#sometimes i understand if its a familiar room

[unicornsaures]

id love love LOVE if i could pinpoint what exactly throws me into a dpdr episode but sadly ive experienced them in so many different situations that im nearly convinced that my brain is making up triggers. Because wdym im disassociating because I walked into a place ive been in 1000 times before? Like alright I get it when its an unfamiliar place(as much as I hate it, at least I know its a trigger) but seriously? a FAMILIAR place? Like brain, wtf are you even doing anymore?

[marimeeko]

After the fifth time that Katsuki pops up at UA, surprising Izuku with Bento for lunch, calling him "sensei" in a cocky(affectionate) tone, Kouta just stops at Izuku's desk on his way out of the room and asks him point blank,

"So are you and DynaMight actually dating, or what?"

Izuku sputtering and dropping all of his paperwork and avoiding the question out of sheer dumbfoundedness.

Then, the sixth time that Katsuki barges in, as he is thrusting the bento into Izukus hands as usual, Kota raises his hand, and stands up from his seat and yells out,

"DynaMight, sir!! Pardon me, but are you dating Deku-Sensei??" And the whole class gasps and whispers. Katsuki appears just as dumbfounded as he looks wide-eyed at Kouta and the students.

"Kouta!" Izuku balks, but then Katsuki suddenly grins mischievously. Izuku doesn't trust that look...

"Well, brat, maybe I SHOULD date him, then I could make sure Sensei doesn't forget to eat every day, right??" Katsuki looked entirely too pleased at the louder gasps and chatter that came from the students. He has a wicked grin as he turns his sharp red eyes back to Izuku.

"K-Kacchan, what are you doing?!" Izuku stammers, beet red and grabbing his arm. "This is not the time for--"

"If you don't want me disrupting your class, then stop leaving your Bento in the fridge!!" Katsuki scolds Izuku before swinging himself back out of the open window. There was a fresh wave of gasps and excited murmuring at the insinuationthat the two lived together. "We're ROOM MATES, OK?" He adds hastily, pointing his finger at the noisy classroom of kids.

He drops out the window and blasts off.

Izuku is left, stood at his desk, hands planted and hanging his head, trying to collect enough of himself to quell the riotous theories now flying around his classroom.

Kouta stands at his own desk amidst his unruly classmates, eyes narrowed as if he had just realized something, "I knew it!" He hisses.

"You're the worst," Izuku texts Katsuki later.

"I know" katsuki replies.

"Now eat your fuckin food or I'll stop making it for you."

--

I think I was inspired by this art post ^^;

[esouliie]

DON’T YOU LOVE THE DEVIL?

– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

– synopsis | wanda was everything you wanted in a mom. she was kind and loving, even to those who weren’t her own children. she, however, loved you in a very different way…

– warnings | porn with plot, non con that turns kinda dub con, smut, mommy kink, spanking, thigh riding, overstimulation, aftercare, wanda is a perv lmao (18+)

[word count: 3.4k]

Summer was always your favourite time. It meant avid beach trips, ice cream dates and - most importantly - bestie sleepovers. You enjoyed staying at Natasha's house, which was much larger than yours. Wanda, her mother, was always very kind to you, even more so than your own. Because of this, throughout high school, you found yourself always at the Maximoff’s. When you were going through a difficult time, you would always turn to her for support; she was a solid shoulder to cry on as her hushed whispers soothed you.

Much like your house, Natasha’s dad was never in the picture. And because Wanda never seemed to date, it was always just them two and sometimes you. Their house was your safe haven and Wanda was your beckoning angel. Now in your last year of college, you still find yourself coming to the older woman…

Countless nights, you wished she was your mom instead.

Reaching into your pocket, you fumble around for the front key, feeling its familiar shape between your fingertips.

This was your usual routine – Natasha would text when she was nearly home from work, and you’d arrive shortly after, letting yourself in with the spare key she had given you months ago.

The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing the warmth of the home beyond. The living room is empty, just the faint hum of the TV can be heard.

As you step into the kitchen, the warm aroma of burnt vanilla envelops you. Wanda stands against the island, dressed in a large, red sweater and black skirt, with one hand scrolling through her phone as the other holds a glass of red wine. She looked radiant as ever. A grown woman confident in her own skin and her ability.

“Hey, Wanda.”

She places her phone down and greets you warmly. “Hey there, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good.” You take a seat next to her and she busies herself with pouring you a glass of red. You watch her, marvelling at how effortlessly she moves around the kitchen, her movements always graceful and fluid.

"So," Wanda begins, setting the glass in front of you, "another bestie sleepover?"

“Yep! Natasha’s going to be busy with Bucky next week so we’re spending as much time together.”

Wanda scoffs at the mention of her daughter’s partner, “Yeah, she said something about going to his parent’s lake house for the week.”

You hum, reaching for a sip of the wine, awkward in the revelation of Wanda’s distaste for her daughter’s boyfriend. I mean, it’s not like you like him either. You hate him actually. He was always so weird about your friendship with the redhead, always starting arguments around how much you guys hang out together and how he thinks you have a crush on her.

Plus, Natasha was way out of his league and he sometimes treated her like shit. It was only last week when Natasha was complaining about how they had an argument during their date and Bucky left her to find her own way home…

“I really don’t know what she sees in him.”

You sigh, setting the glass back down. “Me neither. He’s an asshole.”

Lost in thought, you fail to notice Wanda’s approach until an arm laid upon your shoulder, and a hand twirled around your curls.

“You know, I always thought Natasha would end up with you.”

Shocked by her confession, you try to respond - to deny that nothing would ever happened - but your mouth is unable to move as her nails scratch against your neck.

Wanda settles down in the stool beside you, hand retreating to stroke down your arm.

"I just don't understand. He’s boring and doesn’t deserve Tasha, whereas, you’re… you’re so much better than him.” She admits softly, her gaze fixed on you.

"You’re so much more than him.”

You shrug, expelling a shaky breath as you watch her manicured nail draw patterns against your exposed skin.

Silence envelopes you both, Wanda deep in thought and you pretend to act calm about the fact that Wanda’s touch has trailed down to your hands, resting in your lap.

“You know if I were her…” Her breath flutters against your ear, “I wouldn’t even think about anyone else… when I have you.”

Your heart skips a beat at her admission.

"I..." you begin, your voice catching in your throat as you struggle to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

It felt so wrong, and yet you didn’t want her to stop.

To keep stroking your hand,

To keep whispering in your ear.

To keep close to you.

“I think… I want to kiss you.” Wanda murmurs, her thumb gently running over your lips.

But before you could say anything, she leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

“So pretty.” She whispers, lips closing in once again, but the sudden closing of a door upstairs startles you both as you pull away. Eyes wide in fear that Natasha could’ve seen you kissing her mom.

Wanda leaves her seat, an unreadable expression on her face, and disappears into the living room, Natasha’s thundering footsteps break you from looking at her as she comes downstairs. Her hair is wet, her bangs clinging to her forehead. She must’ve been in the shower.

“You made it!” Natasha exclaims before briefly hugging you and dragging you with her upstairs, “Come on. Let’s watch a movie.”

…

A few hours later, and a few movies down, you end up back in the kitchen, in search of a drink. You spot Wanda in the living room watching a show, her presence both comforting and unnerving. No longer elegantly dressed, she lounges in a maroon satin night gown. The thin fabric barely covers her long legs as it glows complimentarily against her pale skin.

Summoning as much courage, you take a seat on the other end of the sofa. The drink long forgotten. She recognises your presence but you both don’t say anything, engrossed in some reality show on TV. This distraction works for a while but then, like a shadow in the morning sun, the memory of the kiss surfaces. Heat blossoms against your cheeks but you feel it weighing on your mind, a heavy burden demanding acknowledgement.

“Wanda,” your voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, ‘I think we should talk about earlier.”

With a delayed hum, she turns towards you, waiting patiently for you to continue. Your words stumble out clumsily, faltering as you try to convey the complexity of your emotions. You want to explain that the kiss was wrong, that she was your best friend’s mom and that nothing like that could happen again, but you don’t want to hurt her feelings in the process.

Her expression was unreadable, you could almost hear the pounding of your own heart, the uncertainty hanging thick in the air between you. And then, finally, she speaks.

“I’m sorry, darling. I thought- it was silly and inappropriate of me.” She reaches over to briefly squeeze your hand.

“Let’s forget it happened.”

You exhale with relief, “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

Quick to change the conversation and clear the awkward tension, Wanda asks, “How come you’re down here anyways? Where’s Natasha?”

“Oh she fell asleep.” You giggle at the unattractive image of your best friend, snoring somewhat loudly and taking up your side of the bed.

“Besides, I’m not really tired, so I thought I’d come down for a drink.”

Wanda hums, a smile on her face at the sight of you giggling so cutely.

But you notice her hands run over bare arms, soothing the goosebumps and the slight shiver, “Are you cold?”

She looks at you for a moment, eyes taking in your concerned features before she nods.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” You move to stand but a grip on your wrist halts you.

“Don’t bother. Just sit here.”

She leans back against the pillows, legs parting slightly. Your brows furrow in confusion.

She tugs your wrist softly, “Don’t think, just come here.”

She pulls you to sit between her thighs, flush against her front as she winds her arms around you. It wasn’t uncommon being hugged by the older woman but it’s never been like this. But despite earlier, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. The room even felt cosier now all that tension was gone. So, you lean back into her embrace, feeling her steady heartbeat against your back and her warm thighs brush against yours.

“Hm, much better. You’ve always run hot.” Her face snuggles into your curls and you giggle.

Her large hands dip, holding softly onto your hips, pulling you even closer with a silent groan, before descending to your thighs. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, but you maintain composure, thinking nothing of the surely innocent touch as you focus on the TV screen in front of you.

Her touch is gentle, sending a warm current through your body with each stroke. You feel your legs widen, following in the direction of her strokes, not wanting the caress to stop. The show on the TV fades into the background as your attention becomes solely fixated on her.

She leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “Pretty girl... feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, allowing yourself to melt further into her embrace, your head resting against her shoulder instead of watching her hands.

Wanda tuts, “No, baby, head up.”

A single hand moves from your thigh to hold the back of your head, forcing you to look down at your entwined legs. Another hand wanders higher than expected, tracing small circles into your inner thigh, jarring you out of your trance as you go to wiggle free from her grip. “Wanda… that’s-”

Your speech is cut off as fingers slip under your shorts, and you gasp, squirming with renewed vigour. But her hold refuses even the feeblest motions as she wraps an arm around your waist.

“Wanda… please!”

“Don’t think, baby.” She warns again, fingers gliding further into your shorts. “Just let yourself feel good.”

You fight harder, hips snapping away from her touch as hands pry at her wrist. “Get off me!”

“No, you’re not getting up.” You squirm again, and without warning, she digs her nails harshly into your soft skin. “I said, you’re not getting up.”

You whimper in pain and stop your movement. Instantly, her nails pull back from your skin, leaving red angry crescent marks. Those fingertips gently caress the marks to soothe them before moving up under your shirt.

“Good girl.” Those words bring an odd warmth to your body and suddenly you think that letting Wanda have her way with you couldn’t be as bad as you initially thought…

But light fingers caressing up and down your stomach, inching closer to your breasts reminded you of the position you’re in.

This was your best friend’s mom.

Natasha didn’t deserve this.

“Wanda, we can’t… it’s not right. What about Nat-?”

“It’s fine, princess.” She interrupts, placing a few chaste kisses against your neck. “She won’t find out.”

Suddenly, those hands slide up over your bare breasts and gently squeeze. You take in a deep breath and exhale slowly with a soft whimper. Pleased with the response, she begins to knead them kindly alternating between light and firm pressure.

“You like that, baby?” Wanda coos then nibbles on the side of your ear, descending your neck carefully to not leave bites and marks in place.

Your back arches slightly, pressing your breasts deeper into her adept grasp, and your defiance fades ever so quickly with each breathy moan.

“Hm, so needy, so responsive…” thumbs swipes over your perked nipples, “and all I’m doing is playing with your tits, princess.”

Your increased whines answer in reply and Wanda doesn’t bother wasting time anymore. Lifting a hand from its spot under your top, she glides down under your shorts. Her lithe fingers ghost over the soaked underwear, travelling low enough to feel the wetness seep from your slit, and she moans lowly at the sensation. “You’re so wet… fuck, is this all for me?”

Battling between not wanting this and giving in to her, you also fight the urge to thrust your hips upwards, to search for some needed friction, to end the maddening ache between your thighs.

The older woman’s light touches feel like heaven and hell as nimble fingers slide up and down the fabric that clung to you, purposely missing where you needed her most.

“That’s it, baby. Relax… let go for me.”

A strange fuzziness washes over you completely as you relax - moral sobriety long forgotten - as your legs spread apart limply for Wanda to grope in every direction.

 “M’kay.” You reply, barely hearing yourself, lost in the moment.

Wanda sighs contently, forever pleased she’s put you in this headspace with such little fight.

Focusing back on your neck, she licks along the flushed skin, and as she bites against your pulse a little harder, the slight pain has you quivering.

You melt into the warm heat below you, head resting against a firm shoulder, as you let out a moan laced with pleasure and slight frustration. Hips bucking slightly back into Wanda’s hoping she’d take the hint and get on with it.

The quicker you gave her what she wanted, the quicker it would be done.

Finally, her index finger slides higher, the tip of her nail just brushing against your clit slightly. Your thighs shake at the motion, wanting to clamp shut around her but never doing so in fear she would stop. A cry falls from your mouth in surprise as her finger finally reaches, circling your swollen nerve endings in a slow yet firm motion.

Your words stumble out clumsily, unable to string a full sentence together as Wanda practically purrs against your ear.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby.” She coos, before pressing open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, “So well for me… come here.”

Tipping your neck up, she dips forward, pressing her hot lips against your own. A choked note of dismay comes from you as Wanda forces your mouth open and shoves her tongue inside. The older woman dominates the clashing of tongues, making sure that you know your place.

You fail to notice Wanda pull your shorts and panties down from your hips until her fingers press against you harder, and you can’t help but grind against it with such aching desperation. She marvels over how pathetic you look… one minute begging for her to stop and now humping against her like a bitch in heat, swallowing her tongue down your throat.

Such a depraved mental image and yet it only feeds into her desire for you.

To claim you as hers, no matter if you wanted it or not.

Because she didn’t care.

She could feel herself getting wetter, as she met your grinding with her own thrusts, your ass pressing flush against her soaked panties.

The kiss eventually comes to an end, a few hungry strands of saliva briefly clinging to your lips, linking you together. Wanda gazes lovingly at the sight of you, a growing smile on her lips, as you writhe in building pleasure.

“Can you look at me, princess?”

Wanda asks in a sultry tone and you struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the light as her blurry face comes into focus. Her pupils are blown out, partly consuming those emerald irises, her cheeks painted a flushed pink, and her lips part as she pants freely.

She looks so beautiful.

Her green eyes shine clouded over in a different colour than Natasha’s…

Natasha.

Dread seeps into your bones, your body ripped from its relaxed trance as you recall your best friend and how she’s sleeping upstairs as you’re fucked by her mom.

You don’t want to think about how upset she would be to find you like this.

“Baby…” She reels your mind back to focus on her, noticing you’re beginning to spiral. “You ready to come for me?”

Her fingers speed up perfectly but you shook your head in defiance, your mind no longer free to just enjoy Wanda’s touch.

“No,” she coos, “you don’t want to come for me, baby? Don’t want to come for Mommy?”

A whiny no leaves your lips, not giving in to the beautiful temptress behind you.

Annoyed, Wanda rolls her eyes, clearly upset that you wouldn’t just give in to her and that you’re not nestled in that special little headspace anymore.

Without warning, she twists your thigh over the other, ass on show as she lashes out with a sharp slap. You cry out at the unexpected blow, your hands grabbing tightly onto whatever part of the woman you can reach. You weren’t sure if you were trying to push her away or pull her close.

“I thought we were done with that, baby.” She unleashes a few more spanks, “Thought you were going to be my good girl, hm?”

You gasp for air at the same time Wanda gropes your marked flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as she rubs in soothing circles. The breath turns into a choked moan as Wanda spanks you one more time, before returning you to your original position, back to pressing firm circles against your clit.

Once again, you fight her touch. Hips wiggling in each direction until ankles wrap around your legs, locking you in place.

Tight circles turn to quick taps, the once pleasing hand now bringing pain upon your pussy in rapid succession, not allowing you to writhe in her generosity for too long before returning to cruelty.

A beautiful blend that muddled all of your defying thoughts until there was nothing left.

Your body betrayed your mind. Your legs fell completely limp, as you lay at the mercy of the older woman. Taking whatever she deemed necessary to give.

Finally, she had you.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to. You’re going to cum all over my fingers for me.” She concludes with a kiss on your cheek.

And not caring if you cry loud enough to wake up the rest of the house, her fingers speed up for the last time, sending you headfirst over the edge.

…

After what felt like hours, Wanda was done with you. You had moved into her bedroom, deciding the sofa was not adequate to continue. Now her head rests against your stomach after she had spread you open to lap up your next orgasm.

Your body spasms randomly, wave after wave of aftershock rolling over you. A warm hand cups your core firmly, and you buck away from the sensitivity, not wanting her touch anymore. But her fingers remain, gliding slowly up and down your slit, marvelling at your swollen skin, before pushing against your entrance.

You’re overwhelmed. What little fight you have left mentally can’t keep up with the fatigue of your exhausted body. If she wanted to, she could have her way with you. Again and again. Fresh tears fall from your eyes as you sob inconsolably into hands covering your face.

Wanda leaves you be, moving up your body to grab onto your wrists.

“Hey, baby… it’s okay, you’re okay…” she coos, fingertips wiping away your tears, “Mommy went too hard on you, didn’t she?”

You struggle to find the words, and Wanda shushes you, stopping you from thinking too much in such a delicate headspace.

You feel movement, feel Wanda get off you, and your eyes snap open in a slight panic but she sits beside you and swiftly draws you onto her lap.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” She says gently, reeling you in with false empathy. She was glad she pushed you too hard you broke.

“Mommy couldn’t help herself.”

You scoot closer, close enough to bury your head into her neck as fingers trail up and down your back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. Can you forgive me?”

Her soothing words are music to your ears as you whimper softly against the woman, not willing to talk or move away. You just want her to hold you.

“Say it, princess. Say you forgive me.”

She guides you out of her neck to look at her.

“I forgive you.” You choke out, upset you’re no longer buried in her chest, as your hands run back to cover your eyes. Too ashamed to even look at her.

“Sweet girl, come here.” Wanda doesn’t wait, moving your hands to wrap around her neck as she kisses you hungrily, swallowing any little disapprovals as you push languidly against her chest, trying to force her mouth off of you.

It’s fine, it’s fine,” she ushers against your swollen lips, “I just want to make you feel better.”

You whine in disapproval but your arms wrap tighter around her.

“You love me, don’t you?” She whispers against your cheek, but doesn’t let you reply, as you choke on her tongue, stroking deep against yours.

“Say you love me, baby.” She moves to kiss your forehead, before moving down against your collarbone.

Hands groping your ass as she rocks you steady against her thigh.

“I love you,” a few tears burn down your throat as you hiccup,” I love you, I love you.”

Wanda mumbles her gratitude into your skin, fresh marks blooming against your chest as she fucks you against her.

“Keep saying you love me, baby.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” flies from your mouth in quick succession, your mind once again empty as the tell tale signs of another orgasm come into view.

“I love you too, princess.” She returns to your lips, tongue prodding past them as she coaxes your tongue into her mouth.

“Come on. Be good for me.”

It slams into you, body tense as you fall over the edge, pressing your face deep into her neck. She shushes you, not letting go of your body until the convulsions stop, and even then, you’re curled into her chest. Unwilling to part from her.

She allows you to sob freely, your body shaking uncontrollably as hands stroke all over until you calm down. Almost asleep in her arms.

A hand runs through your damp hair, “That’s it, baby. We’re done.”

“No more.” You mumble out, eyes already shut as exhaustion washes over.

“No more, baby. Go to sleep.” Wanda shifts you down her body, your face now against her chest, as she covers you both with her duvet.

Unable to resist any longer, you drift off in Wanda’s warm embrace.

[aceyalonso]

how bad do you need it? - CHARLES LECLERC

pairing : charles leclerc x fiancée!reader kinktober day 15 - begging

summary : a bad day at work and a good fiancé would and will always end well

warnings/notes : a bit of plot, swearing, smut, begging, dry humping, y/n cums in her shorts 😭, breeding kink, sir kink, praise kink, degrading kink, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy and children, fingering, overstimulation, use of "mommy" and "good girl", slight cum play

word count : 4.4k

a/n : hahahahha i NEED HIM

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist | taglist form

Y/n trudges through the front door, her shoulders slumped and her face etched with exhaustion. Another grueling day at the office, dealing with difficult clients and mounting paperwork, had taken its toll. She kicks off her heels and drops her purse on the floor, too tired to even hang up her coat.

Charles emerges from the kitchen, his brow furrowed with concern as he takes in Y/n's disheveled appearance. "Hi, mon amour, rough day?" he asks gently, stepping closer to wrap his arms around her.

Y/n leans into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. "You could say that," she sighs, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I just want to forget about it and relax."

Charles nods understandingly. "Why don't you go lie down and I'll bring you some tea? We can talk about it later if you want."

Y/n shakes her head, her hair falling across her face. "No, I just want to sleep. Can you order us some food for dinner? Something comforting, like pizza or Chinese?"

Charles nods, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Y/n's head. "Of course, mon amour. I'll take care of everything. You just focus on resting."

He guides her towards their bedroom, helping her out of her work clothes and tucking her into bed. Y/n sighs contentedly as she sinks into the soft mattress, the stress of the day already beginning to melt away.

After ensuring she's comfortable, Charles quietly leaves the room to place their food order. He selects Y/n's favorite pizza, knowing the familiar flavors will bring her comfort. As he waits for the delivery, he tidies up the living room and prepares a mug of chamomile tea, hoping the soothing aroma will help Y/n relax.

Y/n stirs as Charles gently shakes her shoulder, his deep voice cutting through the haze of sleep. "Mon amour, the food is here. I also made you some tea if you'd like."

She blinks groggily, her hair tousled from sleep. "Mmm, okay," she mumbles, sitting up slowly. Her legs feel heavy as she swings them over the side of the bed, and she reaches for Charles' hand for support.

He helps her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. "Take your time, ma chérie. No need to rush."

Together, they make their way out of the bedroom and into the living room. The savory scent of pizza fills the air, making Y/n's stomach growl. She smiles gratefully at Charles as he guides her to the couch, helping her sit down before retrieving her mug of tea.

"Thank you," she says softly, taking a sip of the warm, fragrant liquid. The chamomile soothes her throat and helps clear the last remnants of sleep from her mind.

Y/n takes a bite of her pizza, savoring the rich flavors as she gathers her thoughts. Charles watches her patiently, his blue eyes filled with understanding.

