#she knows her worth and i love that for her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

millersfinest · 23 hours ago

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untethered³ | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 8.1k

series: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three (you’re here!)

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: +18, lmao flip phones, r and ellie NOT beating the cheating allegations, more use of y/n then i would prefer, she/her pronouns, afab anatomy mentioned, some vulgar language, fuckgirl!ellie (kind of), the millers, r is a writer (she doesn’t write much in this ch wink wink), dina being a bitch, more horndog ellie, r being a little self-deprecating, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, jealous ellie, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, r is still very jealous of cat, hella angst, rich!abby (one of r’s evil exes), emotional cheating (from ellie), r using abby for sex, repressed emotions, crazy mature chapter (wasn’t intentional lmao)

note: lmao guys, i just wanna say as i proceed with this series… i do not agree w cheating on your partners DONT DO IT. don’t be like ellie (or the reader), it hurts people’s feelings and it’s just not worth it. i hope i tagged everyone who wanted to to be. bisous little lesbians/sapphics in my phone <3 please, enjoy this dramatic ass chapter x

Normally, you wouldn’t be so pliant with Abigail—letting her hands drift toward the small of your back. Clearly, expressing her attraction, because she lost that privilege a while ago. But, you were weakened. And with the burning dark irises of an old friend into the back of your frame, you couldn’t help but let her. It was like she was some sort of cloak of invisibility. Some made up thing in your head ease your spirits.

You met Abby about a year ago, 2004, at some high profile event your agent made you go to. Isa introduced you as an aspiring author to anyone that she could, getting your name out there—which was a good thing, but horribly embarrassing at the time.

Abby was there with her dad, a well-known general surgeon in the city; when she was still in medical school. Wanting someone to talk to, you offered her a drink; a flute of expensive champagne. You didn’t hide your attraction to her, but you approached her with an open mind. Fortunately for you, the night consisted of flirting and great conversation. She was smart, and you loved smart women.

Give or take a few months, you withstand her busy schedule—dating each other, giving only a sliver of intention to one another. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but what you did know is that you couldn’t stand flakiness. Abby began to flake on you a lot; whether it was for her friends or work or school. For work and school you understood, but even then there were days you spent laying around each other completing your priorities. Somehow in the midst of your temporary romance, she began to cast you aside. Maybe it was because you weren’t drowning in money like she was. Or, she just didn’t like you—both were awful options.

Taking the lead, because you’d rather dump than be dumped, you broke up with her—she then hit you with: we weren’t in a relationship. Which was rough on the ears and heart. That was the first time you actually tried with someone in a long time, and she fucked it up. You learned your lesson, though.

The two of you didn’t speak for a few months, but then you called her on a very lonely night, begging for warmth. And, ever since then, it’s been off and on—you playing hard to get and her playing wanting to have.

In the bar, with your hand clutching your cold, cheap cocktail, you walked with her in the direction of Ellie. Abby had her eyes set on her friend group, so she didn’t realize you were slowing down. “I’ll catch up with you…”

“Oh—“ She looked down, seeing the table of three practically gawking at her. Abby made a face that was unreadable. “Don’t make me have to come and find you.” She purred in your ear, slipping her arm from around your shoulders. Abby was such a show off when she wanted to be, which was more often than not.

An uncomfortable smile rested on your lips, hand waving, shortly, to the three sat at the rocky table. Ellie looked completely taken aback, leaning forward on her elbows. “Who the fuck was that?” Ellie whispered as you slipped into the seat she saved for you. Her jacket was placed on the back of your seat, holding it for you.

“Hey, y/n!” Jesse spoke, grinning ear to ear, leaning back in his wooden chair.

“y/n,” Dina said, plastering a fake smile on her glossy lips.

Jesse snickered, taking a sip of his beer. “Is that all you? Goddamn.”

“She’s just a friend from New York…” You waved a hand, dismissively.

“We just watched her feel you up and buy you a drink. Some friend she is.” Ellie countered, glancing over her shoulder at the tall, muscular blonde sitting with her friends. And, weirdly enough, Abby had her eyes on her, too.

You scoffed, holding up a hand. “Okay, she didn’t feel me up. Just forget it.” Shaking your head, you replaced that stern look on your face with a smile. “Anyway, how are you guys? It’s been a long time.” You wrap your lips around the straw sticking out of your drink. The sweet tangy flavor of the alcohol mixed with cranberry juice spreading over your tongue—easing your worries.

He glanced at Ellie, briefly. So fast, you almost missed it. Almost. “I’m doing good. Just moved into my new place in Boston. How about you, Dina?” Jesse raised an eyebrow, nudging her arm.

She stirred the ice in her water with her straw, raising a thick eyebrow. “I’m great.” Dina responded, simply.

“Great.” You say, sipping your drink, awkwardly.

There was silence between the four of you that could only be classified as awkward, uncomfortable and tense. Ellie boring her big eyes into the side of your face as you, purposely, ignored her. Dina no longer having a reason to speak because of your sudden appearance. And, Jesse, well… He was normal. If anything he was trying to fight the demon that was the awkward silence.

Ellie shook her head, a scoff falling from her lips. Abruptly, she stood up, walking over to the bar. Even though her beer was barely touched. “What’s wrong with her?” You mutter, watching her get up. She motioned for the bartender, and you watched them fill up a shot glass. Her slender frame leaned over the bar top, on her toes. Pale skin exposed between the belt holding up her jeans and the hem of her shirt. You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger there—places you’ve touched with the pads of your fingers…

“I don’t know… But, I’m curious. Be right back.” Jesse stood to his feet, taking his beer with him. Leaving, none other than, you and Dina left alone.

Chewing your lip, you slide your drink forward, looking her in the eye. Perhaps, it was the liquid courage settling in your muscles. “Things shouldn’t be weird between us… Ellie wanted me here.” You felt the need to defend your place. Ever since that day, she always seen you as some predatory figure—now, that you think of it… She had even before that day. Just did a better job at hiding it. You were the predatory animal chasing over your gullible and prancing prey—Ellie

“Yeah, and sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her. So… I’m sure she did.”

Ouch.

You physically coiled at her words. A dry, pissed scoff fell from your lips. “Fuck you, Dina.” You cursed, leaning back in your chair. Ellie could never do wrong in her eyes—it was obnoxious. Did she have a crush on her or something?

She dryly laughed, shaking her head. “Fuck me?” Dina raised an eyebrow. “Look at her!” She jutted her brown eyes in her direction. “Every time you’re around, she ends up looking that. A wilted fucking flower.” She scolded you, causing you to follow her eyes. Jesse spoke to her with intent eyes. Ellie ran her hands through her hair, eyes shifting side to side. You didn’t know what they were talking about, but it seemed serious. “Just face it, y/n… You’re the common denominator here.”

The common denominator. What an interesting choice of words.

“She’d probably have a better night if you just leave. Go home. Let blondie over there take you home… Or a taxi. I don’t care.” Dina turned her face from you, like you were nothing.

Your hands began to shake and tremble from her words. The muscles in your face twitched and heated up like a furnace—eyes welling up with pained tears. You sniffled, standing up from your chair. Trying every which way not to make a fuss—saving face. She was always such a bitch! So, instead, you rushed to the bathroom with the stiffest posture. Heels stalking by Ellie and Jesse with eyes set on the women’s restroom to unleash your fury.

It was like a gust of wind passing her, Ellie’s words trailed as she unloaded onto Jesse about where her minds been. He was, probably, the only person she could even share it with. Dina didn’t like you very much, she was too emotionally involved. Jesse wasn’t bias and could give her proper advice—it was just up to Ellie if she wanted to follow it or not.

Ellie confessed that the feelings she had for you hadn’t gone away. Something he already knew. But she explained it like an act of a possession—as if the softness of your skin, the beauty of your features, the smell that exuded from you was a spooky presence that just won’t leave her alone. A poltergeist. It was becoming a carnal need the more she saw you.

But what about Cat?

What about her?

Then, on cue, you passed her. Ellie only caught a glimpse of your face. Jaw trembling, the sound of your emotional hiccups. Immediately, her olive eyes shifted to the young woman left at the table. She clenched her jaw, shaking her in disapproval. “Jesse, can you get a fucking handle on her?”

“Easy, Ellie. Don’t talk about her like that. She’s just looking out for you— or trying to.” He told, shifting on his feet. “…And she’s pregnant.”

Her eyes widened. “What?!” Jesse motioned for her to whisper.

“Shh! I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Dina’ll kill me.”

“You guys aren’t even together—“ Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Congratulations.” She intoned, running her hand through her hand. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go check on—“

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll talk to Dina.”

Meanwhile, you paced around the single person bathroom. Purse thrown to the ground, makeup smudged down your cheeks. Fists clenched at your sides, and every few minutes pounding a spot on your thigh that inflicted enough pain to briefly distract you from the pain inflicted on your heart. Dina doesn’t understand! You’re not a bad person for what happened that day. When will Ellie get the heat for what happened? Why does it always have to be you? It was always your fault.

So much time has passed, meaning you’ve thought about the altercation for a long time. Hell, it was all you thought about at times. You should’ve never put your hands on Ellie that way—you knew that. But, she shouldn’t have pushed you to do it either. That was her mistake. Pushing and prodding at someone she claimed to love. Ellie was aware of that, too. She wrote about it in that letter she hand delivered on her eighteenth birthday.

Wringing your hands out, you heaved. Emotions still weighing heavy on your heart. Her words cut you like a knife—triggering you. Before you met Tommy and Maria Miller, life was so much harder. Everything was your fault and your birth parents—and the numerous foster parents that you had—made sure that you knew that. It wasn’t fair then, and it wasn’t fair now.

What stopped your progressing thoughts was the gentle call of your name, and a soft knock. It was Ellie.

“Go away!” You sniffled, leaning over the sticky sink to get a look at your appearance. It was a tragedy.

“Please, just let me in. I don’t know what Dina said… But, I’m sure it was fucked up— look, she has her reasons.”

“She has her reasons—?!” You exclaim, looking at the door through the reflection.

“But that doesn’t make it right. I know.” You heard her lean against the door. “Please, y/n.”

Wiping your face, you sighed. Sniffling, you walked over to unlock the door, gulping. “It’s unlocked…” You spoke, weakly. Positioning yourself with your back against the sink, you crossed your arms. Watching her push inside the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Ellie pressed her back against the door, observing you with the softest pair of green eyes you’ve ever seen. It was charming. Through her thick eyelashes, pelvis leaning forward—like she was a child in trouble.

“I’m so sorry about Dina. I should’ve never invited you… I just thought things would be different.” She frowned, fiddling with her fingers in front of her body. Her fingernails had chipped black nail polish on them; focusing on that was easier than focusing on her.

“Well…” You dryly chuckled. “You thought wrong.” Slowly, you drag your eyes from her hands, to her face—avoiding her eyes, though. “Apparently, you’d be better off if I left… Or died; if it were Dina’s way.” Your voice trembled, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. Dina didn’t tell you to die, but that’s what her tone told you. All you were doing was existing. If that’s what stressed Ellie out then… Fuck. Maybe you should just croak, huh?

Ellie ran her hands over her face, taking quick steps towards you. “Fuck— I don’t know why she said that.” Her hand ran through her straight hair, frustrated at herself and Dina. “I—… I do want you here. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.” She reaches a hand out for you, but you flinch. There was a slight height difference to the pair of you—your heels caused you to look down at her. But, you weren’t looking down on her.

She was close enough for you to notice the orange-brown flecks in her irises. The ones you missed… So much, and desired wholly. However, you pushed yourself into the ceramic sink, fighting temptation. “Don’t tell me you actually believe what she said?” Her doe eyes looked up at you, demanding a response.

“I don’t know… It’s more than that, Ellie.” You analyze her features as inconspicuously as you could—which wasn’t possible. She noticed everything because she was doing the same thing.

Your bodies drew to each other like the opposite sides of conjoined magnets. Eyes intertwining and overcoming like they always did. Tensions were high, and you were in an enclosed space—your stomach rumbled with anticipation. “Tell me what it is, then.” The feeling of her fingers sliding up the curve of your elbow caused you huff, moving to the toilet to sit down. Cold air replacing where her fingers attempted to tether to you.

Ellie sighed, bunching her hand into a fist at her side. She knew what she was doing—after all, she was a pusher. It was hard to identify when to stop.

You dropped your head into your hands, forcing even breath from your lips. “It’s just… Old shit, okay? Dina struck a nerve.” You glanced at her through your hands, lips quivering.

Ellie took your previous spot, pondering. She knew about your life before your parents—how awful those people treated you; and she couldn’t understand why. You were a scorned person, like most of the kids you grew up with, but underneath it all you were soft. She’s witnessed that softness. And she will regret it for the rest of her life that she was the one to pull you from that that—all for dumb proof of trauma.

She realized too late that she was never alone in that traumatic suffering of the adoption system. After that day, she never wanted to see you hurt like that again. Or at all. Ellie wanted to make everything up to you.

Seeing those tears staining your cheeks; she wanted to kiss it better.

“I’ll talk to her.” The words fled from her mouth. Her old converse squeaked toward you, squatting before your sat figure on the filthy toilet. You turned your head, shutting your eyes and shivering at the thought of her. “Hey,” Her fingers grazed your jaw, pulling your eyes into her line of sight. “I will. She crossed the line— this isn’t my favorite version of you.” Her eyebrows deepened, pressing her lips into a firm line. She wanted to be level with you—not above or below.

Those words were music to your ears. Supple in its raspiness. The warm touch of her fingers on your face, you leaned into her hand. She had a favorite version of you? You reached up, gently gripping her wrist to pull it from you. Ellie shouldn’t have been touching you like this. But, even so, your bodies somehow gravitated toward one another. Eyes staring at each others parted lips, wanting. Needing. Her hand bracing on your thigh, pulling herself closer until your lips met.

Soft and forbidden. You gasped against her mouth, pulling away for a brief moment. Her olive eyes were pleading, and you just couldn’t say no. Being a victim of your flesh, your hand found its way to the back of her neck to pull her lips flush to yours. Mixed whines coming from the both of you; lips merging and meshing together. Creating something beautiful.

Every time you were physical with someone they were missing something. This was it! The passion, the history—the things that matter. The fucking chemistry; it was all there with Ellie. And, deep down, you knew that it was the only place you were going to find it.

She pushed into you, being guided by her carnal desire. Whining and growling into your mouth. Hands gripping at your hips, and the side of your backside. Ellie was hooked under a spell you concocted—some aphrodisiac that exuded from you. And she wanted to breathe more of you in until she couldn’t anymore. She was gluttonous.

Breaking her trance was a rough knock on the bathroom door. The two of you basically jumped apart; you falling into the toilet, nearly touching the water, her falling on the floor. Some of the glitter on your lips had rubbed off onto hers—it looked nice on her, but that was besides the point.

“Some people need to piss! Get out of the fucking bathroom!” Some heavy handed woman exclaimed from the other side.

A smile spread on her lips, hazy eyes watching as you pulled yourself up. “Fuck, Ellie. Why are you smiling?” You walk to the mirror, taking a look at yourself. You and Ellie had just kissed. The same Ellie who’s girlfriend is waiting for her back at the guesthouse. The pressure was already hitting you like a ton of bricks—Ellie was right, you had a terrible poker face. How could you forget about this? “Can you hand me that?” You pointed to the purse beside her.

She chuckled, standing up from the floor. Your purse was in her hand as she walked up behind you, handing it over. Her other snaking around your hips—clearly, still overcome. Taking the purse, you smack her hand away. “Enough!” You scold, deepening your eyebrows. She pouted, crossing her arms. Leaning her back against the wall, shutting her eyes. But it was soon replaced with a smirk.

Your fingers rummaged through your purse for your lipgloss. “This didn’t happen… This never happened…” You muttered to yourself. Once you found the sparkling tube, you began to apply it like a nervous tick. “I still don’t know what you keep finding so funny— nobody can find out about this, Ellie.” You turn to her, dropping your lipgloss back into your purse. “What just happened isn’t fucking funny—“

You were a homewrecker, a thief of girlfriends—watch out New York!

“You’re spiraling.”

“Yeah, and I have every reason to. This isn’t me. I’m not this person. You have a girlfriend!”

Ellie watched you ramble with a look of in awe in her eyes—you were fucked, and so was she. “I remember…” She couldn’t compel herself to care about the repercussions of hr actions; Ellie just wanted you. Even more now than before. She was given an inch, and she was ready to take a mile. Perhaps, longer if that was possible. Your ethics only made her want you more.

The glitter on her lips distracted you, causing you to reach your thumbs near her lips to wipe away the signs of you. Her wide eyes looked up at you, hands wrapping around your wrists. Where did she learn this type of behavior from? VHS porn?“Ellie, will you quit it?!” You stomped your foot, squeezing your eyes. “Fuck me.” You whisper to yourself, adjusting your purse.

“I’ll see you at home…” You mutter, placing your hand on the door handle.

“Am I not driving you?”

“No. You’re gonna stay here, mingle—fuck, I don’t care.” You shook your head. “Abby’s gonna take me home.” The words rushed from your lips because you were thinking and speaking at the same time. You needed an alibi and that’s what Abby was going to be.

The auburn-haired woman rolled her eyes, scoffing under her breath. Jealousy peaking inside of her like it did earlier. “Abby. Abby… The buff blonde you walked into the bar with— the one who was feelin’ you up.” She popped the p sound, nodding her head with searching eyes.

“She wasn’t feeling me up. I don’t think you know what feeling up looks like.”

“Show me, then.”

Your jaw almost dropped from its hinges, gasping at the woman before you. She was shameless, and you were the complete opposite—it was a recipe for disaster. “Like I said… I’ll see you at home.” You opened the door, slipping through to allow her some privacy. The people must’ve opted for the men’s restroom. Fucking freak. You thought, fighting the amused smile off your lips.

Adjusting your top, you approached Abby’s booth. She was surrounded by familiar faces—you knew them-ish. “Abs, can I talk to you for a second?” She looked up at you, blinking with slight confusion at your state.

“Oh, hi, y/n!” A short-haired woman grinned, wiggling her fingers at you.

You smiled at her, while Abby shimmied out of the booth. Taking her hand, you led her away from her friends, keeping her large hand in yours as you began to speak. “I know it’s early, but could you take me home? Like, now?”

