips out of bed to rock your fussy son in his arms, all the more remarkable for being normal. Just a dream of your grandparents and parents sitting around a table playing cards like nothing had ever happened between them.

Your grandfather is the first to notice you, turning and smiling at you, just like he had your entire childhood when he visited you in your dreams. “Muñeca, you have come.” He stands and waves you over to the group.

“Yayo?” It isn’t the first time you’ve dreamt of your grandfather since he left this life, but it feels so much more real. “Am I late?”

He shakes his head and moves to gather you into a hug. “You are just on time. Come. There are others who have waited so long to see you again.”

You can see your family in the room, but at your grandfather’s bidding it’s like a veil lifts and you step further into the dining room at Chateau-sur-Mer to see your parents beaming at you as your abuela starts to deal you into their card game.

“Come sit with us.” Cookie hums in delight. “It has been so long since I have talked to you, my darling.”

“Are you…” Aware of your grandfather’s power, you don’t hesitate to go to the table, but you do look back at him before reaching out to hug your grandmother. “Are you all really here?” You ask, already choked up at the idea of it.

“After death, hard feelings are not nearly as important as family.” Annie admits, reaching out and taking your hand when you sit down. “I have so much to apologize for, sweetheart. So much.”

“You did what you thought was right, Mom.” Being able to see her again — touch her — call her Mom instead of Annie? It’s such a gift. It’s more than you ever dared to ask for, even knowing what is possible in the world. On her other side, though, you fly out of your chair to go to your father. It’s been the longest since you saw him, let alone spoke to him, because talking to the photos on your vanity at home don’t count as much.

“Hey pumpkin.” The fact that you are grown makes no difference as your father folds you into his arms and pulls you onto his lap for a hug like you are still six years old. “I have missed you so much. Been watching over you.”

“I miss you, Dad.” Such easy words to say, even as they shake through you, and you cling to him for a hug. “I miss all of you, but…gods I’m so sorry I didn’t come to see you when I was in the past. I was terrified of changing the timeline.”

“Honey, we understand.” Your father reassures you, kissing your forehead like he would have when comforting you from a bad dream. “I am just glad you got to see your mother. Your grandparents.” He pulls back and smiles at you. “Now you get to see me.”

“I wish you could’ve met Max.” Looking up and casting your eyes around the table, you soften again. “And JJ. Yayo is the only one who got to meet JJ, and you would all love him so much.”

“We’ve met JJ.” Your father admits with a smile. “Dreams, just like now, with you.”

“You can…with JJ?” It shouldn’t surprise you, not after last week’s revelation that your six-month-old can already see ghosts, but you smile in relief. “Good. I’m glad he’ll get to dream of his family.”

“We won’t monopolize his dreams.” Cookie promises. “Just drop in from time to time.”

“How are you still able to visit us?” This question is for Yayo, who is quietly looking through his hand off cards with a small smile. “If you…passed on? How do you still have your powers?”

“We are waiting.” Yayo tells you simply. “For Emmanuel.”

“Then I think you might be waiting for a while,” you tell him, guilt creeping into your voice as you look around the table. “He’s…he didn’t cross over. We’re at Pullman House right now. And he’s still here.”

“He has to forgive himself first.” Annie murmurs, looking sadly over at your father and then at you. “But he will. And then we will all be together.”

"He's heartbroken that he hurt you." It's so important for your mother to know this. To completely wrap her head around it, even if you understand that she probably forgave him long ago. "He barely even remembers when it happened. We've...talked through it. Extensively." Call it Ghost Therapy, but you had been hoping that trying to remember might somehow help him move on.

“Tell him that I— we— are waiting for him.” Annie requests, looking over at her husband, your father, and smiling. “Your father is looking forward to knowing the man that I loved before him. That I still love.”

“I…always thought you would be such good friends if you could meet.” It feels odd to admit it to your father, but it’s honest. It’s how you’ve felt since very early on after meeting Emmanuel.

“I know we would be.” Your father chuckles and looks at Annie lovingly. “She has told me about her soulmate.”

“Did they…tell you about Max, too?” It might be selfish, to wonder if they’ve talked about you and your happiness — but this is your family. Your parents and grandparents. In your heart your hope they’re at least happy for you.

“Absolutely.” He assures you with a proud smile. “I’ve watched how he cares for you, loves you.” He bites his lip. “He’s the kind of man I always hoped you would be with.”

“I wish you could visit him, too.” You admit, smiling softly. “But he doesn’t dream. Or sleep, really.”

“Yes, he’s too busy watching over his family.” Your grandmother hums in approval.

“You made a good choice, Yayo.” Of that, you can assure him. “Eddie and Allison are doing so well.”

“They are, aren’t they?” He smiles the satisfied little smirk of contentment before he picks up Cookie’s hand and kisses the back of it. “They are made for it, so I have cashed in one last favor from the devil.”

“Oh?” To hear that he had any left at all is a surprise, and you sit up at the table.

“Yes.” He hums, arching his brow and letting the moment sit just a touch longer for the dramatic effect. “They will walk the earth for eternity as soulmates.”

“Yayo.” The well of tears behind your eyes is instant, tears spilling over onto your cheeks as you think of how much that will mean to them. “You—they’ll be ecstatic,” you sniffle, wiping away the dripping tears.

“I thought they would like my last gift to them.” He nods, and holds up a finger. “But tell them that they should still treat every day as if they have just discovered each other.”

“I promise I’ll tell them.” Is it possible they don’t know yet? That it hasn’t happened? You’re certain that Allison would have called if she and Eddie had suddenly gained each other’s marks on any random afternoon. “And…” you look to your mother but have to wipe tears away all over again. “I’ll talk to Emmanuel. To tell him it’s time to finally forgive himself. Because you forgave him a long time ago.”

“I wish for him to enjoy this eternity with us.” Annie adds, nodding happily that you understand and there seems to be no hard feelings.

“I’ll tell him,” you promise again. For all the lifetimes that you knew your mother — whether she was your mother or your friend Annie — you have been able to love her through all of them. It’s oddly gratifying that you’ll be able to send her soulmate to her now. So that she can be loved all the more.

“Thank you, love.” Annie beams at you. “I am so grateful that you came back to visit during my youth. That I know you as the woman you are as well as my baby girl.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you while we were there.” It would have been too much. Too complicated and too risky. But at least you had been able to know your mother for many more years.

“Oh sweetheart, I understand.” Your mother shakes her head and gives you a sad smile. “It would have changed things if I had known. And while I wish that I had not made mistakes, I did. I just hope you can forgive me for them.”

“I don’t think there’s a single person at this table who hasn’t tried a little too hard to protect the people they love.” Too much pressure, spellbinding, and accidental time travel all seem to be varying levels of the same misguided leaps into protection. It seems to be a family trait. “I understand why you did it. I’d do anything to protect JJ, too.”

“Just don’t repeat the mistakes we have made.” Yayo cautions you wisely. “Learn from our follies so you can make all new mistakes.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. The idea of all new mistakes being both daunting and very realistic. “I’m sure we will. That’s parenthood, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” All of the adults chuckle, well aware of their own parental mistakes and your father strokes your back gently. “You are a good mother. You will be for all the children to come.”

“I hope it will be several,” you admit with a grin. “I’m really enjoying motherhood.”

“It will be.” Yayo confirms with a knowing smirk. He has his ways of knowing that his family will be happy and healthy for generations to come.

******

The sun rises right into your bedroom window at Pullman House, bringing you out of your dream gently but without question. The baby monitor is gone from the nightstand on your side of the bed and your husband is nowhere in sight, so he must have gotten up with JJ in the night to make sure you could sleep. Sometimes he’s fussy for blood and sometimes for a bottle, but either way Max is able to take care of him.

They’re sitting together, father and son, at the table in the breakfast room when you come downstairs in your favourite old t-shirt and jeans after taking a steaming hot shower. Any chance to actually take a lengthy shower and feel human again is not something to be undervalued as a new mom, you have found.

JJ squeals happily at the sight of you and you sweep into the room to scoop him up out of his seat. “Hey Bud,” you croon, kissing his little forehead before leaning over to kiss Max as well. “Were you good for Daddy this morning?”

“Say ‘of course I was, Mommy’.” Max answers for him. “Nothing short of perfect, my son.” He winks at you playfully. “Takes after his father.”

“Mmhmm.” Even if you smirk skeptically, it’s full of nothing but love. “So that means he wanted blood last night, then?”

“So much that I’ve been thinking of creating a ‘Little Biters’ line of baby products.” He snorts jokingly. “The mascot of the line will be Cutie.”

“Mommy’s little menace,” you tease, placing another kiss on JJ’s head before moving around the kitchen to pour yourself a bowl of cereal. “I…had a dream last night.” Looking back over your shoulder, you shoot Max a meaningful look. “A family dream.”

“Really?” Max straightens up and his brow furrows slightly. He’s curious at the timing, especially since Emmanuel’s appearance. “What was it about?”

“Yayo had some messages to deliver.” Your grandfather’s mastery of the dramatic never ends. “I played cards with my grandparents and my parents and we talked.”

“Bridge?” Max asks, having spent many hours playing with your mother and grandmother back in the day.

“Of course.” The smirk on your face is because you got very good at the game over the decades. To the point where you were almost better than your abuela. “Dad and I switched out. Apparently he never quite mastered it the way you did.”

“Was this….a visit? Or a dream?” He asks seriously, knowing that stranger things are possible. He’s currently feeding one of them.

“It was a visit.” The distinct, you grant him, is important. “Apparently Yayo still has a little pull where it matters. Don’t I think this will be the last one.”

Max chuckles and shakes his head affectionately. “Of course the old bastard does.” He huffs.

“They told me they’re waiting.” The reality of it feels heavy, weighing on your shoulders like Atlas balancing the world. “They haven’t crossed over yet because they don’t want to leave Emmanuel behind.”

“That’s…sweet.” Max admits, his expression soft and yearning. He has been a little put out that he can’t see his old friend, but you have been enjoying talking to him. “Very sweet.”

"You know the old chestnut about ghosts having unfinished business?" With a bowl of cereal now in hand and enough milk to satisfy you, you sit down at the table with Max and set JJ back down in his own seat. "Mom says Emmanuel has to forgive himself so he can move on."

“Yeah?” Max shakes his head. “How are you going to convince him to do that?” He asks. “Although, telling him that Annie is waiting for him is a good start.”

"Hopefully being able to tell him directly from Mom that she has already forgiven him will give him the permission he feels like he needs to forgive himself." It's your best theory, anyway, and the fact that your friend has been so tortured over what happened for more than a century grieves you in a way you didn't know what possible. "Dad wants to meet him. Wants to wait for him, too. It’s...actually incredibly sweet."