"So, tell me about your day, mon amour," he prompts gently. "What happened at work?"

Y/n sighs, setting down her slice. "It's just been incredibly busy lately. We're swamped with projects and deadlines, and as the team leader, it feels like everything falls on my shoulders."

She runs a hand through her hair, frustration evident in the tense set of her shoulders. "Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be a female leader in a male-dominated field. But sometimes I just want to be... I don't know, normal? Without the added pressure and expectations."

Y/n continues, her voice tinged with weariness. "I mean, I love my job and I'm grateful for the opportunities I've been given. But some days, like today, it just feels like too much. I'm constantly juggling tasks, putting out fires, and trying to keep everyone motivated."

She takes another sip of tea, the warmth spreading through her chest. "And then there's the added pressure of being a woman in a leadership role. I feel like I have to prove myself twice as hard, work twice as long, just to be taken seriously."

Charles reaches over and takes her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I understand, ma chérie. It's not easy being in your position. But remember, you're not alone. You have me, and I'm here to support you in whatever way I can."

Y/n looks at him gratefully, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I know. And that means more to me than you realize. Having you here, ready to listen and help, makes all the difference."

Her cheeks flush slightly as she speaks, a mix of vulnerability and affection in her eyes. "You always make me feel cherished, Charles. Even when we're... intimate, I never feel objectified or used. You treat me like a partner, not just a plaything."

She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And when you take control, when you're rough with me... it's like I can let go of all the pressure and expectations. I can just be me, not the team leader or the successful career woman. It's liberating."

Charles brings Y/n's hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. His blue eyes sparkle with adoration as he gazes at her. "You are my first priority, baby. Always. In every aspect of our life together."

He sets aside his own plate of pizza, turning to face her fully. "Your happiness, your well-being, your pleasure... those are what matter most to me. Whether we're in the bedroom or out in the world, I want you to know that you come first."

Y/n's heart swells with love and gratitude as she looks at Charles, his words echoing in her mind. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she admits softly, her voice thick with emotion. "You're my rock, my safe haven. I can always count on you to be there for me, no matter what."

She reaches up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over his stubbled jaw. "I love you, Charles. More than anything in this world. And I promise, no matter how stressful work gets, I'll always come home to you. You're my priority too."

Charles leans into her touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savors the feeling of her skin against his. When he opens them again, they're filled with a fierce protectiveness. "I love you too, mon amour. More than life itself. And I'll always be here to support you, to lift you up, and to remind you of how incredible you are."

—

As the movie plays on in the background, Y/n shifts restlessly on top of Charles, trying to find a comfortable position. She squirms and wriggles, her movements causing friction between her body and his. Unbeknownst to Charles, Y/n's subtle motions are deliberate, her pussy rubbing against the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

She bites her lip to stifle a moan, the sensation of his hardness pressing against her core sending tingles of pleasure through her body. Charles, oblivious to her intentions, wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Is everything alright, mon amour?" he asks, noticing her fidgeting. "Do you need to get up?"

Y/n shakes her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. "No, I'm fine. Just trying to get comfortable." She continues to grind against him, her movements becoming more purposeful.

Charles' brow furrows slightly as he feels Y/n's movements become more deliberate. A spark of realization dawns in his eyes as he glances down, noticing the way she's subtly humping against him. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"Is that so?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Because it seems to me like you're trying to start something, ma chérie."

Y/n blushes, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. She tries to play innocent, batting her lashes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she giggles, continuing her movements.

Charles chuckles, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. He guides her movements, helping her grind against him more firmly. "Oh, I think you do," he teases, his own arousal growing with each pass of her heat against his clothed cock.

Y/n gasps softly, her head falling back as she loses herself in the sensation. "Charles..." she breathes, her voice heavy with desire.

Charles pulls Y/n down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. His warm breath sends shivers down her spine as he whispers in her ear, "What do you want, baby? What do you want to do? Tell me."

Y/n's response is cut off by a sharp gasp as her clit rubs firmly against Charles' hardness. The intense sensation makes her toes curl and her thighs tremble. "I... I want..." she stammers, her mind clouding with lust.

Charles grins, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he guides her movements. "Yes, ma chérie? What do you want?" he prompts, his voice a low rumble in her ear.

Y/n's head lolls back, her hair cascading down her shoulders as she grinds against him with increasing desperation. "I want you," she finally manages to say, her voice thick with need. "I want you inside me, Charles. Please..."

Charles' smile turns wicked as he recalls Y/n's earlier words about finding liberation in his dominance. "No, mon amour," he purrs, his fingers tightening on her hips. "Work for it. Show me how bad you want me inside you."

Y/n's eyes widen, a mix of surprise and arousal flickering across her face. She nods eagerly, her movements becoming more frenzied as she grinds against him. "Yes, Charles," she breathes, her voice submissive and needy. "Please, let me show you..."

She redoubles her efforts, her hips undulating in a sensual dance as she seeks to drive them both wild with desire. Her pussy throbs with need, aching to be filled by his hard cock. Y/n whimpers and moans, lost in the haze of lust, desperate to prove her desire for him.

She continues to grind against Charles, her movements becoming more urgent and needy. The heat radiating from her core is unmistakable, and soon a damp spot begins to form on the front of his sweatpants. Lost in the throes of passion, neither of them notice the growing wetness.

Charles' head lolls back, his eyes closed in bliss as he feels the scorching heat of Y/n's pussy pressed against his clothed erection. "Fuck, mon amour," he groans, his hips bucking up to meet her downward thrusts. "You're so fucking wet for me. I can feel it soaking through my pants."

Y/n whimpers and mewls, her voice rising in pitch as she chases her impending orgasm. The friction of her clit rubbing against his hardness is almost too much to bear. "Please, Charles," she begs, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you. I need your cock inside me. Please..."

Y/n's movements grow more frantic as she nears the edge, her hips gyrating wildly against Charles' clothed erection. She's so close, teetering on the brink of a powerful orgasm. But just as she's about to tip over, Charles' hands tighten on her hips, slowing her down.

"Did I tell you to speed up?" he asks, his voice stern despite the lust clouding his eyes. "No, I didn't. You're not in control here, Y/n. I am."

Y/n whines in frustration, her body trembling with the effort of holding back her climax. "Please, Charles," she begs, her voice high and needy. "I'm so close. I need to cum. Please let me cum."

Charles shakes his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Not yet, mon amour. You haven't earned it. You need to work harder for your prize."

Y/n's eyes fill with tears as she pleads with Charles, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please, sir," she whimpers, her hips still grinding against him despite his commands. "I'll be good, I promise. I'll do anything you want. Just please, let me cum. I need it so badly."

Charles' expression softens slightly as he sees the tears streaming down her face. He reaches up to wipe them away with his thumb, his touch gentle despite his firm demeanor. "Shh, ma chérie," he soothes. "You have no reason to cry. If you've done your job correctly, you'll get your reward. Crying isn't going to do anything for you right now."

Y/n nods, sniffing back her tears. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what's to come. "I'm sorry, sir," she says, her voice meek and submissive. "I'll try harder. I'll do whatever it takes to please you."

He smiles approvingly at Y/n's obedience. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and husky. "Now show me again how bad you want my cock to fill you up, okay?"

Y/n nods eagerly, her eyes shining with determination. She takes a deep breath, centering herself, before beginning to grind against Charles once more. Her movements are slow and sensual at first, her hips rolling in a deliberate rhythm.

As she gains momentum, her pace quickens, her pussy rubbing insistently against the bulge in Charles' sweatpants. Soft moans and whimpers spill from her lips as she loses herself in the sensation, her body undulating with need.

"Please, Charles," she gasps, her voice ragged with desire. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me. Please, sir, give me what I crave."

Charles cups Y/n's cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin as he wipes away the stray tears. His blue eyes are filled with a mix of tenderness and lust as he gazes at her. "You look so adorable like this, begging for me," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "So desperate and needy, all for me. It's beautiful, mon amour."

Y/n leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savors the feeling of his hand on her face. "I am desperate for you, Charles," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Only you can satisfy me, can give me what I need."

She opens her eyes, locking her gaze with his, the intensity of her desire burning bright in their depths. "Please, sir," she implores, her hips still grinding against him in a slow, sensual rhythm. "I'll do anything, be anything you want. Just please, let me have you. Let me feel you inside me."

Charles groans, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Y/n's desperate pleas and the feel of her hot, wet pussy grinding against him. "Fuck, mon amour," he growls, his hand sliding down to grip her hip tightly. "Cum for me, baby. You deserve it. Let go and give yourself to me."

Y/n's eyes widen, a gasp escaping her lips as Charles gives her permission. She nods frantically, her hips moving faster, more urgently, seeking the release she so desperately craves. "Yes, Charles!" she cries, her voice high and needy. "I'm cumming! Fuck- I'm cumming!"

Her body tenses, her muscles coiling tight as her orgasm approaches. With a final, hard grind against Charles' clothed cock, she comes undone, her pussy clenching and fluttering as waves of pleasure crash over her. "Oh god, oh fuck, Charles!" she moans, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Y/n's body shudders and trembles as her orgasm washes over her, her pussy clenching and releasing in rhythmic pulses. She whimpers and moans against Charles' chest, her hips continuing to grind against him, riding out the waves of pleasure.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she chants, her voice muffled against his skin. "It feels so good, Charles. So fucking good."

Charles strokes the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her black hair as he holds her close. "That's it, mon amour," he encourages, his voice low and soothing. "Keep going. You're doing so well. I know it feels amazing. Come on, you can do it. Let it all out."

Y/n whimpers and moans, her body still shaking with the aftershocks of her climax. She continues to grind against Charles, her movements becoming slower, more languid as she comes down from her high.

Y/n collapses against Charles, her body spent and sated in the aftermath of her intense orgasm. She pants heavily, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she tries to catch her breath. "Fuck, Charles," she whispers, her voice hoarse and raw. "That was so good. So fucking good."

Charles chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath her as he holds her close. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, ma chérie," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "You did so well, taking your pleasure like that. I'm proud of you."

Charles looks down at Y/n, concern etched on his features as he takes in her exhausted state. "Are you sure you still want me inside you, mon amour?" he asks gently, his hand stroking her back soothingly. "You seem so tired. We can wait if you need to rest."

But Y/n shakes her head vehemently, her eyes wide and pleading as she gazes up at him. "Yes, yes, yes please," she begs, her voice desperate. "I can do it, Charles. I can take it. I need you inside me. Please, I'm begging you."

Charles' resolve wavers, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight of her desperation. He knows he shouldn't, knows she needs rest, but the hunger in her eyes is too much to resist. "Alright, ma chérie," he growls, his hands gripping her hips firmly. "If you're sure you can handle it..."

Charles flips Y/n over onto her stomach, her ass high in the air as she presents herself to him. The wet spot on her shorts from her previous orgasm is clearly visible, evidence of her arousal.

"Fuck," Charles growls, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in the sight of her. "Look at you, so wet and ready for me. Your pussy is practically dripping."

He runs his hand over the damp fabric, feeling the heat radiating from her core. Y/n whimpers and arches her back, pushing her ass higher, silently begging for more.

Charles slides his hand beneath Y/n's shorts, his fingers seeking out her slick, swollen folds. "Mmm, so wet," he murmurs, teasing her entrance with the tips of his fingers. "You want me to fill you up, don't you, ma chérie? Want me to cum inside this tight little pussy?"

She bucks against his hand, her hips rolling back as she seeks more contact. "Yes, Charles, please," she begs, her voice high and needy. "I want you to breed me. I want to feel you cumming deep inside me."

Charles groans, his cock throbbing at her filthy words. "Fuck, mon amour," he growls, his fingers delving deeper, stroking along her inner walls. "You want my dick stretching you out, don't you? Want me to claim this sweet cunt as mine?"

Charles' fingers pump in and out of Y/n's dripping pussy, her velvety walls clenching around him as he strokes her most sensitive spots. "Fuck, mon amour," he groans, his thumb circling her swollen clit. "Your cunt is clenching so hard around my fingers. You're so fucking needy for my cock."

Y/n moans shamelessly, her hips rocking back to meet his thrusts. "Yes, sir," she pants, her voice ragged with desire. "I need to be bred. I need you to fill me up, make me yours."

Charles' eyes darken with lust at her words, his imagination running wild with visions of Y/n's belly swollen with his child. "You'd look so beautiful pregnant with my baby," he growls, his fingers curling inside her. "I bet you'd make such a good mommy. Fuck, I can't wait to see you with my child."

The thought of Y/n pregnant with his child sends Charles into a frenzy of lust. He needs to make it a reality, to claim her womb and fill it with his seed. With a growl, he withdraws his fingers from her dripping cunt, leaving her empty and aching.

Quickly, he shoves his sweatpants down, freeing his throbbing cock. It springs forth, hard and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Y/n whimpers at the sight, her pussy clenching around nothing.

Charles makes quick work of her shorts, yanking them down her thighs and exposing her glistening folds to his hungry gaze. "Fuck, look at this pretty little cunt," he groans, giving her ass a sharp smack. "So wet and ready for me."

He teases her entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing it up and down her slit, coating himself in her slick arousal. Y/n bucks back, desperate for more, but Charles denies her, keeping his movements light and teasing.

Charles grips Y/n's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he lines himself up with her entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into her welcoming heat, inch by inch, until he's buried to the hilt.

Y/n cries out, her back arching as she's stretched and filled by his thick cock. Even though they've been together countless times, her body never fails to adjust to his impressive size. "Fuck, Charles," she gasps, her nails scrabbling against the couch. "You're so big."

He groans, his hips settling flush against her ass as he gives her a moment to adjust. "That's it, ma chérie," he murmurs, his hand stroking soothing circles on her lower back. "Take all of me. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Charles begins to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm as he pulls out and thrusts back in. Each stroke is deliberate, designed to make Y/n feel every inch of his cock as it slides along her sensitive walls.

"Mmm, that's it," he groans, his hand coming down to grip her hip, steadying her as he picks up the pace. "Feel that, mon amour? Feel how deep I am inside you? How I'm stretching this tight little pussy?"

Y/n whimpers and moans, her body undulating beneath him as he claims her. "Yes, Charles, yes," she chants, her voice rising in pitch as he hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars. "Harder, please. I need more."

Charles obliges, his thrusts growing stronger, more forceful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by their moans and cries of pleasure.

Y/n's body begins to shake, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure coursing through her. Tears stream down her face as Charles pounds into her, each thrust hitting her deepest, most sensitive spots.

"What's wrong, ma chérie?" Charles asks, his voice a low growl. "Can't take my dick? How am I supposed to make you a mommy when you can't even handle a few thrusts?"

Y/n sobs, her pussy clenching around him as if trying to hold him inside. "I can take it," she gasps, her voice strained. "I can take it, Charles. Please, don't stop. I need it. I need you to fill me up, to breed me."

Charles groans, his hips snapping forward harder, faster. "That's it, mon amour," he grunts, his fingers digging into her hips. "Take it like a good girl, okay?”

Y/n nods frantically, her face pressed against the couch cushions as Charles pounds into her from behind. "Yes, yes, please," she gasps, her words muffled by the fabric. "Harder, Charles, fuck me harder!"

Charles obliges, his hips slamming against her ass with bruising force. The couch creaks and shakes beneath them, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room. "That's it, mon amour," he growls, his hand fisting in her hair, holding her head down. "Take it like a good girl. You're doing so fucking well."

Y/n whimpers and moans, her pussy clenching around Charles' pistoning cock. She can feel her orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core. "I'm close," she pants, her voice ragged. "I'm gonna cum, Charles. Please, please, please..."

His grip on Y/n's hair tightens as he feels her pussy fluttering around him, signaling her impending orgasm. "You gonna cum for me, ma chérie?" he growls, his hips never faltering in their relentless pace. "Do it. You deserve it. Cum on my cock like a good little slut."

Y/n screams as her orgasm crashes over her, her body convulsing beneath Charles. Her pussy clamps down on him like a vice, rippling and pulsing as she rides out the waves of pleasure. "Charles!" she cries, her voice raw and broken. "Fuck, Charles, I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"

He groans, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release. "Fuck, baby," he grunts, his balls drawing up tight. "Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna breed you, make you mine."

He buries himself deep inside Y/n as he reaches his peak, his cock pulsing as he fills her with his hot, thick cum. He groans long and low, his hips jerking with each spurt of his release.

Y/n whimpers, her pussy milking him for every last drop as she feels him flooding her womb. When he finally pulls out, a trickle of his seed leaks from her well-fucked hole, dripping down her thighs.

"Fuck, look at that," Charles growls, his fingers scooping up the cum and pushing it back inside her. "Such a messy little slut. You're not going to let any of my cum out, understand? You're going to keep it all inside this greedy cunt."

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to the globes of her ass as he continues to finger her, stirring his seed deep inside her. "Good girl," he murmurs, his breath hot against her skin. "Such a good girl, taking my cum so well.”

Y/n comes down from her high, her body goes limp beneath Charles, her breathing slowing as she catches her breath. Charles continues to stroke her hair soothingly, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulders and back.

"Shh, it's okay, mon amour," he murmurs, his voice soft and soothing. "You did so well. I'm so proud of you."

He carefully maneuvers them so that they're lying on their sides, spooning on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close, one hand resting possessively on her lower belly.

"Rest now," he whispers, nuzzling her neck. "Let me take care of you."

Y/n sighs contentedly, snuggling back against him. "Mmm, Charles," she murmurs, her voice sleepy and sated. "That was... incredible. I love you so much."

Charles smiles, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "I love you too, ma chérie," he replies softly. "More than anything."

He strokes Y/n's hair gently, his fingers combing through the silky strands. "Feeling better now, mon amour?" he asks softly, his voice warm with concern. "After what happened at work today?"

Y/n sighs, her body melting further into Charles' embrace. "I don't even remember what happened at work," she admits, her voice small and distant.

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[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

[writersmess]

DEATH WISH LOVE | EVAN BUCKLEY

gif credit

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: Buck never thought he could love someone like that. Especially not someone with the same death wish love as him.

Warning: Anxiety crisis, near-death experience, hospital, crying, ansgt.

Word count: 2.5K

a/n: My God, I can't believe it's taken me over a year to get back. I missed this place so much. It's been an intense, crazy year. I finally got my dream job at the best hospital in Latin America. I'm so happy, but at the same time it's demanded everything of me, working long shifts almost every day, but its the price I have to pay. I hope you like this one, it was based on the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone, which as soon as I heard it I immediately imagined something with our dear Buck. I confess I thought I'd do something angsty, but I don't think I have that capacity, he already suffers so much that I just wanted him to have a happy ending this time.

Masterlist

................................

You were the new firefighter in 118, and also new to the city. In order to follow your dreams, you left your hometown with everyone and everything you knew. You craved for bigger things, you wanted the big city, you wanted Los Angeles.

The team welcomed you with open arms, which was unusual to you. You weren’t used to this or neither known by your affectionate gestures, but apparently everything was an excuse for a hug at the station. It was a bit hard to get used to all this affection, especially when you came from a place where you were always by yourself.

That was one of the main reasons you became a firefighter, you have walked through fire every single day of your life, why not make it your profession?

You were a source of curiosity between the team, always so quiet and so resistant to everyone's affection. It was hard to win you over. Especially because you had a rather difficult personality, you were fearless at work, you weren't afraid to go into the fire to save lives, you did it without thinking twice.

To Bobby you were a cause of concern, and sometimes the reason why he was having trouble sleeping. He knew this personality very well. It was the same one he had struggled for years to learn to deal with, the one he had to fight with so many times, he was very familiar with this death wish love, it was the same as Buck’s.

The blue-eyed man on the other side, couldn't understand why he couldn't take his eyes off you. Ever since you arrived a few months ago, your image has been running through Buck’s mind. You've become a challenge for him. But not in a bad way, he wanted to get to know you, he wanted to understand you. But you didn't make things any easier for him, especially when today was the first time he'd seen you laugh.

"You're drooling" he snapped back to reality when he heard Eddie mocking next to him.

"Shut up" Buck said, turning his gaze back to you playing with his niece.

You had a beauty he couldn't explain, an angelic one. You had this steely gaze and looking at you felt like suicide. He would fall to his knees if you asked him to. How could someone so delicate also be so dangerous?

The way you were reluctant to follow Bobby's orders, you'd walk into the fire without a second thought. You would take risks without thinking about your own safety, just thinking about everyone else. He saw how hard you worked, he saw how mad Bobby got when he ordered the building to be evacuated and you were always the last one to leave. You were intriguing and he was fascinated.

It was so strange for you. Being in Maddie's living room, with everyone gathered together like a big family, laughing and telling funny stories. The team met once a week, with all the families together, the children running around the living room, the smell of food in the air, the voices, the laughter.

You accepted the invitation after a few months of refusing, and now you spent the week looking forward to the moment when you would be together again.

Sometimes when you got home from a meeting, you cried. You cried because you never had that, you never had anyone who cared about you. You were an unexpected pregnancy, your parents didn't planned you, they didn't want you and that was never a secret to anyone.

And that's why you were surprised when one day you arrived early at the station and Hen had a cake for you that you had once said reminded of what your grandmother used to bake.

Or when another one Eddie handed you a drawing that Chris made specifically for you. Of the two of you playing together.

Or when Maddie sent you, through Chim, the cookies you said you loved one day while you were having coffee together.

Or when Bobby invited you to have lunch with him and Athena on a Sunday ‘cause he knew you were going to do it alone.

Or when Buck gave you a book he'd heard you say was your favorite during a conversation.

*

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Your hands were shaking, your heart pounding. The words your father had once spoken echoed in your mind. "You will never be loved". But you were at a table with 118's entire family, and you felt loved. Maddie told you about the gossip from her work. Karen hugged you from the side every time you passed by her. Hen included you in every conversation. Athena calmly answered all the questions you were curious about her work. So why did you feel like an imposter? Why was your father's voice echoing inside your head? Why were you on the verge of an anxiety attack?

"I'll be right back" you muttered to the girls, but you realized how shaky your voice sounded. You were pathetic.

You barely made it to the bathroom, your legs buckled and you sat down in the corner of the room. You could hardly breathe, it was hard to pull in the air. Tears streamed down your face. Your heart was racing. Your hands were shaking.

You heard your voice being called from outside. Damn. You couldn't calm down, your hand was on your chest as if it could make the pain go away.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. Calm down, I’ve got you" it was Buck.

His voice was just a whisper in your ear. You let a sob escape your lips. Pathetic. You felt his arms around you, until you were all wrapped up in his arms. Why was he doing that? Why did he care?

He stayed there until you stopped crying. You were still in his arms, and it was so warm, so safe. Sighs came from your lips, and you couldn't imagine what a mess Buck's head and heart were in. He wanted you in his arms, not just now.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you, so you stayed.