She deepened her eyebrows, a hand dropping to your face, wiping at the mascara stains that had run down your cheeks. “Are these tears?” She bunched her eyebrows, gripping your chin and moving your head side to side. “I saw you run to the bathroom—“

“It’s not important, all right?” Your eyes peer up at the blonde woman, pressing your lips into a line. Pleading and batting your eyes at her—you really wanted to go home. And you weren’t necessarily doing it for Dina, it was more so because of her. As well as the fact that you had just made out with a woman who was spoken for. Whose girlfriend who is only ten minutes away, and who also offered to get champagne for Thanksgiving after you mentioned its absence. It was currently, probably, chilling in the fridge as all of this unfolded.

While you semi-sensually begged the woman to drive you home in her Jaguar, Ellie had gotten herself together in the bathroom. After you left, she released a joyful laugh once the door shut behind you. As if she had finished with making out with the hottest girl in school—very teenage-like. Her cheeks were flushed, blushing a warm mahogany through her freckles. You wanted her just as much as she wanted you; the kid proved that much.

But, then, a pang of guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. A fragment. Very small and minuscule.

It wasn’t right away; Ellie was certain that you thought of her to be cold based on how she was handling the situation. She had a girlfriend and found the situation amusing? You’re right—nothing was funny about what happened before you fell into the toilet and before she fell onto the floor. The both of you had managed to dig yourselves into a hole that she didn’t want to get out of. And she was sure you felt the same—she hoped you felt the same. Holes were fun, right?

Ellie wanted to keep digging deeper, and deeper, and deeper. She wanted to envelop herself with you, just like she used to. However, this time, she wasn’t planning on letting you go.

Cat was just something—someone she had to deal with in the meantime. She’s gonna fix it… Ellie just doesn’t know how, right now. She can’t think straight. Pun intended.

Leaving the bathroom, she checked her cell. Noticing the few messages her girlfriend had left her during the short period of time she had you to herself. Her avoidant nature caused her to skim them, then slap her phone shut.

“Everything good?” Jesse questioned, watching as she approached the table.

Ellie shoved her phone into her front pocket. “Yeah… Everything’s fine.” Her olive eyes averted to Dina. “Dude…?” She squinted her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Els. I went too far, I know.”

“I’m glad you know.” She sat in her chair, glancing over at you talking to the buff blonde. “What you said was fucked up, and I should be more mad at you, right now…”

She sighed, pouting her lips. “Well, thank you for your mercy, sire.” A smile creeped onto her lips.

“Dina,” Ellie narrowed her eyes, shaking her head.

Jesse side-eyed her, pressing his lips into an unimpressed line. She looked over at him, lips parting. “Just tryin’ to lighten up the mood. Excuse me.” Dina deepened her eyebrows, sliding down in her chair.

Ellie chortled, shaking her head once more, making sure to swing it far to get a glance at you. She watched you follow Abby back to her booth, telling them that you were leaving. Her hand guiding you, rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Fuck, that should’ve been Ellie. She hated watching you lean into her like that—shrinking yourself. That wasn’t you.

You were bold, opinionated, and despite your strict upbringing, you never shrunk. If anything, Maria and Tommy’s parenting gave you confidence. That used to intimidate Ellie, but it didn’t anymore. It influenced her.

As you walked out with Abby, Ellie gave an awkward wave, but you snapped your head in the other direction. You needed to clean your pallet, and that’s exactly what you were planning to do in that shiny black Jaguar.

When the door opened, the brisk, autumn air hit you, cooling your body down. But your mind was still set on using Abby as a cleanser—a handkerchief to wipe you of your mistakes.

You feigned a straightforward destination, giving her the address of your childhood home. But, halfway, you told her to pull over onto a dark dirt path. She made a joke, asking: Is this where you kill me and steal my car?

And you respond, full of need: I don’t want your stupid fucking car. I want you. Launching yourself over the center console, wrapping your arms around her face. You swing one of your legs over to straddle her in the driver’s seat. Hips grinding against her, shoving your tongue down her throat like she was going to leave you. Although, she wasn’t going anywhere—not with you on her lap, anyway.

Abby groaned into your mouth, gripping your ass over your jeans, pushing you harder against her. Messily, you begin to trail your lips down her jaw, toward the softness of her neck. Urgently nibbling at her skin. “Fuck, you’re eager…” Abby muttered through her heavy breathing. “I like this version of you.”

This isn’t my favorite version of you. Ellie’s voice echoed in your head. It frustrated you.

Warmth built up under the crotch of your jeans; the thick seam doing very little for the pleasure you wanted. “Please, Abby…” You breathed into her ear, tugging at the silver ring through her cartilage. “Touch me.” Reaching for her hand, you place between your legs, cupping her hand as she groped you. Meeting her eyes, you taunted her, chewing on your bottom lip.

The blonde didn’t hesitate, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving her hand inside. She was always quick to give rather than receive—listening to any command you spoke. As the pads of her fingers contact with where you needed her the most, you sighed. “You’re so wet for me already…”

It was debatable whether it was for her or not. With your eyes squeezed shut, you imagined the earthy, olive eyes of your past lover. The softness of the her lips. The desperation in which she put her all into pleasing you—it was experienced before. But, at that point, you were amateurs. So much has changed since then. You were curious how much, though. “All for you.” You whined, rocking your hips against her hand. Lying through your teeth.

She pressed two fingers into you, pushing a moan from your throat. Hands gripping her shoulders, bracing your weight. You imagined them to be her fingers curling deep inside of you—pulling sounds from you like a puppeteer.

You were worser than you thought.

Abby was supposed to be a pallet cleanser, but instead she was just a vessel for your horny fantasies.

The palm of her hand rubbed against your clit, pushing you closer to an edge you wanted to fall off of. A tightness built in the pit of your stomach—burning like a prosperous flame; standing by to erupt. “Ah… Fuck, yes!” You lewdly affirmed, fingers gripping the roots of her hair, back arching into her. The smell of lavender shampoo wafting into your nose from how close you were.

Ellie would never wash her hair with lavender shampoo. She stuck to sweeter, muskier smells. The one’s you liked.

Your legs trembled around her hips, jolting with every stroke and thrust. Her ministrations intensifying causing the sounds from your lips to get louder, laced with desire. “Abby,” You trembled with a warning tone. “I’m g—gonna… Fuck, I’m comi—“ Your choppy words are cut off with the snapping of a band in your stomach—spreading over you like a brisk gust of wind. Shocking your body into a brief state of paralysis against her strong frame.

She coax’s you through your orgasm, with that same come hither motion that got you there to begin with. Although, she was so quiet. That’s when clarity hit you, as you shakily rocked against her hand. Reaching down, you grip her wrist, kissing the pressure point under her ear. “Can you check the time f’me?” You sweetly ask, still subtly, rutting against her.

Abby checked the watch on her wrist. “Eleven-something.” She hummed into your neck.

“Eleven-somethin’, huh?” You tease, lifting off her, trying to settle back into the passenger seat. “I should probably get home…” You zipped and buttoned your pants. Normally, you’d be eager to return the favor, but your plan didn’t work—and, frankly, that irritated you. That nerdy, auburn-haired, freckled woman, that you knew so well, had burrowed herself under your skin already. It was a recipe for disaster.

There was a twitch in Abby’s brow at your sudden departure from her. She felt that bite of coldness; it was something she wasn’t used to. Nonetheless, she drove you home. With you leaning on the window, watching dark, shedding trees pass you by. All the way until you felt that familiar shift from side to side as you cruised over the gravel that led to your childhood home.

“How long are you gonna be here for?” You asked as she pulled to a stop, where Ellie’s car was previously parked. It was out of courtesy to wonder; these parts of town wasn’t really for people like her.

“Until the end of the week, then back to work.” She turned toward you, pushing her hair behind her ear. “When am I gonna see you again?” Record scratch. Abby Anderson has never asked you that. She was always aloof and carefree. I’m too busy. Let me check my schedule.

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips. “I’m really tying to spend some time with my family, but— uhm… I’ll call you, okay?” Leaning over the console, you place a lush smooch on her lips—riding on the confidence from her lack thereof.

Getting out of her expensive car, you adjust your clothing before walking into your house. Thankfully, the lights were off, meaning your parents were asleep. Thank, God. You looked awful, and you preferred not to be questioned on your state, Ellie’s whereabouts, and who took you home.

Gently, you shut the door behind you, keys jiggling in your hand. Slipping out of your heels, you tiptoed toward the fridge just to prove something to yourself. The white light from the fridge illuminated your deadpanned expression as two tall bottles of champagne sat on the second shelf. Nobody likes champagne that much. You rolled your eyes, scoffing under your breath.

Cat didn’t deserve any of what happened tonight, and you hated that.

When you got to your bedroom, you wasted no time to peel the clothes from your body. Falling atop of your mattress like a starfish. Before you slipped under the covers, you pulled your laptop onto your stomach to log into your MySpace. There was a red notification on your activity icon. When you click on it, StarlightWilliams had added you back—you were mutuals now. The pads of your fingers touched your lips, remembering the softness of hers from that moment in the bathroom. The pressure of her slender fingers gripping your sides—wistfully you sighed, slumping your head against the fluffy pillows and stuffed animals against your headboard.

Suddenly, your computer makes a sound—a ping. You sit up, squinting at the incoming notification.

kit_cat79 wants to be your friend!

What a coincidence. The website exposes whether you were online or not—you couldn’t hide from her. So, you decided to add her back. Cat’s picture was of her with her tongue out, dark bangs styled to the side. You didn’t realize that she had a tongue piercing—could she get any cooler? Maybe you should get a tongue piercing.

Her mood hadn’t been recently updated, but it was: Optimistic.

Her bio didn’t over explain much, but said more than her freckled counterpart: my name is cat and i do tattoo’s !! message me for inquiries (or ur a loser). Your eyes and cursor skimmed her account, not paying attention to the smaller details. Quickly, you navigated to the pictures and videos. There were some pieces of her work, candids of Ellie, pictures of her at band shows—

kit_cat79: hey… i know it’s late, but that was you who just got back, right?

The messages appeared at the bottom left corner of the screen, blinking green.

BugsWritersRoom: Hey, yeah. That was me…

Duh.

kit_cat79: i thought you went with ellie in her truck. also… where is she? she’s not answering my texts.

Was she worried about her? Or was her questioning coming from a place of distrust? Or, a secret third option... you had a bad case of paranoia.

BugsWritersRoom: She’s still at TB. I’m sure she’s just distracted catching up with Jesse and Dina.

kit_cat79: oh…

kit_cat79: that was some car you pulled up in...

She was wanting to start conversation, but you were too tired. You didn’t want to think about, or talk to another person about Abby. Let alone, talk about her with Cat. No offense. Sleep is the only time when your mind was going to finally rest, and you can resume thinking tomorrow.

Leaving her message on seen, you shut your laptop, pushing it to the side. You took Cat’s message as a sign to shut it down, reaching to click your lamp off.

You allowed sleep to take over, cuddling into your pillows as if it were a body. Hitching your leg over it, tugging it to your chest. Could you have been more evident in your loneliness? In your restless dreams, your brain scoured for something to show you. Something relevant, of course.

Olive eyes, freckles, prominent beauty mark—it was obvious what images it was looking for. Ellie.

By the time the sun lingered on the horizon, a tragic alarming song sang in unison to wake you—the sound of your ancient alarm, and the sound of the rooster sat atop of the chicken coop. Groaning into the pillow you held, squinting your eyes open. It had pulled you from a dream that was… Certainly, a dream. It was untoward, lewd; just straight up nasty.

There was a wetness between your legs that was the first to get your attention. Out of shameful curiosity, you reached your hand under your shorts; hoping it wasn’t your period suprising you. Pulling your fingers out, there was an absence of the dark hue that was a symbol of your menstrual cycle. It was fairly clear, shiny, and slick. You were a victim of a wet dream. How juvenile.

The sight of it only made your hornier. So, while you still had time, you jumped for one of the bags you brought. You were expected for morning chores, but there was always time to rub one out.

Taking the battery-powered silver bullet from you bag, you attempt to switch it on but it doesn’t respond. You even switch the batteries around, blowing into the port. “Come on…” You complain, but it still it doesn’t adhere to you.

You groan, falling back into your pillows. There was nothing wrong with going old school, but you were a creature of habit.

Sliding your hand down your body, you slip under your shorts and underwear. It didn’t take long for you to completely rouse yourself, blinking your eyes shut to fall into your imagination. Usually, the best material was your most recent hookup—or some celebrity crush that you couldn’t get over.

The movement of your finger mirrored a strong blonde who always aimed to please you. You could imagine yourself gripping her long, silky hair, pushing her into your pussy—devouring you. Feeling her hands gripping your thighs, anchoring them to the mattress.

You relished in the feeling that was slowly washing over you. So much so that when the image of blonde hair began to fade and be replaced by short auburn strands, you barely noticed. Subconsciously, replicating the dream that kept you snug as a bug all through the night.

Your ministrations quickened as you neared finality. Bottom lip slipping between your teeth. Soft, repressed moans sneaking through them as your hand clutched your breast, thumbing your sensitive nipple. The serotonin levels increasing with every swipe and slide. Fuck, El—

Downstairs, the artist peeled dried paint from her fingers, waiting for you. Staying out late knowing she had to get up for chores was a huge mistake. There were many mistakes that happened last night. Another being, ignoring Cat’s messages. Ellie pulled into the driveway not too much later than you—it was nearing one o’clock.

When she entered the guesthouse, shrugging off her jacket—with a mind busier than New York City herself—Cat was found in the small living room. With her thin eyebrows bunched together and her arms crossed over her chest. Dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and cheeky underwear.

Ellie had looked at her with a stressed look, “What are you still doing up?” Walking past her to the bedroom to undress and unwind. Cat scoffed, following her to the bedroom. Slippered feet stomping behind the artist.

“What am I doing up?!” She chided, twitching toward her. “I’ve been texting you all night, Ellie. You couldn’t respond to one?”

The freckled woman plopped onto her side of the bed, kicking off her shoes. She pretty much saw the messages as they were coming in; Ellie just didn’t have the nerve to respond. She didn’t feel like it. Not after what happened in the bathroom—she couldn’t come back from that. Hell, she didn’t want to come back from that. The only image replaying in her mind was your lips on hers. Your hands imbedded in her hair. The wanton sounds coming from you that she wanted to hear on again, and again, and again. That feeling of being between your legs...

And, let’s not even get into how it felt to see you leave with Abby. That ruined her whole night. Not even Jesse could cheer her up.

She ran a hand through her hair, looking over her shoulder with a tired expression. “Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” She began, standing to her feet to remove her jeans. “We just got too carried away talkin’ and whatnot.” Walking to the bathroom in the bedroom, she shed her shirt from her body. Ellie found it too easy to lie—she’s always been good at it. And, Cat was pretty gullible. But she had to throw a monkey wrench in there to really calm her down.

“Turns out… Jesse got Dina pregnant.”

“What?”

She turned on the shower, then peaked out of the doorway. “Yeah, how crazy is that?”

The tattooed girl fell onto the edge of the bed, eyes casting toward the ground, full of uncertainty. “Super crazy…”

Noticing the subtle dejection in her features, Ellie sighed. Leaving the doorframe as the shower ran hot in the background. She appeared before her, reaching her hand down to lift her chin. “Kitty Cat,” Her voice was soft and oh, so forgiving. “I should’ve responded to your texts— I’m an asshole. Let me make it up to you…” She sultrily offered, caressing the softness of her chin with her thumb.

And that’s what she did. Ellie made it up to her girlfriend of almost a year. By fucking her in the shower hard enough to make her forget about all of her uncertainties.

She had a long night.

This morning, she got up an hour earlier to get a better start on her sketch—she even started incorporating her oil paints. That’s what was stuck to her hands. The coloring in of her portrait of you in front of that shed. She felt the need to freeze that moment in time; where you embraced each other in the arms of company for the first time in too long. That hazardous kiss you shared in that sticky bathroom at the Tipsy Bison inspired her to color in the lines.

“I normally hear her up and movin’ around… She’s taking longer than I thought she would.” Maria commented, munching on a buttered bagel. “How long were you two out last night?”

Ellie inhaled, lifting her eyebrows in thought. “I got back around one, but y/n came back earlier than I did. She got a ride from a friend.” She shrugged, the ends of her lips curling, mischievously. “I think her name’s… Abby.” Ellie added, glancing between the two parents.

“Hm. What made her leave early—?” Tommy began to ask, but he stopped himself. He frowned, leaning his elbows on the counter, peering at the auburn-haired woman across from him. “How’s Dina doin’?”

She chuckled. “Still pissed, if that’s what you’re getting at?” Ellie went from peeling paint off her fingers, to fiddling with them. “They got into a bit of a…”

“Fight?” The blonde woman questioned, deepening her arched eyebrows. She never liked hearing about you fighting—or seeing it. That was a strictness Maria was never going to get rid of. Tommy used to get into fights a lot, finding himself locked behind iron bars at the county jail. But that was years before he moved to New York. When he still lived in Texas with Joel.

“No.” Ellie bunched her eyebrows in defense, shaking her head. “It was an argument, but it didn’t last long. I handled it.”

Steps sounded from the stairs, silencing the three. Pairs of eyes peered up the stairs, hoping that it was you stalking down the steps—but it wasn’t. When he began clearing his throat and coughing, loudly, they knew it was Joel. “Goddamnit…” Tommy rolled his eyes, slapping his hand against his thighs.

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Tommy.” Joel scoffed.

He huffed, licking his lips. Just like you did when you grew irritated—Tommy’s antics had rubbed off on you. “Is there any signs of life from my kids' room—? Because she should’ve been down here five minutes ago.” He looked to Joel before glancing at his watch. “Maria and I planned for her to teach Ellie how to do our grocery shipments.”

“Grocery shipments?” Ellie cast her earthy eyes toward Maria.

“It’s a lot of information, but I’m sure you’ll catch on just fine, Ellie.” She placed her hand atop of hers, pressing her lips into a smile. “If only your teacher could be timely…” Maria sighed.

The freckled artist stood up straight, pursing her lips. “I can go check and see if she’s up…” She offered, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m sure she is— maybe she just needs a little nudge. I had rough time this mornin’, too.” To be frank, offering to grab you from the second floor of the house was clouded with selfish intentions. Ellie hadn’t seen your bedroom since she was seventeen. She couldn’t help but wonder if anything had changed.

And, she wanted a useful reason to talk to you.

Your parents are wondering what the hell you’re doing— also, how was our kiss from 1-10?

Hey, you’re supposed to be teaching me about grocery shipments, right now— hypothetically, would you kiss me again… Or?

She was such a loser for you; she always has been. “If you don’t mind. I’m sure she’d appreciate seeing you more than me.” Tommy chuckled, nudging his wife but she barely broke a smile. Staring her husband down with icy, blue eyes.