“I told you it was.” He huffs at you playfully, reaching out and taking your hand. “Were you happy to see all of them together? Especially your dad? Since you didn’t get more time with him?”

"It was really nice to see Dad." To see him, to hug him, even if it was only in your dream. Dreams in your family have always been a little more intense anyway – but visitations are step above and beyond. "I think..." You glance up at your soulmate with a little grin. "Maybe we name the next little boy after him?"

“Next little boy?” Max perks up, considering you haven’t really talked about having more kids, and you had cursed him blue while in labor with JJ.

"I'm not saying giving birth was my favorite leisure day or anything." You snort at the idea, letting yourself enjoy a bite of your breakfast while you chuckle silently over the very idea. "But Yayo heavily implied a little insight into the timeline, and the fact that JJ will have at least a couple of siblings at some point."

“Can we start making them now?” Max asks, waggling his brows at you suggestively.

Shoving Max's arm playfully at the table, you make a soft if slightly non-committal noise at him and have another bite of your breakfast. You haven't been intimate since JJ was born and that's the longest you've gone in your entire relationship, but the doctor had been adamant that you needed time to heal and Max had agreed to follow medical advice without hesitation. "Let's see what the doc says when we get back to Newport," you tell him, that beaming grin overtaking your face again. "It took a hundred years to get JJ. Who knows how long we'll have to wait for the next?"

“That’s a hell of an age gap.” Max snorts, imagining JJ as a grandfather and becoming a big brother at the same time.

"It would be," you agree, laughing almost to yourself in silent little huffs. "Hopefully it won't take as long next time."

“Whenever you’re ready.” Max insists. He had even suggested wearing condoms when you were ready to have sex again.

"I love you." As many children as you many or may not have, as many different houses as you may live in, and as many decades or centuries as will ever pass between you -- this is the thing that holds it all together. The fuel that keeps your life going is right here at this table. And you can't help but be caught up in it a little when he slides his hand into yours and smiles. "Come on," you urge, pushing your cereal bowl away and nodding toward the belly of the house. "Come dance with me." It wouldn't be the first time he's twirled you around the dance floor at eight in the morning and you're sure it won't be the last, because the two of you never seem to tire of the waltz.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

VW: @haileymorelikestupid, @miraclesabound @nastiasnow @vabeachazn @oberynslady @grogusmum @kittenlittle24 @8-900 @survivingandenduring @ktmadden86 @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sweetnsaltyclussy @survivingandenduring

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #Bloodsucking Bastards #soulmate au #Eddie BtVS #mysterious inheritance #time travel #witches #vampires

118 notes · View notes

alkalische · 8 months ago

Text

so for the past 4 months i've been brainrotting about theresis on twitter priv because nobody fucking gets him as a character actually.

anyone who says that he isn't very interesting is WRONG. he's actually very fascinating but in a way that's low key and easy to write off

to start off, something that's very important to theresis's characterisation is the fact that he's implied to be apparently very adherent to sarkaz tradition. to 'not fuck around with the dead'- this can be seen in manfred's conversation with the cluster.

it's explicitly expressed here:

except from Ch 11:

"Just one Sarkaz, no army, no servants. He rose from his throne, laid down the authority that he had never truly cared for, and walked here."

i LOVE the description of him here- when he appears in the story for the first time, NOBODY realises until it's too late.

His ONE goal was to PERSONALLY kill amiya and just eliminate the threat- no fanfare, no monologung, straight down to business.

He's not even particularly sneaky it's just that he's just such a regular ass dude that people just don't realise he's there

"laid down the authority he never truly cared for."

In the lore book, it's actually stated that theresis never bothered to declare himself king after the death of theresa, and made no effort in searching for the new sarkaz king.

for power isn't what he was after. his goal wasn't to be king, it was for a way to execute his plans, because the one thing he ACTUALLY cares about is the future of the sarkaz.

also:

i love how the text explicitly says that even his sword is rather unremarkable. he got to this point with his sheer tactical acumen and his pure skill with his sword

something that's really interesting is actually how he's described as a 'sword wielding guard', and theresa a 'royal dressmaker', before theresa was king- and he's even DRESSED like a guard.

He's very specifically still dressed like a sarkaz General, (uniform + red cape, shares this with Manfred) and an utterly unremarkable one.

the lore book also describes Theresis also being eligible to be chosen for the crown, but he willingly gave it up to continue his role as theresa's sword- and it describes him 'severing the horns of the sarkaz that refused to follow the orders of a dressmaker.'

i think that to him, he did care about theresa, but she was his king first and his sister second. what she meant to him wasn't just 'family', it was what she represented, her role.

Which was why despite his adherence to Sarkaz tradition, he was reluctantly willing to to let the confessarius bring her back, if it serves to advance his goals.

The biggest point is that he literally doenst give a FUCK about anything that isn't important to the future of the sarkaz. He's the scale of 'for the greater good' cranked up to the max.

His plan is deeply fucked up, but the core premise of it is that it must be done- and the craziest part of his plan, compared to theresa's, is that it might actually work to remove the shackles of the sarkaz from their oppressors.

genuinely so sick and tired of people reducing him down to 'villan who is hot' or 'generic fantasy bad guy' THATS THE MOST BORING INTERPRETATION you could POSSIBLY have for him.

#arknights #analysis #theresis #theresa #he's also doomed by the narrative #dude this guy is so awesome and cool actually

125 notes · View notes

writerseclipse1 · 6 months ago

Text

four seasons of love [in progress]

"if i didn't love you today, then you would've already been six feet under.”

a joel miller x reader original series by @writerseclipse1

warnings: fluff angst and eventual smut, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of murder and death, double-crossing, guns and other weapons, revenge.

summary: in a world of beauty hidden by the unknown, joel forgets that the most beautiful roses have the sharpest of thorns.

in which: you come into jackson without pure intentions, mind set on leading joel to his ultimate demise, yet something about him changes your objectives. unconsciously, he has you prolonging the time he has left before he faces his biggest threat: abigail anderson.

<<< 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... >>>

■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■

book 1: spring in full bloom

ch. 1: a welcome arrival

ch. 2: help wanted

ch. 3: night out

book 2: in the summer heat

ch. 4: it's getting hot in here

ch. 5: under the sun's rays

ch. 6: the light of the truth

book 3: fall-ing in love

ch. 7: the fruits of your labor

ch. 8: ghosts of our past

ch. 9: the celebration

book 4: cold winter nights

ch. 10: baby, it's cold outside

ch. 11: absolution

ch. 12: cabin fever

epilogue

■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■━■

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: please fill this taglist form if you would like to be updated on the next chapters of this series! i hope u all enjoy the plot i have planned for u all :D

p.s. chapters will be labeled 18+ individually for those who still want to read but without the smut. thank you!

60 notes · View notes

ashleyfilm · 2 months ago

Text

Seeing Clearly - Chapter 11. Joel

Hi Everyone! This is one is a bit different. We're gonna start with Joel's POV and then switch back to our dear Ash's POV. It will be clearly labeled. Enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: cursing, smut, softDom Joel, sub Ash, name calling during sex, light degradation, spanking, unprotected PIV, oral female and male receiving, all consensual - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!OC Plus Size Reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds you after the incident with Ryan. 4.2K

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10

Chapter 11. Joel

Joel’s POV

Goddammit, how did this happen? How did he let this happen? How did he fail him again? He’s his little brother and he needs to take care of him. “Tommy, tell me who did this?” Tommy looks at Joel and sighs. Suddenly, the door opens, and Ellie enters like she’s on a sugar high. “Don’t worry, she took care of it,” Ellie says with a smile after she looks around and sees that Maria is no longer present. Joel’s mouth is a hard line, “What happened?” Ellie, just to be sure says, “Where’s Maria?” Tommy answers this time, “She’s down talking to some town leaders.” Ellie continues, “Okay, so Ash went to talk to Ryan,” Joel slams his hand down on the table and looks at Tommy, “Ryan did this?” Tommy gives him a look. Ellie, “Yeah, so she went into the cell with Ryan, and I don’t know what she said to him, but he looked so scared of her, it was awesome. By the time I got there, she had like clawed his face and then she said something else to him and he was crying, and she bit part of his ear off and spit it In! His! Face! It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” “And that guy Bill, he escorted him out. So, I guess that’s that.”

Before anyone could respond, Joel walks out the front door as he says, “Ellie, stay with Tommy!” He walks as quickly as he can to your apartment, immediately knocking on your door. Impatient, he knocks again, and then the door whips open and you’re there. Your hair is damp from a shower, you’re wearing the sleeveless guns and roses shirt that you found with Joel when you were first here. With jeans that hugged your thighs and ass so nice. He’s speechless, you’re so fucking beautiful. He’s thought that since the day he found you covered in blood. He wanted you from the moment you first busted his balls. It took everything in him not to breakdown the door to your room in him house and fuck you that first night you slept there. He didn’t think he deserved you, he didn’t think you’d ever want him if you knew who he truly was. But now he sees that you’re the same. You did what he would have done, in your way, and he will be grateful to you for how you defended his brother for the rest of his days.

----------------------------------

Ash's POV

“Joel?” you say quietly. He looks at your face in a way you’ve never really seen before. His eyes are at once, beautiful, lusty, warm, and loving. He grabs your face in his big hands and his lips crash into yours. God, his lips are amazing. He pushes you inside the door and kicks it closed from the inside. Pushing you against the little table in your kitchenette, he starts to kiss your neck and palms your plump ass with both his hands. “I love this shirt on you,” Joel says into your neck. “Oh yeah?” you breathe out. “Yeah, you look hot, but I want it off,” Joel says as he pulls it up at the hem. You lift your arms up and let him take it off and throw it to the side. You’re not wearing a bra. He looks entranced by your heavy breasts, then reaches both hands and lifts one to feel the weight in his hands, the other he thumbs your nipple. “Fuck,” he groans, and you smile. “Okay, yours too, fair’s fair,” you sigh and start to take his shirt off as well. And he smiles and laughs, and you see that dimple and you cup your hand on his cheek. God, he’s just the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

For a second you worry, what if he pushes you away after this, what is this? He seems to notice the change in your eyes, and he holds your hand against his cheek, turns his mouth into your palm and kisses you there, never breaking away from your eyes. Then he pulls you close and your breasts touch his chest, and it feels sexual but also comforting and sweet. He smells your hair and holds you for so long, rubbing his hands down your back, while your hands move to his ass and squeeze. Which makes him chuckle. But then he stills, “Thank you, for what you did for Tommy. You…okay?” You sigh and run your nails up and down his lower back lightly, “So, Ellie spilled the beans? I’m sorry, Joel, I didn’t see her follow me and I-” he cut you off. “Don’t apologize, she’s seen worse. The little psycho loved it, I think she might be obsessed with you now, if she wasn’t already.”