"You don't have to talk about what's going on in there, but the day you feel like you need a hug to cry into, you've got mine" your eyes filled with tears again. "And don't ever apologize for it"

*

The smiles on your lips were becoming constant. And it was Buck's favorite image. You were letting people through your armor, you were letting your guard down, and it felt good. You now baked pies and cakes for the station on your days off, recipes learned from the girls after a few long afternoons of chatting and coffee.

Your laughter was contagious, and the boys would always crack little jokes to get them out of you.

Your eyes were now looking out for a pair of blue ones, all the time, everywhere. Eyes that were always looking back at you. Your hands were always looking for an excuse to bump into Buck's, just to feel that shiver run down your spine every time. And he would find any reason to text you, until the excuses became routine. You woke up every day with a good morning message and went to bed with a good night one. The little touches now became big gestures, Buck loved to brush your hair out of your face and tuck them behind your ear. And you loved to run your hand over the birthmark above his eye. You loved when his warm lips traveled up your neck to your lips. You loved when his hands ran over your body always so slowly and so gently, bringing goosebumps wherever they went. You loved making love with him. How he worshiped your body, how much he worshiped you. The way he made you feel loved.

You had a hold on Buck, and you didn't even know it. He had become attached to you, attached to the idea of having you by his side. The nights with you were the ones he could truly rest in, the mornings where he woke up to your soft kisses on his face, were the ones he would keep forever in his mind.

But he could feel that you were still resisting his feelings, and he was terrified of losing you. Buck was in love with you. It took months for him to realize that, but he did it. He loved you.

But one thing has never changed. And as Buck followed the loud murmurs coming from Bobby’s office, where he knew you were at, he kept in mind the danger you were in at every call. He couldn't lose you.

"Hey, what happe-" he couldn't finish the sentence when he saw you walking out the door, since you brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder, without even looking him in the face.

Buck made his way to the room, where he saw his captain wiping his hands across his face, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"She'll end up dead if she keep acting like this, Buck"

"I know"

"After the last call, if she doesn't change her behavior, I'll be forced to suspend her."

"I know."

Buck couldn't lose you.

You couldn't talk to Buck yet, you were so nervous after your conversation with Bobby. You were trying your best, how could he tell you that you had a death wish love? You were saving lives, and it didn't matter if it cost you your own. You didn't care.

A new call ecoed through the station. It was something big. A fire in a shed. People were working at the time, so there were many likely victims. You were anxious, just as you were before any call, but you were ready for it. You were born ready.

"Be careful," Buck told you before you got off the truck and you nodded. You were always careful "I love you"

You turned surprised to Buck, you'd never said that to each other before. It disconcerted you.

"Buck, I-"

Before you could say anything, you heard Bobby calling you to give instructions and you had to run.

I love you.

The words echoed in your head as you entered the burning building. No one had ever said that to you. You didn't even know the weight those words carried.

"Sir, follow this path and the fireman will take you to the exit."

It was so hot. You'd already lost count of how many people you'd pulled out of the line of fire. Your head was heavy. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Evacuate the building now," you could hear Cap saying over the radio. Everyone agreed and gave their location. You were about to respond when you heard something.

It was a call for help.

You could have sworn it was a call for help.

"Captain, I'm in the east side, I hear someone screaming for help. I'm close, I can get them out"

"Negative, the building will collapse at any moment. Get out immediately"

Your vision was blurred.

I love you.

You couldn't go out and leave those people to die, so you went ahead. The way to the door was difficult, there was a lot of rubble, and when you opened it, you froze in place.

It was empty. The fire danced in front of you, mocking you. But the cries for help... you've never been so wrong before.

I love you.

“It’s empty” you murmured at the radio.

Bobby was shouting your name from the other end of the radio. You turned around, but it was so hard to breathe. You tried to find your way back, but everything was spinning. Buck was now calling your name.

I love you.

His words were running through your head. Your steps were now slow. The way out, you couldn't find the way out. You could hear the fire laughing at you. Stupid. Pathetic. You heard an explosion behind you, and it threw you off balance, bringing you to the ground. You'd been walking through fire all your life, and now it would finally take its place back. Your siren buzzed in your ears. That would be the end of you.

I love you too, Buck.

The moment Buck came out of the building and didn't see you outside, he tried to go back. But hands held him in place.

This couldn't be happening. No, no.

Bobby called your name on the radio and you didn't answer. It's empty. That was the last answer they got. You weren't answering. An explosion. On the east side, where you were.

Buck's knees gave way, and he went down. All eyes were on the exit of the building waiting for you, waiting for a miracle. But it never came.

Buck screamed, and he would scream until his lungs gave up.

Time seemed to stop. Buck's screams were the only noise to be heard. And another explosion. Tears rolled down trough some faces. No one could believe it. This couldn't be happening.

Buck couldn't lose you like this.

"We found her" some voice echoed over the radio.

Buck's heart could stop any second now.

But the building was collapsing.

He broke free from his friends and ran into the building, dodging all the fallen and burnt obstacles, and he saw you. You were in the arms of a fireman. He ran up to you and carried you out of the building. As soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, the building collapsed. Buck held you in his arms with all his strength and ran, feeling the debris fly past you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was the first thing that came out of your lips when he put you on the stretcher and he shut you up, pressing his lips to yours.

Buck analyzed each of your wounds alongside Hen and Chim and you could see the tears streaming down Buck's face, the ones that were also streaming down your own.

You were still struggling to breathe, every inch of your body ached, and you felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Until you succumbed to the darkness that was calling your name.

*

You woke up a few hours later in hospital. Your hands were being squeezed and you could feel something wet running down over them. Tears.

Buck had his face in your hands, he had never felt so afraid before. And when he heard your voice calling him, it was as if he could finally breathe.

"I'm sorry, Buck, I-I don't know what happened-"

"I almost lost you today"

Your heart broke into a million pieces. You did this to him, your recklessness, your impulsive behavior. It was your fault.

"I'm sorry"

Tears were now streaming down your face and he moved closer, running his hands gently down your cheeks.

"I was terrified of losing you. I'd die if I do."

"I would never leave you"

"Promise?"

"I love you, Buck. And I'll love you to death"

"Please don't let it be soon"

You smiled. No one had ever loved you like that.

"It won't."

[dee-writes-anime]

Hello ! How you doing ?

I noticed that your requests are open, so i'm gonna yap about my favorite Winged Hero: Keigo !

I always think about reader being in a relationship with Hawks, but she feels like she doesn't really belong with him. He is famous, popular and very loved by his fans, meanwhile she likes to live a calm life, only talking and getting involved if someone reaches for her first.

Reader intends to break up with him, but his bird brain got a different message about it: he thinks she just needs more attention and more courting gifts.

So now reader has a collection of shiny rocks, lots of scented blankets and shirts, and a nonstop whistling Keigo around her.

I just really love the idea of Hawks tagging himself as a No refund Partner 🤭

(Feel free to ignore this, if you don't like it. Sending you lots of love, your writting is amazing 🥰)

No Refunds!

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami i x Reader

SUMMARY You fear that Keigo's fast-paced life is too much for you and try to take a step back, but it doesn't seem to work out that well for you. It's just too bad Keigo doesn't believe in refunds.

CONTENT WARNINGS quiet reader, hawks being a literal bird

AUTHORS NOTE hope you all enjoy more of our feather-winged hero because, based on these requests, y'all can't seem to get enough of him!

You’d imagined this moment for weeks—a careful plan to untangle yourself from the wings of a man who seemed to live a world apart from your own. Keigo’s life was a loud one, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, bright interviews, fans hanging on his every word and movement. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he belonged somewhere out there, in the heart of the storm, while you were left holding onto calmness, craving quiet.

So you’d practiced your words, rehearsed in the mirror, hoping to explain it gently: Keigo, you’re amazing, but I don’t fit into this life. You deserve someone who can keep up, who thrives under a spotlight.

But as you sat across from him in the dimly lit corner of your apartment, watching him devour his meal with an unshakable confidence, all those carefully chosen phrases began to slip away. The man was impossible to ignore, so vividly alive in his unbridled energy, his mouth curling into a familiar, teasing grin every time he caught you looking. It was like trying to capture a gust of wind in your hand—the moment you thought you had him pinned, he shifted, always a step ahead, eyes twinkling with that irreverent humor that made your heart ache.

“Keigo, I just…” you began, feeling your courage falter under his steady gaze. He didn’t miss a beat, his fork pausing in midair as he gave you his full attention.

“Go on,” he said, his voice low but attentive, his eyes narrowing with a glint of curiosity that warned you he wasn’t going to let anything slide by unnoticed.

You took a breath, trying to anchor yourself. “I just… sometimes I feel like I don’t really belong in your world,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air, and Keigo stared at you, unblinking, as if you’d just told him something in a language he didn’t quite understand. After a moment, he let out a soft chuckle, eyes shining with that familiar, playful disbelief. “You? Not belong with me?” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat with that cocky, amused grin that somehow melted the tension in the room. “I don’t buy that, not for a second.”

Your heart twisted painfully, but before you could explain, he shifted closer, closing the space between you with the effortless grace of a hawk zeroing in on its mark. He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm, a hint of softness underlying his typically mischievous gaze.

“Listen,” he said, his voice a soft murmur, “if you’re worried about keeping up with me, don’t be. You ground me, you know? Not everything has to be about the spotlight.” He leaned in, and his thumb brushed your cheek, a gentle, fleeting touch that left you breathless. “You’re my calm in all the chaos, you know that?”

Your resolve wavered, and all you could manage was a quiet nod before he kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave a warmth behind. As he left that night, your mind kept replaying that look in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability that felt strangely out of place on him.

The next morning, you woke to find something glinting on your bedside table. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and there it was—a smooth, shining rock, no larger than your thumb, with flecks of gold swirling through its charcoal-gray surface. You reached for it slowly, as if it might vanish at any moment, the unexpected gift settling warm and solid in your palm.

A small folded note rested beside it, scrawled with Keigo’s messy handwriting: Something pretty, just like you! – K

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, though it came with a pang of sadness. So this was his response? He wasn’t angry or upset; instead, he left a little piece of beauty for you, something that made you feel strangely… cherished. As if he was whispering, See? You’re part of my world. I want you here.

If only he left it at that..

The next morning, as you opened your front door, you found a Hawks-branded bag stuffed with the coziest-looking items imaginable. Luxurious blankets, soft enough to melt in your fingers, with colors that reminded you of his wings—deep crimsons and warm golden yellows. There was a plush feather-shaped pillow tucked inside, soft and inviting, as if he’d tried to bottle the feeling of his own feathers just for you.

Another note, taped to the top of the bag: For when you want a cozy night in, courtesy of your favorite Winged Hero.

In a daze, you pulled the pillow out, feeling the way it seemed to form to your touch, soft and strangely comforting, like you were holding a part of him in your hands. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, though it was tinged with disbelief. Hawks, your Keigo, was attempting to make your space his nest—one soft corner at a time.

You weren’t sure what to think. The gifts kept coming, like waves lapping persistently at the shore, never once relenting. Soon, you had a growing collection of glimmering stones, each unique in color, shape, and size. Some had ribbons tied around them, others were polished to a glassy sheen. By the end of the week, you could open your own boutique: Hawks’ Feathered Finds.

It was almost funny, in a way, how Keigo’s gift ideas seemed to expand. If the shiny stones weren’t enough to convince you of his commitment, the silky blankets and cozy pillows that soon followed would certainly drive the point home.

But as much as the blankets were a nice touch, that wasn’t enough either. No, Keigo’s gifts evolved in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Not satisfied with just leaving inanimate reminders of himself, he began to bring his own shirts, freshly washed and scented with that clean, faintly spicy cologne that was unmistakably his. Each time he left one, it felt like he was marking his presence all over again. When you came home one day to find three different button-ups hanging over your chair, neatly folded with another note—“So you won’t miss me too much”—you realized how completely he’d misunderstood your meaning.

And it didn’t stop there.

You started hearing bird calls, from sharp whistles to melodic chirrups, each one distinct and practiced. They’d come at random times during your day, clear and unmistakable, carrying across rooftops or echoing down quiet streets. Keigo would appear out of nowhere with a casual “Hey,” as if he hadn’t just called you over like a sparrow to its nest. Once, you looked out the window and spotted him standing on the rooftop opposite yours, watching you with that familiar spark of mischief in his eyes as he gave a gentle coo that made your cheeks flush.

Then there was the food. Keigo made it a habit to bring takeout on the evenings he knew you were working late, showing up with your favorite dishes and a grin that always promised a good story to go along with them. He’d kick off his shoes like he’d lived there forever, settling in as if he belonged, yet somehow always a little hesitant. You could tell he was waiting, looking at you as if searching for any sign that his gifts were having an effect.

Finally, one evening after he’d tucked a particularly soft blanket around you with all the precision of a nesting bird, you couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly are you doing, Keigo?”

He looked up from where he’d just finished arranging the folds of the blanket on your couch, his feathers twitching at your question. “What do you mean?” he asked, his amber eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“Keigo…” you said, trying to hold back a laugh as you gestured around your apartment, now cluttered with glistening stones, colorful feathers, and shirts that still carried his scent. “You’re… making a nest in my apartment.”

His wings fluttered, a small chuckle escaping as he scratched the back of his head. “Guess you could call it that.” He crossed over to where you sat, his gaze growing softer. “But I’m just making sure you know you’re not going anywhere.”

You shook your head, equal parts amused and bewildered. “I… I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Undeterred, Keigo leaned in, his head tilting down just slightly so his eyes met yours, the mischief in them mingling with something warmer, something that pulled at your heart. “Maybe not,” he murmured, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard. “But I don’t give up that easily. You don’t just get to decide you’re going to leave, y’know?”

A small pang tightened in your chest. How could someone like him, someone whose life glittered with fame and thrill, expect to keep someone like you by his side? Yet, looking into his eyes, you saw something deeper, even a little vulnerable, as his thumb traced soft circles over your hand.

“Keigo… I’m not…” you began, trying to find the words. “I just… sometimes I feel like I’m not cut out for this, like I don’t belong in this world of yours.”

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze gentle but unwavering. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, his wings rustling, “you’re not holding me back. You’re the calm in my storm. And I’m not about to let that slip away.” His hand tightened around yours just slightly. “Besides, I never heard any rule about ‘no refunds’ not applying to relationships. So guess what? You’re stuck with me.”

You looked around, taking in the stones, the blankets, the shirts—this strange, feathered haven he’d created around you, like a nest meant just for the two of you. You hadn’t realized you’d been dating an actual bird until now, and it hit you with a surprising warmth, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you did belong here after all.

TAGLIST:

@surielstea

[landinhoe]

In the Heart of November- Lando Norris

ღ

In honour of our little Lando’s birthday, enjoy🫶🏻

ღ

The evening air was cool, carrying the crisp bite of late November, as Lando pulled up to the small, intimate restaurant in London. Nestled away from the busy streets, this place held a special charm, chosen specifically for its warm, quiet atmosphere—a place where he could celebrate his birthday with only his closest friends. As he stepped inside, he took in the cozy ambiance. The soft glow of candlelight flickered off the wooden tables, and the gentle hum of quiet conversations surrounded him, giving the room a sense of familiarity and comfort. But despite the company of his friends, Lando’s thoughts were somewhere else.

Or, rather, with someone else. He checked his phone for any messages, trying not to seem too eager. She was supposed to arrive soon. They’d been friends for a while now, ever since they’d first met through the world of Formula 1. She worked in a legal role with McLaren, and their paths had crossed unexpectedly during a team event. What had started as casual conversations about racing, contracts, and the challenges of the sport had grown into a friendship filled with laughter, shared dreams, and mutual understanding. She’d become someone he could talk to—someone who understood the pressures he faced, not just as a driver but as a young man trying to make his mark.

It was during the long hours between races, in the quiet moments away from the track, that he found himself drawn to her. She grounded him, reminding him to enjoy the little things. When he was around her, he could set aside the high expectations and just be Lando. They had developed an easy rapport, and over time, his feelings had shifted from friendship to something deeper, something he couldn’t ignore. But tonight, he wasn’t sure if she felt the same. All he knew was that he wanted her there.

Then the door opened, and she walked in. Wrapped in a dark, elegant coat, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, she looked radiant. Her hair was slightly tousled, her eyes bright as they met his from across the room. She paused, scanning the restaurant for him, and when their eyes met, she gave him a warm smile. For a moment, everything else faded into the background. He stood to greet her, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep his face calm and casual.

“You made it,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.

She laughed lightly, a sound he always found himself looking forward to. “Of course I did. It’s your birthday—wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They hugged briefly, a touch that felt both familiar and electric, and he led her to their table. The night unfolded with laughter and easy conversation. Around the table, their friends told stories from races and travels, the room filled with lighthearted jokes. Yet, despite the crowd, it felt like the two of them were in their own little bubble. Lando would find himself glancing at her, noticing the way she laughed, the way her hand sometimes brushed against his arm as they leaned in to share quiet words. She listened intently to his stories, her eyes lighting up when he talked about his dreams and the challenges he faced. There was an ease between them, a familiarity that made every moment feel special.

As dinner drew on, each of his friends took a turn presenting their gifts, filling the evening with laughter and warmth. Finally, it was her turn. She pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped box, holding it out to him with a smile that was both shy and knowing. Lando looked at her, feeling his curiosity pique as he gently untied the ribbon, careful not to rush. Inside, nestled in a bed of dark velvet, was a watch. It was simple yet elegant, with a sleek black leather band and a timeless face. His fingers brushed over the engraving on the back, reading the small, precise words she had chosen: “Drive with your heart.”

Lando’s throat tightened as he read it, his heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. She looked at him with a softness in her eyes, and he sensed there was more to this gift than just its material worth. She had chosen something meaningful, something that spoke to who he was, and it was as if she had seen through all the layers he tried to hide. For a moment, he was overcome, unsure of what to say. He looked up, catching her gaze, and held it.

“It’s a reminder,” she said softly, her voice just for him. “For all the times when things get difficult, when you need to remember why you’re doing this. You have so much heart, Lando, and I just… I wanted you to know that.”

Her words stirred something in him, a warmth that he had rarely felt before. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think you realize how much this means to me.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, his hand resting on the box, her hand resting close to his on the table. The air between them felt charged, filled with everything they hadn’t said. He wanted to reach out, to take her hand, to tell her what had been on his mind for months. But instead, he held back, savoring the quiet connection between them. The evening carried on, but Lando’s thoughts stayed on that watch, on her words, and on the growing realization that this was more than friendship.

As the night wound down, they stepped outside, and he offered her a ride home. She agreed, and soon they were side by side in his car, the city lights flickering past them in a blur. The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for something, some unspoken understanding that hung in the air between them. Every now and then, he would glance over, catching her gaze as she looked out the window, her profile softened by the streetlights. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Finally, they arrived at her apartment. He parked, leaving the engine idling as he turned to her, his heart beating faster with every passing second. The warmth of the car was a stark contrast to the cool November air outside, and he was suddenly aware of just how close they were. He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face, her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And for the gift. It’s… it’s perfect.”

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his with a look that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words. “I’m just glad you liked it,” she replied, her voice gentle.

The silence stretched between them, filled with possibilities. Lando’s heart raced as he reached out, his fingers brushing her hand, testing the boundaries. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. Their faces were close now, so close he could feel her breath against his skin, warm and inviting. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the space between them. His lips met hers, soft and tentative at first, as if they were both afraid to break the spell. She responded, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining as the kiss deepened. It was gentle and sweet, a kiss filled with all the words they hadn’t spoken, a silent promise between them. Time seemed to stop, the world falling away until there was only her, and the feeling of her hand in his.

When they finally pulled back, he looked at her, his heart full and his mind racing. She smiled, a soft, knowing smile that told him she’d felt it too.

“Happy birthday, Lando,” she whispered, her voice a warm breath against his lips.

Lando squeezed her hand, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the moment. “Best birthday ever,” he murmured, and he knew, deep down, that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

[aestas---estas]

Loving Hands

MDNI 18+ | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | ~2,9 k words | fem!reader, vaginal fingering, choking/breathplay, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it in real life folks), lots of dirty talk, cuddling and aftercare | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me | Read on AO3

“I want you to choke me tonight.” Your voice rings out through the otherwise quiet room.

You and Simon had been having a comfortable evening in your shared flat. He was in between deployments at the moment and it had been great having him back home. To you, he was the sweetest man alive. You knew the broad strokes of what he did when he wasn't home, knew he killed people, probably tortured them too, but he never let that side take over or rear its head in your proximity — the worst of it, if you want to call it that, came when he got jealous and protective. And oh, how you loved his protectiveness.

Simon brought you flowers, paid for dinner on your dates, opened doors, helped you over puddles in the streets; he was the perfect gentleman. Simon was also a master at following orders. Hence the request you just threw his way as you were watching him wash dishes from your seat perched on the counter.

“Yeah?” Simon asked, an amused smile pulling at his lips as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you reiterate, plucking the plate he had just finished rinsing to dry it. “Not too hard, nothing that will leave marks, but I wanna feel that floaty feeling. I also want praise tonight; tell me I'm good, tell me how it feels, talk me through it.”

“Alright,” Simon answers with a nod, draining the water from the sink, shaking his hands to dry them, making droplets of water hit your arms and face.

You giggle at his antics, wiping the water away from your skin before pressing a soft kiss to the side of his face.

It had taken some getting used to, making your wants and needs in the bedroom known. Before Simon, most of your lovers had been selfish, and the few times you had voiced your kinks they had been shut down or executed so poorly you didn't want to voice them anymore. But Simon thrived with clear instructions. Praise me, degrade me, use me, worship me. So long as he knew what you wanted him to do, he was more than willing to make your wishes come true.

It’s a few hours later, with Simon spreading his legs wide on the sofa, you tucked close under his arm, the TV playing some rerun of an old show you’ve both seen more times than you can count, that he brings it up again.

“Now, love? Or later in bed?” His hand is slowly stroking up and down your arm, nothing overtly sexual but no less intimate nonetheless.

You hadn’t even thought about having sex in the livingroom, had assumed he’d take your instructions from before and utilize them once you’d both gotten ready for bed. But you can’t deny the way your stomach heats and flutters in that all too familiar way.

“I wouldn’t mind now,” you confess, feeling your face heat under Simon’s intense stare. He’s always had a staring problem, never letting you out of his sight more than necessary, and if you ever were to find yourself not right by his side, you could always feel his gaze on you, making you feel safe.

Simon hums his understanding, a sound that vibrates through his strong chest, before redirecting his eyes to the TV; his fingers still wandering up and down your arm softly. You know his focus is entirely on you, on your reactions, even if he is acting like it isn’t, and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together for a brief moment of relief. You hadn’t been particularly horny, but just knowing that you’re going to get fucked just the way you want, has arousal already pooling in the juncture between your legs.

“You’re always so soft,” Simon murmurs, dropping his face to the top of your head, practically nuzzling you. You smile but say nothing, just lets him voice his thoughts. “Smell fucking amazing too. Can’t believe you’re all mine sometimes.”