Ellie’s eyebrows twitched, but she decided not to interact with whatever happened there. Quickly, moving to the stairs to find you.

What she could remember about your room was the pink wallpaper and the posters. You used to be very persistent in upgrading old ones for new ones—saving the old ones in your closet. She found it amusing how you could never get over anything; you liked to collect things. As many things as possible—posters, collectors items, superhero figurines—you were an undercover geek!

The fascination you had with catwoman was insane. But, understandable.

The stairs of your home was guided by many picture frames. Pictures of you lining the walls. The bottom starting with photos of you when you still went heavy on the eyeliner and hairspray; gradually preceding with much happier images of you. The final photo being the whole family together, including Ellie. It was taken after your college graduation, in front of the house. You were sandwiched between your grinning parents while Joel and Ellie were on both ends; her sporting a timid smile, and him grinning just like his brother.

She was so proud of you that day, but didn’t dare to enunciate that how she really wanted to. At the time, the shoulder you gave her was ice cold. Brisker than the harsh weather of the east coast.

When she emerged at the top step, the first door in front of the stairs was cracked open. But that wasn’t your bedroom, that was your parents’ bedroom. Down the hall, to the right, after passing an open floor planned media space, was the guest room. Where Joel was spending his nights. A little further down that hall was your bedroom.

It was the best spot in the house. Your bedroom have the best view of the front of the house, and was far enough from the prying ears of curious parents.

Neither you or Ellie were innocent teenagers—you both couldn’t wait to get some alone time, and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other once you started. It was the perfect place for late night shenanigans.

Again, some things never change, huh?

Strolling toward your door, Ellie raises her hand to give a soft knock. But she pauses at the faint sounds coming from under your door. Breathy whines, the light rocking of your old, rickety bed frame. Could she hear just how wet you were from outside your door?

She leaned closer to the brown door, her bottom lip slotting between her teeth. Ellie wanted to be sure she was hearing correctly, of course. She heard you cursing and swearing, but nothing shocked her more than when she heard you squeak her name. “Fuck, Ellie…”

Apparently, Ellie wasn’t the only one who was overcome. Wanton sounds filled her ears like a mantra before she decided to interfere. Knock, knock! She heard you gasp.

“It’s Ellie... Your parents are gonna throw bitch-fits in T-minus five minutes if you’re not downstairs soon.” Ellie kept herself composed, using her hand to hold her weight against the wall. She heard you shuffling behind your door, cursing under your breath.

“I’ll be down in, like, five minutes!” You shout, the sound of quick maneuvering being heard from Ellie’s side of the door.

She wanted you to open the door, just to get a glimpse of that blissed out look on your face—Ellie anticipated that flustered look. Forgetting about her own blushing cheeks after hearing you say her name while touching yourself. She felt like a fucking king.

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she walked to the media space. Lifting up CDs, VHS tapes, and eyeing thick books that haven’t been touched in years to pass the time. Fuck, Ellie—still played in her mind like a record. There wasn’t any scratching, only smooth playing; no interruptions.

When you appeared from your room, dressed in your working cowboy boots, a long-sleeve Abercrombie shirt and bootcut jeans—there was a shit-eating grin that just wouldn’t leave her face. Ellie turned around to lay her eyes on you, unable to help but ogle. “Do you have a condition that you’re not mentioning? Perhaps, a tumor—? Since you can’t help yourself when it comes to laughing…” You grumble, placing your hands on your hips.

Your words only made her smile more. The more time the two of you spent together, the more snarky you were becoming—she missed that. “Turns out, under some circumstances… I can be a morning person. Some circumstances.” She muttered, mainly to herself but she didn't mind if you heard. Ellie deliberated with herself on whether she was going to expose what she heard you say… Or, if she was going to hold onto it. Similar to how victorians put the hair of their lover’s into lockets.

“Whatever, Els.” You rolled your eyes, loosely calling her by that nickname, again. Ignoring the harshness of her eyes, you passed her to descend the wooden stairs. There was still a mindless sleepiness to you. It was charming to your past lover, as she followed behind you—floating on air. Thinking about how great of an idea it was to come back this year.

And, still, Ellie was barely harbored with guilt. Even more so when she inspected your features, intently. When her thoughts wandered into the gutters of her creative mind—spreading you wide in all of your glory.

taglist: @autisticintr0vert , @liasxeatt , @hopingforgoodblogs , @lia-winther , @macaroni676 , @tobiotruther , @anewkindofloove , @fatbootymuncher (i love your user lmao) , @maiaska

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson #tlou #this ch was a lot hornier than my original plan ngl

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amysteryspot · 3 days ago

Text

A Woman's Worth - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 4648

A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.

There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.

He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.

The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.

Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.

"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.

“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.

"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."

Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."

"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."

"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”

It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.

“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.

“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.

“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.

“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.

“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”

Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.

Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”

“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”

When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.

"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”

"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.

Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.

"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.

"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.

"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."

For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.

Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.

At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.

It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.

Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.

“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.

“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”

He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”

Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”

“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”

She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.

“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.

“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”

She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.

Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the curve of her neck…

“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.

“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”

Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.

The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.

Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.

He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.

They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.

Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.

One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.

(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.

Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.

Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.

(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.

In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.

Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.

She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.

They had never talked about it. Not until today.

(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.

“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered, smiling at his sister.

“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”

Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.

He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.

(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.

Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”

“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.

The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.

“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”

Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.

(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.

“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”

Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.

They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.

Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.

“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.

“I always worry.”

“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”

Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.

“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.

“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”

He nods, nervously picking at his nails.

“When did you discover?” She asks.

“The onesie.” He looks up at her.

“The onesie,” she scoffs.

“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.

“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.

“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”

Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.

There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.

“Yes.”

“I see,” she hums.

“If I could go back—”

“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.

“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.

“No, it won’t happen again.”

(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”

“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”

The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.

He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.

Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.

In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.

“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”

Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).

“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.

Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”

“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.

“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”

“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.

“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.

His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).

“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.

Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.

“Nothing.”

Her reflection raises a brow at him.

“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.

“Is it about her?”

The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.

“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”

“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.

It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.

Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.

(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.

It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.

Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.

Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.

He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”

“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.

If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.

“I figured,” Benedict smirked.

“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.

“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”

“You love her.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”

“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”

The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.

“What’s going on in your mind?”

“Something Benedict said to me.”

“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”

Anthony looked at her exasperated.

“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”

“Anthony…”

“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”

“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.

“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”

Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.

It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.

Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.

As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.

When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.

“Anything’s wrong?”

Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #antony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton imagine #mystery writings

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stormcrow513 · 16 hours ago

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"BuT yOu'Ll FeEl DiFfErEnT WhEn YoU hAvE a ChIlD"

And what if I don't?

what if I still don't have any interest in taking care of a tiny human that I will be tied to for the rest of both of our lives?

What do I do then? I can't shove it back into my vagina from whence it came,

So put it in an over burdened system where it will be abused and know it was unwanted

Try to take care of it trying to hide my resentment of having to be burdened with a child I didn't want?

And it will feel that it isn't loved,

I knew, I knew my whole childhood that my 'father' didn't like or love me as was uninterested in me, and the older I got I became quietly sure that he had never wanted me,

One day a little while back I spoke about it to my ma, she got a real serious look on her face paused for a bit thinking, and said "I don't know if telling you this will make it better or worse, but you're right he was so furious when I told him I was pregnant, I've never forgotten that look in his eyes when I heard back from the doctor, I put the phone down told him and your sisters, and they were excited, and he said in the deadest voice I'd ever heard from him 'you're what' "

So yeah kids pick up on this shit and

It. Fucks. You. Up

Even if all he'd done was not want me I am sure I would still feel this need to prove that having me around is worth it

I will never do that to a child just to please these shit heads

The older generation's fixation on forcing you to have kids is something they absolutely refuse to unlearn. You can give the calmest and most reasonable explanation for not having kids and the only thing they can think to say is, "But what of the heir to the lands?" "Who will inherit the throne?" "Please sire upon your barren death there will be a parochial schism that will soak our soils with brother-blood." They literally hate to see you happy with just a cat.

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writemekpop · 2 days ago

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Rockstar | Na Jaemin

Summary: It's not easy being the secret girlfriend of playboy idol Jaemin. But it's sure as hell worth it.

Genre: Suggestive, Idol!Jaemin, Angst

Word count: >1k

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jaemin asked, as you stepped out of his dark van a few streets away from the house.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your lips quickly to his. “Yes. I’ll get to meet all your friends…”

”But as a waitress? Won’t that be weird?” he said.

“Would you prefer to tell everyone that NCT Dream’s Jaemin has a secret girlfriend?” you said.

Jaemin stole another kiss, lingering near you, breathing you in deeply. “Who cares about the media? Let’s tell everyone. Let’s tell them right now.”

You laughed and pushed him off. “This is best way, okay? Now go.”

Despite all your teasing, you quivered inside. It would not be easy seeing Jaemin wander around the room, dazzling everyone, and not be able to even hold his hand.

As soon as you entered the huge ballroom, your wrist straining under a plate of canapes, you tried to keep track of where Jaemin was - but you soon got distracted.

“Didn’t you hear? He’s got some bimbo hidden away in Seoul,” a man, possibly an idol, whispered.

Jeno was standing next to him. “That’s just gossip. Jaemin’s nothing like that.”

You froze at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. You hadn’t even realised they were talking about you.

“I heard she’s a normal person. Wow, there must be a line of groupies just begging to sleep with him.” the man continued.

Another man chimed in, winking, and said “I wonder what special skills got her the job.”

They all laughed.

Chenle rolled his eyes. “You guys should work for a newspaper.”

They turned to look at you, and you realised you were standing next to them, frozen.

“C- canapes?” you said, your voice hoarse. They turned away without saying anything.

You rushed away, bumping into someone as you went, desperate to get as far away from that man as possible. But it seemed like the same conversation was happening across the room. You spotted Jaemin, and moved quickly towards him.

“You have to tell us who she is!” an company executive was saying, clapping Jaemin on the back. Jaemin wore a slight smile, but you could tell from his dark cheeks that he was embarassed.

“I’m not going to tell you a thing,” Jaemin answered.

“So there is a girl!” the man said. “Look, Jaemin” he said, dangling a set of keys in his hand. “You can use my Ferrari anytime. Now what do you have to say in return?”

Jaemin shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. I… love her.”

The tray of canapes fell from your hands and bounced over the floor.

”Oh, for god’s sake!” the man said, looking at you.

You crouched down to pick them up. Jaemin bent down, too, to the amazement of the other people in the group.

Jaemin sighed. “I’m so sorry about my friends, I’ll kick them all out, I’ll get new friends!”

You placed a finger on his lips, then quickly drew it away.

“You love me?” you said quietly. “That's what you said, isn't it?”

Jaemin smiled. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you, and you don’t have to say it back-”

“I love you too,” you said, and Jaemin’s mouth fell open.

You barely made it into Jaemin’s apartment before his lips were on yours, his hands racing over your back as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

“We’re never talking to those people again,” Jaemin moaned.

You smiled. “What? Don’t you like being the rockstar playboy?”

He rolled his eyes.

You couldn’t fight a laugh. “Maybe I should go, so you can move on to the next girl in your long line of groupies.”

Jaemin groaned, “Y/n-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, Mr. Bachelor,” you said, grinning.

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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spiderb00 · 2 days ago

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PRETTY PUPPY

Daniela Avanzini x reader

“Your girlfriend is bossy and brat, but you love her, and she loves her puppy”

Genre – smut (men n minors dni) Warnings – Hair pulling, degradation (just a little)

Now playing – God is a woman, by Ariana Grande

You were tired, after a hard day's work, all you wanted was to take a shower, get the smell of smoke out of your body and hibernate for the next two days. Unfortunately, you had to keep your life outside of work alive, and even though you didn't want to, you knew the effort was worth it. But today, you didn't want to do anything, you didn't want to go anywhere with anyone, all you wanted was to lie in your bed and hug your girlfriend.

"Yn, get up!" Daniela shook your shoulder, waking you from your sleep haze.

Waking up a little stunned, you looked at the Latina, not understanding why your beautiful girlfriend wanted to take you out of your rest. Dani looked beautiful, wearing a cute white blouse and a low-waisted skirt that highlighted her body.

"What? Why? Where are you going?" You asked, running your hands over your face, trying to wake up.

"Where are WE going! Come on baby, it's one of my friends' birthday, I told you not to forget, I told you you'd drive because I'm in the mood to drink today."

Listening to Daniela's explanation, you felt a little annoyed, all you wanted was to rest, and here she was, asking you to drive to a party just because she wanted to get drunk.

"Baby, I'm tired. I worked all day, can't you ask Manon to come with you?" You tried to convince the Latina to give you a day off, your muscles too tired to make any move.

"Manon can't go, she's celebrating her one-year anniversary with her girlfriend, and you promised you'd take me!" Daniela's voice began to rise in the middle of the sentence, a clear sign that she was about to start throwing a tantrum because she wasn't getting what she wanted. "Why are you still lying down, get up, puppy! You're going to make me late!"

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Daniela, the Latina was an only child, and you could see that she was spoiled miles away. But it was a thousand times worse than you thought. She didn't hesitate to throw a tantrum when you didn't get what she wanted, she was mad at you for not giving her what she wanted, and she even called you that stupid nickname, "puppy", you were fed up.

"Daniela, I'm sorry. I'm too tired for this. I've worked hard all week, and on the only day I have for a rest you want me to be your chauffeur. It's not going to happen!" You said, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Losing the shocked look on your girlfriend's face.

"I hope you're going to the bathroom to get ready, because I swear, Yn. You said you'd take me, and now you're going to take me." Daniela followed you to the bathroom, watching you lean against the sink and sigh.

"You know, not everyone is a spoiled brat like you! Some of us have to work hard!" You regretted the words that came out of your mouth as soon as you finished speaking.

"Are you saying I don't work hard?" You swore you were going to die at that moment.

Daniela's gaze was fixed on you, the Latina's head tilted to the left as she analyzed your every move. You knew that if you threw yourself out of the second-floor window of your house, it would hurt less than anything Daniela was planning to do to you right now.

"No, I didn't say that-"

"But you meant." The Latina approached you, making you try to go further back, almost as if she was trying to merge you with the bathroom sink.

"No, I don't, I just-"

"You just what? Do you think I'm a slut, Yn?"

"No!" You shook your head quickly.

"Do you think I don't work as hard as you do?" The Latina grabbed the back of your head, pulling your hair down, making you lean in the pain of the squeeze.

"No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I promise!"

Still with her hand in your hair, the Latina leaned a little, getting in line with your vision.

"My puppy can't keep up what she said?" Daniela asked, mocking you.

"Don't call me that!" You said, stopping immediately when the Latina pulled your hair harder., making you get on your knees.

"Oh, my puppy is so pathetic. You love me, don't you, Yn?" You nodded quickly, agreeing with everything the Latina said. "So you're going to do what I want, when I want. Are you listening to me?"

You didn't even have time to reason before your girlfriend leaned in, kissing you aggressively. Her lips were soft, but in this kiss you couldn't feel their softness much. Both of your teeth chattered from the aggressiveness of the kiss, and Daniela's hand on your head made her have great control over you.

"You were talking a lot earlier, weren't you?!" Daniela said as she pulled away from the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting the two of you for a few seconds, before it split in half. "Let's use your mouth for something more useful."

In one swift motion, the Latina slid the panties she was wearing off her body, leaving you static. You've been in this position other times, she scolding you for not following her orders, you and Daniela had a strange way of fighting. You could work out serious things as adults, always prioritizing each other's opinions and trying to come to an agreement. But when the fight that started was over something not very big, Daniela or you almost always turned it into furious sex, and it was fucking good.

"Oh, what? Are you shy now? Did the cat eat your tongue, puppy?" Daniela mocked you, making you look at her with furrowed brows. "No, don't look at me like that. Come on, do your job before things get worse for you”

With that, Daniela grabbed your hair again, making you hold both of the Latina's thighs. One of Daniela's legs was on your shoulder, and now you had a little more access to the blonde's intimacy. As much as she was holding your hair, Daniela waited for you to make the first move, when you finally licked a band in her pussy, the Latina moaned loudly, her moan echoing through the bathroom walls.

Tightening the grip she had in your hair a little more, you moaned in pain, taking a wave of vibrations to your girlfriend's clit, who moaned louder. Daniela's taste was so good, that you may have forgotten why you were in this position for a second. You couldn't deny that you loved hating Daniela's tantrums, the Latina had won your heart, you couldn't escape, you knew that that spoiled and bossy brat would be your wife one day.

Losing patience with Daniela's insistent pulls, and with the pain in your knees, you finally decided to impose yourself. Letting go of the leg that was on your shoulders, you left the Latina confused for a few seconds, only to stop in one quick motion, grab her by the thighs and lift her on top of the sink.

"Why do you think you can treat me the way you want, huh?" You asked, grabbing the blonde's face tightly, a pout forming on Daniela's lips, from the force with which you were squeezing her cheeks.

"Why can I! YOU'RE MINE!" She whimpered, slapping your hands and freeing herself from your grip.

Laughing sarcastically, you bent down again, spreading Daniela's legs and adjusting yourself in the middle of them again. The Latina was so excited by the sight that her thighs trembled, every touch of you seemed to have triple the power over her now.

"You'll regret it later, mami."

Dipping your tongue back into the middle of the Latina's feathers, Daniela didn't even care what you had said. The words seemed hollow when they entered her ears, and she might forget, but at some point you would remember her. All the Latina could think about was how your tongue was doing a fantastic job on her.

"Hurry up puppy, you're still going to drive for me tonight."

With a growl, you remembered once again why you were here, it was inevitable, you forgot everything with Daniela's sweet taste in your mouth. Penetrating two fingers inside your girlfriend, you continued your work with your tongue, gradually accelerating the back and forth movements with your hand.

"Oh, that's right puppy, I'm so close."

Hitting the special point in Daniela, you watched the Latina roll her eyes, you concentrated your thrusts in the same place, doing tricks with your tongue quickly. You knew your girlfriend's body like the back of your hand, and it was easy to make her reach the state of pleasure.

"I'm cumming, baby! Please don't stop!"

The eyes rolling, the hands squeezing your hair again, the legs shaking, all these were your girlfriend's reactions to your hard work, because as you said from the beginning of it all, you work hard!

When the Latina finally calmed down, descending from the haze of orgasm, she pulled you up, a drunken smile on her face as she pulled you into a gentle kiss, a very big contrast to the ones you exchanged minutes ago.

"You know I love you, right?" Daniela asked, caressing the point where she mistreated you so much.

"Of course I know. And I love you too, even with your tantrums." Laughing, Daniela kissed you quickly once again.