“I’m fine, I’ve seen worse too,” you say, and he finally pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wanna tell me about that?” he asks as he pushes your hair behind your ear. And you nuzzle into his touch, “Maybe another time when both our tits aren’t out.” You lean in a put your mouth around his nipple, biting lightly. Then his hands fly to the button on your jeans as he moans, “You’re right, let’s take advantage of this first.” The two of you are giggling now, pulling at each other’s pants until you’re both just in your underwear, your little black ones that your ass has eaten up a little, Joel in little black boxer briefs. His fucking thighs, good lord. Your hands are all over each other and you’re making out like two wild animals. The next you know the back of your legs hit your mattress. Joel breaks your kiss to look at you. He looks like he wants to devour you, and you think you want him to.

“Lay on the bed,” he commands, and you obey laying back in just your underwear. He stands at the end of the bed towering over you. He’s so big, so intimidating, covered in scars but he’s so beautiful and you feel so safe. He gets down on his knees and pulls you to the end of the bed. “You good?” he breathes. “Yeah, I’m so good,” you gasp. He nods, like you gave him the green light and now there’s no holding back. He brings his face into your clothed pussy and inhales, “God, I missed you.” He says looking directly between your legs. He takes his time pulling at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. Instinctually, you start to close your knees but he’s quick to stop you, pushing them apart, “Gotta get a good look at her, sweetheart.” He uses his thumbs to pull your folds apart and look inside. No one has ever inspected you like this, it’s strange but it feels so sensual. “Oh, baby, you’re already so wet.” Joel says in an almost pitying way. “Need my help, pretty girl?” he asks as he looks into your eyes, and you feel his hot breath on your leaking hole. You nod, and of course he demands, “Baby, I need to hear your words. Answer me when I speak to you, you understand?” A shiver runs down your spine and even more slick starts to collect at your entrance. “Yes, I need your help, Joel,” you whine, and he says, looking back at your wet cunt, “You like that, don’t you? You like when I tell you what to do. Interesting, you’re such a pain in my ass out there, but in here, you just want to be my good girl, don’t you?” You bite your lip, and then remember your instructions, “Yes, I want to be your good girl, Joel.” “Good,” he says.

Then he takes his hot, wet, tongue and licks into your folds, groaning, “You taste so good, fuck, baby. I could lay here and just taste you for hours.” “Joel,” you gasp, and he starts to press his tongue as far inside your hole as he can, fucking you with his tongue. He then takes one of your hands and puts it to your breast to squeeze. Your other hand flies into his curls, scratching and rubbing at his scalp. His hands are holding your hips and ass from underneath you, pushing your pussy into his face while he continues working you with his tongue, his perfect nose is nudging your clit. Then he brings his mouth away, and spits down onto your opening. “Joel, fuck,” you gasp. “Mmm hmm,” he grunts and moves his mouth up to your bundle of nerves and sucks hard while he slides two thick fingers inside and almost immediately you say, “Joel, I’m gon-, I’m gonna, fuck, I’m coming!” You scream as your body winds so tight, and you fall completely apart groaning and moaning so loudly. Joel licks up everything you give him, you end up having to pull him off you then he looks up at you breathing heavy and smiling at you, “You came so fast, baby, that was incredible. I can’t believe the sounds I can get you to make, fuck. Jus’ perfect.”

You’re breathing hard while Joel rests his head on your thick thigh and rubs his hand along your belly, your hip and down your leg. You’ve still got your hand in his hair, it’s so incredibly soft. Joel starts to stand up and you sit up. He starts to take your glasses off, but you stop him saying, “No, I need to see.” Then you pull at the waist band of his underwear, “Why are these still on?” He smirks at you and starts to take them off and you lay back propped up on your elbows. He stands back to his full height, completely naked, and what a sight. His cock is at attention, thick, long, big. Not scary big, but like you know you’re gonna feel it the next day big. Your lips part and you stare, “Enjoying the view?” Joel asks with a smirk. You respond immediately, “My god Joel, no wonder you walk around like you do, all confident and bitchy.” He chuckles and then he looks serious again, “Get on your hands and knees.” You do it immediately facing the headboard of your bed.

Joel is basically growling from behind you. You look over your shoulder at him, you know you must look so fucked out. He smiles at you, while stroking his cock. You can’t pull your eyes away. “On second thought, why don’t come over here and get me nice and wet with that smart mouth of yours,” he says with a chuckle as he smacks your ass and then palms the cheek with his hand. You turn around and kneel on the bed eye level with his cock. You take your glasses off and hand them to him smiling. “Don’t need these now.” Joel groans, “Fuck, baby, you are such a good girl in here, so well-behaved. Now, open up.” Joel takes his dick in his hand and brings it to rest on your tongue and starts tapping and you love it. You didn’t think you could get any more wet, but you could feel it on your thick inner thighs. You wrap your mouth around the head to taste him and moan around him. He grabs your hair together at the nape of your neck holding you there, groaning above you. You use your tongue to lick the underside of his dick, putting wet slopy kisses over his cock. You whine as he pulls you off him, “Okay, okay, we can do more of that another time, but I need ‘ta be inside you now. Inside her,” he coos as he brings his hand between your legs and smacks your lips, and you moan.

You move to get back on your hands and knees, but he stops you with a hand on your back and says, “Changed my mind, want you ‘ta ride me, first.” He sits on the bed with his back against the headboard. His dick throbbing and still wet from your mouth. Joel smacks his thigh, “Come on up here, baby.” You crawl up to him and straddle him with your knees on the outside of his thighs. He starts maneuvering you, grabbing your ass and pulling you up so your stomach pushes up against his cock and his tummy. His mouth finds yours and he kisses you passionately, while he lifts you by your hips and lines his cock up with you, hitting your clit first and you shiver. Then he notches at your opening and starts to help you slide all the way down over his cock. “Ooo fuck.” “Damn baby.” You both moan out together at the feeling. “Fuck, she’s so tight, uhnnn perfect fuckin’ cunt.” Joel stumbles over his words. Your eyes are squeezed shut, reveling in the feeling of Joel inside you, finally. “God, I’m so full, oh, it feels so good, Daddy.” Your eyes fly open in shock at what you said and Joel stills. When you look up into his eyes, they look fully black, he notices your fear and starts thrusting up into you hard and says, “How does Daddy feel? Tell me, now.” And you respond holding onto his shoulders for leverage as you start bouncing on him, “So good, Daddy, you’re so big.”

Joel growls and watches your heavy tits bounce in front of his face. Taking one of your breasts into his wet, warm mouth. And now that you’re bouncing on his cock on your own, his hands roam all over your body and moves the hair out of your face. “Wanna see you when you come on my cock, beautiful. Think you can come like this, baby?” You nod, unable to speak, and he doesn’t press you to use words. “Yeah? Yeah, Daddy’s dick making you feel so good, so full you’re gonna come all over me, yeah? Just a slut for Daddy’s cock? Come for me, do it. Come. Now.” And you do, with a slur of moans, fucks, daddys, Joels. He fucks you through it, and you bury your face in his neck. And he pets your hair and holds you close. “So good baby, you did so good for me. But we’re not done, are we?” You shake your head into his shoulder. He lays you back on the bed with your head on the pillow and walks into the kitchen, you barely hear him doing something in there, trying to bring yourself back down to earth.

Next thing you know, Joel is sitting down next to you on the bed pulling you up gently by the arm to sit you up and holds out a glass of water for you. Meanwhile his raging hard on catches your eye. After he helps you gulp down a few sips of water, he sets the glass on your nightstand next to the black wolf. You see him smile shyly when he turns back to you. He notices some water falling down your chin, and his smile widens, he reaches up and wipes the water away and licks his thumb and gives you a sweet kiss as you reach out to touch his length. He groans into your mouth and says, “Oh, you want more already, honey? You sigh, “I want to take care of you, Joel.” He smiles while he says, “Don’t you mean, Daddy?” You giggle, “Shut up…Daddy!” Then you’re both laughing, and he lies you back down. “I do really like it, you callin’ me that. You can do it any time you like, ya hear me?” He says leaning over you. “Yeah, I could tell you liked it,” you say reaching up to rub your fingers through his hair. “You could? Well, you’re the one who said it, Oooh Daddy,” he says imitating you in the throes of passion.

You slap his chest lightly and turn on your side like you’re angry, but he can’t see the little smile on your face. “Baby…” he rubs your arm and kisses your shoulder, “I didn’t mean it, you know how much I fuckin’ love all the things you say and the sounds you make, you drive me fucking crazy with that.” Your shoulders start to shake as you laugh, he pulls you to your back and sees that you’re laughing. “You little brat, you scared me. I thought you were mad, ughhhh. Come here.” He pulls you over his lap with your head down and your ass up. “You know what happens to little brats?” He says tracing his fingers over your plump ass. “What happens, Daddy?” you coo over your shoulder at him. That’s when he smacks your ass hard with his big hand. “Brats get punished, baby,” he says and smacks you again and again. “Oooh, Daddy, fuck,” you moaned. “God, I knew you’d like this, such a bad girl.”

After a few more sharp smacks, Joel teases you with his fingers from behind and it feels like heaven. “Oh my god, Joel,” you gasp as he runs his fingers lightly up your back with his other hand. “Feel good? Tell me. Tell me how it feels,” he says low and rumbly. “It feels different and messy and so, so good. Need more,” you choke out in between whines and groans. “Oh, you need more? Okay, baby. I’ll give you more,” Joel says in this pitying way you just melt for. Joel then moves you back to lay your head on the pillow and he climbs on top of you, making you feel overwhelmed with him, his fucking scent which is magnified by the way your bodies are working together. It’s intoxicating and you feel like you’re in a fever dream. “Give me this leg baby,” he groans as he notches his dick at your center and pushes your leg behind your knee against your chest, folding you. He pushes in so slowly and you feel everything. Every inch, every vein, everything. You’re both moaning and moving your hips to meet each other. You didn’t know anything could ever feel like this. Feel this good and right and perfect. His right hand comes up to cup your cheek and make you look into his eyes. He’s close enough that you can see him and see the warmth and depth in his eyes. It’s like his eyes are trying to communicate with you, tell you he’s here, that he’s not leaving. You want to believe it so badly. But he’s hurt you before. With a hard and deep thrust the worries are taken from your mind and you turn yourself over to him, surrendering completely. Letting him inside, taking the risk. He kisses you then. And now all the words are gone, it’s just your moans, his grunts, his whimpers. You know this is something different, something special not just for you, but for him as well. He takes two fingers and puts them in your mouth, wetting them on your tongue and then his hand moves between your bodies, finding your clit with ease. Rubbing them easily into you, mixing your spit with your slick and you know you’re going to come apart again. He finally speaks but his voice is quiet and soft, “I know, I know, it’s okay, let go.” And you do, completely blind with pleasure. Your muscles contract and everything feels so good you don’t ever want it to stop. Joel continues the movements of his hips and his fingers. When it feels like you can’t go any higher, you’re hit with another wave of pleasure even stronger than the last, screaming Joel’s name into his neck. Joel is quickly coming apart and he asks, “Where? Tell me, where?” You can barely think but you respond, “Inside. Please.” And he releases, rope after warm rope of himself into you like a splash, and you think you might come again from the feeling.

