#she was doing everything she could to try to bring him back

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, silverstone 2021, racing injuries, detailed description of a panic attack, angsty as heck

Notes — Uh....... welcome to the Silverstone chapter (im sorry)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Silverstone) 

In the days leading up to Silverstone, Lando filmed a video for Quadrant. Amelia sat just out of shot, watching the gameplay unfold with a grin that said, this is ridiculous, and I’m having the best time watching you all make fools of yourselves. When Lando stacked it and landed awkwardly on his arm, she was there in an instant, fussing over him.

A small portion of the clip made it into the final edit. Her on her knees, laughing, while Lando pouted dramatically, waving his arm around like it was much a more dramatic injury than just a scratch. It was lighthearted, sweet. 

Everyone went crazy for it. 

—

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N. Quick question. does anyone have any spare gloves?

Valtteri B. Like... racing gloves?

Lando N. Nah, just regular gloves. Leather, ideally.

George R. I’ve got some driving gloves in my car.

Pierre G. Of course you do.

George R. What’s that supposed to mean?

Pierre G. Nothing, nothing.

Lando N. Can you bring them to me? Amelia’s a bit icky about touch today, thought gloves might help. We’re heading to the track now and I couldn’t find any at my parents' place.

George R. Yeah, I’ll give them to Will.

Lando N. 👍

—

It wasn’t a stim. It wasn’t a meltdown.

It was just… discomfort.

She sighed in relief as Lando slid the brown leather gloves onto her hands. She swallowed, wiggling her fingers and letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

The leather was soft and probably expensive, considering the gloves were George’s.

Lando squeezed her hands. “Better?”

She nodded, smiling. “They match my boots.” She held her gloved hands next to her knees, where her brown riding-style boots reached.

He snorted, laughing softly. “I don’t think George planned that, but I’m glad you feel fashionable, baby.”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wandered over, wiggling his eyebrows. “Excited for your home races, mate?” The question was aimed at Lando.

Amelia watched Lando, noticing how his face shifted; something complicated, something soft, but also guarded.

“Yeah. Just want to do well,” he shrugged, his smile a little too tight.

She frowned, instinctively leaning in. “You will.”

His smile flickered, uncertain. “I hope so.”

—

Max didn’t ask about the gloves. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her into his driver’s room, ignoring her confused protests.

He slammed the door, sat on the cabin bed, and stared at her.

She hovered, uncertain, glancing at the door before looking back at him. “Um…”

“I want to tell her the truth,” he said, eventually.

She stared at him for a beat, trying to decode his words, and then, slowly, her eyes widened. “You— I thought you told her months ago! Are you serious?” She choked out.

Max winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I know I should’ve done it sooner, okay? But I— I didn’t want to spoil it…”

Her anger flared, a sick heat bubbling in her stomach. “I told you to tell her the truth. That I’d hate to be lied to like that. And you carried on?” She was trembling. “So…. What. She still has no idea? About you, about all of this?”

He lowered his gaze, shame written across his face.

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping back. “I can’t even look at you. How could you—” She choked, nauseous, thinking of the girl who had no idea she was about to be dragged into this mess. “Has she told you she loves you?”

He was silent.

She let out a pained sound, high-pitched and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just… pass your thoughts on the car after practice to GP, yeah?”

Then she turned and walked out, her body coiled tight, her mind a storm.

—

She stormed through the garage, ignoring the stares from the engineers, and found Lando, her dad, and Daniel standing together.

Her dad spotted her first, eyes going wide. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Her dad sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t new. It had mostly happened during puberty. She’d always been hard to anger, but when it did happen, she needed an outlet.

“We’ve got some old tire blankets we can pile up. Should be soft enough.”

She nodded, her gaze distant.

He instructed a mechanic to start gathering the blankets in the back of the garage, away from the cameras and spectators.

Lando cupped her face, bending to meet her eyes. “You okay? What happened?”

“Max is an asshole,” she spat.

He blinked, shocked, before stepping back and nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go help with the tire blankets.” He hurried off.

She looked at Daniel.

He shrugged, making a face. “Max is an asshole sometimes, isn’t he?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

Then, out of sight of everyone, she took her frustration out on the tire blankets.

— 

Max won the sprint race, setting his brakes on fire on the grid in order to boost the temperature in his front tires and give him a better start. It was risky, but it paid off, and he won. That took precedence over the extra work he’d given the garage crew overnight.

Another haul of points in their fight against Lewis.

Amelia didn’t have it in her to celebrate. She forced a smile for GP, nodded at Christian, but stepped away from the pit wall and headed straight to the back of Max’s garage, where Jos was sitting.

“Did you know about her? His girlfriend?” Jos asked. “I assume you did.”

Amelia stared at a spot of engine oil on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to push for more, but she stood up and walked away before he could.

Lando finished P5. He fought with her childhood hero on track and came out ahead. For that, he deserved her attention.

— 

She found Mark Webber just before the F2 feature race, holding a folded white envelope. She passed it to him as discreetly as possible, careful of the cameras and prying eyes around them.

He took it, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Let him open it when—if—things go wrong. It’s a good offer. The best he’ll get.” She’d made sure of that. She wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks if Otmar did what she suspected he might do.

Mark studied her for a moment. “You made this happen?”

She nodded.

“Come on, kid,” he said, after a beat, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure Oscar would love a chat before he has to get in the car.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Do you think he’ll mind if I look at his steering set-up? I’m so curious—”

—

Lando drove them from the track to the hotel. She liked his car. All sleek, black lines and a polished interior that looked like something out of a magazine.

“Is this your dream car?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

It was nearly ten, the sky darkening, and Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other casually draped over her inner thigh. She’d swapped out her team kit after the sprint for his favourite skirt, keeping it casual but elegant for the evening’s media events. Daniel had made him do a shoeey on the main stage. 

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at her with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a Jolly.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. “A— A Fiat Jolly?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

She couldn’t help but smirk. “A Jolly? That’s your dream car?”

Lando shot her a mock glare from the corner of his eye. “Baby…”

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shook his head, exasperated but still smiling, his eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll get one, baby, and I’ll force you to let me drive it everywhere.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be able to match all of my outfits to it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Lando rolled his eyes.

— 

Max and Pietra were waiting for them in the hotel lobby the next morning. Amelia squeezed Lando’s hand as they approached, giving him a fond glance before skipping over to Pietra, who greeted her with a bright smile and a glance of appreciation.

“That dress is gorgeous!” Pietra remarked, her eyes lighting up.

Amelia smiled, twirling a little. “Thanks. It’s my favourite. Oscar De La Renta. I can wear it on the pit wall as long as I throw on a team jacket.” As they walked through the lobby, Amelia leaned in, lowering her voice just enough so the guys wouldn’t overhear. “He won’t say it, but Lando thinks it’s a lucky dress. Pushed me into wearing it today.”

Pietra smiled knowingly.

“Baby!” Lando’s voice called from behind them.

Amelia turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got your iPad?” he asked, him and Max now caught up to them.

Amelia patted her bag, feeling the familiar weight. “Got it.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on it today, yeah? Group chat’s a bit tense at the moment.”

She frowned. “What’s my iPad got to do with your group chat?”

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He kissed her. 

— 

Everyone could feel the tension between her and Max.

She sat in the strategy meeting, arms crossed, her focus locked on the data sheets in front of her. The only time she spoke was to correct a mistake or suggest a differential, her tone cool and efficient. Max, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, the weight of whatever was unspoken between them hanging heavy in the air.

When the meeting ended, she walked with GP to the garage, discussing overcorrection and heat cycles. 

She managed to avoid Max entirely. 

But just before the cars were due to leave the garages to line up on the grid, Jos found her. He was calm, but there was something demanding in his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” he said quietly, eyes hard. “But I need you to put it aside and focus. This is an important race. He needs to win.”

Her response was a sharp nod, her jaw set. Without a word, she walked over to Max’s car. She leaned into the cockpit, eyes meeting his through the visor. The surprise in his eyes at the sight of her was fleeting; she knew he hadn’t expected it. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If you don’t tell her by next weekend,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’ll find her and tell her myself.” Then, before he could react, she kissed the cheek of his helmet. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Win it, broer.”

Straightening up, she glanced at the mechanics; her unspoken signal to let him go. She turned back to Jos, who watched her with quiet approval. He gave a small nod, and she walked away. 

— 

She rarely walked the grid while the cars were setting up, but something about this year pulled her there. She found Lando under his umbrella, shielded from the sun, sipping from his bottle.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. She kissed his cheek, adjusting his fireproofs. “Be safe, do well. Love you.”

He pulled her in for one last kiss before she moved on. She glanced at the cars, each a blur of metal and energy; smiled at the mechanics, and shared a quick squeeze with Fernando. Finally, she caught Max’s eye. He stared at her for a long moment, before offering a small smile.

“Ah, Amelia Brown!”

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Martin Brundle.

Well aware of the camera, she forced a smile through the nerves. “Hi! How are you?” she asked, deliberately avoiding the lens.

“Good, good! So, we saw you give Lando a good luck kiss. Think McLaren’s got a good shot at scoring double points again today?”

“I hope everyone does well today,” she replied, only a slight tremble in her voice, “but of course, I hope Max comes out on top.”

He laughed, somewhat distractedly, giving her a quick nod before leading the cameraman away.

She glanced back at Lando. He was watching her with a proud, warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned, head down, walking off the grid toward the pit wall.

— 

GP settled beside her a few minutes later, handing her a comms clip. She gave it a cursive glance before she slid it into her ear and tugged her defenders on over the top.

“Makes it easier, huh?” he said through the comms, voice quiet and crackly, no need to shout through the defenders like usual.

She smiled. “You’re smart.”

“Coming from you?” He let out a long breath. “That’s the highest of compliments.”

She giggled softly, turning her focus to the screens in front of them.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that was nothing new; it always was during the formation lap. The calm before the storm. Her gaze bounced between Lando and Max, just as it always did, and not for the first time, she wished she had two sets of eyes.

They lined up on the grid. She chewed on her bottom lip, head tilted as she kept an eye on the tyre temps on Max’s car.

He hadn’t set them alight this time. Improvement.

Five lights. Four, three, two.

Lights out.

Max led from Lewis through the first corner. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her dress.

And then—

And then.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Max ahead. Lewis closing. A slipstream through Copse.

Contact.

Suddenly Amelia was on her feet, hand clamped over her mouth.

She sucked in a shaky breath, barely hearing the roar of shouting from the garage, the pit wall, the radios. Yelling. Chaos. Outrage.

GP spoke into his earpiece — calm, measured. “Max? Max, come on. Talk to me.”

Her stomach dropped. He kept repeating his name, firm but steady, and she heard every word. The comm was still in her ear.

Someone’s hands landed on her arms; steadying her, holding her upright. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. Everything else faded.

She begged silently. Prayed. She didn’t know who she was praying to… she didn’t care.

“Red flag!” someone shouted. Or maybe whispered. Everything was warped and sharp all at once.

She blinked. Jos appeared in front of her, speaking, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. Just the ringing.

And then—

“He’s moving! Max is getting out of the car!”

The breath punched out of her. Her lip wobbled. Her knees gave a little.

“Fuck,” she whispered, broken and small.

He pulled her into him, arms wrapped tight. Unshakable. Steady.

She sucked in a sharp breath against his shoulder.

— 

They showed her on the main feed.

A cutaway from Max’s crash, the Red Bull pit wall — GP calm and collected, Christian furious, and Amelia… utterly devastated.

She tore her eyes away from the monitor and stared at the floor. She was in the medical wing now, waiting.

51G’s.

A brutal shunt. Career-ending, for some.

Not for Max.

Him climbing out of the car unassisted had been a statement. A declaration. He was still in control. Still standing.

She looked up when Jos stepped out of the examination room. He gave her a nod, then gestured for her to go in.

She entered, and stopped cold.

Max sat on the bed, bruised but upright. Alive.

Her breath hitched. Tears welled instantly.

“Zusje,” he sighed.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around him. Not too tight, she didn’t want to hurt him, but close enough to feel his heart beating, his lungs working, the warmth of him. Real.

He stroked her head, let her cry it out.

When she finally pulled away, lip trembling, eyes darting, he asked, “What did you do?”

So she told him.

Panic in her voice, regret tangled in every word. She’d thought about it, imagined how she’d feel if it were Lando in that crash and no one had reached out. How small and useless and broken she’d feel.

Max’s eyes darkened.

“You called her?” he demanded, already reaching for her phone. “How did you even—”

“It’s too late,” she said quietly. “She’s already on her way.”

Max froze.

“I’m not sorry,” Amelia added, steady now. “If I were her, I’d want to know.”

— 

She barely made it to Lando before he climbed back into the car for the restart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hold. “I love you so much. Please be safe. Please, Lando.”

He pulled back just enough to make her meet his eyes, steady and sure. The eye-contact made her squirm, but it was important. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. Always.”

She let out a shaky breath, a small, high-pitched sound caught between panic and relief, and hugged him once more before his engineers pulled him away.

Pietra hesitated beside her, hands hovering, then dove forward, wrapping Amelia in a hug despite the warnings both Max and Lando had given her.

“You looked so scared,” she said gently, in Portuguese.

Amelia nodded. Didn’t pull away. Let herself be held. Over Pietra’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Max. He looked concerned, like he was ready to intervene, to pry them apart, but Amelia just sniffled and pressed her face into Pietra’s shoulder.

It was nice to have a friend. 

— 

“Amelia—”

She ducked her head, jaw tight, eyes hard, and turned on her heel without hesitation.

Her heart stuttered, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was angry… furious, really. He’d carried on, celebrated the win like he hadn’t just sent his rival spinning into a tyre wall. Accident or not, it didn’t sit right in her gut.

And maybe it wasn’t fair.

But Lewis had ignored her before, in Austria.

Now, it was her turn.

— 

@/verstappie11 seeing amelia so scared after the crash was scarier than the actual crash. like can somebody hold her please!!!!!!! i never thought i’d be so happy to see jos verstappen lmao

@/pitwallprincess no bc the way the broadcast CUT to Amelia literally holding back tears while GP is stone-faced and Christian is raging… a genuine greek tragedy 

@/helmetcamwhore wait why did Amelia look like she was about to sprint to max’s car herself 😭 give her a hug pls omg

@/softlandon4ever it’s the way Lando dropped everything to hug her before the restart… like. weeping. actual soulmates.

@/mercmafia She said “I hope Max comes out on top” on the GRID and then he COLLIDES with Lewis in lap 1??? nah idc what y’all say she’s the problem.

@/tifosislut69 Amelia Brown crying on live TV was not on my bingo card today. she looked DEVASTATED. get this woman a therapist now!

@/chequedflagged I get that she's emotional but Amelia being all cold to lewis post-race in the paddock was giving bad vibes… 

@/gp2engine not everyone’s fave stem girlie Amelia Brown walking past Lewis like he doesn’t exist post-race. SHE’S MAD MAD

@/papayapixels watching Amelia literally fold into Pietra’s arms while Lando’s pulled away by engineers… god this garage has SEEN things today

NEXT CHAPTER

[littlefreakrry13]

⟡ but you won’t forget me ⟡

masterlist

A/n: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS AHH🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️ also no hate to alex at all, this is pure fiction!! I love her she’s such a diva and a queen!!✨✨

Charles leclerc x childhood best friend! reader

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni),cheating, angst, emotional damage and healing, panic attack.

Word count: 3,888

You grew up on the same street.

Your childhood intertwined like a well-worn thread — inseparable, almost inevitable.

When you were kids, Charles used to race you to the end of the street. You'd always cheat — taking a shortcut through the alley that made him laugh and complain about unfairness. But you always let him win because you wanted him to keep smiling. He never needed to win to know he was better than you at everything.

When you were fourteen, you spent every summer evening by the docks, dangling your feet over the edge, looking out at the vastness of the sea. He was the kind of boy who didn’t need to say much — just enough to make you feel like the world revolved around you both. The air smelled of salt and possibility, and the whole world felt like it was waiting for something to happen. It was supposed to be your forever.

It all felt so simple then.

At sixteen, you kissed him for the first time. His lips tasted like summer — a little salty from the breeze, a little sweet from the lemonade you’d been drinking. You could feel the weight of it all, but you never said a word. You just kissed him back, soft, tentative, as if the world wouldn’t change in that moment. But it did.

And when you both dated through the rough patches of adolescence, no one ever really believed it would end.

But it did.

It ended the moment he left for Formula One. The moment the world became too big for him, too loud, and too bright.

And when he walked away, you let him go. You knew his dreams were more important than staying tied to your quiet street, the one that barely noticed the passing days. You made peace with it.

You’d still see his family, still visit his mom and brothers, pretending you didn’t feel the hole where he used to be. You made yourself believe that you’d moved on. But deep down, you were lying to yourself. You didn’t move on. You just learned how to live with it.

It’s been years.

Charles is back in Monaco for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s bringing someone with him.

Alexandra.

You don’t need to know much. You don’t need to know what she looks like, or how long they’ve been dating. All you need to know is that it doesn’t matter. Because Charles will always be Charles, and you’ll always be the girl who kissed him at sixteen and watched him disappear.

Dinner that night is slow, agonizing torture.

Alex is lovely, charming, easy to like. She’s everything that fits with him now — polished, sophisticated, radiant in a way you never were. And you can see it in the way she laughs at things that aren’t even funny, in the way she strokes his arm across the table like she’s claiming him.

You want to look away. You do. But every time you glance at him, his eyes find you. They never leave you.

When his hand brushes yours by accident, you freeze, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb traces the back of your hand just once, just enough to sting with memory. That simple, fleeting touch lights something in you that hasn’t been awake in years.

You catch him looking at you, his gaze sharp and intense, the kind of look that says I’ve missed you.

You feel it, too.

The ache.

The pull.

But you don’t let it show. You laugh, and pretend to be happy, and when Alex asks you about your life, you smile like everything is perfect.

But all the while, Charles’ eyes are on you, like they’ve always been.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Later, after dinner, you slip outside to the balcony, hoping the cool air will help clear your head.

The night air smells like salt. Familiar. Safe.

You lean against the railing, eyes fixed on the moonlit water, trying to push away the warmth that lingers in your chest. The weight of his gaze still follows you, even from a distance.

Then the door creaks behind you.

“Always out here after dinner,” he says softly.

You turn to face him. “Old habit.”

He steps closer, his presence a weight you can’t ignore. “You still look the same,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent.

You feel your pulse quicken, a familiar tension that you know all too well. The distance between you two has never felt more unbearable. The air is charged — thick with everything you’ve been hiding.

“You look… different,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “But still the same.”

He smiles a little, but his eyes tell a different story. There’s something deep in them that makes your breath catch. It’s the same look he gave you back then, before everything got so complicated.

And before you can stop it, he’s standing right in front of you, his body heat radiating against yours. His hand brushes the side of your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. It’s not an accident this time. He’s deliberately close. You can feel the warmth of him, the tension between your bodies electric.

You don’t move. You just look at him. Waiting. Wanting.

“Do you love her?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

He hesitates. “I want to,” he says, but there’s no conviction in it. No strength.

Your heart sinks, but before you can say anything, he steps forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, gently, like a memory he’s afraid to let go of.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, his voice rough and low.

You close your eyes, your body trembling as you force the words out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

But it’s too late. His lips are on yours, soft at first. Tentative. Careful.

But the longer it lasts, the deeper it goes. You can feel the years of longing, the unanswered questions, the weight of what should have been. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

It’s slow at first, building. His lips on yours are soft, warm, almost too gentle. But there’s a hunger beneath it, something you both recognize. Something that has always been there, just beneath the surface.

You pull him closer, needing the contact, feeling the heat of his body against yours. His hands move down to your hips, gripping you firmly, pulling you against him, and the sudden pressure makes you gasp.

His lips trail down to your neck, kissing and sucking, leaving marks that burn like fire. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, your hands threading into his hair as you tug him back to you.

“Charles…” you breathe, your voice thick with desire.

His lips find yours again, harder this time. He kisses you like he’s starved for you. His hands explore, touching, feeling, pulling you closer until you can feel the unmistakable heat of him pressed against your thigh.