"I'm sorry to be so rude to you."

"Oh, don't worry, this will definitely come back!" You said, giving the curly girl another kiss on the lips and walking away. "Come on, you don't want to be late, do you?!"

Walking away, all you left behind was a Daniela with a scared expression, afraid of what would come next, maybe she should start taking it easy with her puppy.

Did you guys think I was joking? ;)

I have nothing to say, I'm a little embarrassed… :/

Xoxo, spider.

#katseye imagines #katseye x reader #kpop gg #daniela avanzini x reader #gxg #katseye daniela x reader #kpop smut

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strwberri-milk · 2 days ago

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hiii could i request a sylus x reader where he’s genuinely trying to court her not just for her aether core but she doesn’t buy his act and assumes he’s still going after the aether core ? angst with no comfort or comfort at the end is fine uty !! ( feel free to ignore if you dont want to write this thank you !! )

You doubt Sylus' intentions and honestly, nobody would blame you. He isn't exactly known for his heart of gold and strong sense of moral justice. You're careful around him, not wanting him to charm you into some sort of death trap. Him dealing with aether cores and the one inside you keeping you alive just makes you think that he's wanting to use you.

Syluse doesn't think anything of it, oblivious at first to why you're so reserved around him until he slowly realises what you're thinking about. You purposefully push his buttons, showing up late whenever he invites you places or consistently challenge him on the dumbest things. He entertains you, thinking nothing of it at first until you start being actively difficult with him.

He thinks he'd rather you do that than outright ignore him though. You decide that he's no longer worth your effort, not wanting to give him the wrong message. He can try to convince you to visit him, leave whatever gifts on your doorstep that he wants but you just keep ignoring it. He feels his heart break every time he checks in on a new gift he bought you just to find out it's sitting on your doorstep, abandoned.

However, he's not a quitter. He'll keep going, buying you gifts and leaving short, yet affectionate messages on the tags. You note his perseverance but also the fact that he doesn't seem to be actively engaging with you when the two of you are in person. You can't tell how his face softens whenever he looks at you, the way his fingers twitch with a need to hold you.

You struggle to comprehend what it is about you that he likes or even wants outside of the aether core. You decide to confront him about it directly, telling him that you know exactly what he's after. He has no idea what you're saying of course, telling you that you're imagining things when you tell him you know he doesn't actually love you. He looks hurt, the slight furrow of his brows paired with the disbelief making your assumption waver the slightest bit.

He's devoted to convincing you that he loves you, growing to become more affectionate with his words, not just his actions to communicate better. He knows that just doing things and assuming you know his feelings for you through gestures. You watch him love you patiently, slowly beginning to understand the true depths of his feelings for you.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader

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pinkpastelcalesti · 9 hours ago

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It’s so hard to explain to people how rude Atrium health in NC is. They are absolutely fucking ruthless and I hate them for everything they’re worth.

Let me talk a little bit about it.

TW: family loss, death, grief, cancer, discussion of end of life care and hospice, mentions of prior family loss by suicide.

My grandma, one of the most important women and family in my life, passed from Mesothelioma back in April 2022. She received a lot of treatment of which she’d paid off herself, except for around ~6k in expenses for end of life care (hospice/at home nursing).

She was diagnosed in November 2021, and my mom quit her job to take care of her and be there for her as it was her only parent still alive at the time; my grandfather had committed suicide back in 2014. This was already hard enough for my mom but seeing her mom sick, after what she had already been through with her dad, on top of other personal matters, was a lot. It was tough. She cried so much.

She only had her mom and her sister, plus her sister’s family left. Alongside her father passing, my mom had lost her eldest sister in January 2019 from stage 4 breast cancer.

My mom and aunt were there with my grandma in her final hours. Her death was peaceful, with music, scripture being read (my grandmother was Christian; a person of the church), soft lighting, everything. She passed in her home, surrounded by the people she loved, because she asked to have it that way. My grandma hated hospitals. It brought back too many memories she didn’t want to remind herself of.

My mom still grieves her endlessly. She loved her mother with everything she had in her.

I loved that woman endlessly. I can’t even begin to describe how wonderful knowing her all my life until the moment she passed was.

I’m building this context up so anyone reading can understand the pain and grief that comes with such a loss.

After calling hospice and having to witness her mother be placed in a body bag, already traumatized enough, my mother came home at 3 am and all but passed out in the quiet; we had only grieved for hours at this point.

In the morning, amidst my mother’s anguish of losing her mom, do you want to know who called us?

Was it my extended family? No.

Was it a family friend? No.

It was atrium health. It was fucking atrium health.

They called my mother, who had not even had a day to process her emotions, and asked her if my grandmother would be paying her remaining medical bills. Six thousand dollars. Not 25 thousand, or 100 thousand. No. Six thousand dollars. And they called my mom as if they needed that money right then and there.

My mother’s response was a heartbroken sigh of, “my mother died at 11 pm last night. You’re calling me about her medical bills and she hasn’t even been gone one day.”

They had in fact placed a lien on my grandmother’s house to receive that last payment when they sold the home a few months after her passing.

Luigi Mangione is the people’s hero. Let it all burn. They do not care if we live or die, suffer or go peacefully, fight or give up. They don’t care.

Sincerely, fuck US healthcare.

Such timing.

Goes to show the insurance companies don't need the money.

#tw family death #ross rambles #us healthcare #medical debt #luigi mangione #free luigi

23K notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 6 hours ago

Note

YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid” You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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tizeline · 2 days ago

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So, in canon rise all of the turtles growing up know about how having Donnie's shell unprotected, probably from some childhood incident. And we can see in the show anytime Donnie's shell is bare; they all rush to protect him. How would they react to Donnie getting hurt because of his shell in this AU? What do they think of his battle shell? I assume they don't even really register Donnie as a softshell turtle because of his battle shell. Would this add to Raph's whole overprotective big brother instinct thing he gets because he catastrophizes Donnie's whole situation.

Also during the finale, we see that the lair gets trashed and has a huge cave in. So obviously Splinter, Donnie, and Sheldon would need to find a new place to live. Would the Drax fam help them build a new home? Are we going to see Donnie's reaction later to his home being destroyed, because losing your childhood home and your safe space must be awful. So, to maybe add a cute little twist, would Donnie, Splinter, and Sheldon live with the Drax fam for a little while?

Another thing, since Leo is obsessed with Sonic, Donnie should totally be obsessed with Wicked the musical. Another green person who sings on Broadway with similar themes of being outcasted and caring about how other people perceive them and using that perception to base their own self-worth, and she's also ostracized from society? Elphaba is written for Donnie. Donnie's theatre kid heart is an Elphaba stan and no one can convince me otherwise.

Donnie's brothers are very protective of him in this AU largely because he was separated from them for such a long time and they're afraid of losing him again. That being said, I think him having a soft shell also fuels this overprotectiveness. They do know that he is a spiny softshell before reuniting with him, Draxum told them about it, and that very much reinforced the whole "helpess victim in need of saving" type view they already made up in their imaginations of Donnie. (Not only is he in the clutches of the evil humans, but he's even more vulnerable than his hard shell brothers!) And remember that Donnie's battle shell in the AU isn't really armour the way it is in canon, it's main function is as a jetpack and maybe, like, a backpack (it has storage space). It doesn't cover the lower half of his back, so his soft shell is still visable and as such vulnurable. Donne getting hurt because of his lack of armour (biological or technological) would definitely freak his brothers out even more, but they're already pretty careful with him honestly.

Anyway, you are completely right about Donnie, Splinter and Shelldon moving in with the Draxums when their home in the sewers is destroyed XD It's kinda awkward, but at that point the Draxums and the Hamatos have learned to get along a lot better. But yeah, losing his home is very hard for Donnie, he's definitely the type of person who doesn't deal well with sudden big changes like that. I do wanna depict this part of the story eventually, but it's probably gonna be a while until then.

And god yeah, Donnie is ABSOLUTELY a huge fan of musicals lmaooo! He acts so overdramatic and theatrical all the time and the show makes it clear several times that he loves music so yeah, total theater kid. I haven't actually seen Wicked so I can't really meaningfully comment on the concept of him being a fan of that specific musical, other than omg yes Elpheba being an outcast and also GREEN he totally projects onto her.

#tiz sep au #tizel talk #rottmnt #tmnt

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 days ago

Text

Start Again (Honkai: Star Rail Short Fic)

Tingyun (Fugue) x Reader

It's 2am as of writing, I get up at 7 for work, but I refuse to sleep until this brainworm has left. Burn by FLOW and many Gundam Unicorn songs inspired this piece. Post edit note: IT'S 3:44 AM BUT THAT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT Content: Angst to Comfort(Considering the circumstances, anyway) Word Count: 1.6k Apologies if this is OOC, the brainrot was VICIOUS

Fugue's dreams have led her here again. Sitting at a familiar setting, with a familiar face by her side.

It takes her a moment or two to recall where exactly she is. The...Earl?

The exact name escapes her, but she knows the feelings it brings her. Comfort, yet sadness. She knows returning there on the Loufou will not be as it once was.

But the person next to her smiling? The one holding her hand, failing to contain a laughter that instantly makes her at ease? She could never forget your name.

And yet in this instance, your lips move, but no sound comes out. The only noise that she can hear is her own breathing, one that grows ragged with every second she looks at you.

Her hands squeeze yours back without her input, feeling her own lips move. But just like you, she says yet another line lost to time, and still your eyes glimmer with such excitement.

What promises had she made to you back then?

What promises will she not be able to keep?

Just as Fugue had gotten bearings of her surroundings, the dream seems to fragment yet again, as her vision fades into darkness.

...

Fugue's eyes rapidly blink, forcing her daze out and focusing back on the present. She can see the reflection of herself on the glass, half expecting to see her past appearance.

She was aboard the Astral Express, staring out into the stars again. Fugue continued only for a few seconds longer before realizing that she wasn't alone in the car, with the Trailblazer standing behind her.

(Fugue) "Oh, Benefactor! My apologies, I didn't know you were standing there."

Fugue smiled with a hand over her chest, though the pain from the memory had yet to fade. Something that was all too evident, apparently.

(Caelus) "Are you okay? You're crying."

Fugue's hand immediately reached for the corner of her eyes, finally feeling the trickle that was building up, and with a sigh she let her hand drop back down to her waist.

(Fugue) "...Would you mind indulging in a question of mine?"

The Trailblazer leaned against the glass next to her, crossing his arms as he gave a thoughtful nod.

(Caelus) "Ask away."

Fugue turned back around to face the stars, trying to compose herself and find the proper way to ask Caelus a nagging thought of hers. Before, she could have easily found away to articulate her thoughts, but alas that was yet another part of her taken.

Her eyes drifted along the rim of the windows, eventually staring out into space again.

(Fugue) "What would be the first thing you would say to someone who thought you were gone forever? Someone who loved you more than anything else?"

Fugue didn't hear a response from him, not for a little while. When it was clear that was her only question, Caelus eventually sighed and gave her an answer.

(Caelus) "I guess...Hey."

...Hey?

That was it?!

Fugue immediately turned her attention back to Caelus, who was now awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck at her sudden frown.

(Fugue) "That is wildly inappropriate! How can the first thing I say to them just be a simple greeting?!"

Caelus's lips curled into a smile, moments away from saying something either witty or irritating, only to stop at the last second as his expression became serious again.

(Caelus) "You remember (Y/N)?"

(Fugue) "...So you've met them too."

Caelus nodded, motioning towards the nearby couch for them to sit down. After they had gotten comfortable, he leaned forward with both his hands clasped together.

(Caelus) "Only a few times, when they were with...-"

Fugue suddenly felt it hard to breathe, imagining the pain you must have felt realizing the person you loved was actually a monster wearing their skin, thinking that you would never see them again.

Caelus's next response immediately snapped Fugue out of her reverie.

(Caelus) "-...They still love you, Fugue."

She said nothing, taking a moment for his words to settle in.

(Caelus) "If I saw someone again after a long time, anything they'd say would be of some comfort. At least, that's the way I see it."

Fugue looked again towards the stars, but this time her reflection in the glass seemed all the harder to ignore.

(Caelus) "That's why I think a greeting is a way to start again. The best way? Probably not but...It's better than nothing, or just leaving them alone."

Fugue's gaze eventually trailed down to her own hand, her tail slowly swishing to her side.

(Fugue) "...Even when the person they loved is no longer the same?"

Caelus leaned back into the seat, staring out into the stars with his friend.

(Caelus) "Even then."

...

You decided that it'd be a good time to take a small break, and relax on a nearby bench, hearing the distant hum of starskiffs from above.

This was a quieter part of the Loufou, though it could never become entirely silent. Regardless, it always helped calm you down, at least somewhat, when your mind began to race again.

Truth be told, you wish you could be busy to keep your mind off things. Even though almost an entire year had passed since the funeral, your mind still couldn't help but think about Tingyun.

Sighing, you began to move off the bench when a familiar voice called out to you.

(???) "H-Hello, (Y/N)..."

Your swore your heart stopped for a moment or two as your body quickly swiveled to the person you swore was-

(Y/N) "Tingyun...?"

The woman in front of you looked almost exactly like your now dead girlfriend. Though her hair was longer, the clothing darker-The details differed ever so slightly, but you were sure.

That's Tingyun in front of you right now.

You wanted to reach out and hug her, to start crying on the spot and begin shouting to the skies how much you missed her. And yet...

Her eyes. Her eyes that once held such warmth for you alone, no longer sparkled in that same way. As if...she were talking to a stranger.

What seemed like a small eternity had passed before she sighed, sitting at the bench beside you, though not quite close enough, leaving a noticeable space between you two.

(Y/N) "...Are you really?-"

(Fugue) "Yes and...No."

Calling herself 'Fugue', she began explaining what exactly had led to her return, and although she was the woman you loved, at the same time it wasn't.

Her memories were fragmented, and although the finer details were lost forever, certain people and things that held significance to her seemed to be the only things intact.

Meaning that you were one of the anchors allowing her to even survive.

(Fugue) "...And now, I have a second chance at life, perilous as it is still."

(Y/N) "...What exactly do you remember of me, if I can ask."

Fugue pursed her lower lip, brows furrowing as her expression alone told you how little actually came to mind. Every second that passed was like a dagger twisting further into your heart, only stopping momentarily when she collected her thoughts.

(Fugue) "Besides your name...your smile...How warm your hands are, and how nice they feel when I hold them..."

Fugue tried with all her might to recall that dream. Even though it was so damn vivid every night, why did she struggle to recall it the moment she needed it the most?

(Fugue) "I...I think we had tea in front of the...Earl...?-"

(Y/N) "The Sleepless Earl, hah..."

You closed your eyes as tears threatened to spill out. Hearing her speak again was agonizing, yet relieving all at the same time. It was her, yet not her...Despite that, you finally knew in some capacity, she was safe and breathing next to you again.

Though, you must have done a poor job of masking your emotions since you felt a familiar touch you've missed brush against your cheek, feeling a thumb wipe away a tear that fell out.

(Fugue) "I...I didn't mean to hurt you. I shouldn't have come to you. I'm so-"

(Y/N) "Don't!"

Your body moved faster than your mind, immediately grabbing her hand when it tried slipping away. Fugue was somewhat startled, yet she quickly relaxed, seemingly soothed by your touch as well.

(Y/N) "...Sorry."

Clasping her hand again, you struggled to let go before gently putting her hands on her lap and maintaining that respectful distance.

(Y/N) "Knowing that you're alive again is more than enough for me. E-Even if you are on a razor's edge right now."

Truthfully, you didn't know if that was actually any better. You weren't sure if your heart could handle seeing her die again, but the illogical part of your brain was just happy to see her, to hear her speak, to hear her call out your name-

(Fugue) "(Y/N)."

You turned back to Fugue, who now had tears prickling the corners of her eyes too, her hand sitting in the middle of the space between you two.

(Fugue) "Do you know what my name means?"

You nod. You weren't oblivious to the symbolism of her new name.

(Y/N) "A loss of self."

(Fugue) "...And someone who's starting again."

She shifts her hand, her palm now facing outward. Now, she's giving you the smile you adored for all these years, one that never failed to make your heart race and cheeks flush.

This time, her smile is making tears rush down your face freely.

(Fugue) "I think it will take some time, but...I'd like to start again with you. And...to fall in love with you once more."

The smile you give back seems to have the same effect, even if Fugue doesn't entirely know the reason why she feels connected to you.

Not that particular bit stopped you from wiping away her tears this time, and letting your foreheads rest against each other.

Starting again didn't sound too bad.

#honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #tingyun x reader #tingyun #tingyun honkai star rail #tingyun x y/n #tingyun x you #honkai star rail spoilers

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hisfavegirl · 1 day ago

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Chained By Destiny - Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader.

Summary : Where the realm saw a reckless prince and unworthy heir, you saw the boy who had once clung to you in the dark, his insecurities and fears laid bare. You saw the man behind the title, burdened by a heavy duty as a prince. And when others turned their backs on him, you stood steadfast by his side, offering the love and solace he so desperately needed.

Aegon Masterlist.

Alicent let out a sharp cry as another wave of pain tore through her body, her fingers clutching desperately at the midwife’s hand. Sweat clung to her brow, her usually composed expression now a mask of agony. For the first time in her young life, she truly understood the raw, consuming pain of childbirth.

The chamber was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and sweat, the low murmurs of the maesters and midwives a constant backdrop to her labored breathing.

“You must push, Your Grace,” the maester urged from the foot of the bed, his voice firm yet gentle. “The babe is crowning. You’re almost there.”

Alicent gritted her teeth, a sob escaping her lips as she nodded weakly. She summoned every ounce of strength she had left, bearing down with a force she didn’t know she possessed.

The midwife beside her whispered encouragements, her other hand smoothing back Alicent’s damp hair. “You’re doing so well, my lady. Just a little more.”

The sharp, unrelenting pain reached its peak, and Alicent cried out, her voice echoing through the room. Her body trembled with the effort as she gave one final, desperate push.

The maester’s voice broke through the haze of pain and exhaustion. “I see the head! Just a moment more!”

Alicent gasped, her vision swimming with tears as she felt the release—the weight of the child leaving her body. A loud, piercing wail filled the room, cutting through the tense silence.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, lifting the crying infant for all to see.

The midwife quickly took the baby, wrapping him in a soft cloth before placing him gently into Alicent’s trembling arms. She stared down at the tiny, wrinkled face, her heart swelling with an overwhelming mixture of relief, love, and exhaustion.

Her fingers brushed over the baby’s soft cheek as tears streamed down her face. “My son,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice filled with awe. “My beautiful boy.”