You both breathe and try to come back down to reality. You don’t know how long it takes but he slips out of you, and you feel him dripping from your center. He takes the time to look at what he’s done, he looks mesmerized. He looks back at you, a tear coming out of your eye down the side of your face onto the pillow, he wipes it away and then grabs the glass of water to hand to you. He walks into your bathroom, and you hear the water running, he comes back with a warm washcloth and cleans you up and then himself. Setting the cloth back in the bathroom he comes back to join you. Taking the water and finishing it himself. “Can I hold you?” he asks quietly. You nod and he pulls you into his arms, your face in his neck, legs tangling together, he kisses your forehead as he tells you to rest, and you do.

-------------------------

You wake up what feels like a couple of hours later, cold, alone. Of course he left. Did it even really happen, or had it been some dream to torture you? Suddenly you hear your door opening quietly, you sit up in bed, tears in your eyes and the sheets pulled up to cover your chest. Joel walks in, you can tell by his outline, and you reach for your glasses. He sees you and speaks, “Oh, you’re up. I thought I’d be back before you woke up. Had ‘ta go see Ellie, make sure she was okay. Hey, what’s wrong?” He walks over to you quickly cradling your face in his hands and wiping away your tears. You speak looking away from him, “I thought you left me. I didn’t think you were coming back.” He sighs, that classic Joel sigh but it’s not harsh or exhausted, this one is laced with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Look, I need to say something to you right now,” he sighs again and moves to hold your hands, waiting for you to look him in the eyes. “I know I’ve hurt you; I’ve disappointed you; I’ve pushed you away. I’ve acted like an asshole, well, I am an asshole. But I’ve lost so much, not more than others, but I lost my daughter the night of the outbreak, I hesitated, and I couldn’t save her. I’ve never forgiven myself and it… it tore me apart.” Tears start to form in his big brown eyes, and you hold his hand a little tighter. “It was just her and I, Sarah, she was perfect. And I didn’t think I could live without her. I tried to end it, but I couldn’t. The man I became after that, I was so dead inside, but so angry at the same time. I enjoyed hurting people; I liked causing pain to people I thought deserved it. Then I met Ellie, and she changed me, reminded me of Sarah, gave me a reason to try again. I love that girl and some of the worst things I’ve ever done, I did to save her.” Joel takes a deep breath, forcing himself to keep looking at you. Then, I meet you, and you made me want things I haven’t really wanted since before Sarah was born. But I didn’t think you would want me if you knew who I was. But I’m starting to think I was wrong, that you understand, and you do see me. And I hope you still want me. Because you’re all I want.” Your breath catches in your throat, and he grabs your hands tighter and pulls you closer. “I think about you every minute. I dream about you every night. I want to hold you, protect you, feed you, fuck you, listen to you talk, and show everyone in this town that you belong to me. If that’s what you want. If you can forgive me.”

You slowly start to smile, small just barely but he catches it, and now both of you have a tear streak down your cheek. “Joel, I forgive you. You make me feel safe. Sometimes you even make me forget all the bad shit that’s happened to me. I see how you are with Ellie and Tommy, and me, I guess I know that now. I want to be with you. All of you, every part. I wish I could have met Sarah. I can’t even imagine how much she loved you, Joel but I can feel it.” He kisses you then, slowly, tenderly. He takes a deep breath, and says, “I wish you could have known her; she would have loved you. Ash, baby, I lo-.”

There’s a loud knock at the door and then Ellie’s voice, “JOEL!! ASH!! Open up!” Joel runs to the door as you start to pull your clothes back on. He opens and Ellie’s breathing heavy like she just ran here, “Knew you’d be here.” She wags her eyebrows at both of you. Joel frowns and grunts out, “Ellie, what’s so damn important?” Ellie’s eyes go wide like she just remembered why she came here in the first place, “Oh yeah, uh, Maria’s in labor.” Joel looks at you with eyes of panic, your mouth opens in shock. After a few seconds you collect yourself and pull on your boot finally fully dressed, “Let’s go, Uncle Joel!” He smiles, giddy, so does Ellie. Joel grabs your hand in his and then the three of you run out of your place to go find Maria and Tommy.

Taglist: @somedayheaven@guelyury@elegantduckturtle@indiegirlunited@cheekychaos28 @ghostofzion @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @littlemisspascal @brittmb115

#ashleyfilm #joel tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction #seeing clearly #joel miller plus size reader #joel miller #the last of us

39 notes · View notes

hexpea · 6 months ago

Text

After the tragic passing of your husband by your own hands, you're set to marry his younger brother, Naoya, to maintain the alliance between your clan and the Zenin.

Under the facade of lending your family's influence in exchange for the Zenin strength, your task set by your father, the 24th Kamo clan head, is clear. Use your technique to discreetly weaken the Zenin clan, killing the heirs one-by-one.

But will you even have to when Naoya comes down with a mysterious illness?

*smut warning in some chapter cases, non-consensual and rough in some cases* *doesn't follow the manga/anime, no spoilers* *contains themes of non-con and death, trigger warning* *unplanned pregnancy* *hanahaki disease*

Prologue - Gladioli

Ch. 1 - Black Dahlia

Ch. 2 - Wolfsbane

Ch. 3 - White Lilies

Ch. 4 - Daffodils

Ch. 5 - Hogweed

Ch. 6 - Chrysanthemums

Ch. 7 - Pink Orchids

Ch. 8 - Seedling

Ch. 9 - Red Dahlia

Ch. 10 - Yellow Carnations

Ch. 11 - The Lotus

Ch. 12 - Iris

Ch. 13 - Lavender Roses

Ch. 14 - Petunia

Ch. 15 - Cherry Blossoms

Ch. 16 - Hibiscus

Ch. 17 - Anemone

Ch. 18 - Pink Ginger

Ch. 19 - Gardenias

Ch. 20 - White Hyacinth

Ch. 21 - Geraniums

Ch. 22 - Poppy

Ch. 23 - Pink Primrose

Ch. 24 - Bells of Ireland

Ch. 25 - White Carnations

Ch. 26 - Crocus

Ch. 27 - Sea Lavender

Ch. 28 - Queen Anne's Lace

Ch. 29 - Baby's Breath

Ch. 30 - Blackthorn

Ch. 31 - Tansy

Ch. 32 - Black Rhododendron

Ch. 33 - Forget-Me-Not

Ch. 34 - Red Spider Lilies

Ch. 35 - Azalea

Epilogue - Buttercup

#naoya zenin #zenin naoya #naoya zenin x reader #zenin naoya x reader #naoya zenin x you #zenin naoya x you #naoya zenin x y/n #zenin naoya x y/n #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

45 notes · View notes

envysnest · 5 months ago

Text

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 14/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: A graphic nightmare in the first part, literally the first sentence. Beyond that, this chapter is explicit again! Very light, consensual dom/sub dynamics (if you squint).

—

“Doesn’t that,” said Sephiroth, blood spilling onto your chest, “simply,” he drove Masamune in deeper, “delight you?”

—

You screamed. Everything around you was pitch-black. You thrashed; something was tying you down. You had to get out.

You had to get out.

You had to—

Someone said your name sharply. A hand touched your shoulder. “Hey.”

You gasped for air. You sat up and stared out into the darkness.

Something moved next to you. “What’s wrong?” the voice whispered. “Everything alright?”

Though you still couldn’t see, the room smelled familiar. The hand squeezed your upper arm. The ground— no, you weren’t on the ground. You were in a bed. The covers were twisted around your legs; they pressed upwards on the balls of your feet, straining them, as if you had been running in place. The hand released your arm and touched its knuckles to your heated forehead.

“Where am I?” you choked out.

“You’re home,” Sephiroth whispered. “With me. You’re safe.”

Home.

You tried to roll over, but the sheets caught on your limbs. Slowly, you extracted one arm, then another. You fumbled blindly until you found where the covers had curled around your ankles. Sephiroth’s hands bumped against yours as he helped you.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Hogging the covers.”

“Bad dream?” His voice was bleary from sleep.

You weren’t able to answer before he pulled you into a tight embrace. You went limp in his arms, burrowing against his warm chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured. You heard his voice from far away; it lilted and faded around the edges of your consciousness, all soft little promises against your hair. You closed your eyes and breathed him in.

"You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

—

The morning sunlight beamed directly into your face. You groaned, turning towards the pillow and burying your face into it.

It took a moment to realize you weren’t alone. Warm breath tickled the top of your head. You put a hand over your brow, shielding your eyes from the blazing sun.

Sephiroth dozed next to you. He had tucked himself under the covers; only his plain gray shirt was visible. You weren’t sure when he had put it on. There was a paperback lying, face-down, on his stomach. One hand pinned it in place, squishing the spine flat: The Vampire of Misty Moor. The vampire in question- with his hair slicked back and mouth open in mid-bite— held a swooning, scantily-clad woman in his arms. Sephiroth’s other hand lay just next to your thigh, as if he had tried to reach for you and fallen asleep on the way there. One of his long sleeves rode up; the sunlight caught the fine silver hair dusting his forearm.

You reached out and, as tenderly as you could, brushed your fingertips against his chest; it rose and fell steadily, lifting your fingers with every inhale. His eyes moved slightly behind his eyelids: he was dreaming. What of, you wondered? He looked so peaceful.

You thought about Sephiroth as a small boy, holding that woman’s photo tightly to himself. It had been folded carefully into quarters, over and over again, in so many different places: he must’ve taken her everywhere. Wish You Were Here; postcards; photos; unfolding and re-folding her so many times that the film started lifting at the creases. How young was he when Shinra forced him in front of a camera? Was it before or after they placed a sword in his hand?

What was it like, being in the business of violence? When did he decide he wanted to kill? When had this gentle creature become something so frightening?

Sephiroth inhaled sharply. He turned his head away from you, brow furrowing. You snatched your hand away— did you wake him, he needed his rest, you’ve done nothing but bother him— and he groaned. He turned to look up at the ceiling. Even in profile, his confusion was visible. He frowned and pawed at his eyes.

When he finally looked down at you, where you were lodged firmly against him, he raised both eyebrows, a silent question: Where am I?