The tension is unbearable. Everything about this moment is wrong and right, but the way he feels against you is too much to resist. You slide your hands under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his back, the heat of his skin. He groans into your mouth at the contact, and you pull him even closer, if that’s even possible.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, his voice shaky, his hand trailing up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

You look into his eyes, and for the first time, you know what you both need. The moment has stretched into eternity, and you’re both losing control.

But you won’t stop.

You won’t say a word. You don’t need to.

You drag him closer, and in that moment, the years of waiting are over. You need him. You want him. And this time, you’re not going to let him slip away.

His lips devour you, hot and messy, as his hands slide under your skirt. The sensation of his fingers against your bare skin makes you gasp, and you meet his urgency with equal force, pushing him back against the wall. You press your body into his, grinding against the hardness that’s unmistakable, and you can feel the heat building, getting unbearable.

“Fuck…” he groans, breaking away for just a second to breathe. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Then take me,” you whisper, breathless.

Without another word, he lifts you easily, pushing you against the nearest doorframe. His hands work quickly, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside before pulling down his jeans, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements are frantic now, desperate for the closeness you both crave.

You’ve never been so aware of the way your bodies fit together — so familiar, so right. His lips return to yours, harder now, as he pushes into you, making you both moan from the intensity. Every movement is deliberate, every touch a desperate promise that you’re not letting go again.

The world falls away as you both lose yourselves in the sensations, in the heat of his body, in the need for each other. The kiss deepens, becoming desperate, as he moves against you, both of you teetering on the edge, wanting, needing, more.

“Charles…” you moan his name, and his response is a low growl in your ear. He pulls you even closer, his body a living fire against yours, as the night turns into something neither of you will ever forget.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the warmth surrounding you.

It's not the crisp coolness of your sheets or the sterile chill of the guest room. No, this warmth is his. You’re wrapped in his arms, his body pressed against yours, and you can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against the back of your neck. It feels so familiar, so safe, and for a split second, you forget where you are.

But then reality crashes in.

You remember the night before — the kiss, the hunger, the desperate need. You remember the way his lips moved against yours, the way he felt inside you, the way you both lost control.

And then you remember her.

Alex.

The warmth in your chest turns into a sick feeling, the kind that coils tight and heavy. You sit up, your heart pounding, your body still warm from his touch but suddenly filled with guilt. Panic floods your veins as you glance around the room. You recognize it — Charles’ room. The expensive decor, the half-open blinds letting in the morning light, the lingering smell of sex in the air. But none of it matters right now.

What matters is the chaos swirling inside you, the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to pull you under.

You look down at yourself — your clothes from last night are in a crumpled heap on the floor, and you’re left with nothing but the remnants of what should have been a mistake.

Oh God.

What have you done?

Charles shifts behind you, his arm still draped across your waist, and you freeze. The sound of his breath, the way he shifts to face you, the soft groan that escapes him as he blinks awake — it makes your heart race in the worst way possible.

His hand finds your shoulder, and he pulls you back to him, pressing his lips to your bare back. You stiffen, trying to fight the flood of guilt that makes it hard to breathe.

“Morning,” he mumbles into your skin, his voice groggy, still thick with sleep.

But it’s not morning for you. Not anymore.

You don’t know how to respond. You can’t look at him right now. The shame, the overwhelming regret, it’s suffocating.

You cheated on her. You fucking cheated on her.

Your breath catches in your throat as the reality settles in like ice in your veins. You’ve never felt worse. The thoughts begin to spiral.

“I should go,” you whisper, but your voice cracks, betraying the panic that’s setting in. You feel like you’re suffocating in this moment.

Charles’ hand tightens on your arm, his thumb gently grazing your skin in that comforting way he’s always done, but this time, it only feels wrong.

“What do you mean?” His voice is soft, confused, still lost in the haze of sleep.

But you can’t deal with it. You can’t stay. Not like this.

“I can’t stay,” you say again, more firmly this time, pulling away from him. “I— this wasn’t supposed to happen. You’re with her. You’re with Alex.”

He blinks at you in confusion, his brows furrowed, the remnants of the night before slowly dawning on him. You watch as the light of realization flickers in his eyes. He sits up, looking at you, his hand still reaching for you as if he wants to pull you back to him.

“Wait, you’re panicking—” he starts, his voice thick with confusion and sleep, but you shake your head before he can finish.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you say, your voice trembling now. “You’re with her. You cheated on her. On someone who… who trusts you. And I— I’m the one who—”

“No.” His voice interrupts you, harsh now, a little panicked, a little desperate. “Don’t say that. You didn’t cheat. I did.” He reaches for you again, but you pull away from his touch, your heart pounding too hard to ignore.

You stare at him, the words hanging in the air like they don’t belong in your world. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Not with him. Not like this.

“Charles, you’re with her. You have to go back to her. She’s your girlfriend.” The words sound almost foreign coming from your lips, but they’re true, and they hurt more than you expect.

He runs a hand through his hair, his face twisted with frustration. He looks so… lost. But it’s not your responsibility to fix it anymore. It can’t be.

“Alex isn’t you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze is intense, searching, like he’s trying to find the words to explain this. To explain everything.

But you can’t take it anymore. You push yourself off the bed, grabbing for your clothes, your body shaking with anxiety and regret. You need space. You need distance.

“Don’t make this harder,” you say, as much to yourself as to him. “I need to leave.”

Charles doesn’t move. He just watches you, like he’s paralyzed. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wants to say something — wants to fix this, wants to make it okay — but nothing he says can take away the guilt and the mess of what you’ve done.

Finally, he stands, a flash of anger flickering in his eyes, but it’s not aimed at you. It’s something else. Something buried deep inside him.

“You’re right. I fucked up. I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse with regret. “I should’ve never let it go this far. I should have never hurt you like this.”

The words stutter out of his mouth, but they don’t make things better. They don’t fix the reality of what’s happening. You’ve both crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.

But you need to get away. You can’t stay here.

“Just… don’t contact me. Not now. Not after all this,” you say, your voice strained.

You pull on your clothes in a blur, trying to keep yourself together, but the tears are too close to the surface. You can’t cry. You won’t let him see how much this is breaking you.

“Please don’t do this,” Charles pleads as you reach for the door.

You don’t turn back. You can’t.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of silence, of you trying to move on, of pretending the night with Charles never happened. Every time you close your eyes, his face, his hands, the way his lips felt on your skin flash before your mind. But the guilt never fades. You knew what you did. You knew you weren’t the only one involved. You hurt someone who didn’t deserve it — and all the while, you could feel the rift between you and Charles widening with every passing day.

You thought it would get easier.

But it doesn’t. It only gets harder.

The first time you see Charles’ name on your phone, your heart stops in your chest. You almost don’t want to pick up. You don’t know what he could possibly say after everything. But you do.

“Hello?” Your voice is shaky, your heart racing. You didn’t expect him to reach out, not like this.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, rough around the edges. “It’s me.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I know.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and you can practically feel the weight of everything he wants to say but can’t. You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue, to finally break the silence that’s been strangling both of you.

“Listen… I don’t know where to start,” Charles says, his voice thick with emotion. You can hear the pain in it. He’s not hiding it. He’s not pretending anymore.

But you don’t know how to react. You’re still trying to protect your own heart.

“Just say it, Charles,” you whisper. “I can’t keep doing this, pretending like everything’s okay.”

There’s another pause, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full of unspoken words, regret, and something deeper. You can feel the storm building on the other side of the line, like he’s about to do something that might change everything.

“I ended it,” he finally says, and you almost drop the phone in shock. “I ended things with Alex.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“What?” You can barely get the word out, your breath catching in your throat. “You— you broke up with her?”

“Yeah. I did,” he admits, and you can hear the heaviness in his voice. “I couldn’t keep pretending. I couldn’t keep lying to her or to myself. I thought I could move on, that I could make things work with her, but I’ve been lying. I’ve been lying about you. About us. And I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing this.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you both. He sounds raw, like he’s been carrying something too heavy for far too long.

“I didn’t want to hurt her, but I’ve been hurting you this whole time. Every second. And I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

You feel the tears prick at the back of your eyes, and for a second, you let yourself breathe. This moment — this decision — it feels like everything is shifting.

“Charles, I— I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. You don’t know if you’re angry or relieved or confused. There’s so much swirling inside you, it’s hard to make sense of any of it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he says quickly, his voice desperate. “I don’t expect anything. But I needed you to know that I made the decision. I chose you.” The words are heavy, deliberate. “And if you’re still willing to give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of his confession sink into your chest. You want to scream, to cry, to let out the years of frustration, but instead, you feel a strange calm wash over you.

You don’t know if you’re ready. You don’t know if you can trust him again, after everything. But the truth is, the love you’ve always felt for him — the feelings that never truly went away — are still there. And now, after all this time, they’re coming to the surface.

“I don’t know what happens next, Charles,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can just pick up where we left off. I don’t know if I can forget that… that you were with her, and I…”

He cuts you off gently, almost pleading. “I fucked up. I know. And I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You want to believe him. You want to believe that this time, it could be different.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” you murmur, your heart heavy. “I don’t want to be the other woman.”

He lets out a slow, pained breath, and you can hear how much this is affecting him, too. “You’ll never be ‘the other woman,’” he says, his voice soft but firm. “You’re the one. The only one.”

For a moment, the world feels like it’s standing still. The silence that fills the space between you both isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s full of possibilities, full of the unspoken future you both might have, if you’re brave enough to face it.

“I need time,” you finally say. Your voice is calm, measured, as you let the weight of the moment sink in. “But I’m not saying no.”

You hear his sharp exhale on the other end of the line, a sound of relief that’s almost as overwhelming as the emotions you’re feeling.

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” he says. “I’ll wait. And I’ll prove to you that this was the right choice. For both of us.”

A few weeks later, Charles reaches out again, this time to ask you to meet him.

You still have your doubts. You still have your fears. But when you see him — standing at the edge of the street, looking like he’s about to ask for the world — you realize that some things never change. Some things were always meant to be.

And in that moment, you both know — this is your chance. A chance to heal, to fix what was broken, and to finally let go of the past.

You take a step forward, and he reaches for your hand.

And this time, it feels right.

END.

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi! This is a (kinda nsfw) request for the Moon Knight Boys or only Steven, whichever you’re comfortable with!

So, reader is usually loosely trimmed or has fully grown hair „down there”. One day she decides to surprise her vigilante boyfriends and shaves everything off or maybe leaves a cute little heart on top?? Either way I’d love to know how they’d react.

(I myself am female but please write for which gender you’re most comfortable with)

~Cherry Bomb Anon 💖💖💖

Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I realise now that I misread this!

Anyway, it's now Marc and Steven with the shaved heart.

Glue It Back On

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: mature pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: This is just Marc and Steven having a conversation really, I'm so sorry, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 851

“They’re gonna hate it, they’re gonna hate it. Fuck.”

“Shit.” 

“Fuck.”

“Shit,” Steven chews his bottom lip, “what if we shave it all off?” 

“All of it?”  Marc answers from the bathroom mirror. 

Steven nods. “All of it, like,” he motions with his hands. “Gone.”

“Bald?” 

“No, not bald Marc, it wouldn’t be bald, our, our-”

“Our balls would be bald.” 

“I was thinking more like, we just shave the top… bit?” 

“And nothing else?” Marc frowns in thought. “Wouldn’t that look-”

“Weird, yeah.” Steven sighs defeatedly. “It would. Like we just stopped halfway, and if we do it like a really neat line that will look like, ‘woah, too much effort here’, and if we don’t it’ll look a mess.” 

Marc nods. “Look, I know this isn’t helpful, but I don’t want to shave it all off. Because, one,” he holds up his forefinger. “I think it’ll look weird, you know like in porn, hairless balls just make me think of turkey wattles.” 

Steven pauses. “Wattles?” 

“Like the turkey red neck flappy thing.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that it was called that.” He nods a little, then shakes his head, trying to stay focused. “You think shaved balls look like that?” 

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?” He says, unimpressed.

“Yeah, look, I’m not the vegan who gets freaked out by certain types of mushrooms-”

“We’ve been over this, I heard Michael say in the break room that mushrooms on pizza looked like slugs, and I can’t unsee it, it’s not fair to-”

Marc holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that all up again like that.” 

Steven nods. 

“They just look weird to me.” 

Steven’s lip twitches in a smile and Marc braces himself for whatever is about to come. “Is that what you say to yourself to justify only watching lesbian porn?” 

“Don’t.”

“Is it?” Steven grins. 

“I don’t just watch lesiban porn.” 

Steven scoffs. “Firstly, you do. Second, what’s wrong with watching lesbian porn?” 

Marc gives him a glare. “You’re the one that brought this up!”

Steven grins, enjoying seeing Marc squirm a little. “I did. So, why do you only watch lesibian porn?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Steven chuckles. “Spoil sport.” 

“You’re a bully.” Marc smiles. 

“What was your second point anyway?” 

“What?” 

“You’re second point? First was our balls would look like a turkey if we shave them, what was the other?” 

“Oh, I think it’ll itch like hell when the hair starts to grow back if we use the razor.” 

Steven nods, thinking. “Yeah, I bet you’re right on that one.” He sighs again, his shoulders slumping. “But what are we gonna do?” 

“We could glue it back on?” Marc says, only half joking.

“Marc.” He gives him the disappointed teacher voice. “We are not glueing hair back onto our.. Our… area.” 

“Area?” 

“You’re worried about it itching growing back, what the fuck do you think it’s gonna feel like with glue?” 

“Area? Steven, are we fucking three?” 

Steven puts his hands on his hips. “Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” 

“Well, yeah? Area?” 

“What would you call it then? Hmm?” 

Marc opens his mouth and then pauses.

“See, see?” Steven gestures at Marc, “What the fuck is it?”

“It’s the bit above the dick.” 

“Yeah, but what is that called? Like the actual name?” 

Marc thinks and then frowns. “Steven, I don’t fucking know, why is this important?”

“You made it important.” Steven grabs his phone from the side.

“What are you doing?” Marc sighs.

“I’m looking it up.”

“Steven.” 

“I want to know.” 

“Steven.” 

“All I can think of is pubic mound, but is that like, the word for everyone?” 

Marc shakes his head slightly as he pulls a face. “For everyone? What do you mean?”

“Like for all genders.”

“Oh…” Marc thinks again. “Maybe…” He leans forward as if he could see Steven’s phone from his angle. 

“See? You’re interested now.” 

He nods. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t get too excited about it.” He huffs.

Steven rolls his eyes, and then quickly reads. “Okay, it is the pubic mound for everyone.” 

“Okay.” 

“We’ve learnt something.” 

“Doesn’t really help with our current situation, does it?” 

Steven puts his phone down and rubs his eyes, “Ugggghhhh, what if we just say, ‘Love, I tried to shave a heart into my pubic hair because I thought it would be funny and sweet and now I’m like what the fuck have I done?’” 

You knock on the bathroom door and both Steven and Marc jump at the same time. 

“Erm,” Steven scrambles with the towel around his waist before he opens the door with a flourish. “I-”

“I got back about ten minutes ago.” You give him a soft smile. “I’ve been listening to your side of the conversion, with rapt attention.” You tease playfully. 

Steven closes his eyes and chuckles bashfully. 

“If it’s any help,” you give his cheek a quick kiss. “I think the heart sounds lovely.” 

“Show them!”

Steven rolls his eyes, turning his head to pull a face at Marc’s reflection. “You wanted to glue it back on a second ago.” 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @lonelyisamyw-0love @romanarose  

@steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine  @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87

 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @hammerhead96  @mylittledelulucorner

@queerly-anxious  @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp  @eternallyvenus @lounilu 

@pigeonmama @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @sub-aro @faretheeoscar

 @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @missdictatorme @musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @lemonzestinmydrink

@sonotpractical @junggoku @julesonrecord

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[just-some-random-blogger]

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face. "Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

wild conversation. i think its really great way to exemplify them both. UGHHH BEAUTIFULLLL

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction. "I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW. WOMEN WHO DO THIS IS

IM SO INCREDIBLY ANGRY

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin. [...] "On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet. "N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him. He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

im so unwell its fine im totoally fine

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

PANTING LIKE A DOG

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

HAHA NO FUCK YOU

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

SMUG PIECE OF SHIT (I WANT HIM SO BAD)

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[dismalflo]

Hiii I saw your request for asks so here I am. Maybe one with barty x potter reader and it’s like about barty bringing out this completely different side to reader and James being like who tf is that. Like she’s so confident and funny and silly around barty because she just knows that he completely respects her even if she’s a little insane(honestly this is something I’ve been struggling to write for weeks and wanted to see how you would do it 😭)

hi babe!! thank you for requesting <3 i lovee a barty x potter!reader, hope you enjoy!

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!potter!reader who really wants to help the owls of Hogwarts ✩ 888 words

cw: fluff, james and sirius being concerned (and irritated) brothers, james is barty's biggest hater, barty is whipped for his weird gf

an: omg flo writes for barty now!! i really enjoyed writing this but this is my first time writing for him so be gentle. also i saw this request and started writing it like straight away ahhh

“What’s your sister doing?” Sirius asks, eyes still locked on you as he gives James a rough shake by the shoulders. You've apparently transformed the coffee table in the common room into your personal stage, sprawled across it, delivering a very quiet yet impassioned speech.

James casts a glance your way, then groans—a low, weary sound filled with dread.

“She’s being weird,” James mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s still half-asleep, his hoodie bunched around his neck, hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. “Because of him.”

Sirius snorts, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Junior?”

“Yes, sodding Junior.” James replies grimly, as if he’s just uttered some ancient curse.

Meanwhile, you're still lying across the coffee table like it’s a velvet chaise lounge, one leg raised dramatically, arm flung over your face like a starlet in a Muggle film. Barty’s perched on the floor next to you, chin propped in his hand, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smitten grin. He’s clearly hanging on to every word of your monologue, whatever nonsense you’re spouting this time.

“I’m telling you,” you say, voice a hushed whisper but fervent all the same, “if we just trained the owls—really trained them—they could unionise. They could have everything they've ever wanted and more treats!”

James closes his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose, clearly trying to center himself amid the chaos. Sirius just whistles low, like he’s watching some particularly dramatic scene unfold in a soap opera.

“Is she talking about unionising the owls?” Sirius asks, incredulous. “Is that a—”

“Don’t.” James cuts him off flatly, still rubbing his face. “Don’t ask questions. That’s how he wins.”

You shift, sitting bolt upright on the coffee table, animated as ever, gesturing wildly as if you’re leading some kind of revolution. “—and they’re already halfway there!” you’re saying, grin wide. “They have a hierarchy, Bee. They talk to each other! I saw one of them give another a dirty look last week when it dropped a letter in the lake. And then another one had a go at it and defended its friend! That’s class solidarity, if I’ve ever seen it.”

Barty leans forward, eyes gleaming, his smile full of adoration. “You’re a visionary,” he whispers, as if you’ve just unlocked a new level of consciousness rather than plotting to turn Hogwarts’ owls rogue.

You plop down beside Barty on the floor, your leg brushing his as you settle in without a care in the world. You act as if you’re utterly unbothered by the fact that Sirius and James are watching you like you're some mythical creature they can’t quite figure out.

Barty doesn’t flinch when you sit down next to him. Instead, he turns his head, offering you a soft, affectionate smile. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Without a word, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s something in his gaze—something bordering on reverence.

“I’m sure we could arrange something to go wrong in the owlery, treasure,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial, “Make it off-limits. Give you a head start.”

James huffs, shaking his head, his eyes flicking over to the two of you. You’re leaning into Barty, laughing at what he’s said while he absently plays with your hair. You look entirely at ease, a side of you James never really sees with anyone else. You and Barty—well, it's a whole different world.

"I don’t get it, she wasn’t like this before." James mutters petulantly, still rubbing his face in disbelief. "One minute she’s plotting whatever ridiculous thing, and the next—what? She’s all... sweet?" He whines, not unlike a toddler being told there's no sweets before bedtime. He watches you laugh again, a soft, affectionate chuckle, as Barty pulls you closer, his hand possessively resting on your waist. “Bloody disgusting if you ask me,” he mutters under his breath.