You want to echo his sentiment, say that he’s all yours too, that you feel just as lucky as he does, but his hand has dropped from your arm to your thigh, squeezing and massaging your flesh in the way he knows you love.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He punctuates the statement with a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers slipping dangerously close to where you want them — where you need them. The way he pushes your legs apart isn’t rough, but it could never be described as gentle either, and when his hand dips below the waistband of your sweats you don’t suppress the moan of anticipation that leaves your throat. “Eager one, aren’t you?”

He’s teasing you, both with his words and the way his fingers run up and down your slit — inside your pants, but not yet inside your underwear. You don’t answer verbally, already melting against him, giving in to the pleasure you know is coming, only nodding lazily as your eyes slip shut.

You can hear the smirk in Simon’s voice as he speaks again. “That’s it, just let go and let me take care of you, love.” He presses down a little firmer, rubbing tight, slow circles around your clit and relishes in the way you tense your thighs in preparation; you want to grind yourself against his touch, he knows it, you know it, and it takes all your willpower to not give in.

“Please, Simon,” you whine, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, opening your neck up for him to plant open mouthed kisses on. Not one to let his love go unsatisfied, Simon leans down to trace your weak spots with his lips, making your pulse flutter and your breath hitch under his ministrations.

“Sound so pretty when you whine and beg,” he says against your skin and finally, finally, slips his fingers into your underwear. “Already so wet for me, love.” He drags the digits through your folds, gathering some of the slick to smear over your clit. His touch is gentle but precise, he knows just how you like it and is intent on making you enjoy yourself.

“Choke me,” you beg, a reminder about what you're expecting, about what started this whole thing in the first place.

“Patience,” Simon mumbles against the length of your throat, his fingers pressing down just enough to be uncomfortable before going back to the toe curling circles.

He plants more kisses along your heated skin, sucks gently at your pulse point in a way that drags an embarrassingly loud moan from your throat. The TV is still on, but whatever was playing on it got drowned out by the noises of Simon's fingers gliding through your wetness and your panting breaths. 

It's Simon that groans when he finally slips two fingers inside. “Fuck you're wet.”

You nod lazily, clenching around his digits, already practically humping against his hand — you love it, love him, you need more.

“Only for you,” you manage to say and you can feel his lips quirk up in a smirk against your shoulder.

You beg for him to go faster, and ever the obedient soldier, Simon does; pulling moans and whimpers from you until you're nothing but a wet, panting mess on the couch.

“Doing so good for me, love,” he says before moving his free hand to wrap around your throat. It's not unexpected, but it catches you by surprise nonetheless; you had been so wrapped up in his pumping fingers, so focused on chasing the pleasure he was providing. 

“Fuck,” Simon groans again, teeth scraping the shell of your ear. “You like that, huh? Go on, cum on my fingers, love.”

His palm presses against your clit, his fingers never slowing their constant in and out, and you hump needily against him. It's when he curls his digits just right to rub against that spongy spot inside and tightens his hand to constrict your airflow just enough to make your mind float, that you explode. White hot pleasure shoots through your limbs, your back arching, eyes squeezing shut as you rut against him and cum with his name spilling from your lips.

The hand around your throat eases and you have to take a moment to catch your breath. When you finally turn your head enough to blink up at him, Simon is cleaning your slick off his fingers, eyes closed as he indulges in the taste of you. The sight sends another bolt of excitement through you, making you squeeze your thighs together. 

“More,” you say, already swinging your legs over his to straddle his thick thighs, hands searching for the hem of his shirt to pull it up and off. 

Simon chuckles but lets you undress him. It takes some combined effort to remove his jeans without getting up from the couch, but you’re both hellbent on not losing the contact between your bodies.

“You want to be on top, love?” He asks, voice low and practically dripping with arousal. His words vibrate through his chest and it makes you grind down on the obvious bulge in his boxers.

You turn it over in your mind; the idea of being on top, of being the one more in control. But ultimately you shake your head in the negative. Tonight was a night for submission, for letting Simon play your body like an instrument, for letting go and giving in. 

With strength that always seems to surprise you, he grabs hold of your thighs, rough fingers digging into plush flesh, and flips the two of you over on the couch.

“So fucking pretty like this,” Simon murmurs, placing soft, wet kisses on the length of your throat, nudging at the neckline of the shirt you wore — one of his, Riley stamped across the back. It made him crazy every time he saw you in it. “All worked up, so needy for more.”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your voice enough with words, head already scrambled with pleasure and anticipation.

“So wet and ready for me.” He keeps sweet-talking you, breath fanning over your skin, hands wandering up and down your body until your clothes are laying in a pile on the floor and his hips are slotted between your spread legs. 

“Simon,” you whine, fingers digging into his muscular back, hips lifting from the couch in search of friction. 

And he has the gall to laugh, a deep chuckle that makes molten hot desire pool in your guts. You're just about ready to explode, to beg for him to just fuck you already, when he ruts against your sopping cunt, the head of his cock nudging against your clit.

“Aching for it, aren't you? Naughty girl,” he says, rubbing his cock up and your folds, coating himself in your wetness before slipping just the first inch inside. It's a stretch, it always is, but you crave more.

Simon mouths his way up your neck, finding your lips and kisses you dizzy. He swallows your moan as he sinks in, filling you up in a way that always makes you ache just slightly.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, his hips unmoving as the two of you just bask in the feeling of being connected so intimately. 

A few more kisses get exchanged, lazy and languid, all lips and tongues and deep moans, but before long you're aching for more.

“Move,” you demand between kisses, hands roaming the vastness of his broad back before coming to rest on his ass, pushing just enough to give him an incentive to follow orders. 

He's slow about it, mean even, pulling out until just the head is lodged inside before pushing back in. And when you thrust up against him in an attempt to make him move faster and deeper, Simon grips your hips and keeps you pinned down against the couch. 

“Just stay still for me. ‘M gonna make it so good for you, but you have to be a good girl and do as you're told,” he says and a whine passes your lips as you struggle against all the feelings bubbling up inside your chest. It's not just the physical pleasure, it's the emotional intimacy and just everything — you're so goddamn in love with this man it makes you want to explode.

Simon's next move is less of a roll of his hips and more of a snap, slamming his cock inside in a way that nearly punches all the air from your lungs. One of his hands moves from their position to keep you still to instead lock around your throat.

“This what you wanted?” He asks, a quick check in to make sure you're okay before anything threatens to spiral out of control. You had asked for choking, but he needed to make sure anyway.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding as best as you can with the limited movement your head is given.

And that's all Simon needs to hear, fingers constricting over your throat as he fucks you right there on the couch; other hand still on your hip, making sure you lay still and let him take care of you.

“Feel so good ‘round me, love. So fucking good,” he groans, so low and deep it could nearly count as a growl, punctuating every word with a punching thrust.

Gasps and moans and the filthy, wet sounds of Simon's cock slamming into your cunt fills the room, and the pleasure is all you can focus on.

Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, your chest heaving and you swear you're probably drooling with how your mouth hangs open.

“Such a good fucking girl. Taking my cock so well.” Most of what Simon is mumbling gets lost in the grunts he makes, but just the sound of his voice gets you closer to the edge.

He keeps whispering sweet nothings and filthy words, but it's when he thumbs at your clit that's your undoing. Just a few quick, hard circles around that bundle of nerves has you careening towards ecstasy and your legs constrict around his middle as he fucks you through the orgasm.

“That's it,” Simon growls as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, the hand on your throat squeezing just enough to make you feel light headed. “Cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

Your climax ebbs and flows, a tidal wave of dizzying pleasure that the oxygen deprivation only seems to add to. A garbled noise leaves your throat and it's enough of a tell for Simon to ease his grip on you. 

“‘M gonna cum. Where do you want it?” His hips are still snapping against yours, cock racing in and out of your weeping cunt and it takes a few moments as you catch your breath before you manage to register it's no longer rhythmic. 

“Where you want it, love?” Simon repeats through gritted teeth, thighs flexing and relaxing with every thrust. 

“Inside,” you manage to gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulders, red half moons denting his skin.

“Fuck, fuck!” He groans, spilling inside of you as your inner walls all but milk him dry.

He collapses on top of you, face buried between your neck and shoulder, breath heavy and hot on your skin as you both bask in the afterglow of your shared orgasms. His lips find your pulse point again, just a chaste kiss, but it still sends a shiver through your body.

“No,” you complain when he moves to get off you, cradling his head as you pet his hair.

“Not going far,” Simon promises, hissing from the overstimulation as he slips his softening cock out of your wet heat. “Gotta clean up.”

You make a whining noise of complaint but let him go nonetheless. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, following Simon’s movements with your ears as he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You can hear the water of the faucet turn on, then off, and then he’s back by your side with a damp towel and a glass of water.

“Drink,” he says, shoving the glass into your hand before carefully swiping the towel between your legs to clean off any excess cum. He settles in beside you, tucks you in close to his side, presses a kiss to the top of your head and throws the blanket that had been draped over the couch’s back across both of you.

“You okay?” He asks. Always making sure. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I’m perfect,” you answer, smiling up at him before craning your neck to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Me too.”

You don’t remember falling asleep, don’t remember making your way to the bedroom, but when you wake in the middle of the night there’s a soft mattress underneath you and a fluffy goose down duvet over your body with Simon’s arm slung across your middle and his warm chest pressed tightly against your back. He’s snoring softly behind you and the rhythmic beat of his heart lulls you back to sleep.

--- Masterlist

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t undo

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: tara goes down a path she never expected to take.

word count: 9.9k

author’s note: part two of ‘what i can’t undo’

The bathroom was small, its walls painted a faded cream that reflected the golden glow of the single overhead bulb.

You didn't care about the way it flickered slightly, nor did you care about the damp towels tossed over the hooks or the cracked soap dish on the sink.

None of it mattered because your mind was spinning, your heart racing like you'd just stepped off a rollercoaster.

Brian had kissed you.

You stood in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink to steady yourself as your reflection smiled back at you, wide and unabashed.

A soft squeal bubbled out of your throat before you could stop it, your hands flying up to cover your face as though you could somehow hide from your own excitement.

It didn't work.

A grin tugged at your lips anyway, spreading until it hurt your cheeks, but you couldn't stop it. How could you? Brian—the boy you'd been dreaming about since you were old enough to understand what a crush even was—had kissed you. He'd actually kissed you.

The memory replayed in your head like a favorite scene from a movie. The way his hand had lingered on your waist, the faint taste of his drink on his lips, the way he'd smiled at you before leaning in—it was perfect.

Everything about it felt perfect.

You leaned closer to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair to fix the strands that had fallen loose in your excitement. Your reflection stared back at you with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what Tara would say when you told her.

She'd probably tease you about how long it took for Brian to finally get the courage, maybe roll her eyes and say, "Took him long enough."

You couldn't wait to tell her all about it.

So, with one last look in the mirror, you smoothed your hands over your outfit, took a deep breath, and turned for the door. The night felt like it was only just beginning.

The hallway outside the bathroom was crowded, a line having formed sometime during your moment of excitement.

You squeezed past a few impatient faces, murmuring quick apologies as you tried not to push too hard. The music from the party thumped louder now, vibrating through your chest as you re-entered the main part of the house.

The crowd had only grown, spilling into every corner of the space. People leaned against walls, danced in the middle of the living room, and sat sprawled on furniture with red cups in hand. It was warm and hazy, the air thick with a mix of sweat, spilled beer, and perfume.

You tucked yourself into the flow of the room, weaving between bodies as you excused yourself with a polite smile here and there.

Your head felt light, your steps unsteady—but it wasn't entirely from the alcohol.

At least, you didn't think it was. Was it the kiss? The way Brian's lips had lingered on yours, soft but sure, like he'd wanted it for just as long as you had?

Or was it the remnants of the few drinks you'd nursed earlier, finally catching up to you? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care.

A few familiar faces stopped you along the way, their greetings overlapping with the music. You smiled, exchanged quick hellos, and let their words pass without really processing them.

Your mind was focused on something else entirely—getting to Tara and Brian. You couldn't wait to see Tara's expression when you told her how the kiss had happened, how perfect it had felt.

You rounded the corner toward the spot where you'd left them just a few minutes ago, threading your way through another group of people. But when you got there, the space was empty.

The corner of the room where Tara had been leaning, arms crossed with her sharp smirk, was now vacant. Brian, who'd stood beside her looking effortlessly charming, was nowhere to be seen either. Your brow furrowed as you glanced around, scanning the crowd for any sign of them.

At first, you didn't think much of it. Tara and Brian probably went to grab another drink or stepped outside for some fresh air. Maybe Tara needed to use the bathroom after all, or Brian had spotted someone he wanted to say hello to. In your slightly drunken haze, every excuse you came up with felt perfectly reasonable.

Still, a faint unease bubbled at the edge of your thoughts, though you quickly brushed it away. There was no reason to overthink it. So, instead of lingering, you turned to walk to the dance floor.

You exchanged a few fleeting smiles as you passed familiar faces—people you recognized from school or other parties, their names blurred in the haze of your tipsiness.

Someone called your name from across the room, but when you glanced back, you couldn't place who it was, so you just offered a polite wave before continuing.

The crowd was packed tighter here, bodies moving in time with the heavy bassline that vibrated through the room.

You slipped into the mix, weaving your way through swaying shoulders and raised arms until you caught sight of a familiar face—Aria, one of your relatively close friends, standing near the edge of the makeshift dance floor.

Her dark curls framed her face, damp with sweat from dancing, and her eyes lit up when she spotted you. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in a teasing question as she motioned for you to come closer.

"Where the hell have you been hiding all night?" she asked loudly, her voice barely cutting through the music.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you stepped closer. "Everywhere except here," you answered, your voice light.

Aria gave a short laugh, her shoulders shaking, before gesturing vaguely to the crowd around her. "You missed the fun," she teased, but her tone was warm, her teasing meant for banter, not criticism.

The moment felt light—like a reprieve from the chaos of the party—but something in the back of your mind nagged at you. Tara and Brian weren't where you had left them.

The question slipped out before you could overthink it.

"Hey, have you seen Tara or Brian?" you asked casually, scanning her face for any hint of recognition. "They were over there earlier, but now I can't find them."

Aria's smirk widened, and for a second, she didn't say anything, just let the music thud around you like she was holding onto some secret. Then, without shame, she leaned in, almost laughing as she said, "They're at it upstairs."

You blinked, leaning closer to her to make sure you heard her right. The music pulsed too loud, swallowing her words, and your mind tried to fill in the blanks. They're sitting upstairs? They're chatting upstairs?

It was almost funny—her tone, the absurdity of what she'd just said—so you laughed loosely, shaking your head. "What?" you asked, still grinning, your voice light, almost teasing.

She leaned back slightly, her expression practically glowing with drunken mischief, and repeated, louder this time, "They're fucking upstairs."

The smile fell from your face.

At first, the words didn't feel real. They felt distant, like they'd been said about someone else, not Tara and Brian. Not the Brian who had kissed you. Not Tara, your best friend.

You stared at Aria, blinking, waiting for her to break the joke. Surely, she was messing with you. Surely, it was just Aria being Aria, drunk and teasing.

"What?" The word came out soft, barely audible, trembling on your lips like it wasn't really yours.

It couldn't be true. Tara and Brian? Brian kissed you. His lips had been on yours, his hand on your waist. Just minutes ago, it had felt perfect—like something out of a dream.

You tried to rationalize it, to push the idea out of your head.

Sure, people had teased about Tara and Brian before, said they'd look cute together. But that was years ago, back when it was nothing more than an innocent observation. Not now. Not when Brian kissed you.

Aria, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, kept going, her smirk growing even wider. She leaned closer, her voice teasing but louder, like this was all just harmless fun.

"What, you wanna go join them?" she joked, laughing lightly as she nodded toward the stairs. Her finger lazily pointed in their direction. "Because if that's the case, they went up there."

Her grin was huge, too wide, and you forced a laugh—tight and nervous—just to play along. But it didn't sound right, even to your own ears. Your lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and you felt your head buzzing, like there was a ringing in your ears, a static you couldn't shake.

Not from the music. Not from the alcohol.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

Your mind scrambled for reasons, for excuses. Tara would never do something like that—not to you.

You knew her, didn't you? She was loyal, maybe reckless when alcohol hit her senses, but not cruel.

And Brian? Sure, you didn't know him as well, not as deeply as you thought you knew Tara, but you'd grown up in the same spaces. You'd been close enough to see him on the field while you stayed on the sidelines, cheering from afar.

Your stomach twisted again, bile rising in your throat as you forced yourself to ask the question, the only question that might give you an out.

"Are you sure it was them?" Your voice was quiet, barely audible over the music, but the words came out steady despite the pounding in your chest.

You clung to the hope that Aria had been wrong, that she had seen someone else, that this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

Aria tilted her head at you, her expression slightly confused, as if she couldn't understand why you were asking. "Oh yeah," she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather. "They were making out in the kitchen too. It was pretty gnarly."

Her words hit like a second blow, stealing the breath from your lungs.

She didn't even seem fazed, just took a lazy sip from her red cup, her lips curling into that same amused smile.

The ringing in your ears grew louder, drowning out the music, the chatter of the party, the sound of your own breathing. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body frozen between fight and flight, between storming upstairs and pretending this wasn't happening.

Because it wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

You scanned the room desperately, your gaze darting between the couples tangled up on couches, slipping away toward the stairs. People you didn't know. People who didn't matter. It could be anyone upstairs, couldn't it? There were so many people here, so many faces that blurred together in the haze of alcohol and sweat and flashing lights.

But the image of them—Tara and Brian, together, doing what Aria said—burned behind your eyes like a brand.

The bass of the music pounded in your chest, an unrelenting rhythm that only made the nausea clawing at your throat worse.

You couldn't stay in there. The walls felt like they were shrinking, the air thick and stifling as if every breath you took was doing nothing. Your chest was tight, your stomach turning violently, and the music was a cruel, unrelenting pulse in your skull. You felt like you might throw up, or cry, or both.

But you couldn't. Not here. Not in front of Aria, not in front of anyone.

You turned sharply, barely aware of the steps your feet took as you wove your way through the crowd. It was a blur of faces and noise, laughter and voices blending into a shapeless roar.

Your legs felt shaky, your knees unsteady, but you kept moving, forcing yourself toward the front door like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

The cool night air hit you the second you stepped outside, but it didn't bring the relief you were hoping for. Your breaths were shallow and fast, coming out in sharp gasps that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You stumbled down the steps, the wooden ground feeling unsteady beneath your feet, your hand brushing the railing just to keep yourself upright.

It was quiet outside, but not enough.

The ringing in your ears wouldn't stop, and it wasn't the music anymore—it was the words Aria had said, looping in your head like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you moved further down the walkway, away from the house and the noise and the suffocating heat.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, blurring the porch lights and casting halos around the shadows. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, but it was no use. They slipped free anyway, streaking down your face in hot, silent trails.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, your fingers pressing hard against your trembling lips as if that would stop the tears, stop the shaking in your chest. You couldn't breathe—your lungs refused to fill no matter how hard you tried, and the ache in your throat only grew sharper with every failed attempt.

You leaned against the wooden railing at the base of the stairs, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ached. The nausea rose again, sharp and overwhelming, and you hunched forward slightly, gasping for air like you'd just run a marathon. The tears came faster now, hot and relentless, and you gave up trying to fight them.

Your mind screamed that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true. Aria was drunk—she had to be wrong.

There were so many couples here, so many people sneaking away. She probably confused them with someone else. But even as you tried to convince yourself, you could feel the doubt creeping in, winding its way around your chest and squeezing tighter and tighter.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be Tara. It couldn't be Brian.

___

Tara laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, the hazy glow of the bedside lamp casting uneven shadows across the cracked plaster.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath catching in her throat like a sob she wouldn't let out. The room reeked of sweat and stale alcohol, and every inch of her skin felt wrong—sticky and stifled, like it didn't belong to her anymore.

The air felt heavy and suffocating, the dull thrum of the music outside the door a distant reminder that the party was still going on. But in this room—in this bed—everything had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She could still feel Brian beside her, his warmth radiating off the sheets they had shared, and it made her skin crawl. Every nerve felt raw, exposed, and the sweat slicking her skin wasn't from exertion or alcohol anymore—it was shame, seeping out of her pores and clinging to her like a second skin.

She sat up abruptly, the motion making her dizzy, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted for a second, and she dug her nails into the mattress to steady herself.

The sheet slipped down her shoulders, and she yanked it off like it had burned her.

She couldn't even look at Brian, couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't need to; his lazy grin was practically tangible in the air, smug and satisfied in a way that made her want to throw up.

Her mind raced, fragments of the last hour playing on a loop she couldn't stop.

The way he had touched her, kissed her—none of it had felt like it was supposed to. It had been mechanical, hollow, every moment an act she had performed because she had to. Because she was the one who had started it.

She pressed her palms against her forehead, digging her fingertips into her temples like she could claw the memories out. She hadn't wanted him.

Not really. But she had kissed him first, hadn't she? She had leaned in when she shouldn't have, her lips brushing his in a moment of weakness, confusion, or something she couldn't even name.

And he'd kissed her back. Of course, he had. Because he was an idiot.

From there, it had spiraled—hands that didn't belong on her skin, whispers she didn't want to hear, a weight pressing her down until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She had gone along with it, letting herself sink into the numbness because it was easier than facing the truth. She had laughed when he made a joke, arched her back when he touched her, gasped in all the right places like she wasn't dying inside.

Like she wasn't drowning in disgust.

But the truth was suffocating now, wrapping around her throat like a noose. She had let it happen. Worse—she had made it happen.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she stood and began searching for her clothes. Your shirt lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, but when she reached for it, her hand froze. She couldn't put it back on. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right.

Your shirt. Tossed carelessly over the back of a chair in the corner, the one you had given to her earlier. Because you thought this night would be fun, for both of you.

You had wanted her to come.

The sight and thought of it sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unbearable, but she grabbed it anyway.

She pulled it over her head, the familiar fabric brushing against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a lifeline. Like she could pretend this hadn't happened. That it wasn't real.

But the sweat was still there, sticky and vile against her skin, and no amount of fabric could hide it. It felt like it had seeped into her soul, tainting her in a way that no amount of scrubbing would ever erase.

Brian shifted on the bed behind her, and she stiffened.

"Tara," he said, his voice low and lazy, like he had just woken up from a nap. "What's the rush? Come back here.”

She didn't even look at him. Her jaw clenched as she yanked her skirt on, her fingers fumbling with the piece. The lump in her throat grew thicker with every second, threatening to choke her.

"Seriously, are you mad or something?" he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his tone.

Her response was the click of the door latch.

The hallway felt brighter than it should have, the overhead light buzzing faintly as her bare feet padded against the cool floor. She could feel the stares the moment she emerged, the way the noise in the hallway quieted just slightly as people turned to look.

Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat as she caught sight of a group of guys leaning against the wall. One of them smirked at her, elbowing his friend, and she wanted to scream. She could feel their assumptions, their judgments, and the heat of their eyes burned into her skin.