“Morning,” you said up at him.

He blinked owlishly at you. Slowly, his expression went from bewildered, to wary, to—

Pleased.

He rolled towards you. The book slid off of him and thunked in the valley between your bodies.

Sephiroth made a surprised little oh. “Sorry,” he whispered. He picked up The Vampire of Misty Moor and set it aside on his nightstand.

You rolled onto your back. “Light reading?” you asked.

Sephiroth rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment as he turned back to you. “Now you know,” he murmured. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Guilty pleasure.”

You placed your hand on his chest, rubbing gentle circles above his heartbeat. Sephiroth reached to your right side, pulling himself on top of you and trapping your hand between your bodies. You smiled up at him. “You’re allowed to have those. You’re only human.”

He smiled back. “Only just,” he replied.

“Did you train this morning?” You winced. “Sorry about waking you up last night.”

“Well…” His mouth twisted, and for a moment, you worried he was about to tell you off. “One, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Maybe not, then. You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Two,” he said, “Yes, I went in.” Sephiroth tilted his head. His bangs whispered against your cheek. “Didn’t I wake you?”

You drummed your fingers on his chest. “Not this time,” you said. “Must’ve slept through the alarm.” How strange, that his life was already becoming so intertwined with yours: the morning alarm situating itself, without fanfare, into your weekend mornings.

Sephiroth settled his weight on his forearms. “You made a little noise in your sleep. It was very endearing.”

You hazily remembered your dreams: something terrifying. Something involving him. You stopped drumming your fingers. “Do I…” You hesitated. “Talk in my sleep?”

“Nothing so coherent.”

Part of you wanted to ask what he had said to you in the middle of the night. Hadn’t you woken up screaming? Every time you tried to reach for the dream, it slipped further and further away. All you remembered was him gathering you to his chest afterwards: his heartbeat, his voice, his smell. Home.

With your free hand, you traced his bottom lip. His lips parted; his eyes flashed with obvious excitement. You smiled.

“I didn’t kiss you yesterday,” you said softly, breath hitching as he kissed your thumb. “Should probably fix that, right?”

“Hm.” He looked up at the ceiling, mouth twisting, like he was deep in thought. After a moment, he shrugged, smirking down at you. “Probably.”

You slid your hand along his jaw, moving to grasp the back of his neck, and Sephiroth’s lips met yours halfway. He was far more gentle than you remembered: a whisper of skin-against-skin, a tender response to an invitation, a soft breath against your tongue. It made you fall open to him all over again. You couldn’t believe this was the same man had you cowering from him just the night before— in your apartment, in his bed— when he already seemed so familiar to you. His thumbs dipped behind your earlobes, pushing gently into that soft, secret flesh, and you sighed with pleasure. He smiled against your mouth. You slipped your thumb underneath his sleeve and rubbed his wrist, making him sigh.

You wanted to see what he’d do, now that you understood what he was capable of. Perhaps he’d do away with the gentle words and longing looks and tentative hands, all that romantic tenderness a disarming guise. But all Sephiroth seemed to want to do was kiss, lazily, in the morning sunlight.

You slid your trapped hand out from under him, hooking your arms under his to embrace him properly, and he broke the kiss long enough to watch you. His eyes were already closed when he leaned in to your lips again: a given thing, that you would kiss him back. It had always been a given thing.

Trailing your foot up his leg opened your body to his, inadvertently pressing yourself against his hipbone: not enough to tease, not even enough to stimulate, but an inviting motion nonetheless. Sephiroth sighed into your mouth. It would be easy enough to push him away, to kiss down the column of his neck and suck bruises into his collarbone until he was a flustered mess, to let him take you however he liked.

Sephiroth broke away, but it wasn’t to undress you. Instead, he leaned away to catch your eye again, smiling when he did. He stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“Look at that face,” he said. “So cute.”

You turned your head, just enough to nuzzle into his palm. He chuckled above you.

“You’re being sweet,” you said. “I…” You swallowed. “I missed you. A lot.”

He scrunched his nose. “Aww. How adorable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so mean.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t be that way.” Sephiroth leaned to one side and, effortlessly, rolled you on top of him. The switch was disorienting; you wobbled, and he pressed one wide palm into the small of your back to steady you. “For your information,” he said, “I missed you, too.”

You rested your cheek against his chest. “You’re forgiven,” you mumbled.

“Don’t forgive me just yet.” He tilted his head and smirked. “I wanted to tell you how good it is to see you up there again.”

You smiled, lifting your head. Ah. Maybe he did understand how to initiate. You brushed his hair out of his face.“Go on.”

The smirk faded. His eyes shifted from yours— just the tiniest bit, a hint of nervousness that he quickly smothered. “About?”

“About…what you want with me? On top of you.”

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. He opened his mouth, shut it. He looked away; his eyes darted back and forth, like he was thinking. He shrugged, or braced: the mechanical action of pulling his shoulders up to his ears. He sighed. He looked back to you, swallowed hard. He smiled nervously. “What should I do here?” he asked.

You shrugged back at him. “Whatever you want.”

“But what do you want?” he asked. He drummed his fingers against your back.

You reached towards his face. “I want you to…” You ran your thumb over his mouth again. When you chewed on your bottom lip, his eyes snapped down to your mouth to watch. “Just…do whatever feels natural.”

He turned his head to leer at you. “Yeah? In what way?”

You laughed and folded your hands under your chin. “No! No no no.” You shook your head slowly. “Mm-mm. I asked you first.”

“I…” Sephiroth grinned at the ceiling. “I’ve dug myself a hole, haven’t I?” he muttered.

You leaned in for a brief peck, hoping he would take it as encouraging. “I want to hear you say it.” You wanted to hear it: what he thought of you, why he was being so affectionate and generous towards you, why he came right home and waited for you to wake up. Why he was already hard underneath you. Why he was being shy.

Sephiroth’s cheeks were a healthy shade of pink; even his mako-bright eyes seemed greener than usual. “I was hoping…” He cleared his throat and looked away. “That maybe you’d like to make love with me again.”

Sweetheart, you thought, unbidden. Nothing to be afraid of. “I’d want that too. Wait,” you added, when Sephiroth was just starting to lean up for another kiss, “Do you want my outfit from Friday? The one I meant as a surprise?”

He leaned back against his pillow, returning your smile. “Sure. Let’s see it.”

You slid off of him and onto your feet. “One second,” you said over your shoulder. “Let me get dressed.”

Sephiroth sighed as you left his bedroom. “I wish I didn’t say yes,” he groaned. “Come back here.”

You rushed to your bag on the couch. “I said give me a second!” you laughed.

“I don’t want to!” he yelled back; you could hear the smile in his voice. “I changed my mind!”

You yanked back the zipper. “Just be patient!”

Sephiroth made a disgruntled aaaagh sound.

At the top of your bag, placed on top of your neatly-folded clothing, was a small postcard: Gongaga, said the script, floating over a tropical beach. You flipped it over: no address, no name, but packed with Sephiroth’s handwriting all the same. Just as you started to read it, you heard aaaagh again: louder, this time, and calibrated to draw your attention.

“There’s a postcard in here,” you called.

“Read it when you get home,” was the reply from the bedroom.

You tucked the postcard further into your bag, right next to your folded clothes. Everything was as crisp and as neatly-categorized as his clothes drawers; he had even folded the tights for you. “So impatient!”

Sephiroth laughed. “I am impatient,” he said. “Of course I’m impatient.” His voice briefly strained as he, presumably, sat up in bed: “I want to see what was worth missing for fifty troopers locked at the bottom of a reactor.”

“Fifty?” You stripped off your sleep shirt and tossed it aside. You picked up your bra and hesitated. Best for him to get the whole picture, surely? You put it on. “Did no one have a key?”

“Power failure,” said Sephiroth. “The doors lock automatically. Roving monsters, mako sickness— you get the idea.”

You pulled on your blouse first. “Why were they all the way down there?”

“That’s classified. Are you done yet?”

You had just taken off your sleep shorts. “Can you wait?” you laughed. You sat on the grey carpet to tug on the tights.

When Sephiroth spoke again, he was near his bedroom door, as if he was seconds away from poking his head out. “Would you like help? I’m very good at helping others.”

“Don’t look!” You wrestled the tights onto your legs.

“I’m not,” he said, but his voice was so clear, you looked over your shoulder to make sure.

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “Go wait in bed!”

Sephiroth huffed. “Yes, Professor.” You saw a flick of silver hair before you heard his footsteps within the bedroom. So he was waiting in the doorway. Cheat. The mattress creaked as Sephiroth settled onto it again.

You stood slowly, fiddling with the waistband, making sure the embroidered hearts sat evenly on your belly. They clashed, ever-so-slightly, with your tattooed roses, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Seeing your legs enveloped in nylon again made your heart race. You thought of his expression last night— the slow realization, that longing in his eyes— and tried to take deep breaths. Safe, you thought. Home.

Sephiroth called out again: “Ready?”

“Almost,” you called back. Your voice was unsteady. “Stay there?”

He grumbled something that sounded like the death of me as you pulled on your skirt. With the fireplace off, you could see yourself in the glass. Your hands shook as you fastened your earrings: tiny, gold-plated hoops, with small rose charms dangling off of them. Store-bought: a guilt-ridden indulgence with your graduate school stipend.

“Now?” Sephiroth asked.

“Almost!” You put the matching necklace on: a small, gold-plated rose that sat just in the divot of your collarbone. Watching your reflection, you fussed with your hair, made sure you looked put together. “Okay,” you sighed, more to yourself than to him. You were sure he’d be able to hear you from the bedroom.

You took a deep breath.

Tightening your fists at your side, you marched yourself over to the bedroom again. Sephiroth was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands.

You stopped some distance from the bed. “Here I am,” you said.

Sephiroth looked up. He started when he saw you, as if you had surprised him. Couldn’t he hear you come in the room?

Which meant…

His eyes traveled down your neck, across your blouse, over your skirt, until, finally, they landed on the tights. He sucked in a small breath.

“No makeup, but…” You felt strange standing in place, so you did a slow turn for him. “You get the idea.”

Sephiroth whistled and shook his head. “Fifty troopers were not worth missing this.”

“What would—” You cleared your throat. “What would be the…um. Ideal number of missing troopers?”

“Fifty-one,” said Sephiroth immediately. His eyes were fixed on your legs, constantly moving up and down, like he was trying to process what he was seeing. You watched his fist tighten around the comforter.

“Don’t say that,” you sighed, slouching. “I feel bad for them.”

“Don’t feel bad. It was a full recovery.” He stood up from the bed. “Maybe next time they’ll position men at the generators.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you waited. Sephiroth put his hands in his sweatpant pockets as he admired you. When the attention became too much, you looked away, at the mirror: at yourself.