The comment lands just as Barty chuckles lowly, his hand firm around you. You look up at him, your eyes sparkling, and without hesitation, he places another soft kiss to your temple—so tender, so un-Barty-like.

Barty raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling up at the corner of his lips, glancing over at James. “Don’t remember asking you, Potter,” he drawls, his tone thick with indifference. “If you weren’t her brother, I swear—” His threatening tone is cut off by your gentle chiding, whispering his name.

Sirius, for his part, is enjoying the show, his eyes flicking between James and Barty like he’s waiting for some kind of standoff. But Barty just looks bored, fingers absentmindedly brushing through your hair. James, of course, glares, but doesn’t have the energy to continue. Groaning, he sinks back into the couch like he’s been defeated by some cosmic force.

“Whatever, mate,” James mutters under his breath. “Don’t know why you had to go for sodding Junior, Y/N.”

Your only response is a laugh, echoing through the common room like James has told the funniest joke in the world. He’s happy for you, really—just not thrilled about the massive hurdle you’ve put in the way of his acceptance. And that hurdle, of course, is Barty Crouch Jr.

[mzyjxu]

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣

Satoru is running, or maybe floating. Someone is chasing him, he is scared. Suddenly- everything is gray and quiet, except for the sound of footsteps that isn't his. He is back in that house; his grandparents’. The ceiling is wood, old, and warm with the scent of rice and dust. The sounds of a kettle whistling and a cicada chorus hummed in the distance. He is wearing his school uniform, standing in the old genkan. The summer light pooled across the tatami mats.

He slowly goes inside the house and there she is- his grandma, her small and stout figure gracefully working around the kitchen, she ladles the golden broth into a wide ceramic bowl, steam curling into the air. Her hands tremble slightly from age, but they’re still so sure. She hums as she works, a soft tune, that lullaby she used to sing when he was feverish, half-asleep on the futon with a cold towel pressed to his forehead. “Oba-chan” he whispers, he looks around the house and finds his grandpa, he’s carefully dusting the spines of Satoru’s childhood manga volumes, stacking them neatly, one by one, just like he used to when Satoru left them scattered around “Ji-chan” he breaths.

Then-thump. Something heavy landed on his chest, it's soft, tiny and wiggly. Then came a faint purring near his shoulder.

““Pa… pa-pa… mmm…pa..ma… KOOO!”

Satoru slowly blinks open, his vision adjusted, the world came into focus.

“Mmfff—what the—”

A diapered baby butt planted firmly on his chest, his son, his chonky, red-cheeked, victorious son was squarely planted on top of him, cupping his face with tiny-sticky fingers, giggling, babbling and drooling like a tiny king claiming his kingdom; his Papa.

Satoru blinked again, the fog of sleep lifting, and looked to his left.

Lady Purrshia, now five and even more elegant than ever, and the roundest she has ever been had draped herself across his ribs, purring deeply as she flicked her tail in approval. She narrowed her eyes in that royal way only cats could master.

The bedroom door creaked open, there was you- his goddess, wearing one of his shirts, barely buttoned, sleeves rolled up, sunshine ricocheting on your skin, looking ethereal.

“Goodmorning Toru” you smiled lazily, holding a baby bottle, climbing on the bed and kissing him softly, ruffling his hair.

“Hello my love” Satoru yawns leaning towards your touch, asking for more love.

“Buh… buh… Puh! Ma-ma?” his son babbles for attention.

“Oh sorry, goodmorning to you too my little squish ball” He laughed, and kissed the baby’s cheek until he squealed and tried to roll away, which didn’t work at all. He was still mostly a potato with limbs.

“Okay come on baby, aren't you hungry, mama brought you milk” You scooped your baby off of his chest and laid him on your lap, “here you go” he reached for the bottle but Purrshia’s tail came into his line of sight and he got distracted by it, he sits up determined to bite on it with his chubby hands trying to grab on her flicking tail.

You both cracked up by seeing his antics.

“Noo, that's a lady, you don't do that, be a gentleman” Satoru scolded him softly, trying his best to not laugh.

Lady Purrshia, unbothered by the chaos and how her tail was literally being hunted by a chonky monarch seconds ago, snuggled closer to Satoru softly dozing off again.

You grabbed the baby from his thigh and offered him the bottle again, he excitedly starts drinking on it once he realises that its his favorite food.

“You planning to get up today?” you teased him, “New interns are joining today, so I can be late, make sure to bring him to the hospital it's his vaccination day” you told him.

“Noooo, Ynnnnnn I can't look at him crying, he is indeed soo damn cute while crying but I can't, especially when he looks at me after the shots, so betrayed and full of vengeance” he exclaimed dramatically “I'm sure he is plotting against me, he woke me up by literally sitting on my chest like a monarch, heaviest monarch I swear to god”

You giggled “You are so silly Toru, just do it for me, please, I don't have a heart to see him getting shots” you pouted.

“This family and their cuteness would be the death of me” Satoru complained while picking up sleeping Lady Purrshia cuddling her against his chest. “Only you are in my side Purrshie” Satoru coddles her, Lady Purrshia promptly stoods up eyeing Satoru as he ruined her sleep, walks towards your side and settles herself beside you dozing off again.

You laughed, Satoru pouts, Baby sleeps, Lady Purrshia won again.

Its home.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ ִֶָ

Note: thanks for reading lovies ﾟ𐦍༘⋆

[freezerbnuuy]

Answering this because this question more or less is entirely reflective of my whole story.

The big one in terms of 'Side characters that totally took over' is of course, Oskar.

He was meant to be a more minor character, but he grew on me with his paternal nature, the interesting dynamics of sire and progeny with vampirism with him and Violeta, and someone who has seen some of the worst the witch-hunts have to offer as he was part of a conflict where witches, vampires and werewolves fought back against witchfinders. He ends up being a big part of everyone's story, and ends up bringing numerous people together.

Clem! She really grew on me for multiple reasons, and grew on the readers as well. I like exploring male / female siblings in stories, probably because I have a brother and it's easier to write - and there's almost always differences in the way they're both treated by parents. Clem is someone who's full of so many emotions that she's not really allowed to deal with, and I enjoy writing about her trying to heal her relationships with everyone, including herself.

Secondly, everyone's favourite *awkward cough* rich guy, Owen.

Owen was meant to be a minor character as well, but his position and impartiality made him interesting for me. Every other character has a pretty obvious stance on either being pro or anti witch, even if it changes later on. Owen is a bloodline spellcaster, but if he's open about his magic he and his family will be killed for it - not ideal for a family of physicians.

He can't be open about his support of witches, and part of his healing and the families' remedies (aka potions) involves magic - magic that, if his patients knew about, they'd want him dead for. He can't pick and choose who he treats, and he is very well aware of how people would react to him if they knew his family secret. A very awkward position to be in for him. Additionally, there's the fact his social stature could be part of what changed everything if he spoke out about this sort of thing. Then there's all the stuff with his dad, and trying to heal his strained relationship with his little brother.

Much later on, whilst she won't become a main character like the other two, there's Maddie, the mouthy and mannerless witchfinder who's trying to reform - though she's not doing it out of guilt, she's doing it after realising the figurehead of witchfinders is a dumbass and she thinks he has no backbone. The readers like her sassy attitude, and though she has turned over a new leaf, she's still the same old murderous person she was before - just targets her old cohorts this time around. Everyone in this story has different reasons for changing their ways, but it's not always out of redemption or kindness.

📩 Simblr question of the day: Do you have any secondary characters in your stories/gameplay that totally stole the show for you?

answer in whatever way is most comfortable for you and feel free to share this SQOTD around, make sure to use the hashtag SQOTD and tag me in separate posts ~ 💛

This question was contributed by an anon ~ Thank you for submitting multiple questions ~ (This is question 7 of 13 from this anon)

[etherealising]

interlude one | my everything...

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | fem!reader x original male character | the bear x fem!reader

summary: all it takes is one question from the girl carmy's been crushing on to send him spiraling. or, alternatively; the beginning of the end of your friendship with one carmen berzatto.

warning(s): vague mentions of terminal illness | talks of death |minimal editing |

wc: 8.7k

May 2013

Carmy stood behind your sitting figure, his arms caging you against the counter while his chin rested on your shoulder. He was doing his best to keep up with your corrections and explanations of the mind map he'd made for his English final analysis, but for the life of him, he just couldn't seem to follow along.

He let his eyes drift to the clock on the wall for a moment noting that you still had 30 minutes left in your shift, the restaurant was pretty empty allowing the two of you to squeeze in some time for your studies, which he appreciated considering he needed all the help he could get and it didn't hurt that it allowed the two of you to hang out. Something he was doing his best to take advantage of while the two of you were still in the same city, with graduation just a month away, he'd be leaving soon, a fact he seemingly forgot to bring up whenever he was in your company.

"Carmy, c'mon, I thought you were serious about this." Carmy was pulled from his thoughts as you spoke, eyes moving from the clock on the wall, only to find your head turned in his direction, your face just centimeters from his. "You're not even listening to me."

He found himself smiling at the slight whine in your voice and the adorable pout lining your lips, he could recite bits and pieces of the monologue you gave him if you asked him to and it wasn't because he gave a shit about The Illiad but he cared about you and he appreciated the time you were taking away from your own finals preparations to help him out.

"You know I always pay attention to you," his smile widened at the sight of you rolling your eyes and grumbling under your breath before moving to wrap one of his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest for a hug, you tilted your head back to look up at him as he looked down on you. "Awe, c'mon, I promise, Baby."

Carmy watched as a small smile lined your lips, waiting for you to respond, only for the sound of a throat clearing to pull him from the trance he found himself trapped in while staring at you. His eyes shot forward, widening as he took in the figure standing opposite the two of you, before he rushed to distance himself from you, trying to ignore the subtle frown beginning to overtake your features.

"Um, I'm sorry for interrupting, but I was hoping I could put in an order." Carmy stood there, unsure of what to do with himself as he listened to you transition back into customer service mode.

"Claire, hey! Of course, what can I get for you?" He wasn't aware that you were on a first-name basis with the girl, but he drowned out the conversation happening in front of him and dropped his gaze to the ground in hopes it would make him less noticeable, wishing he could sneak off to the dining area without making a complete and utter fool of himself. By the time he raised his eyes, he found himself alone in the front of the restaurant with Claire gently smiling at him as the two of them stood in an awkward silence.

"So, um, how long have the two of you been together?" At the sound of Claire's question, Carmy furrowed his eyebrow, unsure if she was asking what he thought she was. The confusion on his face must have alerted her to his lack of understanding as she spoke up again. "She's your girlfriend, right? Sorry, it's none of my business."

He watched the way she shrank in on herself, adjusting her glasses as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was talking with a girl who wasn't you, a girl who he'd been crushing on for longer than he could remember. And that thought alone prompted his response.

"No!" He silently cursed himself at the way his loud voice caused Claire to flinch before finishing his explanation. "Sorry, uh, yeah she's my girlfriend...not, n-no I mean she's like my girl w-who is also a friend." Carmy watched as she nodded, a feeling of warmth blooming in his chest even though the conversation wasn't off to the greatest start.

"Oh...okay," neither of them seemed to know how to keep the conversation going as they avoided each other's eyes, silence settling around them. "What's with the whole 'Baby' thing if you don't mind me asking?"

He nodded, taking a step closer to the counter so he wouldn't have to speak so loudly, "It's a uh nickname."

"Like 'Dirty Dancing'?"

Carmy offered Claire a small smile and nodded before another idle silence pierced through the front of the restaurant. He could hear everyone shuffling around in the back, sure you were helping to get the big dinner order Claire put in finished, so she didn't have to wait much longer.

"I've had a few classes with her, she's really nice and pretty cool to talk to." Claire seemed to be growing more comfortable with the conversation, which only helped to make Carmy feel a bit more confident in the whole situation. "I'm sorry for assuming the two of you were together, I just...I see you hanging out all the time, and well, everyone kind of thinks you're dating, so...yeah."

The smile on Carmy's face dropped, giving way to a frown. This was news to him, but it made sense considering he was a bit of a loner outside of having you and Fak. "We uh grew up together, you know...so guess that kind of explains it. But, I-I don't really think I could ever see her that way, s-she's my best friend I mean but I would never want to be with her i-in that capacity or any other," he trailed off hoping his words sounded as convincing as he was trying to make them seem even though he could feel doubt creeping up on him.

Before he could hear Claire's response, you walked back to the front with to-go bags in hand and began ringing Claire up.

"Sorry for the wait." Carmy found himself disappearing into the background once more as you and Claire engaged in conversation. He couldn't explain why, but Claire's theory surrounding the two of you kept pushing to the forefront of his mind, and he found his gaze drifting to the back of your head as her words rang in his ears. Carmy would be lying if he said he'd never thought of you in that way or didn't have the occasional inappropriate dream, but he chalked that all up to just being a teenager with hormones.

"Bye Carmen...I'll see you at school." He looked at Claire in surprise before sending a shy wave in her direction and watching as she left the establishment, hoping she didn't notice the flinch at the use of his full name, something he only tolerated from you.

He stood there for a moment longer before moving to collect his school supplies and help you wipe down the counters as he usually did whenever he was your ride home. You disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a bucket and rags, the two of you working in tandem to get everything clean, and all the while, all he could think of was what life would be like if the two of you were more than just friends.

Carmy's vision was blocked by the feel of two soft hands cupping his eyes and blocking out any sunlight. He felt his body relaxing back into yours, only knowing it was you because he could smell the perfume you always wore.

"Guess who?" Carmy felt himself involuntarily shudder as your whispered words caressed his ear, his heart beating just a bit faster. A sense of confusion raced through him, surprised by his reaction considering the number of times you'd done this before.

He reached up, gripping your hands and pulling them off his eyes, forcing you to slouch over his back as he pulled your arms down his torso. "I dunno, you kinda sound like this girl that pelted me with potatoes when we were six because I wouldn't play with her."

Your soft laughter rang through Carmy's ears while your arms moved to wrap around his shoulders as you hugged him from behind. He found a smile growing on his face when your face dropped next to his, your own smile on full display, "See how much more fun it is when you actually play along, Bear?"

Whatever reply Carmy prepared was stolen by the feel of your lips ghosting across his cheek, he felt like his heart was going into overdrive as he watched you walk around the table before sitting down across from him. He could tell you were speaking because he could see your lips moving, but the ringing in his ears made whatever you were saying to him incomprehensible. He began subtly shifting in his seat while looking at your lips, remembering just how it felt when they touched his skin moments ago. Carmy was confused, a constant feeling for him ever since his conversation with Claire at The Beef; you'd kissed him on the cheek plenty of times before and he never reacted in this way and he couldn't quite put his finger on what was so different this time, but he needed to figure it out and fast.

"So, have you given prom any thought? Tickets go on sale tomorrow." Your voice pulled Carmy back to reality as he reached for the flyer you slid across the lunch table and began to read the information on it. He knew how much you wanted to go and though he didn't understand your excitement for the event he found himself wanting to go just because you did, Carmy shrugged his shoulders letting the paper drop to the table before gearing up to ask if the two of you should go together only to be stopped by Fak's frantic arrival.

"Baby! Bear!" His lunch tray slamming against the table had you jumping in surprise, leg knocking into Carmy's under the table, before his foot gently tapped the top of yours for reassurance. "I have been sitting on the hottest piece of gossip all day, and now that we're all together, I can finally share."

Carmy listened as you laughed at Fak's eccentric behavior, his eyes being drawn to your smile, feeling one tug at his own lips. "Well, what is it?" The curiosity of your question was mirrored on your face as you looked at Fak, who had taken the empty spot next to Carmy, anticipation seeming to drip off of you.

"Alright, so get this, Claire's cousin Big Denny is dating Frannie's best friend Carla, but Frannie and Big Denny are sneaking around behind Carla's back. And so, because of that Big Denny's at the house sometimes," he paused his explanation to take a bite of his food, hardly giving himself time to finish chewing before he was talking once more. "And so last night Frannie and Big Denny were arguing because Carla found out that they were seeing each other because Josie, Carla's sister who also happens to be Big Denny's ex-wife, and he are sleeping together again, and Big Denny tells Josie everything. And Josie and my mom get their nails done at the same salon, and you know who else gets their nails done there?"

Your hand slamming down against the table in excitement drew a chuckle out of Carmy as he watched you become engrossed in Fak's storytelling. "Carla!"

"What? No Baby, Claire's mom. Why would you guess Carla?" Fak rolled his eyes as though the answer he'd just given even made any sense in the storyline he set up. "Anyway so they're all there getting their nails done, gossiping like us and Claire's mom told my mom that Josie told her that Claire told Carla that Carla told Big Denny that Big Denny told Josie that Claire has been crushing on somebody named Carmen for like months but she never made a move because of his girlfriend but turns out he's single and now she has a shot!"

As the confusion from the explanation cleared from Carmy's system, it gave way to shock as he finally internalized what Fak just admitted, his eyes widening at the new information he learned. He let his eyes stray to you for a moment, instantly clocking the way you seemed to physically deflate, your hand that was on the table now picking at the prom flyer you'd brought with you earlier. When you looked up and locked eyes with Carmy, he watched the forced smile grace your face, knowing that something soured your mood but unsure as to what it was.

"That's really great news for you, Carm, you'll finally get your chance with her." Carmy nodded along to your words, absentmindedly brows furrowing as his eyes danced across your face, hoping to detect some sort of evidence that would help him to understand your change in attitude.

Silence blanketed the table after your congratulations, and Carmy just couldn't wrap his head around the revelation Fak's words brought forth.

"You know, Carm, I thought you'd be more excited than this. I just hand-delivered the most top secret information of my life, and lemme tell you, Bear, it was not easy to come by." Fak resumed eating his lunch, all the while shaking his head in Carmy's direction.

Carmy was excited...at least that's what he was telling himself, but every so often, he would steal a glance at you, and then you were all he could think about. He'd been crushing on Claire for longer than he could remember and to know that he was even on her radar should have put him on cloud nine while he was surprised by the notion that she liked him he just couldn't get over the disappointment he felt every time he looked in your direction and you weren't smiling.

"No offense, Fak, but your storytelling skills could use some work." You shrugged your shoulders at Fak's offended look before reaching to steal one of his cheese fries. "You definitely buried the lede on that one."

A back-and-forth ensued between you and Fak as Carmy sat lost in his thoughts. All the truths he thought he knew about himself seemed to fall apart anytime he let his mind play with the idea of something more between you two. It was all so confusing from the wistful ideas Claire's words about the two of you at The Beef brought up, to his reluctance to feel excited at the opportunity to maybe have a chance with Claire Dunlap if Fak's information was correct. And like clockwork, all his thoughts and confusion kept leading him back to you.

Carmy was pulled out of his subconscious as a body plopped down in the seat next to you, his confusion easily giving way to frustration as Hayden's arm moved to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him. Carmy didn't think he was a hateful person, and he didn't hate Hayden Ivanovski, but the guy sure did know how to get under his skin without even trying.

Hayden was a recent addition to your trio, and Carmy hadn't minded his company at first. But after a whole school year of watching the two of you share inside jokes he and Fak weren't privy to, the way he constantly touched and flirted with you only helped to fester Carmy's aversion to the guy.

"What gossip did you bring for us today, Fak?" The teen in question straightened up as he began his spiel once more from the top. Carmy didn't hate Hayden, but he hated how charming and charismatic he was, he hated how easily he fit in with your group, and he hated that, overall, Hayden was actually a pretty good guy. But most importantly, he hated the way Hayden would sometimes whisper something in your ear and the way you would lean into him as you laughed, how sometimes you would burry your face in his chest while other times you would look at him with that beautiful bright smile of yours like you were doing right now.

Watching you smile at Hayden with the beaming smile that was once only reserved for Carmy was crushing, and just like everything else, he couldn't understand why.

"Yo, Carm, you listenin' man?" Hayden's fist knocked against the tabletop, letting Carmy know that Fak had finished his retelling. "Said if you're gonna make a move," he watched as Hayden's eyes dipped to the prom flyer, eyes widening as a lightbulb moment went off in his head as he reached for the paper. "Oh shit man, you plannin' to ask her to prom?"