Someone let out a low whistle as she passed, and her fists clenched at her sides.

She kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she descended the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling under the weight of what she had done.

The air felt colder when she reached the ground floor, the faint draft from the open door biting at her skin. She scanned the room automatically, her eyes searching for you, even though she wasn't sure she could face you now.

But you weren't there.

The corner where you had stood earlier was empty, the space where she should have been—where she wanted to be—gaping and hollow. Her chest tightened, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music anymore.

She didn't know what she would say when she found you. If she would tell you the truth or if the words would choke her before they ever left her lips. But she knew she needed to see you. Right now.

Because this—this thing that had just happened—it wasn't who she was. It wasn't who she wanted to be. And it wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Her breath hitched as her gaze swept over the empty space where you should have been. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your absence pressing against her ribs.

She lingered at the base of the stairs, her hand gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white. The urge to turn around, to flee back up the stairs and disappear into the bathroom, was almost overwhelming.

Her hands moved to her hair, fingers threading through the strands as she tugged at the roots, trying to ground herself. Her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want to think.

The walls of the house felt like they were closing in, the noise of the party distorting and warping around her. She could still feel Brian's touch, still feel the sweat clinging to her skin, and it made her stomach churn violently.

She wanted to throw up. God, she needed to throw up. She wanted to purge every trace of him from her body, like vomiting would somehow erase what she'd done. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to lock herself in the bathroom upstairs and sob into her hands until the party was over. Until she could leave without facing you.

Because seeing you would mean telling you. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to tell you.

Her chest heaved as the thought of your face swam into her mind, unbidden and crystal clear. She could already see it—your wide, questioning eyes, the way your lips would part, trembling as the realization hit.

It would look just like it had when you were kids, back when Tara had lied to you about something stupid or broken a promise. The memory of it felt like a punch to her gut, and she nearly doubled over with the force of it.

She didn't want to see that look on your face again. She couldn't bear it.

But she had to.

Tara's legs felt rooted to the ground, her body teetering on the edge of a decision she didn't want to make. Her nails dug into her scalp, her breath quick and uneven as she fought the overwhelming urge to run.

Every instinct screamed at her to hide, to shove this moment into some dark corner of her mind and bury it where it couldn't hurt either of you.

But she couldn't.

She had to find you. She had to see you. Because no matter how much she didn't want to face what she'd done, no matter how disgusted she felt with herself, she knew that running wasn't an option.

Her feet finally moved, one step at a time, as if the very act of walking was a war against gravity. She let her hands fall from her hair, clenching them at her sides, and forced herself to keep moving. The knot in her stomach tightened with every step, but she pressed forward anyway.

Because she owed you the truth. Even if it destroyed her.

Tara scanned the dance floor, her eyes darting from one face to another, searching desperately for a glimpse of you. The flashing lights and shifting bodies blurred together, and no matter how hard she looked, no head turned out to be yours. The longer she searched, the harder it became to breathe. Panic clawed at her chest, her stomach twisting tighter with every passing second.

Then she saw Aria.

Tara didn't know Aria—not really—but she recognized her. She'd seen the two of you together before, laughing at something Tara hadn't been privy to. And now Aria was looking at her, eyebrows raised, her lips curled into an amused smirk that made Tara's skin crawl.

Before Tara could decide what to do, Aria lifted her hand, her painted nails catching the light, and pointed to the door.

Tara froze.

It wasn't the gesture itself that hit her; it was what it meant. Aria had caught her looking, and she knew. Whether it was some instinct, some unspoken understanding, or just Aria being perceptive, it didn't matter. She knew.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know why Aria was pointing, but she could only guess it had something to do with you.

Had you gone outside? Or had you left entirely?

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the door. If there was even a chance you were out there, she had to find you. She couldn't let you leave, not without telling you.

The knot in her stomach tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears as she pushed through the crowd. Tara didn't look back at Aria—she couldn't. Whatever silent judgment lingered in that smirk would haunt her later. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

So, she pushed through the crowd, the sweaty, swaying bodies pressing against her as the stench of spilled beer and cheap cologne filled her nose.

Her breaths came fast and shallow, the air in the house too thick, too stifling. She couldn't stop imagining what she'd see when she finally found you—if you were even still here. If you weren't, she wasn't sure she could handle it.

Her nerves twisted into something sharp and unbearable, clawing at her insides.

How could she look you in the eye? How could she possibly explain that she'd ruined everything?

Every step closer to the door made her chest tighten. She couldn't picture your face, not without picturing the moment it would change—when you'd realize what she'd done.

How your eyes would harden, your lips press together, and then your expression would crumple like it always did when you were trying not to cry. That was what would kill her. That look.

And then what? Would you ever speak to her again? Would you ever let her near you again? She'd ruined everything. All of it.

When she finally shoved her way to the front door and pushed it open, the cold air hit her like a slap. Her bare legs prickled, and the chill seeped into her skin, but it wasn't enough to wash away the sweat clinging to her body.

That disgusting, sticky sweat that felt like a mark of her guilt. She shuddered, her arms crossing over her chest as she stepped out onto the porch.

She looked around carefully, her heart pounding. The street was mostly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music from the house and the occasional passing car. For a moment, she thought you weren't there, and her stomach dropped.

But then she saw you.

You were sitting on the stairs, hunched over slightly, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to block out the cold. The soft light from the porch cast a faint glow over you, illuminating the curve of your shoulder, the tilt of your head.

Tara froze.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. She just stood there, staring at you, her hands trembling at her sides. The weight of what she'd done pressed down harder than ever, making her legs feel like they might give out beneath her.

You were right there. Right in front of her. And she had no idea what to say.

For a second, Tara wanted to turn around again. Her feet twitched like they might carry her back inside, up to that bathroom where she could lock the door and collapse on the tile floor. She didn't have to tell you. She couldn't tell you. She couldn't even look at you.

Her chest heaved, her breath catching as she stared at the back of your head. You sat there so still, so quiet, and she felt like an intruder just being here, like her very presence was an assault on whatever moment of peace you were trying to hold onto.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell you.

Her stomach twisted, the nausea bubbling up again, and she swore the sweat clinging to her skin got colder, thicker. The words she needed to say tangled in her throat, choking her. She didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to speak.

But then, before she could stop herself, before her brain could stop her body, her mouth opened.

And your name slipped out.

"Y/N?"

It was small, barely audible over the faint hum of the night. Raspy, broken, like it had been clawed out of her throat. It wasn't even a word, really—just a sound, raw and desperate, heavy with everything she couldn't say.

You flinched, your shoulders jerking upward like a startled reflex, the same way you always did when something scared you.

It was such a specific little quirk, one Tara had known since you were kids—how your hands would shoot up, brushing at your face as if shielding yourself from something unseen.

It almost made her smile. Almost.

But she didn't deserve to smile around you anymore. Not after what she'd done. The thought hit her like a slap, and whatever faint curve had started forming on her lips immediately dropped.

You didn't need to look back to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in you like muscle memory. It was the same voice that had yelled your name when the ice cream truck jingled down the street, excitement cracking through every syllable.

The same voice that had pleaded between gasps of laughter, "Y/N, stop! Please, I'm begging!" when you'd tickled her so hard she'd collapsed onto the carpet, tears of joy streaming down her face.

But you did look back.

And when you did, Tara's breath caught in her throat.

Your face was streaked with faint trails of tears—not many, just a few—but they were enough to break her all over again. Enough to twist that growing knot in her stomach so tight it felt like it would crush her from the inside out.

Your mascara was still perfect, though. Of course, it was. Everything about you always seemed perfect. You looked beautiful, even now, even when the evidence of your sadness glimmered faintly under the dim porch light.

But then there was the look on her face, the faint crease of her brows, the way her lips parted like she couldn't quite piece it all together. Why were you crying? Did you already know?

Or was it something else?

Had someone else hurt you tonight? Had someone been rude to you, said something that cut too deep?

Her chest tightened at the thought, an instinctive protectiveness surging up despite the shame gnawing at her. If someone had hurt you, if someone had dared to make you cry, she'd—

But then it hit her: it didn't matter. Whatever had happened, whoever had said or done whatever—it wouldn't erase what she'd done.

She didn't know what to say.

Her mind was blank, drowning under waves of guilt and shame that threatened to pull her under, her breath catching painfully in her throat. What was she supposed to say? How could she possibly say it? Every sentence she tried to form shattered before it could even reach her lips, the jagged pieces cutting deeper into her as the silence stretched on.

And yet, even as her chest heaved, even as her hands trembled, and every instinct screamed at her to speak—to do something—Tara stood frozen. She stood there, her entire world crumbling beneath her feet, unable to find the words that might save her from this moment.

But she didn't have to think.

Because you spoke first.

"Is it true?"

Your voice wasn't loud or sharp. It wasn't angry or demanding.

It was soft. Raspy. Raw, like it hurt just to speak.

And it was worse than anything Tara had prepared herself for.

The sound of your voice sliced through her like a blade, sharper than anything she had ever felt. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening churn that made her want to double over. The cold night air wasn't enough to stop the heat rushing to her face, or the prickling sensation behind her eyes that threatened to spill over.

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the world around her seemed to stop.

Tara froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage as though it were trying to escape.

You knew.

The realization hit her like a freight train, leaving her reeling, unable to breathe, unable to think. You knew, and she hadn't even been the one to tell you.

Her chest constricted painfully, her shame deepening into something far more unbearable. Who had told you? Who?

The question burned in her mind, the thought of someone else's voice breaking this news to you making her stomach churn with nausea and fury. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch whoever it was. To yell at them for stealing this moment from her, for forcing this confrontation before she'd had a chance to figure out what to do—how to fix it.

But then another, far more horrifying thought crept in.

Were you talking about Brian?

Were you talking about what she'd done with him?

Or was it something else entirely?

The flicker of hope—the desperate, irrational wish that this wasn't about what she had done—was crushed almost immediately under the unbearable weight of her guilt.

It had to be about Brian.

It had to be.

Her throat tightened, her mouth dry as the silence stretched on between you. She needed to say something, to explain, to beg you to forgive her. But she couldn't move, couldn't force the words out of her throat.

Her knees felt weak, her chest heavy, like she might collapse at any moment. All she could do was stand there, trembling and small, as the world continued to crumble around her.

"No," she said finally, the word slipping out too fast, too sharp, too desperate.

The sound of her own voice made her wince, the harshness of it only amplifying the crack in her composure. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she tried to reel herself back in.

"I mean..." Her voice broke, cracked open like a wound as she scrambled for some semblance of control. "What are you talking about?

Her words sounded weak, hollow, dripping with guilt so heavy she felt like it might crush her. She hated how obvious it was. How every crack in her voice betrayed the truth she was trying so hard to deny.

Her hands were trembling now, clenched into tight fists at her sides as if holding onto herself would stop her from falling apart entirely. But it wasn't enough.

Silence passed between you, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Tara like a noose.

She thought she heard you sniffle, a soft, broken sound that barely reached her ears but still managed to pierce her heart. It sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing down on her, nearly knocking the air from her lungs.

Her chest ached with the overwhelming urge to do something—to move, to reach for you, to fix this. She wanted to sit down next to you, to wrap her arms around you and hug you so tight you could barely breathe.

Like she always used to.

Like she had done every time you cried about the thought of never having Brian. How she would shush you, brush her fingers through your hair, and promise that no one would ever make you feel that way again.

But this wasn't like those times.

This wasn't her comforting you over some distant, unreachable heartbreak.

Now, you were crying because of her.

Tara's breath hitched as the thought echoed in her mind, her legs trembling as she fought the overwhelming instinct to fall to her knees in front of you, to beg you to tell her how to make this right. But the guilt—the shame—kept her rooted in place, her fingers digging into her palms as she struggled to keep herself upright.

She wanted to say something. To ask if you were okay. If you were mad. If you hated her.

But then you spoke, and everything around her shattered.

"Did you fuck him?"

Your voice was quiet, soft in a way that somehow made the question even sharper. It wasn't an accusation or a scream—it wasn't even a demand.

It was a plea.

And that made it worse.

Tara swore the ground beneath her feet disappeared, a sickening freefall that left her stomach in knots. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, her throat tightening like a vice as the words refused to form.

She could barely breathe, barely think, as your question lingered in the air, heavy and unbearable. You didn't look at her as you said it, your head tilted slightly away, as though the very idea of meeting her gaze hurt too much.

And God, she wanted to fall apart right then and there. To drop to her knees and tell you everything. To grab your hands and promise you that she didn't mean for this to happen.

But all she could do was stand there, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as the question echoed in her ears.

Tara couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her hands felt clammy, trembling at her sides as tears blurred her vision, spilling over before she could even blink them away.

Her chest ached, heaving with shallow, panicked breaths that she couldn't seem to steady. And then, when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracked—fragile and uneven, the way it always did when she tried to talk through her tears.

"I'm sorry," she almost sobbed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

Her voice trembled, heavy with guilt and desperation, breaking apart on the syllables like she couldn't even hold herself together long enough to say the words properly.

She felt her knees buckle, her legs trembling under the weight of everything she'd been holding in. It was too much, far too much, and she swore she was going to collapse right there in front of you.

She couldn't even pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't have it in her to lie to you—not to you. Not ever.

Not since you were kids, when you could always tell if she was hiding something. She could never play Mafia with you during those endless summer afternoons because she couldn't keep a secret from you, not even a small one. You always saw right through her, always caught her when she tried.

And now, you'd caught her again.

Tara's throat felt raw, her tears spilling faster now as her whole body seemed to betray her, shaking like she couldn't stand under the weight of her own shame.

You didn't say anything.

Tara couldn't even make out your body language—not with the way her tears blurred her vision, turning you into a hazy shape against the dim light of the porch. It made her feel even smaller, even more pathetic, knowing she couldn't even look at you properly. The space between you both felt impossibly vast, though you were so close.

Her sobs came in uneven gasps, too loud, too sharp, filling the silence like a jagged edge tearing through her. It was almost unbearable, the way the quiet stretched on, the way you didn't speak or move. It felt like you were waiting, like you were letting her cries settle into the air before either of you could do anything else.

And eventually, they did.

Tara's sobs began to quiet, the frantic hitching in her chest slowing to an uneven rhythm. She was still crying, though. The tears kept falling, one after the other, hot and relentless, dripping down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her.

Her breaths were shaky, catching now and then like she might start up again, but the storm was beginning to fade.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quieter this time, but no less desperate. She was clinging to the words like they were her last hope, like repeating them enough might somehow make them mean more, make them matter.

But the silence between you both pressed back at her, heavy and suffocating, and she didn't know what else to do.

Then you spoke.

Tara's breath caught at the sound of your voice, soft and filled with emotion, yet still unmistakably yours—the voice everyone loved. It was steady, even now, even when it shouldn't have been.

She could see it, imagine it, the way everyone at school hung on your every word during presentations. The way people complimented you, envied you for the way you spoke so clearly, so beautifully.

But now, it wasn't a presentation.

"It's fine," you said, so softly it almost sounded like a sigh.

Tara froze, her whole body stiffening at the words.

A brief silence followed, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing louder in her ears. And then you continued.

"You could've told me you liked him, Tara... because I didn't know that you did."

You still weren't looking at her, but Tara could hear the strain in your voice. The slight quiver that betrayed you were on the verge of crying. She could picture it—the tears welling in your eyes, the way you'd blink them back like you always did, refusing to let them fall until you were alone.

And it shattered her.

Anger and sorrow crashed over her in waves, pulling her under until she could barely think, barely breathe.

Why would you say it was fine? How could you say it was fine? It wasn't.

It couldn't be fine.

Tara wanted you to spit in her face, slap her so hard her cheek stung, shove her down the porch stairs— anything to show her how much she'd hurt you. Anything to prove she hadn't ruined this for nothing. Anything to show that what she'd done mattered.

But she wasn't surprised.

You were a forgiver. Always.

You forgave the girl who spread rumors about you in middle school, the bus driver who skipped your stop in the pouring rain, Sam when she didn't make enough food for dinner when you were over and you had to go hungry. Every time, you brushed it off with a smile and moved on.

And now, even this.

But Tara couldn't take it. She couldn't stand that you thought she liked Brian, even for a second.

Liked him? She despised him.

She hated him so much it burned, hate so deep it made her sick to her stomach. She hated the way he smirked, the way he touched her, the way she could still feel his hands on her skin if she thought about it too long. She hated his voice, his eyes, his existence.

How could you not see that? How could you not understand that you were the one she wanted? That it had always been you.

"I..." Her voice cracked as the words clawed their way up her throat. "I don't like him."

It was barely audible, so soft and stammering that she wasn't sure you even heard it.

But she couldn't say more.

She wanted to. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue—I like you.

But she couldn't say them.

Of course, she couldn't.

Tara didn't know if you'd heard her. She couldn't tell, and she wasn't sure if it even mattered. It wasn't like she could confess that she'd loved you since the day you two were each other's first kiss at ten years old.

Even then, it hadn't been serious—just a joke, a silly little "practice" kiss to prepare for middle school. But Tara had carried it with her ever since.

She watched as you stood up from your makeshift seat on the stairs, brushing off your dress—the dress you'd worn to impress Brian. It was pretty on you, almost too pretty, and Tara hated how much she loved the way you looked in it.

When you turned to face her, the dim light caught your face, and Tara's heart sank at the sight of your teary, bloodshot eyes.

She couldn't tell if they were red from crying or from the alcohol you'd been drinking, and that thought filled her with an ache she couldn't describe. She didn't know how much you'd had to drink after you left the bathroom and disappeared into the party, alone.

But it didn't matter.

You didn't acknowledge her quiet confession.

Instead, you said, "I really don't want to talk to you right now... so I think I'm going to leave."

Your voice was steady, even soft, but it held a distance that made Tara's chest tighten.

You turned away, muttering something about how "it's getting boring anyway," and that was when Tara realized what you were planning. You were going to leave. Alone.

You'd promised to leave together.

Tara had come to the party for you, to take care of you, and now you were walking away.

She saw it before it happened—the way your steps faltered on the stairs, your balance tipping as if you might fall.

Tara was moving before she could think, catching you, her hands gripping your arms tightly to steady you. She felt the panic rise in her throat, her breath hitching at the thought of you stumbling home, drunk and vulnerable, without anyone to protect you.

"I'll call Sam," she said quickly, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her voice wavered, soft and hesitant. "She'll come pick us up."

But you pulled your arms free from her grip, stepping back.

"I really don't want to be anywhere near you right now," you said, your voice quieter now, but just as sharp. "I'll walk. It's fine."

Tara scrambled for another option, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. "I—I don't have to go with you! I'll call Chad, or Mindy—they'll take you home. Please."

You were already heading down the outdoor stairs, your steps uneven but determined.

"I said it's fine, Tara," you said, your voice cutting through her rambling. You didn't stop, didn't turn to look back.

"I'll walk."

Tara instinctively began to follow you. Her feet moved on their own, driven by the thought of you wobbling down the dark streets, vulnerable in the cold night air. But she stopped herself after a few steps, freezing in place as her guilt pulled her back.

She'd done enough already.

Sleeping with Brian—your crush since you were five—was bad enough. Chasing after you now, invading the space you clearly wanted, would only make things worse. She had no right to follow you, no right to protect you after what she'd done.

So she stayed rooted where she was, watching you disappear into the night. Your steps were uneven, your shoulders hunched against the cold, and Tara could see you trembling. She didn't know if it was from the icy air or the tears she could still hear in your voice, but the thought of either made her stomach twist.

She wanted to help you. She wanted to run after you, throw a jacket around your shoulders, and walk you home, just to make sure you were safe. But she didn't. She couldn't.

It was a long walk to your house from here. Tara knew the streets you'd have to take, how dark and empty they'd be at this hour. The thought of something happening to you made her chest ache, but the weight of her guilt held her back. She couldn't follow you—not when you'd made it so clear you didn't want her there.

Instead, she turned back toward the party, the sounds of music and laughter filtering through the air, mocking her.

She stepped inside, the warmth of the crowded room doing nothing to ease the cold settling deep in her bones. Without you, the party felt hollow. Pointless. She couldn't even remember why she'd agreed to come in the first place—oh, right. You.

Tara lingered near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone she knew. But no one else mattered. Aria, not Brian, not anyone else who might've offered a distraction.

You weren't here.

And without you, she couldn't stay.

___

friday (11:24pm)

im so sorry y/n

can you text me once you're home so I know you're safe?

11:56pm

did you get home safe?

pls answer

saturday (9:15am)

can you please just text me back?

im sorry. im so sorry.

2:42am

how are you? are you okay?

can i come over so we can talk? please?

2:56am

i don't know what to do... just please answer me. i just want to make things right.

sunday (10:31am)

are you coming to school tomorrow?

1:25 PM

if you want, me and sam can give you a ride. we'll pick you up, i promise.

5:58 PM

please don't shut me out like this.

Tara's eyes were glued to her phone as she pushed through the school doors, her thumb scrolling through the unanswered messages she'd sent over the weekend.

One after another, each one a desperate attempt to reach you, to say something—anything—that might make things better. But the blank screen staring back at her was the only response she'd gotten.

At first, when the silence stretched into the early hours of Saturday, Tara was terrified. She couldn't shake the thought that something might have happened to you.

Her imagination ran wild—someone approaching you while you were walking home, dragging you into the shadows. Her chest tightened every time she pictured it, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blanket, she couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't until she remembered Life360 and checked your location that she finally exhaled. You were home. Safe. She stared at the little pin marking your house for what felt like hours, the relief flooding her body so quickly it made her dizzy. But the relief didn't last long.

The rest of the weekend was a haze of disgust and self-loathing. Tara couldn't eat. Every time she tried, her stomach twisted, and she had to stop before she threw up.

She spent most of the time curled up in her room, alternating between clutching her phone and pacing like a trapped animal. The guilt was unbearable. Every second she replayed the night in her head, wishing she could take it back, wishing she could erase the hurt she'd caused you.

Now, walking through the school hallways, the weight in her chest felt heavier than ever. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to face the stares, the whispers she knew were waiting for her. It felt like everyone could see through her, like they all knew what she'd done.

But to her surprise, the whispers weren't as loud as she'd expected—if they were there at all.

A few people glanced her way, and while some looks were judgmental, others seemed... impressed. Tara's stomach churned at the thought. She didn't want their admiration, their approval for something so vile.

She made her way to her locker, her steps dragging with every step closer. Your locker was right next to hers, and she'd been bracing herself to see you there, to finally face you in the harsh fluorescent light of the school hallway. But when she arrived, the space next to hers was empty.

Tara stood frozen at her locker for a moment before typing a quick message, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts. She wasn't expecting an answer—she hadn't received one all weekend—but the hope still lingered as she sent it anyway:

are u not coming?

are u really going to put me through history with mrs. johnson alone?

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, almost willing the writing bubble to appear. It didn't.