The pain of the ordeal was already fading into the background as she gazed at the life she had brought into the world. For all the suffering, for all the fear, this moment made it worth it.

As Alicent handed her newborn son to the midwife to be cleaned, her body tensed unexpectedly. A sharp, familiar pain tore through her, forcing a gasp from her lips. Her eyes widened in confusion as she looked at the maester and midwife, her voice trembling.

“What… what’s happening?” she asked, clutching the sides of the bed as another contraction rippled through her body. “I was told there was only one child!”

The maester exchanged a quick, concerned glance with the midwife before stepping closer, his voice steady but urgent. “Your Grace, it seems there is another child. It is rare, but it happens. The second babe must still be in the womb.”

Alicent’s face paled as the realization hit her. She was not yet done, not yet free from the torment of labor. Her breaths came faster, panic rising in her chest. “Another child?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I… I don’t have the strength for this.”

The midwife gripped her hand firmly, her voice calm and reassuring. “You’ve already brought one child into the world, Your Grace. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Tears pricked Alicent’s eyes as another contraction gripped her. She threw her head back, a sob escaping her lips. The pain was just as intense as before, her body demanding every ounce of strength she had left.

The maester leaned forward, his expression focused. “The second babe is positioned well. You’ll need to push again, my lady. It won’t be long now.”

Alicent shook her head, exhaustion overtaking her. “I can’t,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve already given everything.”

“You can, Your Grace,” the midwife urged, her voice steady. “For your child. Just one more effort.”

Alicent gritted her teeth, summoning strength from somewhere deep within. With the midwife’s hand steady in her own, she bore down again, crying out as the pain reached its peak.

The room filled with tense silence, broken only by Alicent’s ragged breaths and the murmurs of encouragement from the midwives.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the maester’s voice rang out. “The second babe is here!”

A softer, more subdued cry followed, and the midwife quickly wrapped the newborn in a cloth before placing the child in Alicent’s arms. Her body trembled as she looked down, her heart racing.

“It’s a girl, Your Grace,” the midwife said gently.

Alicent stared at her daughter, her tears flowing freely now. The child’s tiny features were perfect, her cries strong and insistent. Despite the pain, despite the fear, Alicent felt a surge of love that consumed her completely.

“My daughter,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My sweet girl.”

Though her body was weak and trembling, her heart was full as she cradled both of her children, marveling at the miracle she had just experienced.

Alicent lay back against the pillows in her chamber, her body aching from the strain of childbirth but her heart full as her gaze rested on the two bassinets nearby. Her newborn son and daughter slept peacefully, swaddled in soft blankets. A tired yet genuine smile graced her lips as she watched them, the pain of the ordeal momentarily forgotten in the presence of her children.

Though a small part of her ached at Viserys’s absence during the birth—his choice to remain at the tournament rather than by her side—she tried to push the hurt away. These moments were too precious to be marred by bitterness.

The creak of the chamber door opening drew her attention. Alicent turned her head, expecting the maesters or a midwife, but her breath hitched slightly when she saw Viserys step inside. His expression was a mix of curiosity and faint guilt as his eyes landed on her.

Walking a step behind him was Rhaenyra, her silver hair framing her youthful face. The princess looked hesitant, her gaze flickering to Alicent’s weary form and then to the bassinets.

Viserys approached first, his hands clasped behind his back. “Alicent,” he began, his voice tinged with an unusual softness. “I came as soon as the tournament ended. I… I heard the news.”

Alicent forced herself to sit up a little straighter despite her exhaustion, offering a faint smile. “The children are healthy,” she said quietly, gesturing toward the bassinets. “A boy and a girl.”

Viserys’s face lit up, his earlier hesitation fading. “Twins,” he murmured, stepping closer to look at them. “What a blessing.”

Alicent couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to address the children more than her, but she kept her composure, her smile never wavering.

Rhaenyra hesitated near the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Alicent glanced at the young girl, her green eyes softening. “Rhaenyra,” she said gently, “would you like to see them?”

The princess nodded and approached, her steps light. She leaned over one of the bassinets, her expression curious and a little unsure. “They’re so small,” she whispered, a hint of wonder in her voice.

Alicent chuckled softly, her hand instinctively resting on her abdomen, now empty but still aching. “They are,” she agreed, her tone warm.

Viserys finally looked at her directly, his expression softening further. He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done well, Alicent,” he said. “You’ve given me two more children. Our family grows stronger because of you.”

Though his words were kind, they didn’t quite reach the depths of her heart. She nodded, her smile steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of the hurt she tried to suppress. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied quietly.

As Viserys turned his attention back to the children, Rhaenyra lingered at Alicent’s side. For a brief moment, the princess reached out and touched Alicent’s hand lightly, her expression unreadable. “You were brave,” Rhaenyra said softly.

Alicent’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Rhaenyra.”

In that fleeting moment, despite the pain and disappointment, Alicent found solace in her children and the tentative connection she still shared with Rhaenyra. Whatever came next, she would face it with grace—for her children, if nothing else.

You walked through the Red Keep’s winding halls, your footsteps light as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. You had just finished your lessons for the day, and as always, you intended to report back to her about your progress. However, as you ascended the grand staircase, you spotted a familiar figure—your halfsister, Rhaenyra.

She was making her way down the stairs, her movements slow and deliberate, clearly strained. Beside her was her husband, Leanor, who held their newborn son in his arms, cradling the tiny bundle with care. The sight of the child, so small and innocent, brought a fleeting smile to your face, but it quickly turned to concern as you noticed Rhaenyra’s pale complexion.

“Rhaenyra,” you called out gently, hurrying to her side. “What are you doing out of bed? Shouldn’t you be resting after the birth?”

Rhaenyra gave you a faint smile, though you could see the exhaustion etched into her features. “The chambers are stifling,” she admitted softly. “I needed to breathe, to move. I’ll return soon.”

You frowned, not entirely convinced. Her resilience was admirable, but it was clear she was pushing herself too hard. Without hesitation, you reached out to steady her, your hand resting lightly on her arm. “Let me help you back to your room,” you said firmly, leaving little room for argument.

Leanor glanced at you and nodded his thanks, stepping aside slightly to allow you to guide Rhaenyra. She hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed her. With a soft sigh, she relented, leaning on you as the two of you began the slow journey back to her chambers.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at the newborn in Leanor’s arms. “He’s beautiful,” you said quietly, your voice full of genuine admiration.

Rhaenyra followed your gaze, a tender smile gracing her lips despite her weariness. “Thank you,” she murmured. “He is my little Joffrey. Strong and full of life.”

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through you at the sight of her happiness, even amidst her fatigue. But there was also an unspoken sadness that lingered in the air, one you couldn’t quite place.

When you finally reached her chambers, you helped her settle into the large, cushioned bed. Rhaenyra sighed in relief as she sank into the comfort, and Leanor placed their son gently in her arms. You stayed for a moment longer, watching as Rhaenyra cradled the infant with such care, her love for him evident in every movement.

“Thank you,” she said softly, meeting your gaze with gratitude. “For always being kind to me.”

You shook your head, brushing off her thanks with a small smile. “It’s what family does,” you replied.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back one last time. The image of Rhaenyra holding her son, her strength and determination shining through her exhaustion, stayed with you. It reminded you of the bond you shared—a bond that would persist, even as the world around you continued to change.

After helping Rhaenyra back to her chambers, you continued your journey to your mother’s room. The halls were quieter now, the lingering echoes of earlier commotion fading into the stillness of the Red Keep. However, as you approached the door to Alicent’s chambers, your steps faltered.

There, on the stone floor, were small, scattered drops of blood trailing toward the entrance. Your heart clenched. It wasn’t unusual for tensions to run high between your mother and Rhaenyra, but this sight sent a chill down your spine. You remembered that you saw Rhaenyra earlier in the staircase, and the thought unsettled you.

Gathering your resolve, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Your mother sat in her usual chair near the window, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow around her figure. She looked calm, serene even, as she cradled a delicate teacup in her hands. The scent of herbs and spices wafted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron that seemed to linger.

Her expression softened when she noticed you, and she gestured for you to come closer. Whatever had transpired earlier, she made no mention of it, nor did she seem inclined to explain the bloodstains outside.

You approached cautiously, taking a seat beside her. “Mother,” you began, folding your hands neatly in your lap, “I’ve come to report on my lessons for the day.”

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before she smiled faintly, her green eyes warm but weary. “Of course,” she said, her voice as composed as ever. “Tell me.”

You recounted your studies—detailing the texts you had read, the figures you were learning about, and the progress you’d made in your calligraphy. Her nods and occasional murmurs of approval reassured you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that her mind was elsewhere.

When you finished, there was a brief silence. You hesitated, glancing toward the faint crimson marks near the base of her gown. “Mother,” you asked carefully, “is everything all right? I noticed—”

“Everything is fine,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm, leaving no room for further inquiry. She reached out and placed a hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ve done well in your studies. That’s all that matters for now.”

You bit your lip but nodded, choosing to let the matter rest for the moment. As much as you wanted to press her, you knew better than to question her when she wasn’t ready to talk.

Still, as you sat there, the unease in your chest refused to subside. Whatever had happened in this room before your arrival, you were certain it was something your mother would go to great lengths to keep hidden.

You made your way to the training yard, drawn by the sound of clashing wood and the grunts of effort. As you arrived, you spotted your twin brother, Aegon and Aemond, sparring with their wooden swords. Aegon, as usual, swung his sword with a mix of reckless enthusiasm and barely practiced skill, while Aemond’s movements were precise and calculated, his concentration unshakable.

When Aegon noticed you standing nearby, he lowered his sword and grinned, jogging over to you. Without a word, he reached out and ruffled your hair, the playful gesture earning an annoyed huff from you.

“Must you always do that?” you asked, trying to smooth your hair back into place, your tone exasperated.

“Of course,” Aegon replied with a cheeky grin. “It’s my sacred duty as your older brother to annoy you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.

Aemond, who had stopped to observe the interaction, approached as well. Unlike Aegon, his movements were more composed, and his gaze softer as he regarded you. “What brings you to the training yard?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“I was passing by and thought I’d see what trouble the two of you were causing,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Though it seems one of you is taking this seriously,” you added, glancing pointedly at Aemond.

Aemond smirked, pleased with your acknowledgment, while Aegon feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, dear sister,” he said with mock indignation.

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “I’ll leave you two to your training, then,” you said, turning to go.

“Wait,” Aemond called out, his expression shifting slightly. “Stay for a while. Watch us.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow at his brother but said nothing, instead lifting his wooden sword and preparing for another round.

“Fine,” you relented, finding a shaded spot nearby to sit and watch.

As the sparring resumed, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle ways Aemond seemed to try harder, his focus sharper whenever he glanced in your direction. Aegon, on the other hand, continued to mix skillful moves with exaggerated antics, clearly trying to entertain you.

Despite their differences, there was a warmth to their dynamic, and as you sat there, you felt a small sense of peace. Even in the chaos of court and family politics, moments like these reminded you that there was still something worth cherishing.

The training yard grew tense as Ser Criston arrived, his presence commanding attention. Behind him, you noticed your nephews, Jace and Luke, trailing quietly, their expressions a mix of determination and apprehension. You hadn’t expected them to join the training today, but you offered them a kind smile as they approached.

As the session continued, Aemond’s focus shifted to Jace. His strikes became sharper, his movements more aggressive, as though trying to prove something. You could see Jace struggling to keep up, his face strained with effort. Finally, with one swift movement, Aemond managed to knock Jace down onto the dirt.

You instinctively stepped forward, your gaze filled with concern. “Aemond, that’s enough,” you called, your voice firm yet soft. But Aemond ignored you, his eye gleaming with triumph as he loomed over Jace.

Before you could say more, Ser Harwin stepped in, his protective instincts flaring. “That’s no way to train with your kin,” he said, his voice steady but edged with warning as he placed himself between Aemond and Jace.

What happened next unfolded in a blur. Aemond stepped forward, his pride clearly stung by Ser Harwin’s intervention. Ser Criston, ever loyal to Aemond, moved to defend him, his hand reaching for his training sword.

Jace and Luke, emboldened by Harwin’s presence, tried to defend themselves as well. In the chaos, you moved closer, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

But everything spiraled out of control. A sudden push from Jace, aimed at Aegon, sent you off balance. You stumbled and fell onto the hard ground, the impact jolting through your body.

The commotion stopped abruptly as everyone noticed you on the ground. Aemond’s eyes widened in shock, and he immediately dropped his wooden sword, rushing to your side. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice laced with worry as he helped you sit up.

Aegon joined him, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with rare concern. “What were you thinking, Jace?” he snapped, glaring at your nephew.

Jace looked stricken, his face pale as he stammered an apology. “I—I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

You took a deep breath, brushing off the dirt from your hands as Aemond helped steady you. “I’m fine,” you said softly, though the sting in your palms and the ache in your back said otherwise.

Ser Harwin stepped forward, placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “That’s enough for today,” he said firmly, his protective gaze lingering on you.

The tension in the yard was palpable as everyone slowly dispersed, but Aegon remained by your side, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable. “I’ll make sure no one harms you again,” he said quietly, his tone more of a promise than a reassurance.

You tried to assure Aegon, “I’m fine, really,” but he wasn’t having any of it. His sharp gaze caught the blood on your palm, and his expression darkened. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly, grabbing your uninjured hand.

Before you could protest, Aemond stepped in beside you, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the injury. “Come on, we’re going to Mother,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As they guided you toward the castle, footsteps hurriedly approached behind you. “Wait! Is she all right?” Jace called out, his voice tinged with worry.

Aemond turned sharply, his face set in a cold glare. “Leave,” he said flatly.

“But I just—” Jace began, taking a step forward.

“I said go,” Aemond cut him off, his voice icy and unyielding. The look in his eye was enough to make Jace hesitate.

Jace glanced at you, concern etched on his face, but when he saw Aegon’s steely expression and Aemond standing protectively at your side, he reluctantly stepped back. “Fine,” he muttered, turning and walking away, his shoulders tense with frustration.

The rest of the walk was silent, save for Aegon’s occasional glance at you, his worry evident. When you finally reached your mother’s chambers, Aegon pushed open the door with more force than necessary, calling out, “Mother!”

Alicent turned from her desk, startled, and immediately her eyes fell on you. Her concern deepened as she saw the blood on your hand. “What happened?” she asked, hurrying over.

“It’s nothing,” you tried to say, but Aemond cut in. “An accident in the training yard. Jace pushed her.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line as she took your hand, examining the injury carefully. “Why were you even there?” she asked, her tone a mix of worry and frustration.

Before you could answer, Aegon interjected, “It doesn’t matter now. Just make sure she’s taken care of.”

Alicent sighed, calling for a maester as she gently dabbed at the wound with a cloth. Aemond stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists, while Aegon paced back and forth.

“You shouldn’t let them near you,” Aemond muttered after a moment, his voice low but intense.

“They didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said softly, trying to ease the tension.

But neither of your brothers seemed convinced. Aegon stopped pacing and glanced at Aemond, a silent agreement passing between them. They wouldn’t let this go so easily.

The maester finished cleaning and bandaging your wound before straightening up. “It’s nothing serious,” he said with a calm smile. “A small cut, and it should heal in a few days. Just avoid straining it.”

You sighed in relief and turned to your brothers. “See? It’s just a scratch. You’re worrying too much.”

But Aegon scoffed, crossing his arms. “A scratch can turn into an infection. What if the maester missed something? You could fall ill.”

Aemond nodded in agreement, his gaze sharp. “He’s right. You shouldn’t dismiss this so easily. What if it had been worse?”

You groaned, exasperated. “It wasn’t worse! I’m fine, truly.”

Both brothers remained unconvinced, their concern still etched into their expressions. Frustrated, you turned toward your mother, hoping for her support. “Mother, please tell them they’re overreacting.”

But Alicent didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, she sighed softly, her expression torn, before she finally said, “They’re only worried about you, my dear. And they’re not wrong to be cautious.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re taking their side?”

Alicent placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You are precious to us. To all of us. It’s better to be overly cautious than to regret it later.”

Aegon smirked, clearly pleased with Alicent’s response, while Aemond gave a small, satisfied nod. You felt your frustration bubble over. “You’re all impossible!”

Standing abruptly, you glanced between them before storming out of the room, leaving your mother and brothers behind. As you walked through the halls, you muttered under your breath, “It’s just a scratch, not a mortal wound.”

But deep down, you knew their concern came from a place of love—even if they were absolutely insufferable about it.

You were halfway to your chambers when you heard Jace’s voice behind you. “Wait—” he called out, his tone soft, almost apologetic.

Turning around, you saw him approaching with an uncertain look on his face. His eyes flicked to the bandaged hand at your side. “I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly, his gaze filled with guilt. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Before you could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the moment. Aegon appeared, his face dark with irritation. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing here?” he snapped, stepping between you and Jace as if shielding you from view.

Jace’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “I was apologizing,” he said firmly, though his voice remained steady.

“You’ve done that. Now leave,” Aegon ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stepped forward, intending to diffuse the tension, but Aegon’s hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Go to your chambers,” he said without looking at you, his focus solely on Jace.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, glancing back at Jace as Aegon’s sharp glare followed him until he turned and walked away.

Once Jace was out of sight, Aegon’s demeanor shifted slightly. He turned to you, his expression softening. “You shouldn’t entertain him,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You frowned but said nothing as he walked beside you, his protective nature as overbearing as ever. When you reached your chambers, he opened the door for you, gesturing for you to enter.

“Aegon, you don’t have to be so harsh,” you said quietly, looking at him as you stood in the doorway.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m harsh because I care. He’s too reckless, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you—even if it’s unintentional.”

You gave him a small smile, recognizing the sincerity behind his words. “Thank you, Aegon. But I can take care of myself.”

He smirked, a hint of his usual playful self returning. “Of course you can. But you’ve got me and Aemond to make sure you never have to.”

With that, he gave you a brief nod and left you to rest, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Night had fallen, and the soft glow of torches lit the halls as you finished preparing for dinner with your mother in her private solar. Adjusting your gown, you left your chambers and made your way to Helaena’s room, finding her perched by the window, humming softly as she watched the stars.

“Helaena,” you called gently, drawing her attention. She turned to you with a warm smile, her delicate hands smoothing her dress as she joined you. Together, you walked through the quiet corridors, your steps echoing faintly.

When you reached the solar, the door was already slightly ajar, and the sound of low conversation drifted out. Inside, you saw your brothers—Aegon reclining lazily with a goblet of wine in hand, while Aemond stood near the window, his gaze distant and unreadable. They both turned their attention to you and Helaena as you entered.