Steeling yourself, you said, “I bought them for you.”

“For me?” His eyes were wide as he looked up at you. “Why?”

You were done lying to yourself. You turned back to him. “Because I wanted you to like them.” You hesitated. “Wanted you to…like how I looked in them.”

His lips parted. You were reminded, not for the first time, of his expression at the holiday party, with the honeybee charm in-hand: plain disbelief. Wonder.

“I…” You backed up and held out your arms. It took all your resolve to keep your voice steady. “I want you to touch me. Like you wanted to last night.”

“Are you sure?”

You bit your lip and looked down at the carpet. “Maybe just… go slow. And don’t stand behind me,” you added. “It makes me nervous.”

“I’ll stay in front of you,” he said. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded at the floor, for lack of something else to do. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself.

His bare feet stepped into your periphery. You stood there, staring at them, until you felt his fingers brush against the sides of your neck. You sighed and closed your eyes.

His fingers drifted up your neck until he had cupped your jaw in both hands, gently tilting it back. He traced two fingers down the center of your throat, all the way down to the divot of your collarbone. You listened to his breathing: in, out. In, out. You found yourself lulled by it, like you were listening to the ocean waves, and you swayed towards him a little. It was so easy to lose yourself in him, and wasn’t that what you came here for? In, out. He traced up your neck again— and then his other hand dipped just past your blouse collar, stroked your bare shoulder under the hem, and you made a soft noise of pleasure. In, out.

Sephiroth leaned down and, ever-so-gently, kissed your neck. You startled. He mouthed at your pulse for a moment, and you melted into it, sagging against that warm hand under your blouse collar.

He pulled away and hesitated. “You can touch me too, you know.” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” You opened your eyes. You could see the top of his bedroom window over his hunched shoulder: that faint sliver of white light over an expanse of grey shirt and laundry detergent and warmth. “Sorry.”

Sephiroth smiled against your pulse. You cupped your hand around his bicep. A shame about the shirt: you wanted, with violent desire, to feel his skin on yours again. You watched your own hand with wonder, trailed your fingers up and down his arm. It felt like a small miracle, the way you liked him. Your other hand squeezed the small of his waist; he sighed sweetly against your skin and squeezed your waist in return.

And then you heard a familiar voice at your neck: your own.

“‘Sorry,’” he said in your voice. “You’re so cute.” He did it again: “‘Sorry.’”

You wrinkled your nose. “Ugh!” you said at the ceiling. “Seph! Don’t do that here.”

“And why not?” He pulled you closer, resumed kissing your neck. “It’s adorable.”

You threaded your fingers through his soft hair. “Glad my guilt is adorable,” you huffed against his shoulder.

“Didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “Just teasing.”

“I know.” You rubbed the small of his back, closing your eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taught you. How to do it, I mean.”

“Mm. Too late.” He nipped your throat. You tilted your head back, giving him room to kiss down your neck and to the collar of your blouse. You drifted your fingers to his sweatpants. When you pulled, inquisitively, at his waistband, he startled. Was he still shy of you? You slid your hands up and under his shirt instead.

Sephiroth hummed with pleasure. “Cold hands.”

You smiled and nuzzled into his shoulder. “I think you just run warm,” you replied.

He let go of your waist. His hands wrapped around yours, guiding them to the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back just enough to give you a long look.

You took a deep breath, and— with his help— you pulled his shirt up and over his head. He had to let go of your hands to pull his hair through, scrunching his nose and shaking his head, like a dog, to free himself from the collar. He tossed his shirt onto the bed behind him.

You began to remove your blouse by yourself, but he pushed your hands away. “Arms,” he said, and you obediently held your arms straight over your head. It felt good to let him undress you: he did it with the utmost tenderness, rolling your blouse up as it traveled up your body, past your shoulders, up and over your head. He let it drop at your feet.

You were just about to undo your bra when he made a noise and reached for—

The necklace. He was looking at the necklace, fiddling with the chain at your breastbone. Hadn’t he seen it before, when you were clothed? Why was he slowing down?

“Pretty,” he said. He had used that word in the elevator, so long ago. “Did you make this?”

“Not this set.” You touched the backs of your earrings. “Bought it a couple years ago. On sale,” you added, with not a small amount of guilt. “With gil I didn’t have.”

He brushed his thumb against your earlobe. “Why don’t you wear your handmade jewelry here more often?”

“Because it—” Because it looks childish. It looks unfinished. It looks unsophisticated. “It doesn’t match?”

Sephiroth tilted his head. “I don’t—” He let go of your earring, but not before gently nudging the flower charm, causing it to swing back and forth. “I’m not about to tell you what to wear, but it would—”

He cleared his throat; discomfort flitted across his face.

You raised your eyebrows. “It would…?”

“—look—” Sephiroth cleared his throat again and looked away. “—fetching on you, with nothing else on.”

You grinned. You took his hand in both of yours. “I’ll wear some next time.”

He barely acknowledged you. His bangs hid his expression from view, but he coughed quietly, and when you brushed past him, you felt him trembling. Be gentle, you reminded yourself. Remember to be gentle.

You sat down at the edge of the bed. He looked behind himself, at your hands clasped tightly over his, and you gave him a little tug. You tried to sound encouraging: “C’mere, Seph. It’s okay. Keep touching me.”

Sephiroth turned, fully, to face you. You released his hand and spread your legs just the tiniest bit, just enough to make him look down at your skirt. He put both hands on your knees. His sweatpants were thin; you could see his erection straining underneath. You sighed, feeling warm and affectionate, and you rested your hands over his. When he didn’t say anything— when he continued to stare at your skirt with wide eyes and parted lips— you leaned up and kissed his cheek. He sighed and leaned into it. “You okay?” you asked.

“I am—” He raised his eyebrows at your skirt and nodded. “—very okay.”

“Not too fast, right?”

Sephiroth chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t see how excited I am?”

“I can,” you said, “but I wanna make sure.”

You reached behind you and unhooked your bra. At the sound of the clasp, he looked up at your chest. The sunlight had made his pupils into thin little slits, barely visible against the mako-green. When you tossed your bra aside, the pupils grew wide.

Touch me, strange boy, you thought. You guided his warm palms to your breasts. Touch me.

The feeling seemed to snap Sephiroth out of whatever torpor he was in. His eyes traveled up to your face, looking up into your own eyes with wonder, and he brushed his thumbs against your nipples. It was just enough pressure to tease, and you arched your back into his touch.

You braced your palms against the comforter behind you. “More?” you asked.

“I can do more,” Sephiroth breathed, and he leaned down to kiss you again. His hands opened, kneading and caressing your breasts. You squeaked into his mouth, and he squeezed harder—

You grabbed his hands. “Gentle,” you gasped, and he relaxed his hands again, kissing you chastely on the lips.

“Sorry,” he said. “I forget myself.”

“Yeah? Distracted by something?”

He growled under his breath. “My little tease.”

“No teasing now,” you whispered back, and you reached for the zipper of your skirt. “I’m all yours.”

His hands met yours at the zipper, and the two of you worked your skirt off and to the floor. Sephiroth fell to his knees at your feet. You parted your legs invitingly, and he shuffled forward—

Only to lift one of your legs to his face instead. He kissed the inside of your knee with an open mouth, eyes sliding shut. He let out a satisfied hum, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric at your calf.

Oh, you thought, dizzy with pleasure and disbelief. He did like them.

He loved them.

Suddenly, all that gil seemed decidedly worth it, especially when he turned his head and kissed your clothed thigh. You leaned back on your hands, watched his hands trail over the fabric to where they opened up, halfway up your inner thighs. Sephiroth ran a thumb over the hem there, and then, sighing, he slid his fingers between your skin and the fabric. You saw the outline of his fingers underneath the cloth.

You stroked his hair. “How’d I do?” you asked quietly.

He removed his fingers; you missed them until he leaned in and mouthed at the hem instead, just at the intersection of fabric and flesh. “It’s like you read my mind,” he whispered.

Relief flooded through you. You couldn’t do much right, but this? This, you could do for him: letting him discover what it was like to be wanted by someone else, without expecting anything in return. As you stroked his hair, he worried the hem between his teeth, his eyes closed in bliss.

“What do you like about them?” you asked.

“How they feel,” he said, without hesitation. He opened his eyes. His pupils were fully dilated now, all full and wanting. You bit your lip, and he chuckled, leaning back on his heels to look up at you.

“I like how you look in them,” he continued, his fingers drifting tenderly up and down your thighs, “But something about how they feel…mm.” He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. “Perfect,” he said to himself, and you didn’t know what, precisely, he was referring to.

You cleared your throat. “I…tried to get nice ones—”

“For me?”

“—yeah, for you, like...I felt like the ones I had last time weren’t nice enough—”

“Oh.” Sephiroth’s face fell. He reached out a hand. “Hey—”

“No,” you said firmly, “Let me finish.”

He closed his mouth, and you pushed forward: “You seemed to— to really like them, and I…wanted to treat you to the good stuff, I guess. I— I know what it feels like to be— feel like, left out of things. Like I got…” Your voice became small. “Left behind. By everyone else. So I wanted... you know. To— to give you some, um.” You gestured helplessly. “I want you to…feel wanted. Because you are, and you deserve it.”

Sephiroth blinked owlishly up at you. He parted his lips, and for a moment, you thought he was going to reply. He looked down and leaned back on his heels instead, his hands trailing absentmindedly down your thighs, towards your knees.

“That’s very sweet of you,” he said to the floor.

“It’s not sweet,” you said insistently. “It’s true.” You stumbled over your words when he looked up again. “I— you should—” You returned your hands to the comforter behind you, squeezing the fabric hard, like you were trying to hold on. “I know you haven’t tried any of this before, and it’s…I want to give you everything you missed out on, because you—” You couldn’t meet his eyes; you focused on his left ear instead, the shell of it just visible beyond his silver hair. “It’s like you taught me I could— feel beautiful again, doing all this. I want…you to feel the same, because—I—I just…do.”

He stared at you. There was more you wanted to say— the stories pressed against your tongue, crowding there, I was raped, I don’t know how many times, I lost count, sometimes I don’t think it ever happened, maybe that’s just what sex is, I get the feeling I’m not human, I only feel human with you, it feels like I’m almost me again— but you squeezed the comforter and looked at his ear and said nothing.

Sephiroth shifted backwards. His hands trailed down your calves, where they lingered around your ankle. You thought he might be pulling away from you— too much, always too much— until he cupped one of your feet in both hands.

He bowed his head and kissed the top of your foot, right up against the nylon. Your breath caught.

He drifted to your other foot and kissed that one, too.