Sighing, Tara grabbed her books slowly, dragging out the process as if that would somehow make time pass faster—or maybe just delay the moment she'd have to admit you weren't coming.

When nothing changed, her frustration bubbled up. What else could she do? She'd apologized, begged, and explained everything she could think of.

And yet, you still weren't here, still weren't answering. With a sharp slam, she shut her locker harder than she meant to, the sound echoing down the hallway and turning a few heads. Tara didn't care.

Clutching her books against her chest, she walked toward her first class, her eyes darting to her phone every few steps. Maybe this time, the bubble would be there.

Maybe this time, you'd reply. But the screen stayed empty, and the knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second.

As she rounded the corner, her head down and shoulders tense, someone grabbed her forearm.

The sudden force pulled her off balance, dragging her closer to them in one quick, fluid motion.

Her heart skipped, and for a split second, she thought it was you. The possibility almost made her legs give out. But as her eyes darted up, the hope drained out of her when she saw who it really was.

Brian.

Her stomach twisted violently at the sight of him, and her body tensed as she tried to pull her arm free.

Brian let her arm go as quickly as he had grabbed it, holding his hands up slightly in mock surrender. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice softening. He must've seen the tension etched into her face—the way she couldn't even hide how much she didn't want to be there.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, I know we didn't exactly leave things on the best terms..." His words trailed off, and then he let out a nervous laugh. "You know, after you left me alone just minutes after we, uh... finished."

Tara's stomach churned, her jaw tightening. She avoided his gaze, but her silence only seemed to encourage him to keep going.

"I guess I'm just a little confused," Brian admitted, his tone dipping with hesitation. "I mean, you left like... like it burned you or something."

It did, Tara thought bitterly, the memory flashing in her mind like an open flame she couldn't put out.

"But..." he continued, stepping a little closer, "I really liked it."

Tara flinched at his words, the knot in her chest tightening with every syllable.

"And I think you're a great girl," Brian added, his voice soft and earnest, like he thought he was paying her some grand compliment.

She nearly scoffed. A great girl? The thought made her want to laugh or cry—or both. She wasn't a great girl. A great girl wouldn't have lost her best friend over a guy she didn't even want. A guy who was now standing in front of her, completely clueless to the destruction he'd unintentionally helped cause.

And then he said it.

"So... I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?" He paused, his eyes hopeful. "You know, just try again?"

Brian looked sincere as he waited for her response. Nice, even. Of course he was—he had to be. You wouldn't fall for a prick.

At first, Tara wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him that she never wanted to see him again, let alone entertain the idea of going out with him.

As if sleeping with him hadn't been enough to upend her entire world.

Why wasn't he asking you out? That question burned in her mind. He'd kissed you first, flirted with you first. He'd made you feel special. So why was he standing here, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered? Why wasn't he chasing you?

Her chest tightened as anger bubbled just beneath her skin, hot and unrelenting. But then, as she looked at him, something shifted. His face wasn't smug or calculating—it was sincere. He looked like he meant it, like he actually wanted this, and the fire in her chest began to dull. Her expression softened against her will.

Did he really want to be with her?

The thought felt impossible at first, but the longer she considered it, the more it began to make sense. Or at least, she convinced herself it did.

Because you weren't coming back to her. That much was clear. You hadn't answered a single text, and you weren't waiting at her locker like you always did. You didn't even want to look at her, let alone talk. And why would you? She'd ruined everything.

The ache of losing you hit her again, sharp and suffocating. You were her best friend—her only true friend. And now? She had no one. Sure, there were Mindy, Chad, and Anika, but they didn't share the same schedule. She didn't see them enough to cling to them like she clung to you.

So what else was she supposed to do? The least she could do was try to fill that void with something. With someone.

And Brian... well, he was here. He wanted her—or at least, he seemed to. Maybe this could go the right way. Maybe this could be enough.

Tara swallowed hard, trying to steady her thoughts.

It wasn't about replacing you—not really. Nothing could. But if you weren't coming back, if you weren't going to forgive her, what was she supposed to do? Sit alone, wallowing in her mistakes while you moved on without her?

The sincerity in his voice and the way he looked at her—like she wasn't the terrible person she knew she was—made it easier to rationalize. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. He wasn't a bad guy, after all. He was sweet in his own way, and clearly, he liked her. That had to count for something, right?

You wouldn't even care. The thought stung, but it came unbidden. You were probably glad to be done with her. Maybe she was the only one left mourning what you'd had.

So Tara forced herself to take a deep breath, her gaze softening completely as she met Brian's eyes.

"Sure, I'd love to."

[ellecdc]

HEY POOKIE!!!!

Could I request a fic with either poly moon water or poly marauders where reader has had mental health issues but they were getting better and then they slip back into them. This happens to me in moments and I have to remind myself that it’s part of my progress but it would be so nice if I had someone else to say it too. No pressure lovely!!!!

I ADORE all of your marauders work!! Like OML I never know how much I needed poly moonwater until youuuu❤️❤️❤️😘

hi babes! totally get where you're coming from re: mental health issues. It's a marathon, not a race. and I'm so glad you love moonwater! my evil plan of converting the entire fandom (lol) is succeeding. I opted to go with the marauders but it's quite sirius centric

poly!marauders x fem!reader who is struggling with her mental health

CW: non-sexual nudity [nothing is described], discussion of dark mental headspace and anxiety/depression [again, nothing is described]

You felt awful.

You knew the boys would be understanding, but it didn’t make you feel any better about your behaviour.

You’d found yourself slipping back into familiar and darker headspaces as of late, and though you couldn’t deny the disconcerting comfort that familiarity brought, you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to fully fall back into it; you worked so hard to move beyond this, and you had been doing so well.

It hurt worse now that you felt like you weren’t just disappointing yourself anymore, but also disappointing three other people who - for whatever reason - cared an awful lot about you.  

You’d been inching closer and closer to a panic all day and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed when you got home and pretend the world didn’t exist for a few hours days weeks. 

Those kinds of plans don’t work when you live with three other people, two of which have the tendency to coddle you.

You knew that irritability was one of the symptoms of your anxiety, but knowing that didn’t stop the sting of your words as they left your lips. 

James was too nice, too bright, too happy, too lovely. You felt like the polar opposite of your sweetest boyfriend, which made you feel even more disappointing than you already had. And Remus was a fixer; he had a tendency to see a problem and immediately start problem solving, but that’s not what you needed right now.

Of course, you didn’t say that.

Of course, you got angry and lashed out at them before storming off to your room and slamming the door.

What started off as feeling blue quickly spiralled into a low affect. Feeling low left you increasingly anxious. Your anxiety left you feeling disappointing and less than, which caused you to feel depressed. The more depressed you got, the more anxious you became. The more anxious you became, the more depressed you felt.

It was a vicious cycle and you were stuck in its seemingly never ending assault on you.

And now, you weren’t just depressed and anxious; you were also feeling terribly guilty and overwhelmed at the thought of having upset Remus and James. 

Remus, who only wanted to help, who only wanted you to feel better, who only wanted to care for you. 

And James, who only wanted to perhaps share a little bit of his joy with you on the off chance it could brighten your day.

You were awful.

Horrid.

You didn’t deserve them, and they didn’t deserve you - they deserved better. You deserved nothing.

You’re not sure how long you had been standing under the spray of the water with your head against the cool tile when you heard a gentle knock against the glass of the shower door.

You felt the irritability surge in your blood again at the intrusion of your pity party, but tried your hardest to take a steadying breath before you hummed a quiet “yeah?”

“Can I come in?” You heard Sirius’ voice ask from the other side, apparently having gotten home sometime during your meltdown.

He could, though you weren’t sure he should.

You were terrible after all.

Horrid. 

The glass door popped open and Sirius shoved his face in. You didn’t bother turning your face towards him but you could feel the questions permeating his being nonetheless.

“I’m coming in.” He announced, deciding on your behalf. 

You heard the sound of his clothes falling to the bathroom floor, and you knew if Remus were in here he’d be scolding him: “there’s a hamper right there, Sirius.” 

But Remus wasn’t here because you were awful and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the sodding hamper nor Sirius’ clothes littering the floor.

Some of your steam escaped as Sirius opened the shower door fully and you were accosted with cool air that left your body covered in goosebumps. He corrected it quickly by standing under the spray with you and pushing his front up against your back, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“Fuck, you take hot showers.” He commented.

Usually you’d laugh.

“Sorry.” You said instead.

He rubbed at your hips where his hands had fallen with his thumbs, eliciting another layer of goosebumps on your skin. 

“You’re not feeling too good, are you baby?” He asked quietly.

You let out an exhausted breath. “I don’t feel good; I’m no good.” You responded just as quietly.

Sirius ducked his chin down to kiss your shoulder before quickly replacing it.

“That’s not true.”

You didn’t respond, glad that the water streaming over your face hid the evidence of the tears escaping your eyes.

Wordlessly, Sirius pulled away and grabbed your shampoo, working it into your hair. You did nothing to help him in his task, keeping your head pressed against the shower wall as he lathered the soap on your scalp. He pulled the handheld down to rinse it out, paying special attention to point the spray away from your face since you didn’t seem too fussed over protecting your own eyes. He combed some conditioner through your hair and rinsed it out in much the same manner before grabbing a loofa and lathering body wash over your form.

“Sometimes it’s two steps forward and one step back.” He commented, finally breaking the silence that had long been only the sound of the water falling and each of your breaths. “But that still means you’re one step forward.”

A sob escaped you, causing Sirius to pause in his ministrations and pull you back into his chest again.

He didn’t say anything else; he knew better. Of course he would, Sirius sometimes understood this side of you better than the others did. Sirius had a tendency to fall into darker times too, also having a penchant for lashing out at those closest to him when things felt like too much.

He let you cry, standing under the likely too-hot-for-his-tastes water, as he rocked you back and forth with your head leaned back, resting on his shoulder as you faced toward the ceiling. 

“Do they hate me?” You whimpered eventually, trying to convince your lungs to take in slower, deeper breaths.

“Of course they don’t; you know they don’t.”

“Are they mad at me?”

You could feel Sirius shake his head, but he answered you verbally anyway.

“No, doll. They worry, is all.”

You didn’t like that. You didn’t want them to worry. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are.” He agreed readily. “They do too.”

You let that sit in the foggy air for a little bit.

“Do you know that?” He asked eventually.

“Know what?”

“That you’re okay? That you’re just fine?”

You thought about that for a moment. You were sad, and you were anxious, but were you fine?

You admitted to yourself you felt the familiar tendrils of your darker self pulling at you, but you could also admit it was different this time. You were better, you had been working hard, and most importantly, that hard work was paying off.

You may have been two steps forward and one step back, but you were still one step forward from where you started.

“You’re sure they’re not mad at me?” You asked instead, earning you a chuckle as Sirius turned you in his arms to hold your face between his hands. 

“No one is mad at you, love. I swear it. You are, however, very loved.”

You offered him the best smile you could muster and let him pull you forward for a chaste kiss. 

“Then… yes, I know I’m fine.” You agreed eventually, earning you a beaming smile from your boyfriend.

“Atta girl.” 

Your felt your cheeks heat up at the praise and pushed your forehead into his chest.

“Can we get out of this torture chamber, now? I swear this water is being heated by hellfire.” He joked, leaning around you to turn off the shower without your consent.

“It’s really not that bad.” You argued, earning you a scoff.

“I’m red, doll. The water has marred my skin, perhaps permanently.”

You continued arguing about proper shower etiquette as you rubbed lotion into your skin (and then into Sirius’ for his troubles [he really was sort of red]), and changed into your comfies.

You headed towards the living room before you remembered you were sort of ashamed with yourself for the way you had spoken to the other two boys, but Sirius didn’t allow you to hesitate in the hall as he caught your elbow when your steps faltered and ushered you into the room.

“Boys, we’re really going to have to do something about her shower habits.” He commented as if a) nothing had happened, and b) you weren’t even there. “I’m surprised she hasn’t completely melted her skin off." 

“Perhaps hot showers are how she gets so beautiful, Sirius, ever think about that?” James jested back, earning him an indignant scoff.

“Are you saying I’m not pretty, Jamie?”

“As pretty as Y/N?” Remus interjected, looking between the two of you as if assessing. “No, not at all.” 

“Well I-” Sirius began, but you interrupted.

“I’m sorry.”

Everyone’s shoulders fell as they turned to look at you, clearly willing to brush over the tension if that had been what you wanted.

“I was rude and irritable when I got home, and neither of you deserved that. I’m sorry.”

“Angel…” James started, opening his arms for you which you readily accepted and tucked yourself into his chest.

“I was never mad to begin with, but I’ll go ahead and forgive you right now if that’ll make you feel better, okay?” He murmured into your wet hair.

“Okay. Thank you.” You murmured back.

“You’re too sweet for us, dove.” Remus commented, moving to place a consoling hand on your back.

“I was the opposite of that earlier.” You chuckled at your own expense. 

“Please.” Sirius scoffed derisively. “These two are too nice, especially when you feel like shit; I’ve given them a far harder time than you have, dollface.” 

“It’s true.” James said quickly. “He once told me he’d rather have a cup of tea with his mother than snuggle with me when he was in one of his moods once.”

You gasped and looked at Sirius in horror. “You did not.”

Sirius, not at all guilty, shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure did, and I meant it too.”

“Oh come off it.” Remus chided, pulling Sirius into his side who broke out in a grin, effectively eliminating his earnest facade. 

“No, of course I didn’t mean it.” He relented, leaning further into Remus’ side. 

“I don’t like myself very much when I’m like this.” You admitted quietly.

“We’ll love you enough for all of us in the meantime then, yeah?” James asked, pulling you into his arms tighter.

“Just be patient with yourself dove, you’re much too hard on yourself. We’re here now and we’ll be here when you feel better too.” Remus added.

“Can’t get rid of us that easily, dollface.” Sirius concluded, shooting you a wink.

Two steps forward and one step back.

But you were still one step forward.

You knew you would make two more steps forward again soon.

[thealbatrovss]

ghosts in the leaves // worst wolverine x reader

summary: you’ve been stuck in the void for years, and logan doesn’t even seem to care.

one shot: ANGST, then fluff of course. I love a sadass story with a happy ending. swearing lol. suggestive material. This is my favorite one I’ve written so far. Enjoy!!

word count: 1k+

masterlist

He was too busy drinking to notice your silent pleading.

You and Logan sat against the rocky wall of your hideout base. The rest of the group of forgotten heroes were planning the final showdown with Cassandra in the next room over.

They left the two of you alone, noticing the tension growing more and more intense. Logan tried to protest, but they shut him out. He wouldn’t stop grumbling to himself about it. That, you noted, hadn’t changed about him.

Wade would occasionally poke his head out from behind the wall, hoping the reunited couple would get back together already. He loved jumping into other peoples business, you noticed. He seemed like a troublemaker.

Johnny would’ve really loved this guy.

You still didn’t understand why Logan was refusing to talk to you. He looked like hell, but so did you. Did he even care?

You just wanted to wipe the blood from his suit and the dirt from his face. Tell him about the hell you’ve been through down here. Ask him about the hell he’s been through back home.

But Logan would rather gargle piss than talk to you at all. That, you were beginning to realize.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. He only looked at you when he first arrived. That familiar glow returned to him at that moment. You thought you saw the love of your life return to you right then and there, eyes and mouth wide open. But by the time you ran over to him, throwing your arms around his body, tears streaming down your face, he was pushing you off him and opening a bottle of bourbon.

You could see him fighting the urge to open another one. He balanced it on his hand, and spun the bottle on the floor like it was a game. Guess he won by the fake smile on his face as he placed the lukewarm drink to his lips.

“Are you going to talk to me? Or are you just going to keep drinking?”

He picked up another glass after downing the last one, licking his lips. “I don’t talk to ghosts.”

Your stomach dropped, like a stone in a pond. Your lips fell, a weight dragging them down. “Logan-”

His fists balled up, face turning red. “Don’t fucking say my name.” All the venom leaking from his mouth seemed to form a weapon meant for himself, but he kept aiming it straight at you. “Just don't.”

You held your head high. “Why not?”

“Because,” he took a long drink before continuing. “Your voice is drilling into my skull, that’s why. I don’t talk to ghosts and they don’t talk to me.” Logan shifted his body, facing away from you.

You closed your mouth, letting the words die inside. Instead, you watched the leaves fall from beside the open door.

The trees here never changed. They were stuck in a perpetual autumn. It was haunting to look at. You forgot there were other seasons sometimes. You missed the snow in winter. Icicles hanging from the roof of Xavier’s mansion. You missed the spring flowers and that early summer rain. All you had was autumn, and Logan had the rest. He didn’t seem to like any of it at all anymore.

The Logan you once knew and loved, if he saw you alive and well, he’d come running to you, holding you tight, whispering words of comfort.

This Logan though…He was tired. And angry. So angry. Grief radiated off every inch of him. It almost became a superpower on its own. You weren’t a stranger to that power. He kept you at a distance too, back when you first met.

You had the outline of his back memorized like the back of your hand. This was your Logan. He was just jaded now. Years of believing that you were dead and that he had failed not only his friends and family, but you, the most important person in the world to him, had changed him.

Down here, your one goal was to reach him. Well, you had accomplished that. But not in the way you had wished.

“If there’s any ghosts here, it’s you.” You said it without looking at him either. Just watched the leaves fall.

Logan shut his eyes tight, the veins in his neck growing stronger. His jaw loosened, the bourbon missing his mouth and spilling all over. “Fuck!” He cursed himself.

“Did someone wet the bed again?” Wade's red head popped its way into the room. “Jesus, you two look like you fucked with the lights off. Does this place even have lights? And have you made up yet? I’m sick and tired of this meeting and I wanna join in.”

He sure knew how to make an entrance. It was almost amazing how annoying he was. Again, Johnny and him would’ve gotten along. But Cassandra got to him first.

“Turn around and walk back in there before I pop that tomato of a fucking head of yours.” Logan spat, taking another swig.

Wade gasped, putting his gloved hand to his mouth. “I’d let you pop just about anything, Wolverine.” Before he could say anything more intrusive, Blade's hand grabbed his head, pulling him back behind the wall. Wade still kept ranting all the way back into the other room.

“I’m glad you have a friend.” You tried, shifting uncomfortably in your super suit. “I wouldn’t of made it if it wasn’t for my friends down here.”

And the thought of you. You wanted to finish with that.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Seems like he’s your friend.”

He shook his head, leaning against a rocky pillar. He wanted to keep the distance between you and him as far as possible. You were going to keep running towards him anyways.

“As soon as I arrived it was too late.” You started. “They were all dead.” You paused, letting the grief settle in. Logan sat there as still as a ghost. “I was going to find you before you found them. I'm so sorry you had to see them like that.” You let the tears flow this time. “But then the TVA- they got me. Said I killed one of their own a few days prior. Which is bullshit. But they didn’t care, and they sent me here. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since. I'm sorry, Logan.”

It happened as quickly as he drank those bottles. He got up, wobbled a bit as he stood, and walked out the door, crushing autumn leaves under his feet.

The silence he left behind was worse than his venom.

Wade popped his head back in, the other four following as well. “We did it! Operation, Stealing Cassandra’s Wii hidden underneath their bed, is underway!”

“What’s under Cassandra’s bed?” Elektra questioned.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff.” He started counting on his fingers. “Video games, velveeta cheese, a bunch of those for some reason. Cowboy hats, pixie sticks, a signed dvd of The Green Lantern. Truly an evil monster, my god.”

Gambit leaned over to Laura. “Do you think one of my missing cards could be hidden under there?”

Laura ignored him, walking over to you, noticing your wet, red eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Where’s Logan?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that question too, Laura.”

Logan’s daughter nodded, squeezing your shoulder before going to look for the shadow of her father.

It was growing dark now. Night was here and all you wanted was to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up in Logan’s arms again and he’d pepper light kisses across your face, taking all those years without him away. Like they never even happened. Like you never lost anything or anyone.

It was still night out when you woke up. Wade's snores were keeping everyone else up, so they moved him outside. You walked by him as he was passed out in a pile of leaves, making your way towards the burning campfire.

Logan sat slumped over the smoke, chin cradled to his chest. You could’ve sworn you saw tears disappearing into the fire. But you didn’t want his dagger like words again, so you turned back around.

And then you heard your name.

It was whispered so softly, like a strong wind. You waited a few more beats, hoping to hear it again. And you did. His voice was strained. Calloused over like he had said your name so many times before that it hurt so bad every time you never said his name back.

But you did this time.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I was just thinking-” His voice was wavering, like he was on a tightrope, wondering when he’d fall off. “I was thinking about your birthday. I’ve missed so many of them.”

Your eyes glazed over, a well of spring water washing away the autumn you still adored. Before you could run to him, he was already there. Strong arms found their way around you. Those lips kissed every inch of your face. It was like returning home again.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He was barely keeping it together. “I thought you were dead. And then I saw you and all I saw was another failure. I’ve failed you. You’ve been trapped here. And I didn't come to save you. All I did was punish you.”

“It’s okay.” You held him tight, but he held you tighter. “You didn’t know. You had to go on thinking everyone you loved was dead. Logan, you didn’t deserve that.”

He held your head, finally meeting your eyes with his own. “I love you.” He rarely said it. But he didn’t have to. You always knew. “And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll be sorry forever.”

“Then I will be too.”

A mix of sorrow and happiness clung to his face. He laughed, as if he was laughing for the first time. “You’re here. You’re not a ghost. I’m not a ghost.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

archives l Javier Peña

Summary:  you shouldn't have met him there

Warnings:  +18, smut, angst, swearing, sex without protection (don’t do that!),

A/N: I don't have much to say. I'll just leave this here. please be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

"Shit!"

You cursed quietly as the cardboard box you were trying to take off slipped out of your hands and fell to the archive floor, spilling its contents. Folders with carelessly written names, scattered pages of typescript, photos - all of this now lay under your feet.

You had been sitting in this dark and musty room for almost an hour, trying to find the documents you needed. But the number of shelves and bookcases made this place a real labyrinth. Your eyes slid over the names and places that the files lying on the floor referred to - still not that one.

Another dark alley didn’t look inviting, but you had no other choice. You strained your eyes when suddenly you heard a strange movement, and then a voice that sent shivers down your spine.

"A lonely woman in a place like this." someone tsk-tsked approaching you "I guess they don't teach you anything in this office, do they?"

You sighed with relief when you saw the familiar face of a man leaning against the shelf next to you.

"Javier. You shouldn't be sneaking around like that." you hissed. "What are you doing here anyway? It's late."

"I had some paperwork." he replied, his dark eyes shamelessly gliding over your figure. "I saw you left your stuff. I thought I'd look for you."

"Mhm. For what purpose?"

You saw the tip of his tongue as he licked his lips with it. "I haven't seen you in a while." he noted.

"I'm here all the time." you mumbled and averted your gaze to the shelves in front of you. Although you could see the letters that formed the descriptions of individual boxes, you didn't understand anything from them. The room suddenly seemed even more stuffy to you.