Aegon’s face lit up with a smirk. “Finally. We were beginning to think you got lost,” he teased, his tone light but laced with his usual humor.

Ignoring his remark, you walked past the table to where your mother sat at the head. She looked up at you, her expression softening as you leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Good evening, Mother,” you said, your voice warm.

“Good evening, my dear,” she replied, her hand brushing yours affectionately.

Satisfied, you moved to your seat beside Aegon. As you sat down, he leaned slightly closer. “Taking your time tonight, aren’t you?”

You gave him a small, unimpressed glance before turning to Helaena, who had settled on your other side. She began speaking quietly about a dream she had, her words carrying that cryptic charm only she could manage.

Across the table, Aemond’s gaze briefly flicked to you, lingering for a moment before he turned his attention to his goblet. His silence, as always, spoke volumes.

Dinner began, the atmosphere calm but edged with the subtle tensions that always seemed to accompany your family. Still, for now, you let yourself settle into the moment, content to be surrounded by those you cared for, even if the bonds between you were complicated.

As the soft clinking of cutlery and muted conversation filled the solar, your mother suddenly broke the relative calm with a statement that made your breath hitch.

“This afternoon,” Alicent began, her tone measured yet carrying a distinct weight, “your father proposed the idea of uniting our family further. Specifically, he suggested a marriage.”

Your attention, which had been focused on your plate, snapped to her as the words sank in. “A marriage?” you repeated, your voice betraying your unease.

She nodded, her gaze steady. “Between you and Aegon.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon, who had been lazily swirling the wine in his goblet, suddenly stopped, his eyes darting to you. Aemond, seated across the table, stiffened visibly, his expression darkening.

You blinked, struggling to form a response. “Mother… That’s—”

“It’s a sound proposal,” Alicent cut in, her tone soft but firm. “The union would strengthen our family’s claim and ensure stability. It’s what’s best for all of us.”

Aegon broke the silence with a dry laugh, setting his goblet down with a faint thud. “So, I’m to marry my sister now? Is that supposed to sober me up?” he quipped, though his smirk faded quickly when he caught the serious look on your mother’s face.

Helaena, who had been quietly picking at her food, glanced at you with an apologetic expression, as though she wished she could say something to ease your discomfort.

You turned your gaze back to Alicent, your throat tight. “Mother, I…” you hesitated, looking for the right words. “I wasn’t expecting this. At all.”

“I understand,” Alicent said gently, though her eyes held a steely determination. “But these are the realities of our family. You’ll have time to consider, but the King feels strongly about this.”

Across the table, Aemond’s voice finally cut through the tension, cold and sharp. “Perhaps my brother should learn responsibility before a match like this is even considered.”

Aegon glared at him, his jaw tightening. “And perhaps you should mind your own business, little brother.”

The bickering began to escalate, but you barely heard it. Your mind swirled with conflicting emotions as you tried to process what this meant for you—and for your family.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the turmoil in your chest as Aegon and Aemond’s heated words echoed around the solar. Slowly, you reached out and placed a hand on Aegon’s forearm, urging him to calm down. “Aegon,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the argument. “Enough.”

He glanced at you, his anger dissipating slightly as he noticed the worry etched on your face. With a begrudging sigh, he leaned back in his chair, though his jaw remained tight.

You turned your gaze to your mother, her expectant eyes fixed on you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hesitated, weighing the gravity of your next words. Finally, you nodded, your voice quiet but steady. “If this is what’s best for our family… I will agree to it.”

A silence fell over the room, the weight of your decision settling on everyone. Beneath the table, you felt Aegon’s hand reach for yours. His grip was surprisingly firm, a silent reassurance or perhaps a plea for strength. You glanced at him, and though his face was unreadable, the gesture sent a flicker of warmth through the uncertainty.

Alicent’s expression softened, relief evident in her eyes. “Good,” she said, her voice carrying a maternal gentleness. “Then it is settled. The wedding will be held in one month’s time.”

One month. The words echoed in your mind as you tried to process the rapid pace of it all. You glanced at Aemond, who sat silently now, his jaw clenched as his gaze lingered on the table. Helaena offered you a small, kind smile, though her eyes seemed distant, as though lost in her own thoughts.

As the conversation shifted back to more mundane matters, you barely heard a word, your mind still racing. Aegon’s hand remained in yours, and though you couldn’t quite read his thoughts, his presence anchored you in that moment.

For Aegon, this marriage was more than a mere duty—it was a lifeline, a chance to hold onto the one person who had always been there for him. You were his anchor, the one who saw beyond his flaws, offering him kindness and love when others only judged or scorned him. Your mother’s stern distance, her harsh words, and the weight of his own insecurities had always left him adrift. But with you, he felt seen. Understood.

And you? You loved him, too. Despite his recklessness, his vices, and the moments of doubt that sometimes plagued you both, your bond had always been undeniable. You had shared so many moments of laughter, of quiet confessions, of comfort in each other’s presence.

This marriage was not just an obligation. For you and Aegon, it was the culmination of years of unspoken connection—a way to solidify the love that had always been there. As the days passed and preparations began for the wedding, you often found him at your side. Sometimes he’d be quiet, watching you with a rare tenderness in his eyes. Other times, he’d make you laugh with his dry humor, lightening the weight of the expectations that surrounded you both.

To the court, your union might be seen as a strategic move, a way to strengthen the family in turbulent times. But for you and Aegon, it was more. It was hope, it was love, and it was the promise that, no matter what, you would face the world together.

You walked slowly toward the garden, supported by your handmaiden, as the weight of your second pregnancy made movement more challenging. The gentle morning breeze carried the sound of laughter—bright and carefree—belonging to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Their giggles were soon joined by Aegon’s deeper, joyful chuckle, a sound that warmed your heart despite the strain on your body.

As you reached the edge of the garden, your gaze fell upon the scene: your two children running in circles, chasing butterflies, with Aegon crouched low, pretending to help but clearly playing along. The sight made you smile, even as a small wave of exhaustion passed over you.

Aegon was the first to notice your presence. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly stood, brushing his hands off before making his way toward you. His usual smirk was softer, more affectionate, as he reached out and took your hand.

“Come,” he said gently, his voice low and warm. “You shouldn’t be standing so long in this condition.

With his help, you carefully made your way to the bench where your children were waiting. Jaehaera immediately ran to you, her silver hair shining in the sunlight as she hugged your side, while Jaehaerys tugged at Aegon’s sleeve, eager to pull him back into their game.

You sat down, your hand resting on your rounded belly, watching as Aegon indulged Jaehaerys once more, pretending to be a fearsome dragon while your son giggled and tried to “fight” him with an imaginary sword.

Moments like these reminded you why you loved him. Whatever storms loomed outside these walls, here, in the garden with your family, everything felt calm. Perfect.

You gently caressed your belly, feeling the life growing within you as you watched Aegon play with Jaehaerys. A soft smile graced your lips, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Aemond standing at the edge of the garden, his tall figure poised and observing you silently.

Curious, you turned your gaze to him and called out, “Aemond, is there something you need?”

Aemond took a step closer, his eye fixed on you, his expression unreadable. “I’m waiting for Aegon,” he replied in his calm, measured tone. “We planned to fly with our dragons this afternoon.”

You nodded in understanding and turned toward your husband. “Aegon,” you called, your voice soft but clear, “Aemond is waiting for you.”

Aegon paused his game, brushing the dirt from his trousers as he straightened up. “Flying, is it?” he mused with a grin, clearly intrigued. Before he could respond, Jaehaerys ran up to him, tugging at his hand eagerly.

“Can I come, Father?” your son asked, his eyes wide with excitement. “Please? I want to fly too!”

Aegon glanced at you, hesitating for a moment before smiling down at Jaehaerys. “Alright, little dragon,” he said, ruffling his son’s silver hair. “But you’ll need to hold on tight.”

Jaehaerys cheered, his youthful joy infectious, while Jaehaera clung to your side, shaking her head. “I want to stay with Mother,” she said softly, looking up at you with her big, trusting eyes.

You placed a gentle hand on her head, smoothing down her hair. “Then you’ll stay with me, sweet one,” you said, your voice warm and comforting.

As Aegon and Jaehaerys joined Aemond, the two men exchanged a brief glance—a silent acknowledgment of their shared bond as brothers. You watched them leave, Jaehaerys skipping alongside his father and uncle, his laughter echoing through the garden.

With Jaehaera nestled by your side, you felt a sense of contentment despite the bittersweet ache of seeing them go. Moments like these, when your family came together, were the ones you cherished most.

You remained in the garden, enjoying the peaceful moment with your daughter, Jaehaera, as she played by your side.

As you sat there, one of your servants approached you with a respectful bow, holding a raven’s message in his hand. “A letter for you, my lady,” he said, his voice polite but carrying a hint of curiosity.

You recognized the seal immediately—the one from Dragonstone. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you took the letter, feeling a warmth at the thought of Rhaenyra, despite the tense relationship between her and your mother.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft as you carefully broke the seal. The raven had brought a message from your half-sister, your bond with her still strong despite the stormy waters between her and your mother.

As you unfolded the parchment, Jaehaera looked up at you, sensing the change in your demeanor. “Is it from Aunt Rhaenyra?” she asked, her voice full of innocence and curiosity.

You nodded, offering a reassuring smile as you began to read. The words flowed smoothly as Rhaenyra updated you on the happenings in Dragonstone, sharing news of her children and offering a warm invitation to visit soon. Despite everything, the love she held for you remained clear in every line.

As you finished reading, you tucked the letter away carefully, knowing you would write back soon. You didn’t need to respond immediately, but you were already thinking of how you could plan a trip to see her and the children again.

“Would you like to go see her soon?” you asked Jaehaera, your eyes twinkling with excitement.

She beamed at the thought. “Yes, Mama!”

For a moment, everything felt just a little bit brighter—the connection with Rhaenyra, the family bonds that still held strong despite the complexities, and the love you shared with your children. Even in the midst of everything, there were moments of peace and happiness to hold onto.

With the letter from Rhaenyra tucked safely away, you remembered the promise you had made to your mother to share tea together. Carefully, with the help of your maid, you rose to your feet, steadying yourself with a hand on your growing belly. Jaehaera clung to your other hand, her excitement at seeing her grandmother evident in her bright eyes.

You walked through the familiar halls of the Keep, each step measured and deliberate due to the weight of your pregnancy. When you reached your mother’s chambers, you knocked lightly before entering.

Alicent was already seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for you. At the sight of you and Jaehaera, her face softened with a rare tenderness. She rose gracefully, coming to your side to guide you to a comfortable chair.

“Sit, my dear,” she said, her tone warm and soothing. You lowered yourself into the chair as she took her place beside you, her gaze immediately falling to your swollen belly. With a gentle hand, she reached out and brushed over it, her touch both curious and affectionate.

“You’re carrying beautifully,” she remarked, a trace of nostalgia in her voice. Then her hand moved to your face, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a motherly gesture that reminded you of your younger days.

Jaehaera climbed into Alicent’s lap with a giggle, and your mother’s expression softened even further. “And how is my sweet granddaughter today?” she asked, her voice playful as she tickled the little girl’s sides, eliciting more laughter.

The room filled with warmth as Alicent began to play with Jaehaera, asking her about her day and making her giggle with little jokes and stories. For a moment, the weight of politics and tensions seemed to fade, leaving only a quiet, familial joy that you hadn’t felt in some time.

You sipped your tea, watching the scene with a soft smile, feeling grateful for this rare, peaceful moment with your mother and daughter.

After ensuring that Jaehaera was safely tucked into her bed, you made your way back to your chambers. The corridors were quiet, the evening air cool against your skin. When you opened the door, the faint scent of soap and clean linen greeted you, and your eyes immediately found Aegon. He was standing near the hearth, his damp hair falling over his forehead, the fresh tunic he wore clinging slightly to his skin.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer to him. Hearing your approach, Aegon turned, his violet eyes softening when they met yours. Without a word, he opened his arms, and you walked into his embrace. His hands were gentle as they settled on your back, pulling you closer as his chin rested lightly atop your head.

He pressed a kiss to your hair before murmuring, “Jaehaerys is being cleaned up and sent to rest. He was so eager to fly today. I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

Your smile widened as you leaned into him, resting your cheek against his chest. “He loves spending time with you,” you replied, your voice warm. “He adores every moment he gets to share with his father.”

Aegon pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his expression tender. “And I adore every moment I get to share with all of you,” he said softly.

The weight of the day seemed to fade as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence. Aegon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand never leaving yours as he knelt in front of you. He placed a hand gently on your belly, his touch reverent.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Better now,” you replied, your hand covering his. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “No,” he whispered, his gaze locked on yours. “I’m the lucky one.”

In that quiet moment, with only the crackle of the fire filling the room, the world outside seemed to vanish. It was just you, Aegon, and the life you had built together—a love that had grown stronger with each passing day.

After changing into your nightgown with Aegon’s help, you let out a soft sigh of contentment as he guided you to the bed. The mattress was warm and inviting, and as you lay down, Aegon settled beside you, his arm slipping protectively around your waist.

His hand rested on your rounded belly, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles as if trying to connect with the child within. Every now and then, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his affection wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Aegon murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “Do you think they’ll look more like you or me?”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his excitement. “I hope they inherit your kindness and your smile,” you replied, your hand brushing against his cheek.

“And I hope they have your strength,” he said, leaning in to kiss your temple.

You turned slightly to face him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck as you gazed into his violet eyes, filled with so much love it made your chest ache. “They’re lucky to have you as their father,” you whispered.

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Closing the small gap between you, your lips met his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved to cup your cheek as he deepened the kiss slightly, his touch tender and full of love. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

As the night deepened, you nestled closer to him, his arms tightening around you protectively. With his hand still resting on your belly and his heartbeat steady against your ear, you felt a profound sense of peace, knowing you were right where you belonged.

As you lay together in the quiet of the night, Aegon held you close, his breath warm against your skin. His arms were wrapped securely around you, as though he feared letting you go even for a moment.

Breaking the silence, his voice was soft, filled with gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you,” he said, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. “Thank you for loving me… for standing by me when no one else did. When Mother looked through me like I didn’t exist, you always saw me. You gave me hope, gave me the love I never thought I deserved.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head to look at him. His violet eyes glistened with emotion, and you could see the depth of his love for you in every inch of his expression.

You reached up and cupped his face, your palms warm against his cheeks. A soft smile graced your lips as you spoke, your voice steady and full of affection. “Loving you, Aegon, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done. You’re my twin, my other half… but more than that, you’re my soulmate. My husband.”

Aegon leaned into your touch, closing his eyes briefly as if to savor the moment. When he opened them again, they were filled with devotion. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your hand.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”

His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one you didn’t often see but cherished deeply. Pulling you closer, he rested his forehead against yours. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret loving me.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill from the sheer depth of the moment. “And I’ll spend mine loving you more with every passing day.”

The two of you held each other in the quiet of your chamber, your hearts beating as one. No words were needed after that; the bond you shared was unbreakable, forged by love, trust, and the unyielding strength of your connection.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow @witch-of-letters

#hotd #hotd imagine #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon headcanons #aegon x reader #aegon x oc #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd aegon #hotd headcanon #hotd oc #hotd fanfic

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captn-trex · 2 days ago

Text

brightest in the dark

Crosshair x F!Reader

word count: 9.2k

description: when you get caught up in an inescapable cave-in, crosshair finds that some things are easier to confess when it feels like the end of the road

warnings/tags: angst for sure but not all the way through, crosshair is an angsty boy in a lot of ways, forced proximity, frenemies (?) to lovers — reader and cross have a strained relationship because of the aforementioned angstiness of the boy, perceived unrequited love, injury detail, blood & needles, jealous (and a bit insecure) crosshair, implied there might be something between hunter & reader (spoiler: there isn't), grumpy/sunshine kinda, reader is a medic (how original), reader is described as being a similar size to crosshair, some suggestive dialogue but nothing nsfw

a/n: I will make every clone yearn if it’s the last thing I do. sue me. also If anyone knows where I took the title from we can be best friends forever btw. and shoutout to @lonewolflupe for the ‘sky rodeo’ <3

masterlist | join my taglist | read on ao3

“Have you got your water bottle?”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, kicking off the side of the Marauder as you descended the ship’s stairs with an irritating pep in your step.

“Mm” he confirmed, taking a toothpick from his belt, already pre-empting a grinding jaw.

“Medkit?” you asked, stopping just next to him to secure the top of your knapsack.

Crosshair didn’t reply, he just gave you a sidelong glance of irritation, toothpick clenched between his teeth. You looked over to him, most likely upon realising he wasn’t going to answer, and deflated slightly at his expression.

“Crosshair, have you got your medkit?” you asked more pointedly, an edge of exasperation that made the edges of his lips quirk up marginally.

“Yes, I have” he mumbled out, turning away from you and catching Hunter’s glare as he walked in his direction.

Crosshair had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again, he already knew what he was going to say.

“She’s only trying to help” Hunter scolded him, “if I hear that you've given her a hard time—”

“Alright, I get it” Crosshair snapped, his gaze as sharp as his tongue.

Hunter gave him an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised and a sigh escaping his lips, “alright, try not to take too long, report back as soon as you've got a visual”

Crosshair didn't try to suppress his eye roll this time, “this isn’t my first sky rodeo, Hunter”

“I know, but—”

“You ready, Cross?”

Crosshair's head twinged to the side slightly as his eyes fluttered closed, his jaw grinding and teeth clamped together at the nickname. He'd pretend it was because he hated it, as he always did.

He didn't reply, instead stalking away from the two of you and off in the direction of your mission objective. He could hear the way your feet scurried to catch up with his long strides and huffed, gripping his helmet tightly at his side. He felt your eyes on him, running them over his armour, and it took everything within him to keep from meeting your gaze.

“How did you sleep last night?” you asked, making his jaw tick noticeably.

He knew you had recognised his poor sleeping habits of late, but he wasn't really in the mood to speak about it, especially as it had something to do with the fact that you'd started sleeping in Hunter's bunk. He wasn't sure why, but that was somehow even more torturous than knowing.

“Fine” he replied coldly, keeping his eyes ahead as the two of you followed the trail that lead down into the valley below.

You sighed, “Cross…”

“Don't call me that” he grumbled, no real bite behind the demand, “and I said fine, so drop it”

He saw your shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, disappointed in himself once again.

Truth be told, Crosshair was painfully enamoured by you. Smitten was a more appropriate description really. He certainly felt as if he had been smited by some cruel deity who deemed that his life was worth being made difficult. He bore it like an open wound that he tried to ignore, a mess that wasn't given the proper amount of care and attention, and bled into the way he treated you.