You watched, helpless, as he trailed kisses up your shin. He kissed all the way up your knees, all the way up to your thighs, and when the tights ended— when they opened to reveal you to him— he switched sides, kissing from your ankle all the way up to your thigh again. You wrung your hands in your lap.

“You are really special.” He said it so softly, pressed up against your leg. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I—I hope that made sense.”

“I understood what you were getting at, yes.” He closed his eyes, mouth still against the nylon. “I feel the same,” he whispered, with a fondness that felt like glass around the edges, and it made your chest ache.

“God, I…” You laughed again, leaning back on your hands. “I was— so nervous—”

“Why?” He kissed up your thigh again.

“Just— didn’t think you’d— wanna see me again.”

He opened his eyes and smirked up at you. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just, like—” You brushed his bangs out of his face so you could see him properly. “—the leading me on thing—on Wednesday. I thought you were making fun of me.”

Sephiroth hummed. “Maybe I just wanted to save you for this weekend.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have visited me,” you fired back. “You’re so— distracting.”

He held your eyes as he leaned his cheek against your thigh. With one finger, he stroked your wet cunt, top to bottom. You gasped and canted your hips— only for him to withdraw his finger and hold it just out of reach.

“Ah,” he said, “So you do want me.”

“So bad.” You tried to spread your legs further, but you couldn’t stretch that far. What did he say last weekend— don’t ask, just tell me what you want? You licked your lips nervously. “Thought about your mouth on me,” you said quietly.

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed with excitement. “I thought of that all week,” he breathed. “Thought about it yesterday.”

“Want you to do it again,” you whispered. The admission felt good.

“You were my favorite daydream.” He kissed up your inner thighs: first one, then the other. You marveled at the sensation of his lips through the nylon, the thrill of that warm flesh meeting yours where the fabric gave way near your hip joints. Warm kisses, too: sweet, fluttering, worshipping, nervous things. “Every second brought me closer to you.”

“I wanted you with me,” you whispered. “I put your postcards by my bed.”

“Mm.” He swiped his tongue along the gap in the tights, making you shiver. “Did you?”

“I want to think about you when I go to sleep.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have told him this— perhaps you ought to have played it cool, be like the women in the romance novels. “You make me feel—”

You gasped when he leaned in and nuzzled your pussy. He mouthed at the wetness by your entrance.

“Go on,” he whispered, and you felt the words rumble against you.

“You make me feel beautiful.” Your voice cracked on the word beautiful. “I— you—”

“You are beautiful.” He traced his tongue up and down your vulva. With every pass, the tip of his tongue just whispered over your clit, before it was over too soon, and he licked his way back down. “Can’t get enough of you,” he sighed.

You groaned with frustration and looked up at the ceiling when he did it again. “You’re teasing me,” you whispered.

“Should I make you wait?” He looked up at you, eyes bright and focused and alive under his heavy lids. “Tease you like you tease me?”

“Seph—”

Sephiroth brushed his lips against your clit: the tenderest of kisses, a whisper of tongue. You shivered. He nuzzled your folds again, breath ghosting over your skin, like he was holding himself back. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Keep talking to me,” you whispered down to him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You taste so good,” he breathed. You felt his middle finger prod gently at your entrance. You canted your hips towards him, savored his satisfied groan as his finger sank in to the knuckle. “You feel even better. Better than I could’ve imagined.”

You rocked your hips, undulating them with the rhythm of his thrusting finger. “Did you?” you asked. “Imagine this?”

He kissed your clit again with a soft, wet smack. “You have no idea.” He opened his eyes and looked up at you, eyes wide and wondering. “Did you?” he asked, and the question was soft. Shy.

You let out a nervous laugh. “Yes,” you gasped. “I didn’t— I didn’t think you’d—”

Sephiroth crooked his finger. “Deeper,” you grit out, and he went deeper still, down to the knuckle again. The next thrust left you breathless. You arched your back to chase after the dizzying pleasure his hands offered.

“Didn’t think I’d what?” His voice was rough, and his face was so sweet, so open, that it made you feel shy of him.

You closed your eyes. “Feel the same,” you whispered. “Didn’t think you liked me.”

“You have no clue how much I like you.” When you opened your eyes, he was lining up another finger. His other hand lifted your trembling leg and planted your foot against his shoulder. “I thought, someone like that must be taken,” he said. Both of you watched as he sunk in two fingers this time. “Intelligent. Kind.” He worked you open slowly, gently. “Aren’t I lucky?” He touched you like you— mattered. Like he wanted you to take your time and savor everything.

“Not fair, Seph.” You carded your fingers through his hair. He leaned into your palm. “You’re being so nice, and I— I can’t even compliment back?”

“Go rough,” Sephiroth said against your inner thigh. “I can take it.”

“Don’t wanna be rough.” You watched, hypnotized, as he traced the tender divot between leg and thigh with his tongue. You tilted your head back, rolling your hips, riding his fingers. “Wanna be good to you. Wanna be yours.”

He sighed your name in frustration. “You still don’t get it.” Sephiroth looked back up at you, still thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “I’m selfish,” he breathed. “You will always be mine.”

A little much, maybe, but you were too far gone to correct him. You couldn’t stop smiling at how eager you both were. “Kiss me again.” You shook your head when Sephiroth withdrew his fingers and made to stand. “Ah-ah. No.” You pressed your heel against his shoulder, coaxing him back down. “Bad boy. I didn’t mean my mouth.”

He shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Where did you come from?” he asked, sounding dreamy and far-away.

You grinned and looked away. “Too much?” you asked.

“Not enough,” he said, and then he leaned forward and took you into his mouth again, and everything became warm and soft and tender and more and too much. Your other foot was in reach of his dick, where it stood proudly against his sweatpants. Inquisitively, you nudged it with your toes. He moaned against your clit; his hips thrust upwards, trying to rub his cock against your foot, only to miss. You pressed the ball of your foot into him, rubbing gently. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. It was surprising that he liked being on his knees for you— for you.

“Seph,” you sighed. “So sweet.”

His lips quirked upwards into a smile. “Mm-hmmm.”

You pressed down on his cock again. Sephiroth made a quiet noise against you— ahh, open-mouthed, brows furrowed— and you drew your foot over his length. His fingers stuttered. When you curled your toes against the head of his dick, he thrust again, and this time, his cock bent against the arch of your foot. He made that sound again— ahh-haaah— and rolled his hips, his entire body leaning into your touch. His tongue curled in that way you liked, and you arched your back and said his name, and he curled his tongue again, laughing gently as he did.

Oh, you definitely had it bad for him. You wanted to stay here, forever, just teasing him like this. Sephiroth opened his eyes and looked up at you, all wide eyes and a smug smile and a clever tongue, and you smiled back at him. What would it feel like for him to have you on top? You were hesitant to push him too far: to shred the edges of his boundaries, like peeling film from its paper backing.

You said, “I have a suggestion.”

Sephiroth looked up from between your legs. “Shoot.”

“So…” You shifted. “About the, um— ‘being on top of you’ part.”

“I’m listening.” He rested his cheek on your thigh, looked up at you from under his lashes. His fingers slowed inside of you.

“Do you…” You took your foot off of his erection. How to ask this? Suddenly, you felt self-conscious all over again, and you looked away from him, at the nightstand to his right. Your nightstand. “Do you maybe want to— uh. Lie down, while— while I—?”

The second half of the sentence came out as one garbled phrase: “Whileisitonyourface?”

Sephiroth blinked at you, his face falling. For a second, you weren’t even sure if he had heard you at all. When he removed his fingers from you, you felt shame, burning hot, creep up the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

That… was not the answer you expected. “Sorry,” you said, and you waved your hands. “It’s—” You giggled nervously. “Sorry—”

“No,” he said, holding up his free hand. “Don’t apologize, I misheard you. Can you repeat that?”

You covered your face and groaned. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

He reached for your face, but you stubbornly shook your head and turned away. “How am I going to know what you want if you don’t tell me?” he laughed—

No, not laughed. Giggled. The bastard. You groaned into your hands: “Mmnh.”

“Go on,” he wheedled.

You yelled into your hands: “I want to sit on your face!”

“That’s…” He laughed again. “What I thought you said.” His voice dipped into something tender, soft: “Really? You’d like that?”

“I…” You looked at him through your fingers, at his raised eyebrows and hopeful smile. “Yes?”

He planted a wet kiss on your inner thigh. “Nothing I’d like better.”

That was…easier than you thought it would be. He stood up between your legs.

“Wait,” you said up at him, “Don’t you want to…are you sure?”

Sephiroth was already climbing onto the bed beside you. “It seems self-explanatory.”

“But—”

“But what?” He moved his gray shirt and lied back against the mattress. Your stomach turned. What if you hurt him by sitting on him? You could see the headlines now: FIRST-CLASS SOLDIER’S NOSE BROKEN— IS IT AN EPIDEMIC?

“I’m sorry,” you gasped.

“Why?” he laughed. He folded his hands in his lap, smiling innocently up at you. “Go on. Sit. I’m waiting.”

“At least…” You swallowed and gestured to the pillows. “At least put something behind your— behind your head— are you sure?” you added, voice cracking on sure.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. He mimicked your voice: “Are you sure?” And, when you glared at him: “Couldn’t resist. Yes, I’m sure.”

You inched over to him. “Move your hair, I don’t want to— yank it, or— hurt you.”

He huffed with impatience, but he sat up to sweep his hair to the side, out of your way. “You can’t hurt me,” he said.

Yes, you thought, with terrible clarity. I can.

You helped him put a pillow underneath his head. When you swung your knees over his neck— resisting the horrible thought of your knee pressing into his windpipe, at that gentle face becoming angry and those broad arms hurling you across the room— he smiled up at you. In the next instant, he was under you, and you couldn’t quite see his expression anymore.

You stared at the plain wall in front of you. Sephiroth’s hands steadied you at your waist.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, voice rough.

“I don’t— don’t let me hurt you—” You braced your hands on the headboard. “Should we have a hand signal, for if you— or—” You yelped when Sephiroth’s hands dug into your hips.

“Get down here,” he growled, and he pulled you down onto his waiting mouth. You gasped, sinking gratefully onto his lips, his tongue.

You tried, weakly, to protest: “But—”

He hooked his index finger under your waistband and snapped it against your skin. You yelped. Something rumbled against you: something low and lilting, a familiar sound.

“Are you laughing at me down there?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Sephiroth flicked his tongue deftly against your clit. You started. His hands became gentle across your lower back. He did it again, and you rolled your hips into it, despite yourself. He rested his elbows against your thighs.