"I haven't seen you at my place." he clarified.

Something tightened your insides. You knew perfectly well what Javier meant. You knew it all too well…

For the past few months, you and Javier Peña had a certain relationship. It all started after one of the more brutal arrests. You were both stressed and overstimulated, and then something snapped and without knowing how you ended up in Javier's apartment fucking him on the couch.

No. You knew exactly how you ended up there. You weren't drunk, and neither was he. But then you had a few drinks and felt terrible guilt. Javier absolved you, and showed up at your place a few days later. And you fucked again, this time in your bed.

It was just sex. 

To get rid of the pressure and stress. And Peña had a lot of it in him. Sometimes it was rough and strong, sometimes he used the time to play with you, like a predator before devouring its prey. But you didn't complain.

Only when you noticed that you were waiting for the familiar knock on the door, that you were searching for him with your eyes in the office, that you were sensitive to the sound of his voice - that made you think.

That's when you backed off. "This is the last time." You told him as you put on your panties. "I met someone. He's a nice guy. He works at the embassy." Javier snorted. He didn't believe that you could leave him. Not when his cum was still dripping down your thigh. But you left his apartment, the door closed, and that was it.

He saw you with that guy. Once in one of the bars. And he knew that you saw him too. That evening, for the first time in a long time, he took a hooker home. But she wasn't you.

You became his obsession. You were within arm's reach, and yet he couldn't touch you. And then he realized that it hadn't been just about sex for a long time.

He could see that you were confused. Your fingers were nervously tapping some rhythm on one of the shelves, your eyes were avoiding his.

"We talked about it." You finally answered.

"Yeah, I know. You have someone." Javier snorted "A nice guy from the embassy. Did you tell him about us?"

"There was no 'us'."

"So you didn't." A smirk spread under his mustache, and you felt like punching him in the face. "You're a naughty girl."

"Oh, stop it!" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. "Don't act like a kid who lost a toy. You have plenty of them!"

Peña tilted his head, watching you carefully, processing your words. There was something hypnotizing about him. You saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed, his chest heaving with his steady breath. His eyes, dark as night, were still watching you, and you were slowly afraid to move.

Finally, you were the first to speak. "Listen, I don't know what you've got in mind, but I'm not going to get into this. I'm in a healthy relationship with a cool guy, you're not going to interrogate me now."

"A happy relationship?"

"W-What?" you stuttered, surprised.

"I'm asking if it's a happy relationship." Javier raised his eyebrows slightly, repeating his question, "You know, satisfying. Exciting. Arousing."

He said each word in a way that hit all your senses at once.

"A healthy one." You repeated, and he smiled again.

He took a few lazy steps toward you, his fingers sliding over the boxes on the shelves.

"So you're not getting wet just thinking about him?" his voice lowered and you felt warmth creeping up your neck "Don't you feel that pleasant shiver when he's close? Does he know what he has to do to make you come in just a few minutes? How long did it take us, hermosa? Four, or five?"

"You're an asshole, Peña!" you hissed.

"I am." he shrugged "But you felt good with me, didn't you? You were in my bed like that lazy kitten stretching in the sheets. Your thighs covered in hickeys. You had chaff instead of brains from how many times I let you come."

Every word he said struck those chords inside you that made your legs go numb. Peña was a devil in human skin and he decided to possess you. He was so close that you could smell the remnants of his cologne and cigarettes. This must have been what hell looked like. You were damned.

"I'm happy, Javier." you said quietly "He treats me well."

Warm fingers brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, running over your warm cheeks to your chin.

"That's good." he mumbled. "If he treated you badly I would have to kill him, cariño. But was I bad to you? Tell me."

Finally you looked into his eyes, almost defiantly. Javier wanted to kiss you right then, but he held back.

"So you tell me how you treated me, Javier." you said. "Who was I to you? A pussy on two legs that you had whenever you wanted?"

"That's funny." he laughed quietly. "You don't say anything about the evenings when you came to visit me." you swallowed loudly. "You were so horny then. So unsatisfied. You let me do such things to you..."

"Shut up!"

A sly smile appeared on his face again. You were already in a losing position. But suddenly Javier softened.

"Do you love him?"

"Please."

"Do you?"

"It's not that simple."

"Oh, it is. You see, baby, if someone asked me if I loved you..." your heart stopped beating for a moment, you listened to his words with horror "...I'd tell him to fuck off." You couldn't help but snort, and Javier smiled but didn't stop talking "But if I asked myself, do you know what I'd answer? I'd say you're a thorn in my side. You've dug yourself under my skin. You've made yourself at home in my heart. I'm pissed off when I see you with him. And when I think of him fucking you..."

His hands tightened on your hips. You were so stunned by his words that you didn't protest when he pulled you closer.

"Tell me that if I slip my hand into your panties, I won't feel how wet you are. This pussy knows she’s only mine. And I want you, all of you."

"Javier, please..." your lips brushed against his.

"What are you asking for, cariño? I'll do anything for you. Just tell me."

Tears pressed into your eyes. His words filled your head, reaching for everything you didn't want to feel. Fear followed right behind the desire, how much Javier had imprinted himself on your heart.

"Don't destroy me, Javier." You whispered as the first tear rolled down your cheek. "I couldn't be just your girl for one night anymore. It was killing me... The thought of never owning you."

"I've been just yours for a long time, hermosa. And I'll never stop being."

His lips crashed against yours so hard that you could barely catch your breath.

Your fingers slid into his hair as you pressed yourself even closer to him. God! You missed him so much. It was torture to work with Peña in the same place, when looking at him you remembered how his head was between your legs giving you orgasm after orgasm.

And now his tongue was deep in your mouth again, his hand tightened on your breast, but your moan was drowned out.

You felt the shelf behind you, and Javier's body pressed you against it hard, spreading your legs with his thigh. The hard bulge in his pants rubbed against you, making you feel hot in your core.

His lips slid down your neck, nibbling and kissing the sensitive skin. Your blouse and  bra were pulled up to free your breasts. Hot lips sucked on your nipple. You rolled your hips to feel the friction, something to give you relief, because you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Javier overwhelmed your senses, and your body begged for him intensely.

"Just as I thought." he mumbled as your breast slipped from his lips and his hand dug into your panties. "You're wet. So juicy, hermosa. Just for me."

"Please, Javier, I want to feel you." you stuttered with difficulty.

You could see in his eyes that he was already on the edge. He was barely holding himself back from destroying you right now, in a second. But as your hands began to unbuckle his belt, he began to pull up your skirt.

"I want to feel that tight pussy again." he panted as he grabbed your thigh tightly and rested it on his hip, opening you up for him. "You were rude to take her away from me, you know? I was starving to taste her again." he pushed your panties aside and his fingers ran over your folds "Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to ruin this beautiful pussy, hermosa."

"I want you, Javi." you whispered "I'm only yours."

"That's right. Only mine."

With one quick thrust, his hard cock slid inside you. You moaned loudly at the sudden stretch. Javir pushed himself all the way to the base, filling you up like only he could. You were pinned to the shelf behind you by his body, but you didn't mind.

Peña began to move hard. His hand gripped your thigh, and the other helped you stabilize. With each subsequent thrust, you felt like he was going deeper. His lips found yours, but they were just kisses stealing your precious breath.

"Fuck, you take me so well. You're made for me, baby." he panted as he pressed his face against your cheek "I want you all to myself again, to fuck you the way you like. To hear you scream my name until - shit - I fill you to the brim. You like that, don't you? You love the way my cum leaks out of you."

"I... I didn't let him." you replied, tightening your fingers in his hair "He never... I never let him cum inside me. Only you, Javi... Only you."

"Fuck! I knew it!" he kissed you hard, his movements quickening.

You couldn't pretend anymore. You were on the edge, and Javier wanted to push you off with great pleasure. His cock moved inside you, hitting the spot you needed.

"Cum for me, cariño! I want to feel you. I want to feel that pussy squeeze me. Shit! I’ve got you, baby!"

An animalistic moan escaped your throat, your nails digging into his shoulder. But Javier didn't feel any pain. He only felt you, saw only you. He saw your body trembling with the pleasure he gave you. Now his thrusts were stronger, but he didn't need much to come.

"Fuck, you're only mine. Only mine." he panted, hiding his face near your neck as his seed poured inside you.

You felt a twitch as he spurted the last drops, and then he stopped. This small space was filled only by your breath. You felt the sweat running down your back, Javier's hot body. And then he pulled out, leaving you strangely empty.

You adjusted your clothes as he buttoned his pants, and after a moment you felt warm hands cupping your face, his lips finding yours again. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, gently. Like a lover, not the man who had just fucked you in your office archives. Although maybe it was the same thing.

He rested his forehead against yours leaving you in a sweet distraction "I don't want you to slip away from me again." he whispered "Never again."

"I won't do that." you replied "I'll always be a thorn in your side."

"The sexiest I know."

He kissed you again and you knew what you had to do. You were scared but you knew that together you would do it. And after this all you had was each other.

And that was good.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[mightybeewrites]

Child of the Bat.

Yandere! Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Chapter: 2

first, prev, next

Synopsis: you and your mystery horror author mother moved to Gotham for a fresh new start. At first you hated the idea of moving. You wanted to stay in Georgia with all of your friends and all of the familiar faces but soon you had to say goodbye. A few months into your new Gothamite life—disaster struck and your mother died. It was revealed that you’re also Bruce Wayne’s bio child. And so you moved in with him and his sea of children. Will you survive this new change in your life? Or will you succumb to the pressures of Gotham and its corruption?

Tw: grief, possible disturbing flashbacks

———

It has approximately been 90 days since you moved into Wayne Manor to live with Bruce Wayne and his gaggle of children.

I’m sorry

I mean your … father and new siblings.

Technically they weren’t your blood siblings—only one was, but I digress.

You believe that it would’ve been hectic, moving into a new place to live with the man that’s your father. You assumed the children would crowd you—ask a multitude of questions, as well as be bombarded and not have much space. But, you was proven wrong.

You was completely wrong.

It felt as if you was a ghost—sometimes.

——-

When you first moved into the manor, you was first greeted by the butler Alfred Pennyworth. You was holding onto your suitcase, book bag and your skateboard when you came across him. You had to look up a bit to meet his gaze.

He had peach skin with a few strains of silvery hair on his head—and warm and wide brown eyes staring into your own. His expression was sorrowful. The first thing he said was,

“My condolences, Mistress Y/N. It must be so difficult for you to go through this. My name is Alfred Pennyworth.” His voice was like a gentle hand holding onto yours to give reassurance.

He was staring at you as your blue eyes bore into his—it was like he was looking at a young Bruce again.

“… thank you, Mr. Alfred..” your voice pierced through the silent hum of the Wayne Manor. Your voice was silent and choppy, “I… thank you for letting me stay.. I’ll try not to be of much trouble..”

Alfred stepped forward, his brow furrowed, “You will not be a burden. Do not think of yourself as such… please.” He put a hand on your flannel covered shoulder this time.

“.. thank you.” You said once more then brought your gaze around the area. Old fashioned gothic architecture with red rugs and their intricate golden designs. The dark wooden floors with the grand staircase and of course the silver lamps and chandeliers.

“.. it’s.. gorgeous. Where’s..? Um. Dad?” The term dad felt weird on your lips—for you never used that term before. Growing up, your mother had boyfriends but they never stuck around to be something more than that.

Alfred straightened a bit, “I deeply apologize but your father is.. busy.”

You nodded in an understandable sense. You get it. He’s a CEO to one of the most powerful companies in the United States—of course he’s a busy man. He won’t always be here.

“It’s fine.” You said.

“Come,” Alfred grabbed some of your bags and started to go upstairs, “allow me to show you to your room.”

You said thank you once more as you followed him upstairs.

As you walked upstairs, your blue eyes gazed upon the numerous pictures of the Waynes on the wall—some frames were big while others were small. On some they were laughing, others, they were goofy or posing chaotically. It made you feel slightly at ease. Maybe this’ll be great—maybe these rich kids will be kind to you.

Your mother’s terrified face came into view. Her arms were wrapped around you as you both sat on the filthy grounds of an abandoned warehouse. Horrible laughter echoed throughout your mind-

“No.” You muttered to yourself as your eyes shut.

There was silence then shuffle of movement.

A soft hand caressed your shoulder, “Mistress Y/N?”

You opened your wet eyes to gaze at the ground.

“I’m.. I’m fine.. I just.. I miss her.. I miss her so much, I don’t want this to be real..” you muttered.

Alfred said nothing as he set your bags down and hugged you tightly—as if he did this all before—knew how to comfort someone who lost their loved ones to this forsaken city.

You didn’t hug back, you simply closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder.

——-

The bedroom was… huge.

Dare you say, it was almost bigger than the apartment you grew up in.

Your new bedroom had a king size bed, with a mahogany twin dresser. One in front of your bed and the other being against the wall to the right of you. A TV rested on top of the one at the front of your bed—with two night stands resting on both ends of the bed as well. You looked to the window to see that the curtains were a deep red—thick and vintage. Then you finally looked two doors and opened it slightly—peaking in to see a rather big bathroom. The other you opened led to more closet space.

“This… is incredible.” You muttered to yourself, “T-.. thank you.” You stuttered out to Alfred, waking out of the bathroom to see him putting your bags down.

“You’re welcome, Mistress Y/N. Though.. I deeply apologize your room being a bit further from the others—the family has been growing quite a lot and-“

You held your hand up slightly and said, “heh it’s fine. I um. Like the space. It’s really lovely.”

He gave you a small sorrowful smile, “very well. Do please let me know if you need anything.”

“If I don’t get lost first-.. haha. That was a joke.”

Alfred nodded, “don’t worry, I picked up on it. Also, do forgive the family, everybody is out and about. Master Bruce is out of town, on business. He won’t be back until another couple days. You will meet everyone very soon. Damian is coming home soon since he’s still in school. Tim, Duke and Cassandra commute to university. And Jason pops in from time to time—rather often actually.”

‘Wow, this is a lot of people—I’m sure things will go smoothly.’ You thought to yourself. At this point, you just want to take these things one step at a time… just one step at a time.

Just one step at a time.

Just one step at a time in this new, grand isolated world

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto Wolff with sick!wife reader. She has lost her voice and has to communicate using gestures which Toto and Jack find it amusing. Despite their best, they still tease her. You do however you want. Thanks!! :))

It was no surprise that constant travel took its toll on your health. When you landed in Austin and felt the familiar scratch at the back of your throat, you brushed it off as a consequence of changing seasons. But when you woke up the next morning and found yourself unable to speak, the situation quickly shifted from mild discomfort to concern. Toto, ever the attentive husband, immediately sprang into action, calling everyone he could think of for medical advice. His brow furrowed with worry as he paced around your hotel room, phone in hand, while Jack, your son, sat on the edge of the bed with a grin that spoke of mischief.

“Mom, this is hilarious,” Jack said, eyes sparkling. “You should totally communicate with signs and gestures until your voice comes back.” You playfully ruffled his hair, finding it hard not to smile at his enthusiasm, despite your current predicament.

Soon, the three of you made your way to the paddock under the Texas sun, the warm rays dancing on the concrete as the familiar symphony of engines and chatter surrounded you. Jack trotted along beside you, his grin as wide as ever, while Toto held your hand protectively, glancing at you every few moments as if checking that you were still okay. “Are you feeling alright?” he mouthed, his eyebrows knitted with concern. You responded with a thumbs-up and an exaggerated nod, reassuring him that you were fine despite the loss of your voice.

Jack nudged your arm with that same cheeky smile. “Remember, Mom—big gestures so everyone can understand!” he announced, dramatically waving his arms like he was directing traffic. Toto chuckled, a hint of relief softening his features as he joined in the lightheartedness. You rolled your eyes playfully, tapping Jack’s nose with your index finger as if to say, Behave.

As you entered the paddock, familiar faces greeted you with waves and cheerful calls of “Good morning!” You waved back, responding with silent, animated gestures and a bright smile. Toto, sensing your need for an easier way to communicate, handed you a small notepad. “Looks like we’ll need this today,” he teased, smirking as Jack snatched it out of his hands with excitement.

“Oh, I’ll be in charge of writing what Mom says!” Jack declared, marker already poised. He looked up at you with a grin that promised mischief and you couldn’t help but laugh soundlessly, your shoulders shaking with mirth.

Throughout the day, Jack became your voice, scribbling out messages in his childlike scrawl, sometimes adding his own creative touches. “Mom says to stop calling the doctor, Dad,” one note read, written with a smirk and shown triumphantly to Toto. Toto raised an eyebrow and chuckled, shaking his head. “Outnumbered, I see,” he said, casting you a warm look that made your heart swell.

Jack, finding endless amusement in your silent communication, began mimicking your gestures with exaggerated flair, even getting Toto to get in on the act.

Despite their teasing, the love in their gestures kept you animated. Each shared laugh, every little mock argument over Jack’s interpretations, and Toto’s constant, caring glances reminded you that even when unexpected challenges arose, you had your boys beside you, making everything a little more bearable and infinitely more cherished.

As the day progressed and the Texas sun began to dip, casting a warm golden glow over the paddock, you felt a familiar tickle at the back of your throat. You paused for a moment, touching your neck with hope flickering in your chest. Jack noticed your hesitation and tilted his head. “What’s wrong, Mom? Do you need to write something?” He held up the notepad, ready for your next silent instruction.

Instead, you took a deep breath and whispered, “Jack.” The word was faint, raspy, but it was there.

Jack’s eyes widened as if you had just performed a magic trick. “Dad!” he shouted, leaping up and pulling Toto by the sleeve. “Mom talked! She said my name!”

Toto turned around so quickly that he nearly knocked over a chair. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of disbelief and joy. “Did you really?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

You nodded, and with a small, careful smile, you whispered, “I did.”

Relief washed over Toto’s face, the tension he had been carrying all day melting away. He took your hands in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Thank goodness,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I was about to call for a specialist to fly in.”

Jack laughed, the sound high and full of energy. “See, I told you it would come back if we kept making her laugh!” He glanced at you, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Guess the signs and gestures worked, huh, Mom?”

You chuckled, the sound still scratchy but growing stronger. “I guess they did,” you replied, squeezing Jack’s hand. The three of you stood there, surrounded by the hum of the paddock and the warm glow of the setting sun. It was a simple moment, yet it held a deep sense of gratitude and love.

Toto wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered.

“I’ll try not to,” you said, your voice now a soft echo of its usual tone. Jack leaned in, sandwiching himself between you and Toto with a playful grin. “But can we keep the notepad? That was fun,” he teased, holding it up with pride.

The three of you laughed, the sound filling the space and blending with the noise of the paddock. And in that moment, you realized that no matter what challenges came your way, the bond you shared as a family would always be enough to carry you through.

[hisfavegirl]

part 2 of the queen grief? it’s soooo good😭

My happiness - King! Aegon II Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader.

summary: you try to get up and come back for your two children after the tragedy, you also find out some good news that makes you even happier.

The days after your son’s funeral blurred together in a haze of grief. You withdrew from the world, confining yourself to the quiet solitude of your chambers. You avoided the bustling halls of the Red Keep, the courtiers, and even the council meetings. The thought of facing anyone, of moving on as if nothing had happened, felt impossible.

Your husband, Aegon, and your mother, Alicent, grew increasingly concerned. Aegon would visit your chambers often, trying to coax you to eat or speak with him, but you rarely responded. Alicent, ever the pillar of composure, would sit with you in silence, her worry evident in the way she lingered longer than usual.

Most days, you spent hours on the balcony of your room, gazing up at the endless sky. The soft breeze would tousle your hair as you looked at the clouds and the stars, imagining your sweet Jaehaerys among them.

Sometimes, you would speak softly, your voice carrying into the air as if you were speaking to him.

“Do you see me, my love?” you would whisper, your eyes glistening with tears. “Do you hear me when I call for you? Are you happy there? I hope it’s warm, and you’re not alone.”

Your words hung in the air, unanswered, but you continued nonetheless. It was the only comfort you could find—the idea that somehow, your son could hear you, that he was still close in some way.

The loneliness in your chambers was deafening, but in those quiet conversations with the sky, you felt the faintest echo of peace, however fleeting it might have been.

You kept your gaze fixed on the horizon, your eyes unseeing as you stared into the distance. The soft knock on your chamber door barely registered, and even when Aegon’s familiar voice called your name, you didn’t turn.

“Please,” he said gently, his voice tinged with worry and sorrow. “Let me in.”

But you remained silent, your hands gripping the edge of the balcony railing as if it were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

Aegon opened the door, his footsteps hesitant as he approached. “You’ve been here for days,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent. “Jaehaera and Maelor… they miss you. They need you.”

At the mention of their names, your grip tightened, your knuckles turning white. A sob tried to claw its way out of your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t face them—not yet.

You closed your eyes, and the memory hit you like a wave, dragging you back to that horrible moment. The screams, the chaos, the sight of Jaehaerys’ lifeless body. And then, Jaehaera’s cries—the way she clung to you, trembling, begging you to make it stop. You could still feel her small hands clutching at your dress, her sobs echoing in your mind.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears slid down your cheeks. “I can’t see them. Not after… not after what happened. I hear her crying, Aegon. I can still hear her crying.”

Aegon knelt beside you, his hand resting gently on your arm. “You’re not the only one hurting,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “They lost him too. Jaehaera… she doesn’t understand why you’re not there. She thinks she’s lost you as well.”

His words pierced through your numbness, and for a moment, you faltered. But the weight of your grief was too much. You shook your head, pulling away from his touch.

“I’m not ready,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

Aegon’s shoulders sagged, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, he stayed by your side, silent, watching the sky with you as if hoping that his presence alone could anchor you to the world you were trying so hard to leave behind.

Aegon stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid any sudden action might shatter you further. He crouched by your chair, his violet eyes searching your face for any sign of life beyond the grief.

“Come here,” he murmured gently, extending his hand toward you. “Please, just sit with me.”

For a moment, you didn’t move, your gaze still fixed on the horizon. But his voice, soft and steady, pulled you back to the present. Slowly, as if weighed down by the enormity of your sorrow, you reached for his hand and let him guide you to his lap.

You sank into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in a way nothing else could. His arms encircled you, holding you securely, as though he could shield you from the pain that threatened to consume you.

Aegon pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he spoke. “You need to eat,” he whispered, his tone both gentle and firm.

You shook your head, your voice hoarse from disuse. “I can’t, Aegon. I just… I can’t.”

His arms tightened around you, his determination unwavering. “You have to,” he insisted softly. “For Jaehaera. For Maelor. For me. We can’t lose you too.”

The raw emotion in his voice made your chest ache. You wanted to refuse again, to retreat further into your grief, but the desperation in his plea broke through the walls you had built around yourself.

After a long silence, you finally murmured, “Alright.”

Aegon exhaled, his relief palpable. “Thank you,” he said, kissing your temple. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth through the numbness, a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps, with Aegon by your side, you could begin to heal.