Carmy wasn't sure what to say as everyone at the table awaited his reply, he looked in your direction as if doing so would provide him with whatever answer he was looking for but all he could seem to focus on was the soft features of your face as he began silently dissecting what was so different between this version of you and the version he drew in charcoal.

"You totally should, Carm that's like the best start to any love story." Fak's declaration of excitement pulled Carmy from his study of you, but not before he watched the slight downturn of your lips and the lack of any readable emotion take over your face.

He caught Hayden nodding along before leaning over to high-five with Fak for god knows what, all the while he seemed to be the only one who noticed your lack of interest in the conversation. Carmy tuned the two of them out as they continued a conversation about the event, and all he really cared about in that moment was figuring out what was going on with you. Carmy nudged your foot, catching your attention, brows furrowing as he implored you to give him any sort of hint, wishing for nothing more than for Fak and Hayden to disappear.

"Claire! Hey Claire!" Carmy's head shot in Fak's direction, watching as he stood waving his hand back and forth in the air to flag down Claire from across the quad.

Carmy felt like an asshole as he watched her approach but the last thing he wanted to deal with in that moment was anything Claire related and considering she'd already seen him at the table it wasn't like he could just up and leave.

The clearing of your throat pulled his attention as he watched you gather your belongings, eyes glued to your backpack as you packed your items. You finished just as Claire arrived at the table, standing and turning to smile at her.

"Here, take my seat. I was just leaving to speak with my guidance counselor."

Carmy frowned at your words, knowing full well they were an excuse, because you were dodging your counselor at every opportunity. Watching as you walked away, he couldn't help the feeling of disappointment beginning to take root in him. He wanted nothing more than to catch up with you and make sure you were okay, but he knew doing so would likely end up feeding Claire's previous theory about you and him. 

Your figure disappeared into the distance, forcing him to focus his attention on the conversation that Fak and Hayden started up with Claire. He sent her a small welcoming smile as he caught her eye, hoping he didn't appear as awkward as he felt. As the lunch period dragged on with him adding little to nothing of substance to the conversation, he found himself grateful as Fak waved off his lack of talking as being shy when in reality, he just no longer had any interest in even being there.

As Carmy sat there, forcing himself to try and be an active participant in the conversation, he realized that he didn't have things all figured out like he once thought. Because instead of being in the moment and getting to know Claire better, he wanted nothing more than to be by your side, providing you the comfort that you seemed to need.

The sound of your bedroom door opening pulled your attention from the history DBQ you were dead set on completing before heading out for dinner at the Berzattos. Upon glancing up you spotted Carmy stepping into your room, sending a small smile his way before returning to your school work.

"My mom send you to come get me?" You had a habit of losing track of time when you wanted to get something over and done with, having been late to dinner a multitude of times after telling your mom you'd meet her across the street.

Carmy's face appearing in your line of sight made you smile as you stopped writing so he could make himself comfortable next to you, watching as he copied the position you were lying in before snatching up one of the stuffed animals situated at the head of your bed. Not surprised to see he picked the one he'd bought you for your birthday.

"No, uh, I came over on my own, feel like I've barely seen you this week." You watched as he glanced at your assignment, pulling it over to see it better before scrunching his nose up and leaving it alone.

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew you were avoiding him. Ever since Fak spilled the beans last week at lunch, you knew Carmy and Claire were hanging out more, and you weren't sure how to navigate being around him now that he had a chance for something to happen with the girl. You told yourself you were doing him a favor, taking yourself out of the picture so he could finally get what he longed for, but in reality, you did so in hopes of protecting yourself from the heartbreak you knew seeing him happy with someone else would bring.

"Yeah, sorry, just kind of been putting all of my focus into passing my finals," you sent him an apologetic look as you lied through your teeth and pushed your homework out of the way before turning to lie on your side so you were facing him. "But talk to me, Bear, what's going on with you?"

Carmy mimicked your position and hugged the stuffed animal to his chest as he looked at you. "I kinda have uh this dilemma...a girl dilemma." You nodded along to Carmy's words, encouraging him to let you know his issues.

"Well, uh, I think... no, I know I like Claire, b-but recently I've been...having doubts, I guess. I mean I still think Claire's really cool a-and pretty and it's nice talking to her, but I just...I'm confused." You forced your feelings for the boy in front of you to the back burner, not wanting to be selfish in whatever advice you could offer to him.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you while you tried to gather your thoughts in the best way possible. You wanted to give Camry as unbiased an opinion as you could. But if you were being honest with yourself, you were probably the last person who should have been giving him any advice on this topic.

Taking a deep breath, you offered him your best comforting smile, "For starters, Carm, you should have more than two reasons for liking someone, especially if one of them is only because of physical attributes. But what type of doubts have you been having? Are you just scared that Fak got his info wrong and that's why you haven't asked Claire to prom yet?"

You watched as he shrugged, his fingers gently playing with the bow on your bear, hinting at just how nervous he was to be having this conversation with you.

"You know you can tell me anything, Bear, I won't judge you."

Carmy's eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. You followed the movement of his eyes as they darted across your face, his slow perusal of your features made your skin crawl, and his prolonged silence wasn't doing any favors to assuage how warm his gaze made you feel. Before you could question him, his eyes found yours once more as he cleared his throat, hand moving to scratch the back of his neck.

"I just...how do you know if you really like someone? Like with you, Baby, how did you uh realize you liked your you know...mystery guy?" You didn't miss the way Carmy frowned as he asked the question, but you were too caught up in your surprise to delve into that at the moment.

If you didn't know Carmy was being serious, you might have laughed his question off, but you just told him you wouldn't judge him. The question blindsided you; this wasn't a normal topic of conversation for the two of you, while you admitted to having a crush on someone, Carmy obviously still didn't know the object of your affection. And for the most part, you were happy to keep it that way, making sure to not bring up the topic while in conversation with Carmy, the longer you thought on it though you began to realize every time your love life came up in conversation with him, it was always Carmy bringing it up. But as you sat there dumbstruck by the question, you couldn't think of a logical, let alone a believable, reason to avoid it.

"I don't think I can pinpoint a specific moment," you couldn't believe you were talking about this with Carmy, but maybe doing so would make it easier for you when you finally came to terms with the truth of your situation. "It sounds dumb, but it just kind of happened...it was like this build-up of all the little moments, you know? And then one day I remember just looking at him and I dunno, I guess everything just clicked, and I...I kind of just realized that he was my person...or well...at least I thought he was."

"What happened?" Your eyes shot to Carmy's, surprised to see how enraptured he was by your words, "I just I mean...how do you know he's not your person i-if you've never told him how you feel?"

A chuckle was your only answer as you turned to lie on your back, eyes focused on the ceiling. You felt the bed shift as Carmy moved closer, seemingly intrigued by the turn of conversation. "I'm second best in his eyes, Carm," you let your head loll to the side, looking at Carmy as you watched his brows knot in confusion. "That's probably not fair to say, considering he doesn't know how I feel...but he has someone else, and telling him that I like him would just be selfish. I wouldn't want to ruin things for him."

You gave Carmy a sad smile, realizing the explanation didn't take any weight off your shoulders; instead, you just felt heavier. The space where your heart resided seemed to ache as you lay next to him.

Carmy moved closer, his chest brushing against the outside of your arm as he settled once more. You blinked in surprise, watching as his face hovered over yours, appearing in your line of sight, just barely blocking the daylight illuminating your room from your vision.

"What about you?" Your brows furrowed at his question, a silent plea for him to explain more. "I mean w-what if there's someone else...for you?"

Only a moment passed before the words were out of your mouth.

"Is there someone else for you, Bear?" Your eyes locked on his, gaze full of curiosity as you waited for him to answer. Answering his question with the same one he asked you wasn't the best decision, but you were no longer interested in talking about your romantic interests, and maybe hearing him talk about his would help bring you back down to reality and push you past the crush you harbored on him.

A prolonged silence settled between the two of you as you held each other's gaze. Carmy seemed deep in thought, eyes not leaving your face as the minutes ticked by. This look on his face wasn't one you'd seen before, any other time you could easily tell what his train of thought was just by the littlest emotions crossing his face, but as the silence stretched between you, you couldn't help but to wish you knew what was going on inside his head.

"Y-yeah...I think there might be."

You blinked in surprise, doing your best to hide the emotions his honesty seemed to stir up inside of you. Before you could get a word out, Carmy's hand raised between the two of you, hovering for just a moment before slowly moving toward your face, the palm of his calloused hand cupping your cheek as his thumb gently caressed your under eye.

"Your eyes...I can never get them right when I draw you." Although his words were whispered, you heard him.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at this new piece of information, you were shocked to hear that Carmy tried committing your features to paper. And you weren't sure what this revelation meant, but the atmosphere in your room felt charged as you lay there nearly tucked into his chest. Carmy's face was only inches above yours as he continued the soft smoothing motion of his thumb against your skin.

"You draw me?"

Your voice was equally as breathy as his, as you relaxed into his touch, feeling as his appendage traced the planes of your face before brushing across your eyebrow.

A small, barely there smile curved his lips, juxtaposing the deep blush that began to settle on his cheeks.

The movement was subtle, and you weren't sure if it was you who leaned up or him who leaned down, but the tips of your noses grazed against each other's as he uttered one word that had your head spinning as you tried to figure out what this moment meant; if anything at all.

"Always."

You inhaled deeply, breathing his one-word answer in as you did, your eyes roved back and forth between his, trying to figure out if the tension you felt was mirrored in his eyes or if you were just reading into things. Hesitantly, you moved to grip his hand, holding it in place where it cupped your cheek.

Hope was the wish of fools, but in the short seconds when his eyes dropped to your lips, you felt pathetic as a sliver of your being couldn't help but to hope that you might have been that someone else Carmy was talking about.

Three loud knocks on your bedroom door quickly pulled you out of whatever trance you were caught in. You and Carmy jumped apart as the door swung open, revealing Mikey's figure in the hall.

"What the hell are you two doin'? Dinners almost done, and you know Ma won't let us eat without the two of you." He stood there with his arms crossed frown on his face as he looked at you both. You avoided his gaze, embarrassed by what you almost let transpire between you and Carmy, knowing how much it would likely hurt Claire.

You felt the moment Mikey's eyes left your figure, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his full attention on Carmy, whatever he saw there pulling a light-hearted chuckle from him.

"Ya know what just get outta here, before I bust your asses for being in here with the door closed."

Mortification flooded you at the implication of his words, knowing he wasn't too far off in his accusations. You slid off the edge of the bed, turning to face Carmy, hoping to nip whatever awkwardness may linger between the two of you in the bud, only to find him slightly hunched over himself, gripping your stuffed bear for dear life in his lap.

The clearing of Mikey's throat pulled your attention. "Baby, why don't you go help 'em finish? Carmy and I'll lock up."

If he thought you might question him, he was mistaken, as you took the opportunity to remove yourself from the situation, not wanting to be in your room any longer with the two brothers.

Making your way through the house, you couldn't help but replay the moment between you and Carmy over and over again on a loop. A part of you was sure there was something there, and the desire to attempt and confess your feelings for him raced through you once more.

But as quickly as those thoughts emerged, they were disregarded just as quickly, as you recalled the words he'd spoken to Claire that day at The Beef. You were his best friend, and in Carmy's eye, that's all you would ever be, and you would always have to live with that fact, no matter how much it hurt you.

Because if keeping Carmy in your life meant pretending you hadn't felt more of him, then you would do so if that's what he wanted.

"Alright, Baby, ready to get going?" Mikey's voice pulled your attention from the book you were reading as you waited for him to take you home.

You nodded in response to his question before stuffing the book in your bag and getting up to follow him to the parking lot. A small appreciative smile lined your lips as he unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you, allowing you to get comfortable before closing in and making his way around the car and joining you.

As soon as Mikey started the car, you began flipping through the radio station, searching for something enjoyable to listen to on the ride home, lest the older man make you listen to whatever he was in the mood for.

He chuckled at your eagerness as he exited the parking lot "Hey you got time for some ice cream or are you in a rush to get home and finish that borin' ass book?"

You scoffed at his question, "First of all, it's not boring, and I always have time when you're paying Mikey."

Mikey's chuckle reached your ears as he shook his head at your words. The two of you settled in, allowing the music on the radio to be the only noise in the car. Moments alone with Mikey were few and far between recently, and it wasn't because you had outgrown the man, but with work, taking care of your mom, and trying to graduate high school, there was little free time for you to take advantage of.

You smiled as the car rolled to a stop, not at all surprised to see the sign for Margie's Candies, a favorite of yours since you could remember. You and Mikey exited the car at the same time before heading inside, the sun barely beginning to set as you chose a booth.

Neither of you reached for a menu, already knowing exactly what you wanted, and a waiter wasn't far behind, quickly taking your order before leaving the two of you alone once more.

"So, Michael, what are we doing here?" You smiled as he rolled his eyes before imploring him with a questioning look.

There was usually only one of two reasons for a visit to Margie's, and it was either celebrating an accomplishment or to sweeten the blow of bad news with decadent ice cream. Mikey opened his mouth, only to stop as the waiter returned with your orders the both of you giving your thanks.

A contented sigh escaped you as you dug into your ice cream before taking a bite out of the delicious treat, savoring the sweetness of it all.

"How're you doing, Baby?" The seriousness of Mikey's voice confused you as you moved your eyes from your ice cream to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his question. He ate a spoonful of his own ice cream before speaking up. "I uh...I know things are tough for you right now. Just trynna see where your head's at is all."

You nodded slowly, not fully believing his reasoning but deciding to just go with it. "I-I'm good, I think? Really just focusing on making sure mom is okay and finishing senior year strong."

Mikey hummed at your answer, and you could see as you stayed focused on his eyes that there was more to this conversation. He nodded once before returning to his dessert. You followed suit, but you couldn't help the apprehension beginning to settle in your gut. The two of you sat in a prolonged silence for a few moments more, and just when you thought it was fine to lower your guard, Mikey spoke up.

"Oh yeah, how's those college applications coming along?" His question gave you a momentary pause, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to your mouth before you forced yourself to move once more, the ice cream feeling heavy in your stomach as you swallowed.

The line of your shoulders raised in a shrug as you took a minute to gather your thoughts, "Good, just waiting to hear back from the ones I applied to."

You looked up from your bowl at the sound of Mikey sucking his teeth watching as his eyebrows furrowed. You felt your stomach drop as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, hand raised to wipe a hand across his mouth before leveling his gaze on you.

"You sure?" The tone of his voice let you know the next answer out of your mouth needed to be truthful.

Holding Mikey's gaze proved to be a struggle, and as soon as you looked away, you knew you'd lost the battle. "Yeah, I told you I just haven't-"

"Heard back?" He cut you off from finishing your sentence, and that's when you realized he wasn't looking for an explanation; he just wanted to see if you'd lie to him. "Baby, why the hell is Carmy hiding your acceptance letters?"

A defeated sigh parted your lips as you pushed your bowl of ice cream away from you before deflating back into your seat. You looked around the parlor, noting the few other patrons, wondering if their conversations were going any better than yours.

"He's not hiding them." You shrugged, unsure of what else to say, wishing you were anywhere but here right now.

"Really? Is that why they're all hidden between the pages of his sketchbooks?"

A slight feeling of relief filled you at knowing Carmy had kept his promise, and that Mikey was just too nosy for his own good, likely having come across the letters by accident. You hadn't spoken with Carmy since that day in your bedroom, and you knew he was avoiding you as much as you were avoiding him. 

"Your mom know about this?"

"No, and you aren't going to tell her."

Mikey's eyebrows raised at your tone of voice. He'd watched you grow up and dealt with your attitude plenty of times before, "Watch it." His words weren't a request but rather a warning All he wanted to understand was why you were being sneaky about college, it wasn't his place to tell your mom. "Just talk to me, Baby, what's goin' on?"

The table was quiet as you bit your lip in contemplation, eyes locked on the bowl in front of you. You felt the need to apologize for your smart mouth, knowing Mikey likely wouldn't go to your mom unless you were in danger. But you also wanted to avoid this conversation at all costs, avoid the truth that both you and your mom were pretending didn't exist.

A resigned sigh finally left your lips as you met Mikey's gaze, doing your best to keep your composure. "My mom has worked so hard to give me the life I deserve, she's my biggest cheerleader, and I know she'd be proud if she found the letters, but...there's no getting better for her-"

You trailed off as your eyes welled with tears, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as you worked to keep the tears at bay. "And I-I don't wanna be halfway across the world when mama goes."

Mikey's sharp intake of breath was all you heard before he got up and squished himself into the booth next to you. No words were exchanged between the two of you as he pulled you into his side and allowed you to bury your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around your chin, pressing into your head. You were thankful to have chosen one of the booths in the back, embarrassed to be crying in public.

Time continued to pass as Mikey held you there, hand gently smoothing up and down your back to help calm you down before placing a gentle kiss atop your head. "You sure you're not just staying for my idiot brother?"

You knew Mikey meant for the question to be funny, but it just brought on a whole new wave of emotions for you, helping to open a Pandora's box of all your repressed feelings - good and bad - toward the youngest Berzatto.

Your whine of annoyance at the mention of his brother pulled a chuckle out of Mikey, his arm moving to rest across the back of the booth as his fingers began messing with the collar of your jacket.

"Gonna tell me what I walked in on the other day?"

It was obvious he already had his ideas about what almost happened between you and Carm, either that or he'd already spoken with his brother about the near incident.

You let out a frustrated groan before rubbing your hands down your face. "Literally nothing that even matters." Meeting Mikey's gaze let you know he didn't believe your words for a second, causing even more frustration to bubble up inside you. "Look, I don't know, okay! One moment he's telling me he needs girl advice and the next he's waxing poetic about my eyes, and I think we're about to kiss but we can't because well, for one, you walk in, and oh, did I forget to mention he's stupidly in love with someone else. And there I was, seconds from being a home wrecker to a home that doesn't even exist, and don't even get me started on the fact that everyone has a prom date but me, and...and why are you laughing at me? This is serious, Mikey?"

The older man responded by pulling you into a hug and resting his chin against your head, "Just good to see you worried about teenager shit, you're growin' up too fast." You relaxed into his arms, letting his words sink in and realizing how right he was. You had so much responsibility thrust upon your shoulders that you hadn't gotten the chance to live and enjoy your senior year.

"Thought you were supposed to tell the kid how you felt months ago? What happened to that?"

A resigned scoff escaped your lips as you sat up once more, "Claire Dunlap happened and it's not like it's her fault I mean from the few interactions I've had with her she's pretty cool," you trailed off unsure of what to say, it wasn't like there was much you could do to change the way Carmy felt. "And before the whole bedroom situation, he made it crystal clear he'll never see me as more than a friend."

The man next to you let out a contemplative hum as he digested your words. "Carm tell you that?"

"Not directly," you shrugged as you answered. "I overheard him speaking with Claire at The Beef, and when she assumed we were dating, he denied the whole thing with so much disgust it almost made me question if he even liked me as a friend in general."

As you gazed up at Mikey, you saw his eyes narrow at your words. What was going through his mind, you had no clue, but he seemed to be thinking hard about something. "You ask him about what he said then?"

"Eww, what, no!" You deflated into yourself following the exclamation. "Then he would know I was eavesdropping and I...I'm not sure if I would be able to handle that type of rejection from him. In a way, it's easier to just watch him get what he's always wanted, I mean it doesn't hurt any less, but a verbal rejection would just make it all too real."

Mikey nodded at your words trying to understand why you teens made shit so complicated these days. "Baby, why don't you just tell 'em how you feel? What's the worst that could happen?"

You scowled at the older man sure he'd lost his goddamned mind. "I just told you. He's my best friend, and I know if I admitted my feelings to him, it would just ruin everything."

Mikey tried his hardest to understand where you were coming from, he had to remember that you were still just a teenager and most everything felt like the end of the world to you. "You ever stop to think he might feel the same?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

Any other time, you might have brushed his words off and chalked it up to him joking, but he was really pressing the issue, and that alone made you suspicious.