You’d always been too kind to Crosshair, far kinder than he deserved. As much as it was your job as a medic, you always took care of him in the same way as the others, even though they always treated you with a level of respect that he didn't. He wished everyday that he could take it all back, go back to the beginning and start over, let you know how much he appreciated you and your efforts, how his feelings had grown for you to the point where his chest ached every time your smile was directed at someone who wasn't him.

It made little sense, he knew that. He acted as if he didn't care whether you lived or died, but it was the fact that you didn't seem to care that made him continue to act that way. So he couldn't take it back after all, and maybe he wouldn't want to anyway, because how else could he get close to you? He knew that made little sense too, but very few things were clear to him when it came to you.

In any case, he'd go on suffering in silence, a suffering of his own making that he cursed himself everyday for.

You did have a friendship, of sorts. He wouldn't call it that, and would certainly never admit it, but you were insistent in trying to get him talking. The way it would play out often went along the lines of him teasing you, making fun of you, to see how far he could push you as a juvenile way of coping with the magnitude of his affections. It was the closest thing to affection he would allow himself. You often rebutted his teasing remarks with ones of your own, and as much as he appreciated you matching his attitude, he mostly wished that you wouldn't allow him to get away with it, that you would give him a reason to show how he truly felt about you.

Safe to say the opportunity hadn't arisen, and he wasn't crossing his fingers either.

This mission's objective was simple; go and scout ahead, and comm the others when it was safe for them to move out. Since your joining the group eight months ago, Crosshair had often been lumbered with you in situations such as this. As the sniper, he wasn't made for nor enjoyed close combat fighting, and as the medic with little combat training, it suited you to hang back until you were needed.

Thankfully, the terrain that you were traversing this time was straightforward, a narrow valley that brought you right up to a ridge that overlooked a separatist outpost. Although the area was simple to cut across, it only made the silence that stretched between you even more tense, with no buffer to distract either of you.

You kicked up dust into the air with the way you were dragging your feet, and Crosshair was half of the mind to replace his backpack with you just so he wouldn't have to hear the grating noise. Holding a datapad in hand, you tapped the screen, tracking the direction that the two of you were heading in.

“Two more klicks” you mumbled, cutting through the tension with all the effectiveness of a butter knife.

Crosshair grunted in reply, casting his eyes across the top of the valley as the two of you descended to the very bottom. His hand shot out, slamming against your abdomen and stopping you in your place.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice low as you saw the way his gaze skimmed the top of the valley.

Crosshair slowly reached back and took his firepuncher from his backpack, “we're being watched”

The moment the first blaster bolt flew, Crosshair grabbed your waist and pushed you behind him, bringing his blaster into position and picking off the sniper droids he could see. Each bolt found its mark, piercing the droids between their eyes.

“Find us some cover” he ordered as he shoved his helmet over his head, looking for incoming droids. He turned back the way you had come, blaster raised as he walked backwards. It was silent for a moment, the only thing he could hear being the gentle padding of your feet against the ground behind him.

“Crosshair, in here” he heard you call from not far away, and he gave one last look around the edge of the valley before turning and making his way towards your voice.

There was a small cavern at the base of the cliff, a hideaway cut from the rock, and it looked to have been used for shelter before. A small pile of logs indicated a fire, with stones outlining a pit of ashes, only just visible with the way the afternoon light shone in through the opening of the cave.

Crosshair squared himself with the wall of the cave to look outside, his back pressed against it as he followed the line of the cliff through his scope. He felt your presence next to him, your chin knocking against his spaulder as you peered over his shoulder. Your breath wafted over the sliver of skin between the top of his blacks and his helmet, and his breath hitched as the heat of it made his skin prickle.

“Stay” he muttered, stepping forwards to put some distance between you, and to make sure that it was safe to move again. He stepped out into the valley once more, his rifle raised and ready should he meet more adversaries.

It was eerily quiet, the whistling of the wind the most audible sound, carrying no others on it. Crosshair stalked around the base of the valley, making sure that no other droids were in the vicinity, and called for you to join him when he was sure.

“One moment” you muttered, “I think there's a stone in my boot”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, lifting his weapon to look through the scope and make extra sure that it was safe. He wandered around as he waited, his own boots softly crumbling the dirt beneath them, then came to a stop next to you after a few moments, watching as you buckled up your boot again.

You looked up at him and a small smile crossed your lips, but almost instantly dropped, as if you'd done something wrong, “let's go”

Crosshair felt his heart fall from his chest at the subtle action. The fact that you wouldn't even allow yourself to smile at him left a gaping hole through the middle of him, and he felt completely and utterly ashamed. He knew it was his own fault, he'd blame himself even if it wasn't, but he wasn't prepared for how the simple motion would bring his mettle to its knees.

As he was caught up in staring at you with an inscrutible expression, one that didn't give away even one ounce of the anguish he felt, a blast flew straight past him, and narrowly missed your arm. He pushed you back inside the cave on instinct, and whipped around to deal with the incoming attack, but upon seeing the increased amount of firepower now gunning for the two of you, he quickly followed you inside, picking off the droids towards the front of the formation as he walked backwards.

As the droids continued firing down at you, a blast lodged itself in the ledge above the opening to the cave. When the rocks there crumbled away, they seemed to focus all their fire above you. Crosshair didn't think about the immediate implications of it, he just kept knocking down what droids he could, but when you called out his name and grabbed his arm to pull him backwards, he understood.

The rocks came down almost in slow motion, but quick enough that the pair of you couldn't have made it out in time. Crosshair fell backwards as you tugged on his arm, stumbling and trying to find his footing before he was taken to the ground. In the scramble to get away, a rock snagged his shoulder, just between his cuirass and spaulder, and he released a deep grunt as it brought him to his knees with the impact.

For a moment it was quiet again, only the heavy sound of breathing being heard in the darkness of the cave. Crosshair kept his head down, trying to keep his breath even and cut out the pain from his wound, though it was quickly becoming apparent to him that his shoulder was not in any sort of good condition. He could feel blood tricking down his side, soaking through his blacks, and he felt himself becoming feint, his mind fuzzy and unfocused.

A light flicked on, shining directly at him, and he groaned again, the hand of his uninjured arm lifting to cover his eyes.

“Crosshair” your voice was a hoarse whisper, as if it had got caught in your throat, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

He slumped forwards slightly, his back hunching as he dug his knees further into the ground to distract from the pain.

“I know” he said quietly, not even having looked at the damage yet. He was far too concentrated on trying to ignore it.

The light flicked off with the click of a button, and he heard you shuffling around, your knapsack hitting the ground with a thud that told him you were moving quickly, your actions rushed. Soon after, a warmer light started growing, and Crosshair realised you had taken out a lamp, and were now dragging it over to him with a medkit in hand.

He looked up, the softer light not invading his vision in such a piercing way, and he could now see the worry in your eyes. His gut twisted, the uncomfortable feeling of guilt spreading through his body and only making his wound ache more. You knelt in front of him, ripping off his helmet before your hand gripped his spaulder and pulled it aside to get a proper look at the injury. The both of you sucked a breath through your teeth, Crosshair in pain and you no doubt because of how bad the damage was.

You got to work quickly, silently, and unclipped the top half of his armour to get better access. Crosshair was glad that you weren't talking, he was already embarassed enough, feeling infantile, crumpled to his knees and completely weak in front of you. He was powerless to do anything else, his head pounding and vision hazy as blood gushed from his wound.

“Hold this here” you said firmly, pushing a cloth into the wound and bringing him back to the present harshly, another pained noise leaving him.

He followed your instruction without much thought, and when he took the fabric from you to hold in place, he felt the way your hand was shaking. His eyes snapped up to yours, and the distress he saw written into your expression was enough to shock him back into full consciousness.

Crosshair watched your movements carefully, his keen eyes noticing every twitch and shiver as you fumbled with the syringe. He wanted to comfort you in any way he could, but truthfully, he didn't know how. It wasn't something he'd ever sought to do, and now faced with the challenge, he didn't know what would be the right thing to say.

“It's just a scratch” he mumbled, a small chuckle passing his lips in an attempt to at least alleviate some of the tension.

“A scratch?” you huffed, your voice disbelieving as you shot him a unimpressed look, “this isn't funny, Crosshair”

“Hey—”

“If I hadn't pulled you away you'd still be there. You'd be de—”

Crosshair called your name sternly, and you stopped your fiddling with the syringe to look up at him, “it's going to be fine, do you hear me?”

His voice was grave, and while he knew it wasn't necessarily a comforting tone, it was the best thing he could muster up with the panic steadily growing within him. Your eyes flicked between his, your shoulders relaxing slightly after a few seconds.

“Okay” you breathed out deeply, pressing your hand over his to hold the cloth tighter to the wound, “look to your right”

Crosshair could feel his pulse throbbing all over his body, the blood rushing through him and towards his wound, towards the hand that covered his and brought about such a reaction. Your skin was warm through the fabric of his glove, and he'd been so distracted by the touch that he barely registered when you had administered the pain relief injection into his neck.

You took your hand from his as you placed down the syringe, and then found the hem of his blacks, your fingers skimming along the edge, “I need to take this off, is that okay?”

“It's fine” Crosshair replied, taking the cloth away from his wound to allow you to continue.

You nodded once, and ran your palms across the skin of his abdomen as you peeled the body glove from him. Crosshair couldn't help the way his body shivered, the way his jaw clenched at the feel of your hands on his skin. His eyes locked with yours as you pulled the top up, warm knuckles brushing over him, and he let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax his mind. He groaned in pain, eyes screwing shut when he lifted his arm to help you take the shirt from his injured shoulder.

“I know, I know” you spoke soothingly, your voice measured and calm as you discarded the shirt, “I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologise” Crosshair hissed out, the pressure to his wound returning as you grabbed his hand once more and brought the cloth to his shoulder.

“Alright, here's what's going to happen now” you started, your hand still covering his as you held his attention, “I'm going to take this away and clean the wound first. It's going to hurt a lot, but it'll be over before you know it. Then I'm going to need to stitch it up”

“It's that bad huh?” Crosshair huffed a laugh, still not keen to look down at the wound, but he heard how strained his voice sounded in saying it.

“It's going to be fine” you assured him, and your fingers closed around his, gripping his hand tightly, “it'll only take a few minutes, and then it's just a matter of putting a bacta patch over it”

He breathed out deeply, his skin alight where yours was touching it, trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Alright, do it” he spoke, forcing his eyes away.

You gave his hand one last squeeze as you brought it away, and despite how it made his heart flutter, it wasn't enough to fight the stinging pain of the antiseptic spray.

As you cleaned out the gash, wiping away drying blood and dirt, you responded to Crosshairs groans and whimpers of pain with comforting words, telling him that it was almost over, and as much as he appreciated it, he only felt more embarrassed. In the lull between cleaning and stitches, he tried to take steadying breaths, but the antiseptic was still stinging at the open wound.

“Are you ready?” you asked quietly, and his eyes found yours again at the softness of your voice.

You held the curved needle in your hand, ready for whenever he said the word, and between his deep breaths and pounding head, he couldn't help but just sit and admire you for a moment too long.

“Do you want something to hold on to?”

“What?” he frowned.

“To grip, for the pain? or… something to bite down on?” you suggested.

“No, no” he dismissed, shaking his head.

“Okay, I'm going to start now” you informed him, and he nodded quickly.

As soon as the needle pierced his skin, Crosshair's hands shot out and gripped the fabric of your shirt, bunching it at your waist with the way his fingers tightened, his bones almost creaking beneath the pressure.

“Fuck” he breathed out, trying hard to keep himself in check, to distract himself by focusing on the rhythm of your breath.

“I know” you said gently, “you're doing well, just a couple more”

His head fell forwards, resting his forehead against your temple as you worked, and he instead found that he was losing himself in your presence. He could feel your breath against his cheek, steady and warm, where his was harsh and shallow. You continued to send comforting words his way, your sharp actions a direct contrast to your tone and sentiments. He focused on the sound on your voice, the scent of your hair, the soft fabric of your tunic between his fingers, and soon they began to loosen.

“There, all done” you pulled away from him as you put down the needle and peeled off the back of a bacta patch, and Crosshair had to catch himself from falling forward.

You placed the patch over the affected area, lightly running your fingers over the edges to press it into his skin, and he immediately felt the solution beginning to cool the flaming agony that stemmed from the gash. A breath left him, and he sat back on his heels more as his head tipped back in relief.

“Better?” you asked.

“Better” he replied, then looked down at you to see your worried expression taken over by something more unreadable.

You chuckled slightly as you tidied up the medkit, “don't worry, I'm not expecting a th—”

“Thank you" he spoke before you could finish, voice firm enough that your eyes snapped back up to his.

You cocked your head a little as you looked over his features, “well… you're welcome then”

Placing the medkit back in your knapsack, you produced a dark piece of fabric, handing it over to him. He looked at the black material clasped in your hand and realised you were offering him your spare blacks.

“That wont fit me” he nodded his head to the item of clothing, an unimpressed furrow in his brow.

He watched on as you frowned in return, then trailed your eyes down his chest and abdomen, no doubt sizing him up.

“We look about the same size”

Crosshair scoffed, “are you calling me skinny?”

“Are you calling me skinny?” you replied amusedly, one of your eyebrows raising in tandem with your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “whatever, hand them over”

He held out his hand, looking away from your irritatingly enraptured gaze, and you dropped the top into his hand. He threaded his arms through the top and the sleeves, going to pull it over his head until his shoulder cried out in protest, and another pained grunt escaped him. He tried again, but was met by the same results.

“Here, let me help y—”

“Don't touch me” he replied on instinct, his tone venomous in a way that made his insides coil tightly together with guilt. He could see the hurt in your eyes, a flicker of sadness that only made that nasty feeling inside of him pull taut.

Truthfully, he couldn't stand to have you touch him. If he hadn't been so woozy previously, he may have shrugged off your help with his wound as he usually did, telling you he could sort it himself. Now that he was in his right mind, there was no way he would let you anywhere near him. He didn't trust himself around you. He didn't think he could have you touch him and not do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Though, observing the hurt in your eyes, in the slight downturn of your lips, he felt he couldn't deny you anything in that moment. After a long silence, he sighed. “I'm sorry”

Without so much as a single word, your hands found the fabric of the top, and you gently pulled it over his head. Crosshair knew he didn't have to say anything, because as much as he wished you didn't, you knew him well, and could read him far more than he was comfortable with.

He kept his eyes trained on yours. So much of your emotions were given away by your eyes, and he felt that you didn't try very hard to hide them, not like he did. He admired you for that. You were so openly giving and sought connection with everyone, even him. Your eyes caught his as you pulled the top down over his chest.

A small smirk wound it's way onto your face, “don't worry, I won't tell the others you needed help dressing like a little boy”

Crosshair huffed, trying to disguise what was really a laugh as an unimpressed scoff.

“I'm going to try and contact them” you muttered, moving away from him to pull out your comm. “Hunter? Are you there?” you were met by static, nothing coming through the line.

You tried again a few more times, calling for Hunter to reply, and every time you said his name it was like a punch to the gut. The last time was so desperate, so soft and bordering on loving that Crosshair almost clamped his hands over his ears. He couldn't stand it.

He didn't want to feel resentful towards Hunter, he only had himself to blame for leaving the space for something to blossom between the two of you, and it didn't surprise him in the least. You were both generous in a similar way, looking out for others before yourself, and it made sense that you had gravitated towards each other.

He tried to push it from his mind, vaguely aware that you were sending a recorded message about what had happened. He was more focused on the intense need he had to escape this situation. He couldn't be trapped in here with you, it would be the end of him, he was sure.

You began trying to shift some rocks from the base of the mound they had fallen into, but it only caused a slide from the ones on top of it. You yelped as you sprang back, and a thin crack appeared, running along the ceiling of the cave. Crosshair just huffed and pushed himself off of the ground, going to continue on in your stead.

“I'm not sure that's—”

The same thing happened, the crack deepening and small rocks falling from the ceiling. Crosshair paid it no mind, but you insisted that he stopped, pleading with him when it only got worse, more rocks shifting unsteadily and falling down around you. Really, it was hurting him a lot, his shoulder calling out for him to stop much like you, but the prospect of being stuck in here struck him as far more painful.

You had always given back what Crosshair gave out for the most part, but with the tone of your voice, he could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were quickly losing your sense of humour, and you finally snapped.

“You know what Crosshair, I'm kriffing sick of you! If you want to go and get yourself killed, be my guest, I won't stop you”

Crosshair stopped what he was doing, turning to face you, “you don't mean that”

His tone was partly joking, partly serious, as he didn't know which end of the scale you were on at that point.

“I mean every word” you spat at him, far more angry than you'd ever been, and you grabbed the lamp, dragging it behind you as you walked away.

He watched you slide down the far wall of the cave, your arms wrapping around your knees as you brought them into your chest in a huff. For a moment Crosshair didn't know what to do, but he figured he wasn't going anywhere if you weren't onside, so he trudged over you slowly, not approaching quickly for how he didn't know what kind of reaction to expect.

“Go away” you muttered, your eyes staring ahead of you, hardened with a resolve to not engage with him.

“No” he replied petulantly.

“I'm not dealing with your shitty attitude right now” you gritted through your teeth, still not looking at him.

It seemed that his mistreatment of you had finally caught up to him, and made you snap, and Crosshair was almost scared of the uncharted territory that you were now in.

“Just get up and help me shift these rocks” he knocked his foot on yours, urging you to abide, but you didn’t move.

You were silent, and realised then that it looked as if you were shaking subtly, but it was hard to tell in the low light. He was worried about you, but he knew there wasn't anything he could say or do that would help. He crouched next to you with a small sigh.

“What's the matter with you?”

“The matter? Crosshair we're stuck in here!” you finally looked up at him, a scrunch in your nose that he couldn't help but find adorable, and he found himself wishing you would have snapped at him before.

“What? Are you scared?” he asked, his usual teasing tone making an appearance.

“Yes! I'm scared, alright?” you hissed, and he could see a flicker of fear in your stormy eyes, “I don't know why you aren't”

“I don't get scared” he replied quickly, a knee-jerk response.

You laughed humourlessly, rolling your eyes, “right, of course. I should've thought of that”

Crosshair could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he took a seat next to you, his back to the wall, one knee bent to rest his forearm on.

“I can't believe I'm going to die trapped in here with you” you grumbled out.

A pang of hurt cut deep in Crosshair's chest, but he forced a dry chuckle past his lips, an instinctual reaction to deflect the pain. You didn't seem so amused.