You traced your fingers down his arms. Some of the track marks you had seen last week were gone, but new marks had sprouted up in their place, like weeds. A track mark, looking angry and fresh, sat in the middle of a purplish-yellow bruise. Possessiveness flared in you again. What phlebotomist had been rough with him? You touched the bruise as tenderly as you could. Was it Sully? Was it some other nameless cog in the machine, one you didn’t even have the security clearance to meet? They had no clue how lucky they were to touch this man.

How dare they?

“Mine,” you growled.

Sephiroth gasped against you in response. This was not the time to ask about the bruises— not the time to think rationally about anything— and you let your hands drift away. He was so strong; you didn’t think you’d ever get over the size of his arms, his shoulders. You wanted to tell him this, but then you remembered how shy and closed-off he became last night (“I’m not much of a compliments person,”), so you settled for carding your fingers slowly through his hair.

Both of his hands slid to your front. They traveled up the Lifestream tattoo, up towards your breasts. He squeezed them again, gently this time; you sighed. His thumbs rubbed your nipples in slow, reverent circles. You loved the feeling of his hands exploring your skin. Not for the first time, you wanted to shake yourself: his touch had brought you nothing but pleasure. Why had you ever been afraid of him?

I’m afraid of this, said a voice in the back of your mind. Maybe you’d always be afraid of this; afraid of him. Maybe that was meant to be the fun part: the thrill, like sinking into a pool full of sharks, like running barefoot through the woods. Danger, when he was so near you; trust, when he was under you. The way the danger and the trust sank into each other, slow and sweet and undeniably human, like blood cells drifting to the bottom of a tube.

You leaned back and balanced your weight on your hands, presenting more of your body to him. You pushed his head up, listening to his desperate growl below you as he chased you with his mouth. The new angle forced him to lap at your clit instead. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place. Your arms trembled.

When he circled the point of his tongue around your clit, just teasing you, you gripped the sheets on either side of his body and made an involuntary moan: a real one, a sound of pleasure you didn’t even know was hiding somewhere inside of you. Sephiroth laughed, the sound a huff of air against your skin.

“Just like that,” you sighed. “So good.”

He leaned up and kissed your clit with slow, aching tenderness. “Good,” he murmured, barely able to move his lips from your wet heat.

You rolled your hips forward, forcing his head back onto the pillow, and he laughed again. "Keep going," you breathed. His tongue flicked against your clit; he groped at your thighs, weighing them in his hands, bringing you impossibly closer.

You looked over your shoulder, where his erection was flagging inside his sweatpants. He must want to be touched, you thought, wincing. He’s been so good. You reached behind you and tenderly brushed your fingers against his cock. He moaned under you. It was a good thing that he couldn’t see your face: how you loved seeing him fall apart for you, how you wanted to hold him this close forever.

“I know,” you whispered. “Good boy.”

Sephiroth gently took your wrist. You froze; did you do something wrong? But no, he merely guided your hand to his hair, set your palm firmly against his head, and left it there. You ran your fingers through his hair, rocking your hips gently against his mouth. His left hand disappeared from your thigh, and you were left to wonder where it had gone until Sephiroth sighed with relief, and you heard the wet sounds of him stroking himself.

Your breath caught. You turned your head to watch. Sephiroth had shoved the waistband just enough to free his cock, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on himself. (Or as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you.) He pumped his dick into his fist: how torturously slow he went with himself. You rested your chin on your shoulder. “That feel good?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm.” The satisfied rumble of his voice against you made you shudder. It was hard to see his expression from this angle, but he sounded…happy. As if he wanted nothing more than to be under you.

“My fast learner,” you whispered down to him.

His right arm tightened around your thigh. You could feel where his nose pressed against your skin. “Mm-hmm.”

You crossed your arms against the headboard and leaned against them. You rocked your hips against Sephiroth’s mouth in time with his fist, listening to the cadence of his breaths as you did. In, out— shaky now, and against your cunt. When you focused on his breathing— in, out, in-in-in, outttt, innn— pleasure and arousal crept through your belly, your chest: their warm, broad hands touching you all over. You thought about riding Sephiroth's cock, and how good that had felt inside of you; you thought of his laugh, his smile— and somewhere in all of these beautiful, pleasant, tender thoughts, you felt— good. Safe.

“Keep going,” you said.

“Mm.” His hand sped up on his dick. You turned your head to watch him again. His fist was looser than you expected, looser than how you had touched him. He twisted his wrist near the head: a deft flick that had precome dripping generously from him. You heard him moan, and he lifted his hips into his fist, just as he flicked his tongue against you in a way that had you seeing stars. You pressed your forehead to your crossed arms, rocking hard into his mouth.

“There!” you gasped. “Don’t stop— fuck— Seph, please--”

He moaned desperately against your cunt, his whole body shuddering. You thought you might be hurting him until you felt his come hit your back. His nails dug into your waist, his hips canting behind you, making soft, pleading little noises through his orgasm. His release trickled down your fevered spine, and— you shivered with pleasure— directly onto the tights, marking them— you— permanently as his.

“Seph, you’re—” Your nails scrabbled against the wall as you gripped his hair in your other hand. “You’re so good, I—”

His left hand, still covered in come, returned to your thigh. Wetness smeared over the nylon as he groped your legs in earnest. His come was still warm. There was no disgust this time, only a desperate, aching need to have it inside of you, instead.

You fucked his mouth with desperate thrusts— certain, now, that you were being rough with him, but his hands squeezed your ass, pinning you in place on his tongue, he wanted you to be rough—

And there, as obvious as the ocean drawing back from the shore: you were going to come, too, and every curl of his tongue brought you closer. “Seph,” you slurred against your forearms. “Almost—”

He hummed, sounding satisfied. You bucked against his mouth— too much too much too much, time splitting open and stretching, filthy and full of pleasure— and you lost his name to a sigh when, finally, your orgasm crashed into you, your muscles tensed, and warmth flooded through your body. Your thrusts became uneven. You shivered with relief.

Sephiroth’s tongue slowed, becoming lazy, until finally, he withdrew it. When you came back to yourself, he was kissing your clit, over and over, humming with satisfaction.

“Ssph—” Your voice was high and whiny. You cleared your throat and tried again: “Seph, let me get off of you—”

You braced against the headboard. You leaned forward, lifting your cunt from his mouth.

“Wait,” he gasped, and you did. Your thighs trembled from holding yourself above his head, but he insistently pushed you down to sit on his collarbone. You could see his eyes again, the determined furrow of his brow. Something batted against your back: it was his gray shirt, he was trying to clean you with his shirt.

You pushed it away. “No! Seph— you’ll ruin your shirt—”

“I have a washing machine.” Sephiroth’s voice was hoarse. He returned the shirt to your back, wiping his come off of you. “It’s the least I could do.”

The orgasm hadn’t even waned; you still felt little aftershocks shuddering through your muscles. “What are you talking about?” you panted. “You just got me off.”

Sephiroth tensed. His eyes flicked over your thigh. You followed his gaze; he was looking at where his wet hand had pawed against you. “I finished too quickly,” he replied, voice all cold and strange. “I’ve been working on it.”

His using the shirt filled you with a wave of sadness. He had been teased as a trainee at least once: freak, at least, was the word Samuel had used. Freak. You thought about his meager sexual experience, whether the boys he kissed had made fun of him, too.

You reached back and took his wrist. Underneath you, Sephiroth winced, shoulders going up a little.

“Don’t, Seph,” you said to him, as tenderly as you could manage. “I’m so glad it felt that good. Nothing to feel embarrassed about.”

He wouldn’t look you in the eye. “I didn’t—” He huffed.

“I promise. We’ll put a towel down next time. How’s that?” Slowly, you released his wrist. Sephiroth didn’t do anything at first, holding the shirt up to your back with that frightened expression, so you rose to your knees and dismounted from him. With you gone, he dropped the shirt and looked out of the window, clearing his throat. His face was bright red. His sweatpants and underwear had been hastily shoved down at some point; he tucked himself back into his clothes.

You stepped off the bed to peel off the tights. “How did it feel?”

“Amazing,” he breathed, and his body melted a little into the mattress. He turned to look up at you when you climbed back onto the bed with him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You laid down beside him, but his arm went up automatically to pull you closer. He coaxed your head onto his chest.

You closed your eyes and snuggled into him. “Thanks for being with me,” you murmured.

He lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed your fingertips. “My pleasure,” he said, and his voice was full of relief. You let the hand fall onto his chest, where he held it tightly against his skin.

Sweetheart, you thought again. Mine.

“Nylon’s your thing, huh?” You whispered the words into his ribs. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I’m not sure,” he whispered back. “I always thought it would feel nice.” He moved his hand to your hair, stroked it fondly. “I’m glad I was right.”

“Did you—?” You shook your head. “Never mind.”

“Go ahead.”

You looked down and traced little circles on his chest. “I was wondering if it was— like, a reciprocal thing. Like if you wanted to wear them.”

“Huh.” His eyes scanned the ceiling. He shrugged. “I’ve never really thought of that.” His eyes flicked down to yours, and he, finally, smiled. “You’re a tough act to follow.”

You giggled. “Thanks.” You added, quietly: “I’d like you in anything. Just— for the record.”

Sephiroth chuckled. “If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

A helicopter circled lazily over Midgar. You watched it crawl across the sky for several minutes. Finally, somewhere over Sector Three, it turned to the side, and you caught its logo: it was a news helicopter, potentially a drone. They were filming the plate from above. You imagined it was for a weather segment, potentially a pleasant bumper for a commercial break.

You furrowed your brow and looked up at Sephiroth. He had closed his eyes and looked to be drifting off again. You took a deep breath, then asked, “Does this feel good to you, still? Are we going too fast?”

He opened his eyes and looked down at you. “Feels fine to me. Why?” He tilted his head, studying your face with such tenderness that you felt yourself blush. “Does something feel wrong?”

“No!” you blurted. Sephiroth’s lips twitched up. You cleared your throat. “I mean— I don’t— don’t want to push you, or— make you uncomfortable. You know?”

His smile widened. “Mm.” He stroked your hair again. “I know how to say no.”

“I know you know—” You waved your hand. “I just mean— you can. And I don’t just want you to say no,” you added. “I want you to say yes. You’re not—”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “I’m not...?”

“I mean. I like you.” You looked away from him. “I really like you. I care about you. And I— I don’t want you to feel like you have to, you know…have to say all those nice things and do stuff just to—just to make me—” You sighed. “—feel better, I don’t know.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

You did. Sephiroth held up one hand, palm out towards you.

“Touch,” he said.

You brushed your fingertips against his palm. Sword callouses marked the skin under each finger. You hesitated and looked up at him, at those mako-green eyes that watched you with nothing but gentleness.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Take it.”

You laced your fingers with his. He squeezed your hand.

“This,” he said to your joined hands, “is real. This is not going anywhere.”

To be continued!

46 notes · View notes