"Did he say something to you?"

A shrug was all you got in response before Mikey removed himself from the booth, "C'mon, gotta get you home before the streetlights come on."

The conversation ended there, with Mikey ignoring your question and you following behind him in contemplative silence as he led you out to the car.

The car halted to a stop in your driveway, you lifted your head from where it was settled against the window, unbuckling your seat belt before turning to look at Mikey. "All of the street lights were on by the way."

Mikey let out a hearty laugh shoving at your shoulder, "Yeah, alright smart ass."

You sent him one last smile, turning to exit the car before the sound of Mikey calling your name stopped you in your tracks, curiosity filling you at the way he blatantly chose not to use the nickname he'd bestowed upon you all those years ago.

Settling back into the seat, you turned your whole body in his direction, facing him head-on as a frown pulled at your eyebrows. He was speaking up before a question of concern could leave your lips.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?" Warmth filled your chest at the praise, shyness overcoming you at his words, never sure how to accept a compliment. "But you gotta promise me you'll get outta here. I understand why you're not going off to college right away, and I'll be right here supportin' you through it all, but Baby...I need you to make better for yourself, alright?"

You were at a loss for words, a foreboding emotion, feeling your chest as you nodded along in understanding.

"You're gonna do big fucking things, Baby, and I'll be proud of whatever you do but don't forget about us little guys okay." A watery laugh bubbled up out of your mouth, the confusion still ever present as you tried to understand what brought on this topic of conversation.

"I could never forget about you, Brother Bear." You teased, the childhood nickname you gave Mikey, pulling his lips into a smile. "I'm gonna write about you one day, Mikey, gotta remember you to do that." You watched as he just stared at your eyes, roaming over your face, you reached across the console pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, assuming the conversation was over.

Mikey's hand reached out to grab your arm, "You gonna look out for Carmy no matter where life takes both of you, right?" You nodded at the question, feeling no need to elicit a verbal response. "Just keep an eye out for me, will you, you're good for Carmy. Even if he ain't seen it yet," You weren't sure exactly what Mikey meant by that, but you didn't dwell on it as you agreed to his terms.

"Come on now, Mikey, you Berzatto's are stuck with me for life, you can't get rid of me that easily." You smiled, watching as Mikey's gaze stayed serious, worry growing once more in my chest.

"I need to hear you say it, Baby, promise me you'll leave when you get a chance and look out for Carm?"

There was a slight tone of desperation in his words, and the longer you stared at them, the more clearly you could see that emotion swimming in his eyes. You nodded once in acquiescence before speaking up. "Yeah...I promise you, Mikey."

And just as quickly as the serious atmosphere entered the conversation, a joking one bled into the car as Mikey spoke once more. "Alright, now get your ass in the house, Baby, I told your mom I'd stop bringing you home so late," you nodded hesitating before picking your backpack up from by your feet on the floor.

Exiting the car, you quickly walked to your front door, turning back to send Mikey a wave as he watched you get in safely.

Mikey sighed as he reversed the car back into his driveway across the street. He didn't want to mention it, but he could already see the relationship between you and his younger brother beginning to fracture. You had always given Carmy too much of yourself, and as your crush on the teenager developed, you only grew more selfless when it came to cutting off parts of yourself to give to him.

After catching you and Carmy in that compromising position and then sitting his little brother down for a well-needed heart-to-heart, he realized just by listening to him speak about you that Carmy harbored feelings for you as well. But while trying to be helpful and lead his brother to unpack and understand his feelings toward you, he may have ended up doing more harm than good as Carmy vehemently denied the claims instead focusing the conversation on Claire.

Mikey sat in the car for a moment longer watching as the lights in your house began flickering off it was foolish for him to think yours and Carmy's friendship could withstand the test it was about to go through, but knowing how confused Carmy was about his feelings he knew it wouldn't be long until the teen was crossing a line he wouldn't be able to come back from.

a/n: interludes are finally back yay!! love, love, love, writing about young barby they're both just idiots.

also never seen shameless a day in my life but lip gifs are just perfect for young carmy he's such a cutie!

please enjoy 🫶🏼

[tagedeszorns]

SPOILERS for "Fulgrim - The Perfect Son"

You were warned - Spoilers ahaed!

Okay, so it finally has happened. Pigs are flying, dogs are walking backwards and I am admitting that I'd rather read a Fulgrim-novel written by Graham McNeill than this one.

But to get to this point ... let me take the long route!

First - imagine a novel about a Primarch. Let's say Guilliman, because the Ultramarines are the example for everything. Let's say he returns. (Bear with me, I am not talking about how it actually happened for him!) And it is not explained at all, why he's back. What's his motivation. How? Don't ask stupid questions! Anyways. He's back. Now, what about his Legion? What about Calgar? Sicarius? His Librarius? Well, never mind, they don't matter, because (galaxy brain moment here!) - they don't exist! Instead they are replaced with a cast of new characters you never heard of before, but you are supposed to take as "have always been his favourites". And those characters are as generic as they come. Absolutely bland. Plus, Guilliman isn't even there most of the time. Also, apparently the Emperor is no longer a factor for anything.

That's the setting Jude Reid throws at the reader, just with Emperor's Children.

Okay. Okay. I can live with new characters. But maybe at least tie them with the rich history of the third? With all its glory and trauma? Harmony? Canticle City? The Phoenix Conclave? Anything? No?

Well. Then give them a gratious amount of Sex, Drugs and Rock'nRoll, because that's what they do in 40k? No? A bit? So Noise Marines aren't Slaanesh's sledgehammers any longer? Maybe remember how cool Eidolon and his Kakophonii screamed that White Scars ship to rubble or how Ramos tore down the Medean Gate on Luna? No? And the drugs are just some kind of better stims now? Like the stuff Lance Armstrong takes on a daily basis?

Well. Okay. No History, none of the cool guys ... maybe some Dark Prince-fuckery? No? Oh. The word "Slaanesh" is two times in the whole book and it's with sorcery, not normal EC or Fulgrim? And Dark Prince or She Who Thrirsts ... ah, nevermind. So, no Youngest God at all.

Well, Fulgrim is the mightiest servant of Slaanesh and he's the title character of the novel, so it's okay. Enough slaaneshi shenanigans for everyone! No? Fulgrim is there for about 5% of the novel and we never get his POV? Oh. Okay. Well.

Yes, I am disappointed. After Marc Collins gave us the great new Eidolon novel, I had high hopes Games Workshop wanting to bring out the coolness in the third Legion again.

But instead we got the most generic Chaos (not really) stuff ever. You could replace everybody with Red Corsairs and Fulgrim with the Tyrant and nobody would notice any difference.

And now I am back to the beginning. Why McNeill's EC may be horrible but way better than Reid's.

Because they are over the top. Because they are the superlative of extra. Because they are divas. Because they are trying to be cool AF. Because they are mean fuckers.

Reid's EC are what I always thought I wanted (my Midas-moment, if you will): Swordsmen. Duelists. But it turns out, that it is possible to fall to Slaanesh and hate excess (yes, Tamaris, the main char, is very offended by excess). Damn, girl! Take a page out of Ian StMartin's book and look up what excessive swordsmanship does for Lucius!

So, taking everything slaaneshi from the EC didn't do them any good. Apparently they are now Chaos Undivided, swear by "Gods" instead of their chosen patron God and such. Much generic. Wow. Sacrificing like they are the Word Bearers we have at home.

The ideal solution would be a mix of both: McNeill's extra queerness (because Reid's chars are giving off the most cis-het vibes I ever got from anything Warhammer! Even the Chaos Sorcerer reminiscing fucking Fulgrim is as sterilised as possible. I bet Reddit-Warhammer loves this book, because none of them pesky gays and their sexytimes!) and excessiveness and Reid letting them keep their beauty and dignity. It's very telling that the most erotic moment of the book is the main character kissing the guy he just killed.

Because that's the GREAT plus of this book. Finally! Beautiful Emperor's Children! Beautiful Fulgrim! Plaese, give me more of this! And they are (mostly) honourable! Awww, yiss! Yes, Reid is falling back into the way too familiar "uglyness and betrayal"-trope soon enough, but an effort was made.

But that's not enough to work as saving grace.

The novel is very clearly what @paniwarhamauser called "saturday morning cartoons to sell toys", because every buyable unit is mentioned and described very clearly.

But what this book is lacking, is a soul. An understanding for the EC's (and Fulgrim's - but the Phoenician barely features in the novel, so I will leave him out on this) unique tragedy, drama, history and power.

I am glad we got the great "Auric Hammer"-book (please let Marc Collins write more for EC! He gets them! Raging Eidolon gives me life!). And we still have Josh Reynold's superb Fulgrim-novel. But this new one is not for me.

I mean, we EC-fans have a lot of great novels and stories, compared to other Legions (poor Raven Guard for example). So I really shouldn't complain.

Well, rant over, I am calm and collected again and will continue reading the pleasant Alpha Legion-stuff I have left for the Fulgrim novel (may contain traces of Fulgrim). 😁

[puimoo]

My two theories about HUSH 2

Either HUSH 2 is terribly written, or there is more going on under the surface.

My theory is that the Batman in H2SH is either not Bruce but a Thomas Elliot who has developed a split personality and believes he is alternatively Bruce and Hush, or the reverse. Bruce somehow has taken on both personalities and is setting everything up for himself unknowingly - there IS no Hush.

I'm leaning more towards the first option. A few things that jumped out on me that things aren't as they seem:

The missing time from the first chapter when Bruce was offline and no-one could reach him. This is a big smoking gun. This is where either something happens to Bruce, or where he gets 'replaced'.

Bruce is never pulling a gun on Jason and shooting him like that if he's himself, come on. Don't do that to us, writers!

His weird belief that it is all tied to Hush without proper investigation. He's tying it to Hush because he 'knows' on a subconscious level that Hush is involved.

The comment about things being compromised leans a little more towards the Bruce is Hush theory, as others knew things they shouldn't because Bruce-as-Hush shared them.

The very careful wording throughout. For example, Jason never confirms he is working with Hush because he is not. Jason never says he is there to kill the Joker, and he only talks about his death when BRUCE brings it up and makes it deeply personal. Rather than going there to kill the Joker, he's there to save him - and likely to save him from Bruce.

The very weird scene between Barb and Dick, which feels like it came in mid-discussion to deliberately hide what the conversation was actually about before we came in. Barb is weirdly harsh to Dick with the comment where she basically insults Dick and then says that people don't give HER enough credit. We've missed something big here - the tension is pretty damn thick, and I think it ties back to Barb being more concerned about Bruce disappearing than Dick was and them (but not us) now knowing what happened during that time.

The Riddler thinks Bruce needs help. There is something either wrong with Bruce, or he's being held captive somewhere. The reason why different villains get involved during this arc is either because a mad!Bruce is both trying to kill and save them, or a mad!Thomas is trying to do the same.

There is also something very odd about the fact that the batfamily can't connect up with each other and have to work alone, although I am guessing that this is because the communications are now all compromised because Batman has access to them (Whether that is Hush!Batman or Bruce!Batman)

There is also the title. HUSH 2/H2SH feels an unusual name for the sequel, especially given the authors. I think that this is in itself a clue: that there are 2 versions of Hush, or Hush is playing 2 roles. What is also interesting is how they write the 2 in H2SH. Two things here: that the two is hidden within the name Hush (the two personalities in one person angle), but also that the 2 replaces U. This is a Batman comic, the U - or you - is the title character. We go from a singular U to a 2, so, two Batmans :)

Am I trying to make sense of what might just be absolutely terrible writing? Why, yes! But so little in the current world make sense.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Here we go! Can’t wait to dive into part 4 and see what these two are up to!

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Aw. Yes stay with him girl! You can really see just how damn…alone he is. Ben would have been around mid twenties here, right? It’s kind of not much of a shocker how he turned out the way he did after a lifetime of that. 

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well… he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

Stupid Papa Benjamin. He's just... *incoherent screeching*

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started… well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father… he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Ben’s so precious and I loathe that father of his with the passion of a thousand suns. Let’s drop him in a vat of acid, shall we?

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century. 

No but as soon as they came in the house I was thinking, omg it’s like Effie and the gang is here to do make overs (side note, if you’ve not read Sunrise on The Reaping yet I highly recommend).

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

Same girl. You couldn’t pay me to wear a damn corset. Underwire bras are torture enough lol

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

God I love his stuck up, snotty middle name. Only the rich am I right?

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

Can reader time travel to the Titanic and drop dear old dad off there “accidentally”? Pretty please?

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do.

YESSS! Love we’re on the same murder wavelength there 

He got her a birthday cake?

I’m loving all the insight we’re getting with Ben and the reader giving up on seeing him in such black and white terms anymore. Yes, he’s still a flirt and a smidge of a douche but like I mentioned before, he has such a lonely, loveless existence. I’m not sure why I just thought of this but since you mentioned Hunger Games, Ben almost gives a Haymitch vibe in a way. There is that loneliness that comes out through substance abuse later on and not getting attached in relationships but there’s still this protective, kind nature underlying everything. And Ben’s still at this point of being receptive to it and understanding hooking up with the staff might have more meaning to them than he originally thought. 

I don’t know why but I’m starting to get more and more nervous that somehow reader will end up breaking his heart and that will account for so much of his future anger at what he might consider the ultimate betrayal after letting her into his closely guarded heart.

Now off to part 5!

Time After Time – Chapter 4

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, mentions of animal cruelty, fluff, humor, slow burn, a super cliché makeover moment

Word Count: 10.1k

Posted on Patreon March 21, 2025

A/N: Heads up! My responses will still be a little slow. The boys are sick and I'm the last one standing. Haven't slept a lot this week lol. In other news – we're beginning our deep dive into Ben's past and doing a little bonding. Enjoy! 😉 ✨ Chapter title comes from Gone with the Wind (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day

You opened your eyes to soft sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. The room was huge, as was the bed, but it was the unfamiliarity of it all that made you shift uncomfortably in the plush sheets.

The clothes Ben had lent you felt strange. You couldn’t help but remember the quiet tension between you two in his father’s study, the moment you both had almost crossed some invisible line, and then he’d pulled away like it had never been there.

Still, you couldn't shake the pull he had on you. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that his kindness was a distraction – an unexpected one. His presence stirred something deep inside you, and you hated it. You needed to fucking leave. Fast.

You forced yourself to get up, the cool hardwood floors sending a shiver up your spine as you made your way to the door. You didn’t belong here – not in this house, not in this time. You needed to escape before things got any more goddamn complicated.

You descended the grand staircase, the weight of the mansion pressing down on you once more, its silence almost suffocating. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the empty hall before Ben already appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

How the fuck was he doing that? He didn’t have super-hearing yet, did he?

“Hey, you’re up early,” he greeted you with a brief flick of his eyes as he adjusted the cufflinks in his shirt.

He was dressed impeccably in a sharp, charcoal gray, three-piece suit that made him look every bit the man his father expected him to be. But he didn’t seem happy.

You had gathered enough courage to speak by the time you reached the last step – and him. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if we could maybe get a jump start on my… departure?”

Ben bobbed his head, lips pursed, but avoided looking straight into your eyes. “Sure, yeah,” he said at first, but you knew there’d be more. A lot more. “I just have to drop by the office and take care of a few things. But I told Florence, our housekeeper, to take good care of you. She’s already prepared breakfast for you in the dining room. Anything you need, just tell her, and she’ll get it for you. Make yourself at home, okay?”

What the fucking fuck was happening?

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you ultimately found the words. “Am I–“ Ben’s head tilted at you, a hint of amusement and curiosity on his face. “Am I a hostage?”

He barked a loud laugh at your question, but then instantly lowered the volume to a more soothing tone. “No, no, of course not. You can leave anytime, sweetheart,” he assured you, and miraculously, you believed him. “Look, if you want to leave, I’ll take you to the train station or whatever right now. I just figured, you know, you seemed like you needed a little more time. I mean, do you know yet where you’re going next?”

“I told you. New York.” You folded your arms, shrugging.

“You have a place there? A home? Family? Friends? What?” he badgered on, crossing his own arms over his broad chest with a scrutinizing look.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Shit. 

You exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was getting old. “Why d’you care?”

Ben seemed caught off guard by the sudden sharpness in your voice. But then his lips curled into a half-smile, too tight at the corners, as he casually brushed off your question. “Yeah, guess I’m not supposed to care, right?”

He let out a short snort that almost sounded like an inside joke, his eyes flickering to the side, posture stiffening ever so slightly. He took a step back from you, adjusting his cufflinks again as if the distance and mindless fumbling could redirect the conversation, but the subtle grind of his jaw betrayed him.

You hesitated for a beat, but then decided to tell the truth. “Look, I-, I don’t really have anything in New York. I just figured I could find… something there, you know?”

Saying the words out loud caused a wave of panic to rise in your chest. He was right. Even if you left, you had no place to go and no idea how to get your abilities back yet.

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Fucking hell…

You wanted to tell him to stop – stop being so fucking considerate and sweet when all you wanted was to disappear. But your throat tightened, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. So you just nodded and forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Alright.” Ben gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll be in the office. You have a good day, sweetheart.”

Shit. By the affectionate gleam in his green eyes, you could tell he was enjoying this scene a little too much. You wouldn’t play The Donna Reed Show with him – and even that was still more than a decade of progressive thought away. All that was missing from his goodbye was a kiss to your temple and the sentence, “Can’t wait to see what you have cooked for dinner tonight, honey!” 

“By the way, I arranged for my mother’s tailor to come by this afternoon,” he added on his way to the front door.

“What?!”

Oh, you didn’t like this at all…

Ben only laughed at your gasp of horror. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time. Not throwing you to the wolves alone,” he quipped.

Needless to say, that didn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“Wait, what?!”

Ben gave you a patient smile, his amusement still visible before it morphed to a more teasing nature. “Look, as much as I enjoy seeing you in my clothes, sweetheart, I figured we should get you something more… fitting. Especially if you still plan your escape to the big, wide world out there.”

Before you could say another word, he was already disappearing out the door, his footsteps echoing as they faded into the distance. However, you didn’t remain alone for long.

“Miss?” A soft voice interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to find a woman in a worn, but well-kept uniform suddenly standing in the foyer. She must have been the housekeeper Ben told you about – Florence.

Her face was kind, lined with the wear of years spent in this house, but there was a warmth in her smile that made her seem less like staff and more like family.

“Would you like something to eat, miss? It’s all ready for you in the sunroom.” Her voice was almost motherly, comforting, as if she’d been saying the same thing to Ben since he was a child.

You blinked at the mention of something called a sunroom. Sure, you’d heard of it, but you had never seen one nor had you ever known someone to own one. You’d grown up in a trailer park in Jersey, then lived in small and shabby cabin in the woods with a lot plumbing issues, and now in a shoebox apartment in a sketchy part of New York.

You glanced down the hallway at the dark, opulent, and intimidating dining room and figured the sunroom surely sounded… happier. But you didn’t want to eat alone in a big, empty mansion, your eyes landing on the housekeeper.

Florence had probably seen a lot over the years in this household. Maybe Ben wasn’t the only source of information around.

Since you couldn’t leave and Ben was so obviously avoiding you and your departure plans, you figured you could spend the day snooping.

This place was Soldier Boy’s diary, after all.

“I was thinking... maybe I could have breakfast with you? In the kitchen?” you asked her with a shy, yet friendly smile.

Florence’s brow rose in obvious surprise but quickly returned your smile. “Of course, miss. I can’t say I’ve ever had company for breakfast before since I’ve worked here, but I’d be glad to have you join me.”

Well, you had always loved being a little rule breaker.

You followed her into the kitchen, where the heavenly smell of eggs, bacon, and freshly brewed coffee wound its way to your nose. Your stomach suddenly grumbled. You hadn’t fucking eaten since that piece of birthday cake Annie had brought in that morning in the office.

It already felt like a lifetime ago. Had it been chocolate cake or red velvet? Why couldn’t you remember?

Swallowing, your gaze wandered around the kitchen as the housekeeper already bustled around, placing a plate down on an old oak table in the middle of the room. It was a warm, cozy space despite its size, shelves with china and silver lining the walls. Another fire crackled in the corner – they pretty much had a fucking fireplace in every room of this house.