“Hey” he said softly, and you turned your head to look over to him, “we're not going to die”

His voice was as soothing as he'd allow himself, and he hoped that it could bring you even a little reassurance. You seemed almost taken aback, your mouth hanging open a little as your eyebrows raised. You blinked at him, and then settled back into a frown.

“I'm not stupid Cross, there's no way to know whether we're going to get out of this or not” you spoke softly.

The nickname made his chest seize up, but he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall of the cave, “you're right”

He wasn't going to lie to you, you didn't need that, and it wouldn't fix anything about the predicament you found yourselves in.

For a little while, you sat in silence, save for a steady drip of water on the opposite side of the cave that Crosshair had failed to notice previously. Now, it was all he could focus on. It was a particularly grating noise, something irritatingly steadfast and unyielding about it, just existing in the same space as you, but doing a much better job at consistency than him. It felt like it was taunting him, mocking him, calling him a coward. Maybe he was already going crazy, but either way, he felt compelled to speak up, if only to try and drown it out.

“I'm sorry” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

You sighed deeply, deflating, “it's not your fault”

Crosshair shook his head though you didn't see it, “I mean, that you're stuck here with me. I know that you'd prefer if it was Hunter instead”

You looked over at him with a curious expression, one that he only saw for a split second before he had to turn away. He couldn't bring himself to look at you for whatever you were about to say.

“That's not exactly true” you said in a measured tone.

His gazed snapped up to you, and you were giving him one of those looks where you were trying to figure him out. He hated when you did that, you were so good at it after all. He sometimes felt that you could see right through him and into his very soul, but he sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, he couldn't think of anything more horrifying.

“I didn't mean what I said before” you murmured, turning your body towards him with a small smile, “you're a great end of the universe buddy really”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “so you don't actually want me to die?”

“Of course I don't” your face softened with your tone, and he couldn’t believe that such a tender look could be directed at him, he could only think that he didn’t deserve it, “you just drive me up the wall sometimes”

His lips quirked into a small smirk on instinct, and then it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“No one enjoys winding me up as much as you” you muttered, drawing your knees back to your chest as a shudder wracked your body.

Crosshair cast his eyes over you at the action, realising that your medics robes were not as warm as the blacks you had packed for situations exactly like this. He thought that maybe if he was a better man he'd give the top back to you. That's what Hunter would do. Instead, he looked across the cave, to where the previous dwellers had made a makeshift fire. There wasn't much wood, but it would be better than nothing.

“You have a lighter in there?” he asked, motioning his hand towards your knapsack.

“Uh… yeah” you replied.

Crosshair pushed himself from the ground, only a small grunt leaving his lips as the bacta had already began healing his wound. He grabbed the bag and crouched down by the pile of wood, rifling through it to find the lighter which was rattling around at the bottom.

As he arranged the remaining pieces of wood into his preferred shape, you stood and walked over to retake your seat in front of the soon-to-be fire. He got it going quickly enough, lighting one of the smaller pieces and placing it into the structure he had built, but it was weak at best. It wasn't going to keep for more than a few hours with the resources available, and Crosshair was already worrying about what would happen then.

He looked over to where the opening of the cave had been. In the dim light he could see the crack that had appeared in the ceiling, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot upon observing how much worse it was already. He blew a long breath out, making the fire ahead of him flicker slightly more, before it settled into its previous dance. Crosshair couldn't hear the dripping anymore, not above the crackle of the fire, and it was a strange relief. Thank the maker for small mercies, he thought, inwardly scoffing at the sarcastic thought.

“Why haven't you been sleeping?”

The question caught him off guard, so buried deep in his own thoughts that he had almost jumped when you spoke up.

“I don't want to talk about it” he mumbled in reply.

You nodded, seemingly satisfied with the assertion, but he could tell something lingered in your mind at the way you watched the flames before you both.

“You've been in my dreams the past few nights” you said absentmindedly, eyes almost glazed over as you stared into the fire, little regard for how it made Crosshair’s heart skip several beats. Your eyes flicked up and met his, and he lifted an eyebrow, not sure how else to react. You chuckled slightly before you continued, “they weren't great dreams, really. Nightmares, maybe”

Crosshair could feel his insides constrict at the idea of him featuring in your nightmares, his heart beating faster as he willed himself not to react in any way.

“Go on”

He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, “well, it always starts with me being chased by a fire-breathing lizard… creature”

Crosshair couldn’t help the way the edges of his lips lifted a little, and he brought his hand up to scratch at his stubble to try and hide it.

“I can see you laughing at me” you scoffed, “it was scary at the time”

“I'm sure” Crosshair replied, still fighting a smirk.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, uncrossing you legs to stretch them out ahead of you so you faced the far wall of the cave.

Crosshair’s curiosity quickly got the better of him, “what was I doing there?”

You looked back over to him before turning your face back down to your feet where you gently kicked your heel into the ground, “it's… silly, really. Far fetched”

He frowned, “I'm listening”

You huffed, and he could see your cheeks darken as you deliberated over your next words, “you were protecting me. You had a durasteel sword and you were trying to slay the creature”

Crosshair’s eyebrows raised, but quickly shot back down at your earlier insinuation, “why's that so far fetched?”

You tilted your head to look at him, your own frown creasing your brow, “I don't know, it's not something you'd do in real life”

A pang of hurt sent a sharp pain through his chest. He could feel it, like a real, physical thing, a knife piercing through his heart. You truly believed that he didn't care for you in any way shape or form, and as much as he knew he had no right to feel slighted by it, it cut deep within him.

“Nice to know you think so little of me” he grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his chin behind them as he stared into the fire.

He could see your eyes go wide even as he refused to look at you, “I don't think little of you! I— I think you're… great, just—”

“Just what?” he snapped, eyes darting back up to yours.

“I don't know, I don't see you doing that for me”

Crosshair's frown only got deeper, and he forced himself to look away and into the fire again. All of the hurt and jealousy within him, every negative emotion he had brought upon himself by not being honest with you bubbled up to the surface, and he failed to keep it to himself.

“I feel like I've upset you” you said softly, but he just grunted in reply, “what is it?”

“You really think I wouldn't protect you?”

He knew that this was a path he didn't want to go down, one he wouldn't dare tread if both your lives didn't hang in the balance, but they did. He felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than he ever had or wanted to, and severely misjudged. Something about it made indignance rise up his throat and mingle with his words.

You paused, but spoke you mind after a moment, “not at the expense of yourself, no”

He grunted again, “well you're wrong”

“Why?”

“why?” he scoffed, shuffling his feet ucomfortably, “I'm not heartless, you know”

“I didn't say you were” you rebutted, and he finally looked up at you when you paused. You watched him carefully, “you would… put yourself in harm's way, for me?”

“Of course”

The shock was evident on your face, your mouth hanging open a little as you stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking, and he knew instantly that he'd said too much, and that you didn't feel the same way for him. The worst part was, he understood. He knew that he'd given no reason for you to care for him in any real way past doing your duties as a medic, and any kindness you had offered him had been purely from the goodness of your heart, with no ulterior motives in consideration. All the same, it was frustrating. He was frustrated at himself.

His gaze dropped to the fire once more, and it felt as if it were stinging his eyes, but he soon realised that the sensation was actually brought forth by the tears that had collected in his waterline. He blinked them away, knowing that he couldn't, shouldn't cry, even if he had just come to the realisation that you would never see him the way he saw you, never admire him like that, never adore him like he wanted you to. It made him feel like a cadet again, surrounded by people who were supposed to be his brothers, but only feeling like something was wrong with him, that he was unwanted and unlovable for a reason that would forever elude him.

It was his fault. All his fault. He knew it, he’d always known it, and he'd have to live with it for as long as he knew you. It didn't make it any better to know it, it only made it worse. He wished he could blame it on you, make it easier for himself, displace all the blame and take this crushing weight from his shoulders, but he wouldn't wish this weight upon anyone else, much less you.

He didnt dare look up at you again, especially as you hadn't said anything. If the ground opened up and swallowed him whole in that moment he wouldn't have cared, or probably noticed.

“Do you think the others will be looking for us by now?” you asked softly after a little while.

“Doesn't matter, they won't find us” he grumbled back.

You huffed, “that's not very reassuring”

“Reassurance does nothing”

“Maybe not to you”

“No, not to me”

“Right” he could tell you had rolled your eyes, “you don't get scared, how could I forget”

“I am scared, just not for myself” He snapped, his tone sharp as he glared at you. He was feeling annoyed now, and not in the mood for joking in the slightest.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffed, his tone not matching his sentiment, “I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you”

You watched him from across the fire, tilting your head, and he had to look away.

“Why aren't you scared for yourself?” you asked.

Crosshair was reluctant to say, but you had no teasing in your tone, and admitting to the truth felt easier knowing that he might not make it out of this cave. He decided that he'd find a way to say what he wanted in as few words as possible.

“Because… if I die, I don't have to live without you”

Your eyes widened slowly, and he watched your mind work around the meaning of the words, the gears turning behind your eyes. He could feel the embarrassment clawing at his throat, begging him to stop speaking forever more. He didn't know why he would have said that, beyond it being true. You didn't need to know, it wouldn't help you, and it certainly didn't help him.

Then, you did something that he didn't expect at all. You rose from your place on the opposite side of the fire slowly, as if not to scare him, not that it worked. His eyes followed you as you made your way around, and retook your seat in the spot right next to him, so close that if he shifted his arm he’d be touching you. Then you put your head on his shoulder, looking into the fire.

“I'm scared for you too” You said quietly.

Crosshair didn’t know what was going on. His heart was beating out of his chest, only just managing to keep a hold of the rhythm of his breath as he watched you from so close. You had never been affectionate with him like this, and he was too plagued by confused thoughts spilling into his brain that he couldn’t fully enjoy it — enjoy the fact that you were in this proximity to him willingly.

“You're too careless with your life, you treat it like it doesn't matter. I don't like it” you spoke up again.

He didn’t know what to say.

“How should I treat it?” he asked quietly, his voice low.

“Like it's precious”

Crosshair took soft breath in automatically, taken aback by the simple admission, by how easily you had said it. He could only find it within himself to deflect the comment,

“It isn't precious, clones are expendable”

You raised your head from his shoulder to give him a stern look, “I know you don't believe that”

He shrugged. He could feel his cheeks scorching and he hated it more than anything. He hoped that the low light would save him from you noticing how your touch made him act. Peering into your eyes as you did to him, searching, your frown softened.

“Your life means a lot to me" you confessed in a whisper. Crosshair’s heart was trying to escape him now, and even more so when your face returned to being serious, “and I wouldn’t want you to risk it for me”

Crosshair matched your frown, drawing his brows together as the dots, the pieces of what you’d said, starting connecting.

“Do you think that's why I would protect you? Because I don't value my own life?” he asked, an irritate edge that made you draw back from him marginally.

“Yeah? I mean, why else…?”

He could have laughed, but instead he shook his head, “that’s not it”

He knew what he wanted to say really, but his mind fought to come up with something else, struggling to find the words to express every unsaid thing in a way that didn’t make him want to curl up in a ball and never speak again.

“It’s— I…” he trailed off, uncertain, “I value your life… more than anyone else’s”

Your eyes widened, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the corners of your lips lifted almost imperceptibly, “what do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes and looked away, “must I explain?”

“I'd like you to” you sounded small, and he looked back over to see that your eyes were wide, shining with hope. It filled him with such an uncommonly warm feeling that he couldn't possibly deny you an answer now.

“I…” he's flicked his eyes across your features, landing on your lips before finding your eyes again and sending you a somewhat pained look, “I can't— I don't know how to—”

You took his hand, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles and leaving goosebumps in your wake, “take your time”

Crosshair sighed, suddenly struck by how poor of an idea this was. He couldn’t help but dwell on the simple fact that you were far too good for him. He didn’t deserve someone like you, and he knew it. You were took kind, too patient, too far superior in emotional maturity and every other thing besides shooting a blaster for that matter. He didn’t believe that perfect people existed, but if there was anyone who reached the closest to those heights, it would be you.

“I… the way I treat you, it's not… right. and it's not a reflection of how I truly feel” he admitted.

You hummed, nodding as you focused your gaze on his palm, drawing shapes with your first finger, “and how do you feel?”

Crosshair was thankful that you weren’t looking at him, and knowing you, it was probably intentional. You knew what he was like, who he really was, and it was as startling as it was comforting. “I feel… a lot. You make me feel a lot”

You smiled, your thumbs tracing over his, “a lot of what?”

An exasperation began creeping on his mind. He knew you understood, you were smart, but you just wanted him to be the one to admit it. He could respect that, however hard he was finding it; you were finally not accepting his half-arsed attempt at affection.

“Happiness” he said finally, “you make me… happy”

Your eyes finally raised to his, giving him a curious look, he felt the need to continue.

“I know that I don't act like it, and I know that I certainly don't make you feel that way, and that you're interested in Hunter, so I'm under no impression that—”

“What?” your head tilted to the side, your expression portraying all of your confusion, “I'm not interested in Hunter”

“Oh” Crosshair sat completely still, just staring at you. He was sure he looked as confused as you did in that moment, but his heart still leapt in his chest all the same, “but… you were sleeping with him…?”

“He was just… I don't know” you sighed, wrapping his hand with yours, “when I had nightmares as a kid it used to help if I slept beside someone else. He noticed I wasn't sleeping well and offered some… comfort, I suppose”

Crosshair nodded, looking away and into the fire anyway, because he knew that Hunter would always be your first choice, and not him, even if it wasn’t in the way he had originally thought.

“But it didn't really help anyway” you said, “I suppose maybe I was sleeping next to the… wrong person?”

When he glanced back to you, there was something more reserved about your demeanour. You were never usually shy, sometimes quiet, but this was something that he hadn’t seen from you before.

“You're right, by the way” you noted, and he raised an eyebrow, “you haven't always made me feel very happy”

He offered a pitiful look, “I'm sorry”

“I know you are, and I don't forgive you for all of it, but I know you, and I know that you don't really mean it. And— well, the reality is…” you rambled out, finally pausing for a breath, or to muster your courage, “you also make me feel alive”

Crosshair’s brows shot up.

The entire atmosphere around the two of you changed, the air between you charged with unspoken words, energy waiting, begging to dissipate. Your free hand reached for his face, and you ran your thumb along the lines of his tattoo that followed his cheekbone. His eyes closed momentarily, a shaky breath leaving his slightly parted lips, and he gave into the moment, focusing on the feel of your fingers caressing his face.

Allowing himself to revel in your touch, appreciate it rather than trying to avoid it, he was ready to crumble into nothing. He could have, and he would have died a happy man, his last moment being in the embrace of your calming presence. Your hand found its place on his jaw, and he opened his eyes once more. He copied you, his hand reaching for your face and taking it tentatively within his grasp. Your skin was soft, ever so soft, and his thumb slid across your cheek with ease.

He felt so vulnerable in that moment, but he just didn’t care anymore. He felt safe with you, and for once he didn’t want to act like a wounded child about his feelings for you. He wanted to show you how strongly he truly felt, the beginnings of making up for the way he had treated you in the past.

Without another second to spare, he tugged on the hand that still clutched his, pulling you towards him, and his lips met yours with an ardency that surprised even him. His arms wrapped around you as he kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly to his, unwilling to let you slip away from him. He was stealing the very air from your lungs, giving you everything he had to offer, and you were taking everything in kind. You were trying your best to keep up, mostly succeeding, but eventually you had to break the kiss, almost gasping for air.

Your breath was heavy against his lips as he kept you in close proximity, and when your eyes met his, a small chuckle left you, bordering on a giggle. He pulled you flush against him, so you rested in his lap, and your face lit up even more. Crosshair felt like he was walking on air, and when you kissed him again, leaning all of your weight into it, he couldn’t help but smile against your lips. The kiss grew more heated gradually, and before he knew it, you were tugging at the blacks you had given him.

He shook his head, pulling away before you could get the wrong impression, “not here”

“Why not?” you frowned playfully, your hands slipping beneath the top and brushing against his skin.

Crosshair growled quietly as you attached your lips to his neck, making his next sentence hard to get out, “because I have more respect for you than to take you on the dirty floor of a cave”

You chuckled against his skin, pulling back to give him a genuine smile, but then it faltered, and he watched a thousand emotions flick across your face in the space of a second. He gripped you tighter, about to ask what was wrong, but you beat him to it with your answer.

“What if this is the only time we have?”

Crosshair knew you meant more than something as fleeting as a shared intimacy, and with the look on your face, he immediacy began to understand why people lied to others in the name of sparing their feelings.

He pushed his forehead into yours gently, “the others will find us”

Your lips turned down in a dubious expression, “but how are they going to get us out?”

For that, he didn’t have an answer. He brought a hand to your face, taking your jaw and hoping his actions brought some comfort, “I don’t know, but I’m not letting you die in here”

“Even you don’t have that power” you huffed.

Even you. The words hung in Crosshair’s mind, front and centre, meaning a lot more to him than you probably realised. It seemed that you were saying, even him, someone who could do almost anything, couldn’t do this. He realised then that you must think a lot more of him than he ever knew, and his heart almost seized up in his chest.

He let a small grin wind it’s way onto his face, “sure I do”

You gave him a lopsided grin, rolling your eyes as you buried your face in his neck, “yeah, yeah. Whatever you say”

As it promised to be, getting out was difficult. The others eventually came for you and Crosshair, by which point he had almost accepted that this was it, that he’d shared his final moments with you. That wasn’t enough anymore, it wasn’t a sufficient amount of time spent with you, and when he heard Hunter call for him, his need to get out was stoked. Tech had found that the rock on the other side of the cavern held a cave system, Wrecker had set a number of charges with a limited blast radius, and they pulled the two of you out from the other side.

But all of it was inconsequential, unimportant in the face of what had happened while you were still trapped. Even more so now that Crosshair held your body tightly to his, his arm wrapped around your waist as the fresh scent of your soap invaded his senses and no doubt began clinging to his bedsheets. He hadn’t let the others ask why he was suddenly being so clingy to you, but something about their smirks and knowing looks told him that he had only been fooling himself in not telling you how he felt.

You laid on his chest, careful not to rest against his wound, which you had treated properly upon returning to the ship. You had insisted it was the first thing you did, before anything else, and he wasn’t going to argue with you then, not when you frowned at him in a way that made his chest tighten. The trade off was that he got to join you in the shower afterwards. It hadn’t taken too much convincing.

Now with you in his arms, your light breath fanning his bare chest, he knew he wasn’t ever going to let you go. He’d spent too long trying to push you away, but now that he had you, you weren’t going anywhere, he’d make sure of it.

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