You thanked Florence with a smile as you sat down, already stuffing a forkful of eggs into your mouth. “How long have you worked here, Florence?”

“Oh, I’ve known Benjamin since he was born.” She laughed softly as she continued working by the counters. “My mother had already worked for his grandfather.”

“Wow, so I guess you know Benjamin pretty well,” you said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“I do.” Florence chuckled but then let out a soft, nostalgic sigh. “He always had a lot to say, even as a little boy. Too much sometimes, if you ask me,” she quipped.

Yeah, you knew what she meant. The supe you knew would go on for hours about his not-so-glamorous stories of the important parties he’d attended and the more important celebrities he’d fucked. And you’d sit there, slowly dying inside, wishing he had the ability to contract laryngitis.

But the current version of him seemed more muted. Sometimes, you’d gotten glimpses of the bragging, the fuckboi attitude, and the spoiled brat who couldn’t accept no for an answer. Last night, though, he’d been more honest than you’d ever seen him.

“Does he always talk a lot?” you asked, your fingers playing with a piece of bacon.

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well... he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

You only nodded in quiet understanding. The whole house was screaming it; she didn’t have to say more.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Florence asked after a beat, watching you with a curious eye.

Of course the focus would fall back on you eventually. Here, you were the odd one.

You set your fork down and met her gaze with a smile. “You could say that, yeah.”

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started... well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

“What do you mean?” The creases of your brow deepened, the eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach increasing.

“Here, take my coat. You poor thing must be freezing. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father... he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Until you.

That was her underlying message. Florence was giving you a warning. Suddenly, you weren’t all that hungry anymore. You’d swallowed enough for one morning.

Florence’s eyes softened as if she could sense your unease. She lowered her voice, leaning in closer as she wiped down the oak table in front of you. “Listen, miss, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’d better leave before his father comes back.” Her tone was stern – protective. Apparently, one person in this house was looking out for Ben after all. It was just someone you hadn’t expected. “He’s a good boy, but his father’s a hard man. When he returns, all this–,” her eyes pierced into you, “–won’t be tolerated. Benjamin��s already been walking a tightrope with him. I don’t want you to be another problem for him.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. You nodded slowly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you realized just how precarious your situation really was. You weren’t here just because of a little time-traveling mishap. You were a complication – an inconvenience to the best-laid plans. She had seen what happened when Ben’s father decided that someone didn’t belong. And right now, you were the one who didn’t belong.

“I’ve told you what I can. Just-... don’t stay too long, miss. For your sake, and his.”

The mansion felt different in the afternoon – quieter, almost as if it were suspending its breath in anticipation for its owners to arrive. The morning, on the other hand, had been filled with staff scurrying around.

There was George, the groundskeeper and repairmen, who’d spent an hour switching broken lightbulbs in the endless corridors. You followed him to his work shed out back, finding a gigantic garden clad in winter magic as you chatted vividly with the sweet, older man. Soon, you started to freeze, though Ben had left his wool coat behind for you with a handwritten note, which was handed to you by Florence.

In case you go outside to look for an escape route…

Which brought you to your third encounter this morning – Ray, the chauffeur. He’d sought you out after breakfast with another message from his boss to you: “Mr. Benjamin wanted me to tell you that you’re allowed to use me for any getaway plans you may have.”

So, the younger version of Soldier Boy actually had a sense of humor. Who knew?

But even as you drifted aimlessly through the mansion, exploring one giant and overwhelming room after the next, your mind couldn’t free itself from the haunting conversation with Florence. You wouldn’t have cared if you caused trouble for Soldier Boy, but for some reason, you didn’t want Ben to suffer more.

Sure, his 80-years-older counterpart was the devil reincarnated, but this version of him had treated you only with kindness, the two sides of the same coin sometimes hard to reconcile.

Your sympathy, however, wavered slightly when you met the last two members of the staff – the maids, Frances and Dottie. Frances was the older one, probably in her forties, and didn’t pay much attention to you, going about her chores. Dottie, a girl in her early twenties, on the other hand, sent you a subtle glare every time you passed her in a hallway. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead by noon.

As her narrowed eyes particularly stared at your choice of outfit, Ben’s shirt, you quickly sensed why she might not like you.

The man really was a fucking dog.

When Florence moved to do laundry, you offered to help, but she quickly shooed you away, more or less telling you to stop getting her into trouble. So, you kept cautiously wandering around like the ghosts that haunted this home. You took in all the portraits of solemn men in expensive suits, the velvet drapes, the old-world furniture that shone with polish and pride. Spying a beautiful grand piano in the living room tempted you to tickle its ivories, but you didn’t know if it was allowed or even welcomed.

At this point, you certainly didn’t want to cause more trouble.

You ambled down another hallway, and just as you rounded the corner, the front door swung open, and Ben stepped inside.

“Are you always this curious?” he asked with a grin, leaving coat, hat, and scarf with Florence, who had hurried to his side as soon as she heard him come home.

Again, it explained so much about the future version of him. You had almost rolled your eyes but tried to remind yourself it really wasn’t his fault that everyone catered to his needs. This whole house and life was designed to turn him into a spoiled, careless man-child, taught to eat his feelings.

And as you observed Florence’s devotion to him, you suddenly saw the pattern as clear as day and knew you could never, ever unsee it afterward. His future counterpart had certainly shown a… preference in older housekeepers and maids – sexually.

You stiffened a bit, feeling like you were just caught red-handed in his diary – or his underwear drawer. “I… well, I was just exploring. It’s a… big house,” you deflected from your disturbing thoughts.

His tongue licked over his bottom lip as he nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes feels like it can swallow you whole.” He paused, probably realizing he let too much slip. “You find anything interesting?”

You gave an innocent shake of your head. “Not really. A lot of portraits of your ancestors, and some... old furniture.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a lot of that.” He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. But when you met his eyes, you found more pain than anything else. “My father loves his legacy. It’s like living inside a museum sometimes.” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders that was supposed to convince you he wasn’t bothered by that fact.

It failed, though. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint it until he said it, but walking through the mansion felt like taking a stroll through the Natural History Museum.

“So, uhm, how was your day?” you asked and would’ve loved to add a sarcastic honey. But again, it wasn’t his fault this time period was still domesticating women.

“Good. The usual, I guess,” he said casually, but you could tell by the small smile grazing his lips that he was happy you’d asked. “How was yours, sweetheart? Aside from exploring and scheming an escape plan?”

You giggled softly and gave him a smile that was almost shy. “Good so far. I had a lovely breakfast with Florence in the kitchen.”

Ben’s brow raised in surprise, but his smile hadn’t faded entirely. “You ate with the housekeeper in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” You gave a nod before your brow puckered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get her into trouble. She-… she isn’t, right?”

“Wha-… No, no, not at all,” Ben assured you, chuckling. “I just-… well, I’ve lived here for a little over twenty years, and I’ve never had breakfast before in the kitchen.”

“Huh, well, you should try it sometime. It’s fun.” You gave him a shrug, grinning.

“I’ll think about it,” he said and cocked a brow, his eyes dragging over your frame – the shirt of his you wore – with that little leer of his. “Do you always do what’s fun, sweetheart?”

The chime of the doorbell came as a welcome interruption and made both your heads turn toward the sound.

Saved by the bell. Your heart still thundered the storm of the century in your chest as Florence hurried to the front door once more. You had almost wanted him to step closer. You’d never experienced that feeling before with him.

“The seamstress is here, miss,” Florence said, swiftly ushering you toward another hallway. “Right this way.”

Fuck. You’d completely forgotten about that. You knew you needed some kind of period-appropriate attire. But why couldn’t he just take you to the 1942 equivalent of a V&M or Vara? You weren’t in the mood to entertain any makeover shenanigans.

“See you in a bit,” Ben said and fled down the opposite direction.

“Whoa! Hey! Where are you going? You said you weren’t going to leave me alone for this,” you said, your voice disturbingly close to a whine.

Ben must’ve sensed the panic blinking like an evacuation alarm in your eyes because he actually took a few steps closer to you again. “Five minutes, alright? Just have to take this to the study.” He gestured to a briefcase in his hand. “I’ll be right with you, sweetheart.”

Giving a hesitant nod, you couldn’t understand your own feelings. A big part of you hated to have him near you, hated talking to him, and hated to accept his help. Why him, of all the people on this planet? But there was another part of you that desperately sought the comfort his familiarity offered in an unfamiliar place.

Florence led you to the drawing room – a space specifically designed for entertaining guests. In your childhood, a burning trash can in the trailer park had served as your entertainment space for guests. In New York, it was your pull-up couch/bed. But sure, why not add an extra room if you’re shitting money?

The moment you stepped into the room where the tailor was waiting, your own personal nightmare unfolded in front of you as you were greeted by a flurry of fabric and an energetic woman in her forties, with short, stylishly curled hair and glasses perched on her nose. She was perpetually in motion, constantly fidgeting, muttering to herself as she laid out fabric swatches with dramatic flair. Her hands fluttered in the air like a conductor preparing for a grand symphony.

She straightened up when she saw you, eyes lighting up with immediate interest. “Ah, so you’re the one Benjamin’s been telling me about!” Her voice was brisk but warm, and she wasted no time in circling you like a hawk. Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses, scanning you from head to toe with exaggerated precision, as though the idea of fitting you for a dress was as exciting as solving a puzzle. “We’re going to make you absolutely stunning, darling. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You hesitated at the doorway, giving her a tentative smile. “I’m really not sure about all of this. I’m not exactly–”

She waved her hand dismissively, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Not exactly what, my dear? Feminine? Pish posh. All women are feminine. It’s simply a matter of presentation.” She paused to give you another once-over, her eyes practically sparkling as she stepped closer, her hands bunching and tucking Ben’s loose shirt in various ways around your body. Were tailors always this handsy? “You have the shape, the frame. We’ll just need to... refine it.” She grinned, showing an alarming amount of enthusiasm for fabric and needles. “You’ll look fantastic in no time. You’ll be the talk of every high society ball, I assure you.”

“Huh? What now?” You blinked, unsure if you should laugh or run away. Did Effie Trinket just mention the word ball? You did not like the sound of that.

You shot a glance toward the door upon hearing a quiet creak, and Ben stepped inside, the faintest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the scene. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and your eyes locked with his, silently asking him for a goddamn rescue. But instead, he looked entertained, maybe even a little pleased, which was infuriating, to say the least.

“You okay in here?” Ben asked, voice tinged with amusement as his green eyes darted between you and the seamstress.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century. At least, the knowledge that Hughie and Annie would have laughed soothed your anxiety slightly.

The tailor, as if summoned by Ben’s voice, immediately sprang to action, striding toward him with a look of sheer joy. “Ah, Benjamin! What perfect timing! We’re just about to turn your lovely guest into a proper lady. You’ve done well bringing her here.” She beamed, patting Ben on the arm like a proud parent. “Wherever did you find this girl?”

“Uh… On the street.” Ben smirked, cleverly disguising the truth as a joke.

The seamstress threw him a pointed look at his antics, shaking her head. “Always a joker, this boy… However do you put up with him?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” You grinned, your eyes flickering mischievously to Ben. “It’s exhausting!”

Ben’s brow knitted, but to your surprise, he was more amused than anything else with your response.

“Oh, your mother will be so pleased when she comes back,” the tailor tells him wistfully before turning her attention back to you. “She always wanted a daughter to show off at tea parties. She’ll have you parading around Philadelphia’s finest circles in no time.”

Tea parties? Balls? Fuck no! Not to mention you wanted to be long gone before his parents got back, Florence’s warning still all too fresh in your mind.

Panicked, you blinked at Ben, while the tailor already swung a measuring tape around you like a ribbon.

“Uh, Ms. Vivian, my guest won’t be here anymore when my mother returns,” Ben informed her, approaching you as you stood in the middle of the room like a statue in an art gallery. “So, maybe we tone it down a little with the tea parties and the ball gowns.” He then looked at you, his eyes reassuring and encouraging. “Just tell her what you want, sweetheart. I told you – I got you.” He winked.

Your cheeks involuntarily blushed. Honestly, that little gesture might have been the nicest fucking thing he’d ever done for you.

With newfound confidence, you faced the seamstress. “Uh, maybe we could find something simple and casual? Maybe a little flowy?”

“Flowy? What, like a farmhand?” The tailor’s brow furrowed wildly as if you’d just offended her, clasping a palm to her chest. She sighed so loudly you almost felt like you had just shattered her entire lifelong dreams.

Ben snorted, and you couldn’t help but break into little giggles too, both your amusement flying right over the seamstress’ head.

“What about the cream one?” You pointed at a soft flowing dress on the rack, which looked perfectly fine to get around without suffocating.

“Oh, darling, no!” The tailor shook her head vigorously, but Ben sent her a stern look.

“Ms. Vivian…” His voice was calm but warning.

“Alright, fine.” She rolled her eyes exhaustively and put the dress aside before finding another one as well. She held it up to your face like it was a magic curtain. “What about this? Maybe a soft, ladylike lavender or perhaps a daring crimson to match the boldness I see in your eyes? That color would work wonders for your complexion, too!”

“Oh, uh, let’s steer clear of the crimson,” you told her, clearing your throat – not that Ben would actually catch why that made you uncomfortable.

“It seems like ‘no’ is your favorite word,” Ms. Vivian tutted in her frustration.

Ben laughed slightly at the comment. “Oh, she’s a hard one to win over,” he quipped, but his eyes never left you. There was a soft hint of a smile playing on his lips that you could almost confuse for affection.

Were you going fucking crazy?

The seamstress paused, considering the two of you, and then smiled in a way that felt a little too knowing. “Well, I suppose we could compromise. A sophisticated look, not too dramatic, but refined and elegant. The perfect balance. And just a hint of mystery, of course.”

God, she was good. You had to give her that. She really knew what she was doing, although you hated the fact she could read you so easily.

As Ms. Vivian eagerly rolled out fabrics and draped silks and velvets around your shoulders like sacred relics, Ben snuck closer to you. His fingertips lingered on your wrist, brushing but not touching as if to reassure you he hadn’t forgotten the rules.

But his breath fanned against the shell of your ear, the hair in the back of your neck saluting him when he checked on you in a whisper, “You still holding up here okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You laughed softly, barely able to hold his gaze. This whole situation was nerve-racking. “Just not used to being the center of attention like this.”

“Hmm, that’s hard to believe.” Ben gave you a little grin. “You’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Enjoy being dressed up like a doll? You’re not helping, you know...”

Ben chuckled. “Maybe not. But I enjoy watching you try getting out of it. Besides, I think you’ll look stunning, no matter what you wear.”

Furiously burning heat crept to your cheeks at his flattery. Fuck, he was good when he wanted to be. You thought you could handle Soldier Boy like you’d done so many times before in the future without issue, but this was entirely different.

“Oh, we almost forgot the foundations!” The tailor’s voice luckily interrupted the moment and drew both your attention back to her.

Your brow quirked, accompanied by an anxious feeling in your gut. “Foundations?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yes, darling. The proper undergarments,” she clarified and searched for the appropriate item in her large, wooden treasure chest. “What about a nice corset?”

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

To your surprise, Ms. Vivian uttered a loud gasp of horror as well. Ben, on the other hand, snorted in amusement behind your shoulder, and you turned to him with a confused expression.

“What?”

Before Ben could answer you, Ms. Vivian spoke first: “Young lady, mind your language!”

“Oh.” Your brow raised in realization. “Shit. I’m sorry. I mean crap! No, dammit! Am I allowed to say ‘crap’?”

A louder, more forceful laugh escaped Ben then, and you could see the glassy veil of tears over his eyes. He bit his lips hard, trying to regain his composure when Ms. Vivian was scolding both of you with a stern look.

“Benjamin, you better get Mrs. Helen to work with her before you take her out,” the seamstress said, but it was more than a mere suggestion. Her eyes were practically pleading him.

“Who’s Mrs. Helen?” you asked your host in a whisper-tone.

“She’s an etiquette coach,” Ben informed you, his amused smile still unwavering.

Your brow furrowed. “What, so I know which fork to stabbeth myself with while some pompous dick is going on and on about his yacht and the stock market?”

Ben chuckled violently behind his palm, but Ms. Vivian was less than amused and quirked a high eyebrow.

“Young lady, you better mind your manners,” she chided. “You may not find a man this way. Men don’t appreciate sailor talk. You’re in company of a gentleman here.”

“Who? Him?!” With a severely wrinkled brow, you thumbed over your shoulder at your host.

Oh, that is hilarious…

“Alright, if a corset is out of question, then we at least need to get you a proper brassiere,” Ms. Vivian continued her quest to dress you appropriately.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m good on that front,” you said.

The seamstress threw you a raised look, lowering her glasses on her nose for dramatic effect. “If you think I’ll let you walk out of here without the proper undergarments, you better think again,” she told you firmly.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ben quipped, grinning cheekily.

“Merde…” You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Fine, gimme a bra.”

Ms. Vivian foraged through her magical treasure chest again, shaking her head. “You know, I understand French, too, young lady.”

Fuck me, you thought since you couldn’t say it out loud.

“You speak French?” Ben tossed you a curious glance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fluent, actually,” you replied and watched his brow hike up in surprise.

“Well, I’m glad not all hope is lost,” Ms. Vivian chimed in. “French is very popular for girls your age.”

“You learned it in school?” Ben asked, and you could tell he was using this opportunity to pry more information out of you, but this time, you figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Uh, self-taught, actually,” you answered. Living in the French part of Canada for a couple of years, you’d certainly picked up a thing or two. “I’m also good with Latin and Greek. History, science, math…”

“Math?” Ben questioned, a trace of surprised intrigue flashing in his green eyes.

“Yeah, math,” you confirmed, smirking. “What subjects were you good at in school?”

Ms. Vivian snorted loudly at your question, Ben sending her a little glare at that. You knew why, remembering how he had flunked boarding school. And Soldier Boy would’ve probably pulverized the seamstress right this second for making fun of him, but Ben was a lot less hot-tempered.

“Uh, little bit of everything, I guess,” he replied vaguely at first, still trying to impress you. But then he wet his lips in thought. “To be honest, I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to my classes.”

The sudden honesty surprised you, and you rewarded it with a kind smile. You gave a quick shrug of your shoulders. “School’s overrated, anyways. Most of the stuff you need for life, you learn on the go.”

Ben’s lips curved into a smile. “Like French?”

“Like French.” You nodded, grinning.

“You know, playing an instrument is very desirable as well for girls,” Ms. Vivian added. “It lets potential suitors know you’re refined and cultured.”

So, they know I can play their flute? 

You bit back your comment, not knowing if Ms. Vivian wasn’t hiding a muzzle for you in her treasure chest as well.

“Well, I play the piano,” you offered instead. Truly, you didn’t try to impress Ben but the judgmental tailor. You hoped if she thought you had at least a little bit of a well-bred pedigree, she’d stay clear of the feathered hats you spied in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Ms. Vivian clapped her hands in delight, making you quite proud of your achievement.

One point for the trailer park bitch!

“You know, we have a piano right there,” Ben said, gesturing to the corner where the beautiful grand piano stood that you’d admired earlier that day.

“Oh, I know. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to touch it,” you said, giggling. “Seems a little too grand for my skills.”

“No, go ahead, sweetheart. It hasn’t been played in a while. I’m sure it’d appreciate the treatment,” Ben encouraged you with soft smile, the affectionate gleam reappearing in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s too bad your mother won’t be here to see this!” Ms. Vivian tragically sighed. “She would’ve loved it! She was a wonderful player herself, always entertaining the guests at parties.”

“Was?” You looked at Ben, but he averted his gaze to the floor, never quite meeting your eyes.

You couldn’t remember if Soldier Boy had ever mentioned his mother. You’d heard plenty about his father, but his mother seemed more like an elusive mirage, swallowed by the exorbitant daddy issues that haunted him.

“She-, uh, she hasn’t really played in recent years,” Ben gave as a polite explanation but didn’t offer anything more.

“Oh, too bad,” you replied and sent him a small smile. “I’m sure she was great.”

“Alright, Benjamin,” the tailor interrupted you two, “This next part of the process is not meant for your eyes, so you better leave.”

“What? Why?” You sure as hell didn’t want to be left alone with the eccentric seamstress. God knows what else she could force you into. You were sure there were a lot worse things than a corset in that trunk of horror.

“Because you have to undress, darling, so I can see what fits and make the appropriate adjustments,” Ms. Vivian told you.

“Oh, I don’t mind staying.” Ben smirked puckishly.

“Benjamin Percival Brooks! Where are your manners, young man?” The tailor flashed him a look full of authority, her voice firm and commanding.

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

“I know your mother raised you better than that,” she chastised. “Go on! Shoo!”

You chuckled a little at the face he drew upon her order. Man, you should remember that trick in the future. You were kind of jealous of Ms. Vivian’s skills.

“You’re gonna be alright on your own?” Ben still checked, even when the seamstress was impatiently tapping her heel, waiting for him to leave you to your transformation.

“I suppose,” you replied, amused when the tailor already eyed you with a measuring tape.

“I’ll be in the study if you need me,” Ben said and threw you a wink. “Try not to melt under all the glamour.”

As the evening arrived in the mansion, the grand windows that lined the tall walls dimmed with the fading sunlight. You had spent the last few hours adjusting to your new wardrobe before settling on a dress that made you the most amount of comfortable – which wasn’t a lot, to begin with.

Your choice had landed on a long-sleeved, navy blue dress with the hint of a v-neck that was tied with a pretty bow. Alright, you did like the bow. A lot. This was probably the girliest outfit you had ever worn. It for sure was a far cry from your Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans, but at least you blended into your environment and didn’t stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb.

You also put on the vibrant red beret you had to fight Ms. Vivian for since it wasn’t “in fashion this season.” However, it made you feel very sophisticated and French, like you possessed a certain je ne sais quoi.

Alright, maybe you’d been daydreaming a little too much today. But one thing you’d learned during your epic adventures: Always commit to the bit.

Which meant fully diving into everything this period had to offer. You were stuck here, and you couldn’t get hunted down by an angry mob again, so you sucked it up like a big girl and channeled your inner Betty Draper.

Making your way downstairs, you passed Dottie, whose mouth dropped slightly when she saw you in your new outfit. If you thought Ben’s shirt made her hate you, that dress surely made her want to kill you now.

But Dottie, Grace, Betty, and Sheila all served as good reminders of why you had to heed caution with your charming host. You knew who he was in his essence. You couldn’t let yourself get blended by the pretty wrapping paper.

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, unsure of how to respond. Then, you noticed a smile sneaking onto his lips when his gaze followed you down to your choice of footwear – you were wearing your same old pair of Chucks.

“Did Ms. Vivian forget the bottom layer?” he teased with an entertained smirk.

“Uh, no, she gave me plenty of choices. Not quite ready yet for that yet, I guess.” You blushed slightly. The truth was, your shoes still gave you a sense of familiarity and home that you wanted to hold onto. You could feel your own time beginning to slip your mind, little fragments starting to go missing from your memory. “She’d probably faint if she saw me like this.”

Ben grinned. “You’re tempting me to call her back just to see it.”

“Oh, too bad you haven’t seen her when I asked her if she had some pants for me, too. She almost collapsed like the London Bridge right then,” you quipped.

“Well, leave it to you to make me jealous I missed one of Ms. Vivian’s fashion shows,” replied Ben, giving you his signature smirk. “I was about to have dinner and was hoping you’d join me. I-, uh, I have a little surprise prepared for you.”

“Oh, uh, you know, that’s not really necessary. You don’t have to give me anything… or more, I guess,” you stammered, shaking your head, pupils flickering. “Letting me stay here, the clothes… It’s enough, okay? It’s more than I could’ve asked for, really. Thank you so much. You really don’t have to do any of that, you know?”

And you strangely meant every word. You were overwhelmingly thankful. Had that been his goal all along? Shit. Was it real it or was he playing you? The grin itching on his lips didn’t help you detangle the mêlée in your mind either.

“Is that a yes or no to dinner?” Ben formed a teasing smile.

“Uh… yes?” You were kind of hungry, not having eaten anything since Florence stuffed you full of crumpets during afternoon tea.

“Alright.” Ben nodded, clearly pleased. “Just, uh, give me a minute to finish this up.”

“Sure. Take your time,” you said and ambled through the study, your gaze drawing you to a row of framed photographs resting on the mantle.

One was a family portrait with Ben, no older than probably five, standing in the middle with two figures behind him – his parents. It was almost haunting seeing a childhood picture of that man, like seeing a teacher outside of school, buying groceries. It reminded you that underneath the emerald suit and the callousness was still a real, living and breathing person.

The contrast between his parents, however, was striking. His father stood tall and imposing, with sharp features and an air of authority that practically leapt off the picture. He didn’t share a lot of resemblance with his son, but weirdly, you could see some similarities between Ben’s father and his future offspring, making you wonder if Soldier Boy ever took note of those attributes as well.

Ben’s mother, on the other hand, was beautiful, her soft features highlighted by a gentle smile. Her eyes were kind, her posture relaxed, and she seemed almost ethereal compared to the rigid formality of her husband.

“Ah, my parents…” Ben’s deep voice ripped you from your thoughts. It was accompanied by a quiet chuckle, as though he didn’t particularly enjoy discussing that topic. He rose from the desk and sauntered closer to you, soon feeling his warmth radiating behind your back. “You see the resemblance?”

You glanced up at him, noting the subtle line of tension between his brows. There was something in his voice that betrayed the casual indifference he wanted to communicate.

“Yeah, you look a lot like your mom,” you remarked, studying the photograph a little closer. “You have her eyes and smile.”

Ben’s expression faltered for a split second with a flicker of something close to disappointment. His lips pressed together, averting his eyes down to the floor. “I suppose that’s true,” he replied with hesitancy. “Honestly, I’d rather prefer looking like my father. I’m not quite the man he is.”

You paused for a moment, your stupid hand itching to reach out to him in comfort. One thing was for sure, though: It was hard to see anything resembling Soldier Boy in the young man in front of you.

Yes, there was the occasional arrogance and bragging and even the insecurities. But you didn’t think this was an act or a game he was playing with you. Vulnerable honesty didn’t really fit his ammo when it came to wooing women. He was too proud in his virility for that.

So, you supposed you were just strange enough of a stranger to confide in. He couldn’t tell it to anyone else because – the girls he’d bedded, the staff in this house – they’d probably gossip, and he couldn’t risk that, could he? Not with a father like that. You, however, didn’t know a soul here. You were nobody. You were safe. You could keep his secrets.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you got lucky,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You giggled when his brows shot up. “Your mom’s a lot prettier than your dad. I’d be grateful if I were you.”

Ben huffed a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. A grin formed and widened on his freckled, clean-shaven face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I believe I said pretty,” you teased.

Ben clicked his tongue, lips curling to fight a smile.

Your face softened, deciding to probe further. “What’s she like? Your mother?”

He licked his lips for a moment, surely considering if he wanted to answer your question. “Well, uhm, when I was younger, she was warm. Sweet,” he said slowly, trying to retrieve the memory from someplace distant. “She was everything you could want in a mother, you know? I-, uh, I felt like I could tell her anything, and she-… she’d understand.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly, your hands itching again, only held back by a sliver of self-control.

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

You had no fucking clue what to say to that. The hurt in his voice was raw, and you knew you were intruding on something personal he wasn’t used to sharing. You’d just opened a big can of worms in Soldier Boy’s past, and you had not the faintest idea how to get those slimy, little strings back inside.

Your eyes drifted back to the photograph. She seemed like a good mother in that picture, how she protectively rested a palm on her son’s shoulder. But you also noticed the contrast between the warmth of his mother’s smile and the cold, steely expression of his father. It was as if Ben’s mother had faded into the background, a supporting character in a life that had never really been her own. A fate, you’re sure, that befell many women of this time.

“You think she’s still in there somewhere? The woman you knew?”

Ben was silent for a beat, his gaze fixed on the photograph as he thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure. The more time passed, the more she became… him.”

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do. Maybe then, you and Ben could call it even in the future and go back to your normal routine of hating each other.

It surely sounded less frightening than whatever this weird, blooming thing between you was right now that spread like a nasty STD.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to offer. You still didn’t reach out to him. You were already playing with matches. You didn’t need to throw them into gasoline.

Ben gave a tight smile, trying to overplay his vulnerability. But you could see beneath all the bravado and arrogance. He was just a son who’d never felt like he was enough. Not to his father. Not to his mother.

Worst of all, you could relate.

He chuckled bitterly. “It’s alright. I’ve learned to live with it. You can’t choose your parents.”

“That’s true.” You gave a slight nod of agreement. “Mine were fucking assholes from the start.”

You hadn’t planned on sharing something personal with him, but it felt like the least amount of comfort and understanding you could offer him.

Ben’s brow twitched with surprise, a smile of amusement flashing across his lips, probably because of your use of sailor talk again. Honestly, though, how fucking ironic was that? You hadn’t even sworn a lot your whole life, but spending a year with Butcher and Soldier Boy in particular did a number on you.

“What-, uhm, what were they like… or are? Are they still alive?”

“No, dead. Probably,” you replied flatly. “And they were, uhm… selfish, unkind, elusive. Dumb like a bag of bricks, too.” Upon Ben’s blinking eyes, you uttered a half-hearted “sorry.”

“No, uh–“ Ben shook his head a little, as if to organize his thoughts. “So, that story about your father teaching you–“

“Bullshit, I guess,” you admitted, smirking a little.

“So, all that stuff you know–“

“I taught myself,” you confirmed with a proud smile, standing a little straighter. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you couldn’t deal with a woman being smarter than you.”

Ben’s lips hitched a smile that he tried to bite back. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad you asked about her,” he added quietly, his look touching something within your soul. “Not many people do.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m sure your mom’s proud of you. Even if she doesn’t show it.”

And then, the air shifted. You could feel it all around you, settling on your skin in a veil of delicate blossoms, rising in response to whispers of electricity. They danced across the surface, each little peak a shiver of anticipation. Your heart drummed louder, faster, till it drowned out all the other noise. There was just you and him at that moment in time.

You’d held eye contact for too long, the silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. It was addicting.

Your gaze briefly fell to his plush, pink lips, immediately cursing yourself for the action. He took note of it, his own eyes landing on your unoccupied, open palm by your side. And in the short second he paused and gathered courage to move forward with his intentions, you retreated half a step and exhaled a sharp breath.

“Uh, food?” Your voice broke the spell on both of you, Ben blinking out of his momentary daze. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sounds good. Shall we?”

Ben offered you his arm, and for a fleeting second, you considered declining. But there was something in the way he looked at you, faint crinkles around his crispy apple green eyes from a kind smile that pressured you to cave. So, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, and together you strolled down the hall toward the dining room.

“Is it just the two of us in the dining room?” you asked with a lump lodged in the back of your throat. Your heart was pounding while you held onto him. The soft scent of his cologne reached your nose, notes of citrus, mint, and wood making your head spin.

Ben chuckled a little. “Yeah, it’s just the two of us. Unless you want to invite Florence again.”

“Oh, can we?” As you glanced up at him, you saw the subtle smirk on his lips. “Oh, you were joking…”

Ben laughed deeply. “I was, but hey, if you want to–“

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, trying to calm your jittering nerves.

As you entered the dining room, you were immediately struck by how large it was, the long table that easily fit a group of thirty stretching in front of you, lit by flickering candles. It was as grand as the rest of the house, but tonight it felt oddly intimate – just the two of you, and no one else.

Ben pulled out a chair for you, his movements graceful and old-fashioned. When you sat, he took the seat opposite you, and Florence hurried to set two plates of deliciously smelling meatloaf in front of you. Luckily, there was only one fork.

“So, what adventures were you up to today, sweetheart?” Ben asked, falling into the polite dinner conversation small talk. You were sure it was trained into him.

“Oh, uh, well, after breakfast, I spent some time with George in his shed. He’s got some cool stuff out there,” you said nonchalantly, only then noticing Ben’s look of amusement again.

“You spent time with George in his shed?”

“Is that not allowed?”

Ben tilted his head at you. “Why do you keep asking me that? I told you to make yourself at home. You can do what you want here.”

“No, I know,” you said, licking your lips as your chat with Florence crept along the edges of your mind. “I guess I just wanna make sure I’m not overstepping any lines here. Kinda like when you’re in a museum, and you’re not allowed to touch anything.”

Ben’s lips grew a smirk as he met your eyes. “Well, you’re allowed to touch anything you want in here, sweetheart.”

Oh no… You’d set yourself right up for that one, hadn’t you?

“So, out of curiosity, did you sleep with Dottie?”

Ben choked on the sip of red wine in his mouth, a few tiny drops staining his pristine white dress shirt. You’re sure neither Florence nor Ms. Vivian would be pleased with that – but you were.

“Hm? What?” He blinked at you like a deer in headlights, clearing the rest of the wine from his throat. “Why? Did she say something to you?”

“Might as well have answered that one with a resounding yes,” you teased and snickered into your glass of wine.

Ben frowned slightly. “You know, if she’s making you uncomfortable, I can fire her.”

Now, you frowned, eyes wide. “What?! No! Don’t do that. That’s such a dick move.”

“A dick move?” Both amusement and confusion flashed on Ben’s face.

Right… People probably didn’t say that yet. You also remembered the concepts of sexual harassment at the workplace and retaliatory discharge were still futuristic dreams, too.

“Well, you know, it’s kinda your fault. Suck it up,” you told him. “You’re her employer. You can’t just discard her because she makes you uncomfortable after you did… whatever you did to her.”

Ben was a little stunned by your bluntness. “Technically, my father is her employer,” he argued and then smugly added, “And I can guarantee you she also very much enjoyed whatever I did to her, by the way.”

Ew, gross!

“You just offered to fire her. I’m pretty sure you qualify,” you countered, not even touching the other comment with a ten-foot pole.

Ben pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a nod. “Guess I’ll suck it up then.”

You rewarded him with a wry smile. “There you go.”

“You know, that was just a one-time thing at some party my father threw. Months ago… Didn’t mean anything,” Ben added, shoving food around on his plate with his fork.

“To you, maybe,” you said and looked at him, waiting for another excuse.

But there came none. He just sipped his wine and dove back into his food.

Good. That would at least keep him from hitting on you for the next hour.

And it did – Ben and you had a pleasant dinner and stuck to small talk. You slowly began to relax, even though the tension between you two was still simmering underneath.

“You always eat dinner here alone?” you asked when Florence cleared the empty plate in front of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a box or a can.

One point for 1942.

“Usually, yes.” Ben shrugged. “Sometimes I go out with friends, have dinner in town.”

“Seems kind of lonely,” you noted.

“Can be. Seems a little less lonely tonight,” Ben replied, sending you a soft smile. “So, what was the house like that you grew up in?”

“Oh, uhm…” You weren’t sure if you should answer that one honestly but couldn’t find a good enough reason not to. “Well, it was a lot smaller.”

“How small?”

“About a quarter of this dining room,” you replied, slightly amused, and watched his brow crease in several directions as he tried to make sense of something like that.

“Huh.”

“We did have a sunroom, though,” you deadpanned with a sip of wine. “I mean, we just called it a window, but the thought was there.”

Ben snorted, soon fully laughing. He rubbed his lips with his fingers. “You ready for your surprise?”

“I told you. It’s not necessa–“

Before you could finish, your eyes flicked to Dottie in the doorway, holding a plate with a piece of cake and a burning candle stuck in it in her hands. The look on her face was devastating. Honestly, did this man possess no awareness at all?

It seemed like a cruel form of punishment for the girl. Fortunately, her grievances and anger weren’t geared toward you this time. The death stare fully landed on your oblivious host.

Dottie placed the plate in front you with a glare at Ben so biting you were surprised you couldn’t see teeth marks on his head yet. Both of you waited till Dottie had left the room again before you looked at him with a complacent smirk.

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes back. “Alright, I see it. Happy now?”

“As long as you’re aware,” you sang smugly.

“Stop gloating and blow out your candle,” he huffed, but a hint of playfulness swung in his voice. “I know I’m technically a day late for this, but I didn’t want you to miss out on cake. It’s the best part about birthdays.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and meant it. It was hard to deny that this was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done for you. Uncharacteristically sweet and surely motivated by other nefarious reasons, but thoughtful nonetheless.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled warmly. “Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, uh… Twenty-… fourth,” you lied with some thoughtful reluctance. You knew if you’d told him your real age, there would’ve only been more questions about why you weren’t married and tamed yet.

“Older than me, huh?” Ben gave you a satisfied smile.

You bit your tongue hard at the irony and nodded, forcing a smile. Granny fucker.

“Well, happy birthday, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

And God, when that candle went out, you wished you’d be home soon.

▶️ Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Lots to unpack in this one! Some major insights into Ben's childhood and a glimpse at his mother. What did you think about Ms. Vivian? Should we get Mrs. Helen involved to fix reader's sailor talk? How much will Ben pay her not to reveal his middle name to Hughie in the future? 😂

And I'm not warning for age gaps in this fic because with Soldier Boy, it's kind of ridiculous anyway, but yes, reader is seven years older than him in 1942, but 74 years younger in the future, so they're even? 🤷‍♀️🤣

Coming Up:

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

The Cursed Warlords Chapter #Nineteen – Hurt and Comfort

Of all the things you had to deal with on this journey, staying long enough to get your period once again was NOT apart of your plan!

It took the rest of that day to walk around the town. Spirit was firm in the fact that she didn’t want you to get involved with whoever was in the town. The monkey demon Mink had ran off so quickly you were unable to catch up with him even if you tried. So you continued your trip.

Wukong nuzzled your face happy with his win, having scared off the other demon. Though it wasn’t like Mink was trying to hurt you and was actually trying to help the warlords. But Wukong didn’t care, he tried to take him away from you! His precious darling, and for all he knew you could have gotten hurt before the curse would get broken!

‘You are an idiot,’ Macaque chirped with annoyance as je lounged on your other shoulder.

Wukong gawked at his mate in offence, ‘I am not! I protected our Reader!’ he explained rolling his eyes at his mate’s words.

‘Did you even think of the fact that we could have asked him to get Reader to bring us to Flower Fruit Mountain?’ Macaque responded with a groan.

Wukong opened his mouth to retort only to snap his mouth shut in shock. His brain fried for a second as he registered the fact that he just ruined their chance to break their curse sooner and get Reader to their home. Not to mention they could have found a way to get you to come to their home and you wouldn’t be able to leave without their say so.

‘Thought so,’ Macaque grumbled with an annoyed look on his face.

Though he hadn’t really helped the matter much. While Wukong was scaring off Mink he had let himself try and get your attention instead. The whole time he just wanted you to look at him instead of someone else, just like when he first met Wukong. Back when he had pined for Wukong, before they were mates and when he had to scare off the suitors who tried to get Wukong’s hand in marriage.

‘Macaque.’

His thoughts wondered back to those days, he could still feel the roaring jealousy that he felt back then. So many of Wukong’s suitors who died at his hand, he wasn’t even sure if his mate knew just how many. He purposefully didn’t tell him of the few that had been apart of the troop only to mysteriously disappear when they got too cozy with the single king.

‘Moon.’

Not that Wukong was any better. He knew how many people had died because someone said something bad about the ‘lone warrior,’ the ‘shadow’ of the king. Back when he first joined the troop after being a lone traveler for his whole life. Their screams were so lovely, whe didn’t mention how wonderful and horrible it made him feel. Wonderful because Wukong gave him attention before he proposed and horrible because at first Wukong saw them as friends and ‘sworn brothers,’ he rolled his eyes at the thought.

His mate had loved him just as much as he loved him ever since they met. He was just a dense idiot sometimes and didn’t realize it was romantic love rather than platonic. All he was at first was his ‘best bud’, well that changed when Macaque made the first move into courtship.

‘My Moon! Don’t ignore me! I said sorry,’ Wukong was all but crying at this point, his eyes wide with regret and fear for his life at the silence of his mate.

Macaque turned to look at him and rolled his eyes with a smirk. He didn’t respond only making Wukong even more silently hurt at the silence but he couldn’t do anything if he tried. Leaving you to calm the whiny monkey who was trying to get his mate’s attention.

>>>

The next few days were calm, they were peaceful and it was strange. Gentle breezes and a clear sky without a cloud in sight. Everything was easy for once, just you following Spirit’s lead towards your destination. However you didn’t expect this new road block to happen.

Sleeping in your under dress and using your outer hanfu as a pillow you woke up to something you didn’t want to deal with. You realized it in the early morning when you woke up with a painful cramp in your abdomen. Dread flooded through you as you gripped your stomach in pain. Your quiet groans caught the attention of Spirit who was already awake.

“You okay Reader?” She asked with a frown covering her lips.

“Uugh…. No,” you muttered trying to calm your cramps, it physically pained you knowing that you couldn’t have any ibuprofen or Advil, There was nothing to calm down the pain here.

You felt her hand press against your head and she frowned, you weren’t warm. You had plenty of sleep the last few days, she’s made sure you always had something to eat… Narrowing her eyes she gently shook your shoulder, hoping to get more information. She couldn’t help you if she didn’t know what was wrong, and she wanted to know what was going on before the cubs woke up. It was a miracle that they hadn’t woken up yet.

“What’s wrong?” She asked slowly.

You were about to respond when two small chirps turned your attention to them. A chirp from Peaches indicating he was awake and wanted food. That want for food was soon pushed back when he noticed you laying on the ground curled up in a fetal position. This wasn’t odd since you fell asleep in all kinds of positions but the look of pain on your face immediately had him chirping in worry.

“Shh Peaches. Reader I need you to tell me what’s wrong- do I smell blood?” That caught Plum’s attention. Now you were on the ground with three monkeys looking at you, chirping worriedly and asking for information, all while you were laying down and feeling mortified about the entire ordeal.

‘Blood!? Reader! Darling what happened!?’ Wukong chirped frantically his mate right at his side looking you over and sniffing your face.

“… It’s nothing,” You muttered in embarrassment.

“What? You’re bleeding,” Spirit bit back a slight growl bubbling up her through at the mere thought of it.

“I’m on my period. It’s not an external wound,” You grumbled before gently pushing the demoness away.

Said demoness gave you a blank look, blinking slowly at your words. She tilted her head in confusion, period? What was a period. She had never heard of such a thing, was it something that humans got? Was it a sickness!?

Wukong was no better, in fact he was still frantically looking you over in confusion. He had no idea what a period was, all he knew was that you were bleeding and you were in pain.

The only one of the three who was calm was Macaque. With his six ears he knew what a period was, his cheeks slightly flushed at the thoughts that flooded through his head. It was similar to a monkey demoness’s heat, at least from what he understood. The difference being was that demoness’ were most fertile during their heat while humans’ were most fertile right after their ‘periods.’ He was not going to disclose the delicious thoughts that flooded his mind, particularly the thought of you in their nest on Flower Fruit Mountain and beneath the two warlords.

“What the hell is a period?” Spirit asked, completely confused without a clue of what you were talking about.

You looked over your shoulder at her in shock. “A period, my menstrual cycle.”

Spirit stared back at you, tilting her head as she tried to figure out what you were talking about. Narrowing her eyes she asked, “You bleed? And it’s natural? How often does this happen?”

“Mmm… bout once a month, for a little less than a week,” You replied before groaning again, with all three monkeys gawking at you.

“You’re kidding! Why would you have to do that!? Are you sick!?” she asked nearly shouting in her shock.

You chuckled before grunting when the laugh hit your gut. “No. Women get it because it’s hoe their body handles their fertility… or something like that,” You e plainly vaguely not wanting to go in depth with it.

“Oh… So do you like… need rest?” Spirit asked unsure of what to do in this situation.

You nodded slightly curling up a little more, you tried to stretch a bit only for your gut to cramp even worse. Before you were able to curl up again, Plums pressed himself against your abdomen. You opened your mouth to say something but the words died in your throat, the heat of his body, and the slight pressure was nice. It was like a little heating pad.

“Hey get off of her. She said she was in pain,” Spirit growled at the white furred monkey.

Plums looked up at her blinking slowly before sticking his tongue out at her. Spirit’s fur puffed out as she growled and reached over you to grab the monkey.

“No. He’s fine,” You muttered tiredly and Spirit stopped her movement, a pout forming on her lips at your words. Regardless of her emotions she still nodded and left him alone.

Peaches chirped towards Plums before joining him in curling up with you, settling himself so he was comfy. His tail laying on top of Plums as he snuggled up to both of you.

“… Do you need something to eat?” Spirit asked from over your shoulder and you responded with a hum of agreement.

You didn’t look but you could hear her walking away from you. You wanted to say something, anything but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but groan. Both monkeys that were curled up with you chirped sadly at your pain and you couldn’t help but lightly chuckle towards them.

You didn’t even realize you fell asleep until Spirit was shaking you awake with a bowl in her hand. Not questioning where she got or stored the object you accepted the vegetable stew, there was rice, carrots and some green beans. All together it was rather bland and definitely not something that you wanted to eat, but it was food and you really needed to eat.

“Thank you,” You mumbled, able to sit up now. Both cubs sat on your lap as you ate the soup that Spirit had made.

“I’m not a good cook… but it’s probably better than snacking on only fruit,” The monkey demoness explained, fidgeting with her clothes.

“Thank you, really. It could be worse, nothing is burnt and it’s fully cooked,” You replied with a light smile, all that you said was true, even if you were leaving out the part of no seasonings. You couldn’t blame her on that since you weren’t even sure where she would be able to get any seasonings anyway.

*CHIRP! CHIRP!*

You turned your gaze to the two monkeys on your lap, both with pouts on their faces. They were offended that you were thanking Spirit, thanking her without even acknowledging them! They were your future mates! And you were talking to her more than them!? Chirping again they waited for a response, and you delivered! Gently patting their heads and scratching them as you spoke. “Thank you two for your help too,” You chuckled as they purred.

Spirit rolled her eyes, “Oh please they didn’t even do anything.”

“… Are you jealous of cubs?” You asked and watched as Spirit’s whole face turned bright red, her mask turning a shade of purple from the fluster that covered her face. Both cubs laughed at her expression with smug looks on their faces.

“What!? No! As if I’d be jealous over two brats!” she growled, turning her back on you with a huff much to your amusement.

Both cubs chittered and laughed as Spirit fumed next to you. It was honestly adorable. You laughed before letting out another grunt as another cramp hit you. Spirit whirled around so fast you didn’t even see her move, as she came face to face with you.

Staring at you for a solid minute she finally sighed and muttered, “We’re not going anywhere for a while are we?”

“What? No we could- ugh… okay probably not,” You grumbled.

‘It’s okay love! Rest, we’ll travel later,’ Macaque chirped, he knew you couldn’t understand but wanted you to rest.

Spirit ignored the monkey cub and took a different approach. She yawned, and stretched her arms before plopping behind you. Her hands gently combing through your hair, gently massaging your head. Your eyes drooped as she scratched your scalp.

Laying back against her you laid your head in front of her crossed legs. A yawns escaped your lips and quiet chirps left the two cubs as they snuggled back up on your abdomen with a welcome warmth and slight pressure just enough to feel comfortable. That wasn’t even mentioning the gentle, cool hands that combed through your hair over and over in a calming and sleep inducing way.

It kind of reminded you of the way your mother used to comb through your hair. Cheerful memories filled your head, now bittersweet as you’re unable to see your family. Your heart clenched in pain as you wished and prayed that they were safe and well during your absence.

Once again you fell asleep, not noticing the way that Spirit curled up beside you and let herself also fall asleep. If you weren’t going anywhere any time soon then she might as well take advantage of the time and sleep.

Wukong glanced at Spirit with a slight scowl, he didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of the small demoness. She was protective and while not nearly as strong as The Monkey Kings, she had her own strengths. She protected you when he and his mate couldn’t and if it weren’t for her you would likely starve, get killed, eaten or worse. He hated to admit it but she did deserve a place in his troop… she would definitely help you join the troop easier with a familiar face.

Wukong wasn’t stupid, he knew that he was going to need to get you used to him and Macaque when he finally brought you home. To your new home with him, Macaque and the rest of his troop on Flower Fruit Mountain.

‘She’s going to make our perfect Queen~,’ Wukong chirped with a smile and Macaque chuckled, his tail lightly slapping his mate in a teasing manner. ‘You speak the obvious my love~.’

Wukong laughed, ‘I only speak the truth~ She is our perfect Queen just as you are my perfect King~’

<<< Chapter #Eighteen - The Monkey Demon

[gunilslaugh]

Chapter 1: Wallowing In Self Pity

Part of my To All The Boys I've Loved Before Series WC:~1.3k

“What do you mean you sent the letters!?” You felt like you’re gonna throw up. 

“Well you know my mom sent me into your room yesterday to grab the…things you put letters in. She told me they were in a box in your closet. I found two boxes, one that had the things you put letters in and the other had letters. My mom taught me that it’s nice to do things for others, so I thought it would be nice if we sent out the letters for you,” your young nephew told you. You can feel your blood beginning to boil in your body. Your breathing becomes irregular and your heart continually punches against your ribcage. 

“They are called envelopes and NO! It wasn’t a nice thing to do!” you yelled at your nephew. A scared look took over his face seeing rage take over you. 

“W-wh-why not?” he stuttered, stepping back to put distance between you two.

“Run.” You deadpanned. Your nephew didn’t need to be told twice as he took off running down the stairs. You waste no time chasing after him.  

“Is this what people get for doing nice things?” your nephew shouts as he runs around your living room. 

“That wasn’t a nice thing, this is gonna ruin my life! You shout as the two of you circle around the couch. You’re too busy trying to catch your nephew that you don’t even hear the sound of your front door opening or notice that your brother and Jiseok have entered the room. 

It’s not until your nephew shouts, “Help me! She’s gone crazy!” That you notice their presence. 

“You think I’m being crazy now, wait till I catch you!” You lunge for him causing a shriek to leave his lungs. He runs to hide behind your brother.

“What did you do to her? Steal her snacks?” Your brother asked, looking at the child cowering behind him.

“Do you really think he can protect you? Just wait till I get my hands on you.” You went to reach around your brother and catch your nephew in your grasp, however a pair of arms circles around your waist and pulls you back. 

“Calm down. What happened?” Jiseok’s voice brushes past your ear. You go stiff in his hold. You want to scream, being too overwhelmed by everything, yet you also lose the ability to speak. 

“All I did was send out some letters for her, but she lost her mind over it and is acting like she wants to kill me,” your nephew spoke. 

“Letters?” Jiseok repeated. Oh god he’s already received it. He’s already read it. You can tell by the tone of his voice.

“I can’t do this. Let me go.” You pried at his arms holding you in place. You wanted to run. You wanted to hide. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, You wanted to shrivel into ashes and blow away in the wind.

“Don’t she’s gonna get me,” your nephew said. You let out a frustrated sigh still trying to remove Jiseok’s arms from around you. 

“I won’t, just please let me go.” You sounded desperate because you were. Though it wasn’t about catching your nephew anymore. It was about getting away from Jiseok. You couldn’t be in the same room as him right now. You can feel Jiseok’s eyes looking at you, but don’t dare to look back at him, you can’t. His arms loosen around your middle and you waste no time in escaping from his arms and running off to your room. 

Once you locked your bedroom door you frantically looked through your closet to find the box you kept the letters in. Surely this just had to be some kind of nightmare. It couldn’t be real. There was no way that the letters…got sent. Your heart sinks as you stare at the empty box. The letters were gone. They were sent to the hands you never wanted them to be in. You sink down onto the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. Eyes becoming glossy as you stare at the empty box. How could this be happening? 

A knock at your door interrupts your downward spiral. 

“Go away,” you respond. 

“Y/n.” It was Jiseok.

“I really can’t right now. I’m busy wallowing in self pity.” You fall down onto your side, a small thud sounding throughout your room.

“Y/n you don’t have to be embarrassed. Can you please open the door?” he asked. Don’t have to be embarrassed. Oh you were far beyond that. You wanted to cease to exist. You didn’t think your life could get any worse than this moment. 

“Can you please leave me alone?” you requested. 

“Y/n please, I don’t want to go through another period of time of you avoiding me again,” he pleaded. His words do sway your heart, but not enough for you to open the door. 

“It’s not just you. I don’t plan on leaving this room anytime soon,” you say.

“Don’t make me climb through your window. I know that the lock is still broken,” he tells you. The lock had been broken for many years. Right before you went off to college you had a fight with a cockroach that led to the lock being broken. You were leaving for college soon enough and only vistsed home once in a while so getting the lock fixed wasn't on the top of your parents to-do list. 

Not wanting to deal with him climbing in through the window you push your body up from the floor. Your limbs feel extra heavy as you walk over to your bedroom door. Your fingers hesitate on the lock. Shaking as they turn it.

“It’s open.” You didn’t have the strength to open the door yourself. At the sound of the knob turning you launch yourself over to your bed and his under the covers. Seriously, how were you supposed to face him? You feel hyper aware as you hear each one of his footsteps drawing in closer to you. 

“Y/n,” he says. Your bed sinks under his weight as he takes a seat on the edge of it. You can only manage out a hum as a response. “The letter sounded kinda old,” he said. 

“I wrote it a year ago.” Your voice is muffled because of the blanket you're hiding under, but Jiseok still understands you. 

“Can you stop hiding?” he asked. 

“Mhm” you shake your head from under the blanket. Jiseok sighs, but doesn’t push any further. 

“Your nephew said that he sent letters, so I’m not the only one who got one right?” he questioned. His question makes you sink further into the blanket. Almost as if the situation weighs heavier on you. “Y/n,” he gently called you.

“I wrote a letter to every guy I had a crush on, ok,” you quickly sat up, causing the blanket to fall from your body. Jiseok can see how disheveled and overwhelmed you are. It makes his heart ping with sadness. 

“It can’t be that bad,” he tried to comfort you. It really didn’t feel like it. 

“I mean I guess four of the guys aren’t even in my life anymore,so I don’t really need to worry about them right?” Life just had to prove you wrong about that because almost on cue with you finishing your sentence your phone went off with a notification. You pick up your phone only for it to fall from your hands. The notification was a message from Goo Gunil, your very first crush. 

“I think I’m actually going to throw up,” you say. 

Moments later to make things worse you can hear the front door of your house swinging open. 

“Y/n would you care to explain a piece of mail I received this morning!” 

It was Lee Jooyeon.

<- Prev Next ->

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin @junhanism

[lukie17]

Mixed Myths

Like Tyrant!Sylus! x Rebel! MC x Rebel! Xavier.

Imagine Sylus not remembering anything and being a ruthless Tyrant, he wants to unite the continent for a reason, but he doesn't know why. He is looking for something or someone. MC and Xavier do not want that because its making people suffer, his military campaign only left destruction at its end. They want to kill the Tyrant.

One night, Sylus's man captures MC, and something makes Sylus click in, he wants MC but doesn't know. He only wants to keep her close but that confuses him, he wants to understand his feelings, so he forces MC spend time with him. MC tries to take the opportunity to kill Sylus, but she cannot bring herself to it. Something about his eyes, something about the way he smiles. Why do you feel like being in a shield of flowers with him?

Meanwhile, Xavier is furious, he wants to rescue you, he wants to take you back, but he also starts noticing the way your eyes doubt when talking about killing Sylus. Xavier is confused, why do you want to keep him alive? Xavier is your partner; he is on the rebel side and so are you. Why are you like this?

Until one day everything crashes, Sylus and Xavier fighting, you try to stop them. Trying to find it away, but you die. You shield Xavier form’s Sylus's claymore, and he kills you. Sylus drops the weapon and tries to stop the bleeding but it's too late. The damage is already done. Xavier picks up the claymore and kills Sylus, his blood mixing with yours. Xavier is disgusted. He picks up your body, and he makes a tombstone just for you. In the middle of a forest where he can only see you.

Or

Duke! Zayne! x Maid! MC x Knight! Caleb

You being a lowly maid has never been easy, but the master that you serve is not cruel. People fear him but you laugh at his jokes. Zayne only shows that side of you, like the way you move and the way you warm a room. If he could, he would take you away, but there is a voice that whispers at the back of his mind that if he gets closer to you then something bad will happen. So, he just watches from afar.

Zayne is not blind to the way, Knight! Caleb crawls for you. He had seen the Knight kill three men with one swing of his sword, but when it's about you, his gaze softens. He lifts you up so you can pick an apple. His status is not noble, so he can be open in his affections. He courts you and you let him. Zayne can do nothing but watch, his heart freezing.

Until one day the King wants you, he says that you hold power, and you will be his concubine, nor queen nor consort, a mere concubine. Caleb and Zayne are mad. Caleb escapes with you because he will not let anyone take you away. He had known for a long time that you have power in you, but he didn't care. Caleb loves your smile, and he will protect it. That is why he trained so hard to be a knight. That is why he swallowed his pride to serve Zayne a man who loves you.

But they both fail, the king takes you away, the king kills you and tries to take away your power. They go berserker, they call Zayne from the devil, but Zayne knows that he is not a monster nor from the devil. He doesn't know why but he is freezing everything, and he doesn't care. Caleb is the worst. he took down the royal guard one by one until they arrived at the king. The king is crying and what only is left of him reminds him frozen with Caleb's sword in his throat. Zayne had enough time to take your lifeless body and freeze with you. Rumors have it that an old man is watching the chambers where two lovers are frozen in time.

[pin-k-ink]

for those of you who wanna know,

i know i’ve been super silent and i’ve been avoiding messages, and honestly, it’s because i’ve been dealing with a lot of shit that i just couldn’t bring myself to talk about

so here’s the deal: earlier this year, around february, my stepdad decided he wanted to move us to another city. he made me, my mom, my little brother, and my stepsister move with him. i had to quit my job because he didn’t want me driving all the way back to my old place every day and promised he’d help me find a job here (that never happened so i’m still stuck with no job, no nothing)

then came ramadan, and i was already stressed as hell. my mom kept working at her old job, getting home at like 5 pm, and i was left to deal with everything for iftar. i thought my stepsister would help me, but she was literally no help at all. she sleeps during the day and stays up all night, and every time i go to cook, she’s knocked out. she wouldn’t even clean the room we shared, and when i was cleaning the other day, i found her used tampons UNDER THE BED!! yeah that happened 🧍‍♀️

i was so fucking mad because i was doing all the cooking and cleaning for five people by myself, and she wouldn’t even wash a dish. i asked my mom to talk to my stepdad and have his daughter at least do something, but she didn’t. and the worst part is that my stepdad justified all of it by saying she’s depressed and doesn’t want to push her too hard because it might trigger her. like, ok, but what about me? i’m literally doing everything, and no one gives a shit. and i’m apparently now allowed to say that to her face because she’s older than me and because of that, i’ve to respect her

then, one night, in the middle of ramadan, my stepdad kicks me, my mom, and my little brother out of the house. just like that, in the middle of the fucking night. mind you, we weren’t even there a month. and of course, i had to leave behind most of my stuff. my clothes, my books, everything. all because i asked my stepsister to help me cook.

so now, my mom and stepdad are divorced (idk if it’s the same in every religion, but once that word is said in our religion, it’s done. no papers, no nothing), and we had nowhere to go. we drove to my aunt’s place in another city, and we’ve been stuck there since. we could barely afford to rent an apartment, and i ended up blowing through all my college savings just to survive. oh, and my stepdad changed the locks on the old house so we couldn’t even get our things back.

so yeah, that’s where i’ve been. still technically homeless, no job, no stability, and trying to figure my life out. i’m dealing with all of this, and it’s hard as fuck to focus on anything else. i haven’t even had the energy to write or do anything for the past couple of months, and that’s why i’ve been silent. i’m really sorry to all of you who’ve been waiting for updates or wondering what happened to me. i didn’t mean to disappear, but everything’s been just too much.

i’ll be back when i can. if i can. but for now, i just need to deal with all this mess. thanks to everyone who’s been patient. i really do appreciate it more than you know <3