Aegon called for one of your handmaidens, instructing her to bring a tray of food to your chambers. He remained by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as if afraid you might retreat into yourself again. When the food arrived, he dismissed the servant with a quiet nod and set the tray on the small table beside you.

Without a word, he carefully scooped a spoonful of warm soup and brought it to your lips. “Eat,” he said softly, his tone a mix of patience and quiet determination.

You hesitated, your grief still clawing at your insides, but the steady look in his eyes left little room for argument. Reluctantly, you parted your lips, letting him feed you. He continued, one spoonful at a time, murmuring soothing words between each bite.

“You’re doing well,” he said gently, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Just a little more.”

When you finished, he set the tray aside and kissed your temple. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride and affection.

Moments later, a soft knock sounded at the door, and before Aegon could respond, it opened to reveal your mother, Alicent. She stepped in, her dark green gown brushing the floor as she carried Jaehaera and you look Maelor by the hand of one her handmaiden.

The sound of their voices reached you immediately—Jaehaera’s sweet, high-pitched chatter and Maelor’s quiet but firm tone.

Your chest tightened as they entered the room. You froze for a moment, unsure if you could face them, but when Jaehaera’s eyes found yours, her expression lit up. “Mama!” she cried, wriggling free from Alicent’s arms and running toward you.

Maelor followed more slowly, his small face serious, but his eyes were full of hope as he approached. “Mama,” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly.

Their presence broke something inside you—not in the way that left you hollow, but in a way that reminded you of what you still had. Tears filled your eyes as Jaehaera climbed into your lap, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. Maelor stood at your side, his hand reaching for yours.

“Mama, please don’t be sad anymore,” Jaehaera whispered, her voice trembling. “We need you.”

Aegon placed a hand on your shoulder, his steady presence grounding you as you pulled your children close. For the first time in days, you felt the faint stirrings of purpose returning. You kissed Jaehaera’s hair and held Maelor’s hand tightly, realizing that no matter how broken you felt, you couldn’t give up.

Your children still needed you, and you would find a way to be there for them—even if it meant taking it one painful step at a time.

You pulled Jaehaera and Maelor into your arms, holding them tightly as if they might slip away like a fragile dream. Their small bodies pressed against you, their warmth breaking through the icy wall of your grief. Tears began to fall, soft at first, then in heavy streams as the overwhelming weight of your sorrow poured out.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Jaehaera buried her face in your shoulder, her tiny hands gripping your dress, while Maelor leaned against you, his small arms clutching your waist. They didn’t say anything, but their presence, their love, was enough to make the ache in your heart a little more bearable.

Aegon knelt beside you, his arms encircling all three of you. His touch was steady, strong, and reassuring, a silent promise that you were not alone in this. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “We’ll get through this. Together.”

You looked up through your tears, meeting Aegon’s gaze. His eyes were filled with the same pain as yours, but also determination—a fierce love that refused to let this tragedy break your family completely.

From the corner of the room, Alicent stood quietly, her own tears falling as she watched the scene before her. Her hand rested over her chest, and for a moment, the grief of losing her grandson seemed to mingle with the pride of seeing her daughter and son united in their pain.

“You’re strong,” Alicent said softly, her voice trembling as she stepped closer. “All of you. And together, you’ll endure this.”

As the four of you held each other, the room was filled with a bittersweet silence—a fragile moment of unity amidst the storm of sorrow. For the first time, you felt the faintest glimmer of hope that, despite the pain, your family would find a way to heal.

That evening, as the soft glow of candlelight filled your chamber, you, Aegon, Jaehaera, and Maelor remained together. The children nestled against you, their small, warm bodies a reminder of what you still had amidst your grief. Jaehaera clung to your arm, her tiny hand gripping yours as if afraid to let go, while Maelor sat quietly at your other side, leaning into you.

Aegon sat close, his arm draped protectively around all of you, his presence steady and grounding. His fingers gently stroked your back, a silent reassurance that he was there, that you were not alone in this.

As the evening deepened, you looked at your children, their eyelids growing heavy with sleep. Fear gripped your chest, the thought of letting them out of your sight unbearable. The memory of losing Jaehaerys haunted you, and the terror of something similar happening again overwhelmed you.

“I want them to stay here tonight,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. You looked at Aegon, your eyes pleading. “I can’t… I can’t let them go. I can’t lose them too.”

Aegon nodded without hesitation, his hand reaching for yours. “Of course,” he said softly. “They’ll stay with us. We’ll keep them safe.”

Jaehaera’s sleepy voice broke through the quiet. “Mama, don’t cry anymore,” she murmured, snuggling closer to you. “We’re here.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were mixed with a faint sense of comfort. You kissed her forehead and pulled Maelor closer, feeling his small arms wrap around your waist.

That night, the four of you lay together in your bed, the children tucked safely between you and Aegon. You stayed awake for a long time, your arms around your children, listening to their soft breaths as they slept. Aegon’s hand found yours under the blankets, his grip firm and steady.

“We won’t let anything happen to them,” he whispered in the dark, his voice full of quiet determination.

You nodded, your heart heavy but resolute. As sleep finally claimed you, the fear remained, but so did the love—the love that would drive you to protect what you still had, no matter the cost.

The morning light streamed through the windows of your chamber as you sat at your vanity, finally preparing yourself to step out after days of solitude. Jaehaera perched on your lap, her soft giggles filling the room as you gently combed and styled her hair. The sound was a balm to your weary heart, a small reminder of the joy that still lingered in your life.

The handmaid beside you worked quietly, weaving intricate braids into your own hair, but your focus remained on your daughter. She twisted her head to look at you, her tiny hands reaching to touch the comb in your hand.

“Are we going somewhere today, Mama?” Jaehaera asked, her voice full of curiosity.

You smiled, brushing her hair gently. “We are, my love. It’s time we all spend some time outside these walls.”

Your gaze shifted to Maelor, who was seated on the plush carpet nearby. He was engrossed in his wooden toys, his little fingers carefully arranging them into a line. Every so often, he would glance up at you and his sister, a small smile lighting up his face when he caught your eye.

“Maelor,” you called softly, and he looked up, his big, curious eyes meeting yours. “Are you ready to go out today, darling?”

He nodded eagerly, standing up and clutching one of his toys in his hand. “Will Papa come too?”

You felt a soft warmth spread in your chest at his question. “Yes, Papa will be with us,” you reassured him.

As you finished the last braid in Jaehaera’s hair, you leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “There,” you said, smoothing the strands. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

Jaehaera giggled, turning to wrap her arms around your neck. “Thank you, Mama.”

For the first time in days, a genuine smile graced your face as you held her close. It wasn’t a complete healing of the pain, but it was a start—a small step toward reclaiming the strength you needed to protect and cherish your family.

The halls of the Red Keep felt stifling as you walked through them, the murmurs and whispers of the courtiers trailing in your wake. You could feel their eyes on you, their pity, their curiosity, their judgments, but you refused to acknowledge them. Your heart and mind were set on one thing—spending time with your children.

When you finally stepped into the garden, the air felt lighter, the soft scent of blooming flowers offering a brief reprieve from the weight of the castle. Jaehaera let out a joyful laugh and dashed ahead, her small feet carrying her toward the vibrant blooms. She twirled and danced in the sunlight, her laughter ringing like a melody that eased your aching heart.

A soft smile touched your lips as you watched her. She reminded you so much of Jaehaerys, her twin, with that same carefree spirit you so dearly missed.

You glanced down at Maelor, who stood quietly by your side, his little hand holding the edge of your dress. His bright eyes looked up at you with a seriousness that seemed far beyond his years.

“Maelor,” you said gently, kneeling to his level. “Why don’t you go and play with your sister? She’d love to have you join her.”

But Maelor shook his head, his small brow furrowing in determination. “No, Mama,” he said firmly. “I want to stay with you. I’ll protect you.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, a mix of sorrow and pride swelling in your chest. You reached out to cup his cheek, your fingers brushing his soft skin.

“You’re so brave, my sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

He shook his head again, his lips pressing into a pout. “I’ll stay. Just in case.”

You pulled him into a tender embrace, his small arms wrapping around your neck. As you held him, you glanced back at Jaehaera, who was chasing butterflies through the flowers. Despite the heaviness in your heart, the sight of your children here, alive and smiling, brought a flicker of solace.

For now, you let yourself live in this moment, surrounded by their love and innocence, determined to protect what remained of your family.

You settled beneath the shade of a large tree, the soft grass beneath you providing a small comfort. Maelor climbed onto your lap and rested his head against your thigh, his small body relaxing as your hand gently stroked his fine, golden hair. He sighed contentedly, clutching his wooden toy in one hand, as if even in this peaceful moment, he needed to be prepared to protect you.

Your gaze shifted to Jaehaera, who was a little further ahead, crouched among the flower beds. She hummed softly to herself, her small hands delicately picking flowers one by one. She held them up to the sunlight, inspecting their colors before adding them to the small bouquet she was gathering.

“She looks happy,” Maelor murmured, his voice soft and a little sleepy.

You nodded, your hand continuing to brush through his hair. “She does. And that’s all I want—for both of you to be happy.”

He tilted his head slightly to look up at you, his big, earnest eyes meeting yours. “Are you happy, Mama?”

The question struck you, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. You smiled faintly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I am happy when I’m with you and your sister,” you replied honestly, though the weight of your grief still lingered in your heart.

Maelor seemed satisfied with your answer and closed his eyes, his breathing growing slower as he relaxed further into your lap. You looked back at Jaehaera, who now had a small bundle of flowers clutched to her chest. She turned to you, her face lighting up with a bright smile.

“Mama!” she called, running toward you with her bouquet. “Look what I made!”

You smiled warmly, holding your arms open as she reached you. “They’re beautiful, sweetheart,” you said, pulling her close as she showed you the flowers. “Just like you.”

In that moment, beneath the tree with your children close, the world seemed a little less heavy. Despite the pain that lingered in your soul, these small moments of peace and love gave you the strength to keep going.

Not long after, your gaze drifted to the nearby corridor, where you caught sight of Aegon walking briskly with several members of his council trailing behind him. His expression was tense, his brows furrowed in frustration as he gestured sharply, dismissing them with a curt wave of his hand. The councilors exchanged uneasy glances before bowing slightly and dispersing, leaving him alone.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him approach. Despite the lingering tension in his demeanor, his face softened when his eyes met yours. By the time he reached you, a small, warm smile had replaced the scowl. Without hesitation, he lowered himself to sit beside you under the shade of the tree.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his voice gentle, though his eyes briefly flicked to Maelor resting on your lap and Jaehaera now leaning against you, clutching her bouquet of flowers.

You shook your head, a faint smile gracing your lips. “No. I’m just spending time with them.”

He nodded, leaning back against the tree trunk with a sigh. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching Jaehaera as she rearranged her flowers and Maelor as he clung to your side, half-asleep.

“You look more at peace here,” Aegon finally said, his tone quieter, as though he didn’t want to disturb the serene moment. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.

You turned to him, studying his face. Though he smiled, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of his duties as king and the shared grief you both carried.

“And you look as if you’ve been arguing all day,” you remarked softly, your voice laced with concern.

Aegon chuckled dryly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing worth troubling you over,” he replied. Then, as if to change the subject, he reached out to gently take your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I came here because I wanted to be with you. With all of you.”

Jaehaera looked up from her flowers, her face lighting up when she noticed her father. “Papa!” she exclaimed, clambering over to sit on his lap.

Aegon grinned, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her head. “What have you been up to, my little flower?”

She giggled, holding up her bouquet proudly. “I made these for Mama. Do you like them?”

“They’re perfect,” he said, his smile widening as he looked at her creation. Then, glancing at you, he added softly, “Just like this moment.”

For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, surrounded by the love of your family—a brief reprieve from the storm that still loomed over your hearts.

After asking the servants to take Maelor and Jaehaera back to their chambers for rest, the garden grew quiet. It was just you and Aegon now, the gentle rustle of leaves and distant birdsong filling the space between you.

You leaned against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his steady presence. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a reassuring grip.

For a while, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the peace of the moment. Then, breaking the silence, you said softly, “Maelor wanted to protect me today.”

Aegon tilted his head, glancing down at you. “Protect you?” he echoed, curiosity laced in his tone.

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “That’s why he brought his little wooden sword to the garden. He told me he wanted to stay by my side and protect me.”

Aegon let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “He’s a brave boy,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Though I’m not sure how much protection that wooden sword could offer.”

You smiled at his words, your gaze softening. “It’s not about the sword,” you murmured. “It’s about his heart. He’s so young, but he already feels like he has to protect his family.”

Aegon’s expression turned thoughtful, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand. “He’s too much like me,” he said quietly, a mix of pride and regret in his tone. “Wanting to take on the weight of things he shouldn’t have to.

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “He’s strong,” you said gently. “Like his father.”

Aegon’s lips curved into a faint smile, though his gaze remained distant. “I just want him to have a better life than I did. Than we did.”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder again. “We’ll make sure of it,” you whispered. “For him. For Jaehaera. And for Jaehaerys.”

The mention of your eldest son’s name hung in the air, bittersweet and heavy. Aegon tightened his hold on your hand, his silent way of telling you he shared your determination. Together, even in your grief, you would find the strength to protect what remained of your family.

You knew deep in your heart that Aegon had been trying his hardest to be the father your children deserved. He had made it his purpose to ensure they never experienced the same emptiness you both had endured—a father in name but absent in every other sense.

As you leaned against him, you thought of the moments he shared with Jaehaera and Maelor, his efforts to make them laugh, to protect them, to show them they were loved. Despite the burdens he carried as king, he always made time for them. It wasn’t always perfect, but it was sincere.

“I see how hard you try,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon glanced down at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You,” you said, meeting his gaze, “with Jaehaera and Maelor even with Jaehaerys. You’re always there for them. You’re doing everything you can to make sure they never feel what we felt growing up.”

Aegon’s expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “They deserve better than we had,” he said quietly. “A father who’s there for them. Who doesn’t treat them like pawns on a board or ignore them altogether.”

“And they have that,” you reassured him, your fingers tightening around his hand. “They have you. You’re a better father than you think.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his free hand brushing through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s enough,” he admitted. “If I can ever truly protect them—from the world, from this throne, from everything that could hurt them.”

“You’re already doing it,” you said, your voice steady. “They know they’re loved. That’s something we never had. That’s the difference.”

Aegon looked at you for a long moment, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. Then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled faintly, resting your head back against his shoulder. In the quiet of the garden, with the sun beginning to set, you both sat in shared understanding. Aegon wasn’t just a king, and you weren’t just his queen. Together, you were parents fighting to give your children the love and security you had once longed for.

You and Aegon walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, your hand resting lightly on his arm. Tonight was meant to be a rare moment of peace—a family dinner in your mother’s private solsr. She had insisted, saying it was time for all of you to come together, to remind yourselves that despite everything, you were still a family.

The thought of seeing your siblings again after so long filled you with mixed emotions. You had missed them deeply, especially your sister, but you wondered how much had changed during your time in isolation.

As you approached the doors, they swung open to reveal your family already seated. Alicent rose first, her dark green gown catching the glow of the candlelight. “You’re here,” she said warmly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We were beginning to think we’d need to send someone after you.”

Your sister Helaena looked up from her seat, her gentle eyes lighting up when she saw you. “Sister,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and relief.

Aemond, standing by the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back, gave you a single nod of acknowledgment. Though his expression was composed, there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” you said, your voice polite but tinged with emotion. “It’s been… a long day.”

Alicent stepped closer, her hand brushing your arm briefly. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she said. “We’re just glad you’re here.”

Aegon, ever one to diffuse tension in his own way, added with a faint smirk, “Besides, it gave them time to argue over the wine.”

A soft chuckle escaped Helaena, and even Aemond’s lips twitched as though fighting a smile.

The tension in your chest eased as you stepped further into the room, Aegon’s hand still resting protectively on your back. Tonight, for just a few hours, you could set aside the pain and chaos of the outside world and simply be a family again.

The dinner went smoothly, filled with light-hearted conversation and laughter that made the weight of the past few days feel a little lighter. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of family, the warmth of shared memories and the joy of simply being together.

You glanced around the table, watching your mother, and couldn’t help but ask, “Where is Grandfather? I haven’t seen him.”

Alicent paused, her eyes flicking to Aegon before her lips pressed into a thin line. There was a noticeable tension in the air as she looked away, clearly avoiding the question.

Aegon, noticing the shift in mood, sighed deeply. “Grandfather is no longer the king’s hand,” he said plainly, his voice steady but firm. “Sir Criston has replaced him, and Otto is on his way back to Oldtown.”

Your heart sank, but you couldn’t quite grasp the full weight of the words. Otto had always been a figure of power and influence in your life, for better or worse. The idea that he was no longer in such a position left you with a strange mix of emotions—relief, uncertainty, and a small sense of loss.

“You… you dismissed him?” you asked softly, not sure if you wanted the answer.

Aegon met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “It wasn’t my decision alone,” he replied, his voice low. “But yes, I had no choice. His actions, his way of handling things, it wasn’t what the crown needed.

You could tell there was more to it, but Aegon wasn’t one to offer explanations when he didn’t feel it was necessary. You didn’t press further, instead turning your attention back to your mother, whose silence spoke volumes.

Alicent finally broke her silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “He served his purpose, but times change.”

Aegon nodded, his fingers briefly brushing against yours under the table. You couldn’t deny that a part of you felt unsettled by the absence of Otto, even if his departure meant a shift in power that could be beneficial for the realm. Still, there was no denying the complex history that lingered between you, your mother, and your grandfather.

As you continued eating, you could feel your mother’s gaze on you. When you looked up, you met her eyes, and she offered you a small, bittersweet smile. It was a smile that carried both warmth and a certain sadness, one that made your heart tighten with guilt.

You knew, deep down, that she missed the daughter she once had—the one who had always been composed, graceful, and dutiful. The daughter who had once walked alongside her, strong and ready to uphold the family’s legacy. But things had changed. The weight of the past few days, the grief over losing your son, had fractured the image of who you were, and that hurt her.

The guilt pressed down on you, heavier than it had before. You felt as if you had somehow failed her by becoming someone she no longer recognized—someone lost in sorrow and torn between obligations. You had let her down, even though you had tried to keep everything together for the sake of your family.

For a moment, your mother’s eyes softened, and there was a quiet understanding between the two of you. But it didn’t change the fact that you felt the distance growing between you, even in this moment of togetherness.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, almost too softly for anyone else to hear, but Alicent’s gaze never left you.

She blinked, her smile deepening as she reached out to gently rest her hand on top of yours. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, her voice warm but laced with a deep, unspoken sorrow. “I know this pain, and I know you’ll find your way through it in your own time.”

Her words, though comforting, only made the guilt heavier. You knew that she understood the grief, but you couldn’t help but wonder if she wished for the daughter she once had back—the one who had been able to stand tall beside her, never showing the cracks that now seemed so visible to everyone.

As you resumed eating, you glanced at Aegon, who quietly observed the moment between you and your mother, his hand subtly brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it reminded you that he was there, supporting you in ways you could never truly put into words.

After the dinner, as the conversation began to settle, you felt the need to stay a little longer with your mother, away from the usual responsibilities and the weight of the kingdom. You turned to Aegon, offering him a soft smile.

“Would you mind going back to our room with the children? I… I want to stay a little longer with Mother,” you said, your voice gentle but full of meaning. You hoped he would understand your need for this moment of solitude with Alicent.

Aegon looked at you for a moment, his expression softening. He nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Of course,” he replied, though there was a trace of concern in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss your forehead before standing up. “Take your time, my love. We’ll be waiting for you.”

With that, Aegon made his way out of the room, leaving you and Alicent alone.

Your mother smiled warmly at you, her eyes filled with understanding. “I’m glad you want to stay,” she said softly. “It’s been too long since we had time together like this.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. It was comforting to be with her, but it also reminded you of the distance that had formed between the two of you in recent times. Sitting down beside her, you let out a quiet sigh, trying to collect your thoughts before speaking.

Alicent gently placed her hand over yours, her touch both reassuring and tender. “You’ve been through so much,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of a mother’s concern. “But you’re not alone in this. You never have been.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed her hand. The comfort of her presence, the bond you shared, made the pain a little easier to bear. In this moment, with her by your side, you didn’t feel quite as lost.

For the first time in days, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that despite everything, you still had your family.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close, and for a moment, everything felt still. Her embrace, the one that always made you feel safe and comforted, surrounded you like a warm, familiar blanket. You let out a shaky breath, and before you knew it, tears began to fall. Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“I… I was happier before I became queen,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to show in so long.

Alicent’s hands gently stroked your hair, her touch soothing as she held you tightly. She didn’t need to say anything right away. The quiet understanding between the two of you was enough. She knew the burden you carried—she had carried it herself, in her own way, for so many years.

“I understand,” she said softly, her voice calm and steady. “The crown is heavy, my dear, and it changes everything. But you are still you. And I’m here, no matter what.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely, the weight of everything that had happened over the past few months breaking through the walls you had built.

“I wanted to be just… me again,” you admitted, your words barely audible. “I wanted to be the mother I was before… when I didn’t have to think about the kingdom all the time. When I could just be there for my children, without all the duties and expectations. I wanted to be someone’s daughter, not a queen. I wanted to be…”

“Happy?” she finished your sentence, her voice gentle but knowing.

You nodded, your face still pressed against her shoulder. “Yes. Happy. Carefree. I didn’t know how much I had lost until… until it was too late.”

She held you even tighter, as if trying to absorb your pain, to carry some of it for you. “I know. I know how hard it can be. But remember, no matter where you are, or who you become, you are always my daughter. You always have me by your side.”

In her arms, you allowed yourself to feel the grief, the pain, and the longing for a simpler time. But you also felt the quiet comfort of her presence, the reassurance that, despite everything, you still had a place where you were loved, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.

And for that moment, in the quiet of her embrace, you felt just a little bit lighter.

She gently cupped your face with both hands, her touch tender and warm as she lifted your tear-streaked face to meet hers. Her eyes, full of compassion and regret, gazed deeply into yours as she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You are my strong daughter,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “You have always been strong, even when you didn’t feel like it. And I see that strength in you, even now, even after everything you’ve been through.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening as you listened to her words. It felt both comforting and heartbreaking to hear her speak so kindly to you, especially when you had longed for her support in ways you hadn’t fully realized before.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, her voice quieter now, filled with an unmistakable sorrow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t always be the mother you needed, that I couldn’t always be there for you. I know I’ve made mistakes… I know I’ve been distant at times, and I regret that more than anything.”

Tears welled up again, but this time, they weren’t only of pain. There was a sense of release, of understanding. Alicent wasn’t perfect, but she was here now, offering her love and apology, and that meant more than you had realized.

“You’ve been a mother in your own way,” you whispered, your voice breaking but sincere. “I know you tried, and I’ve always known you loved me. Even when things weren’t easy, I never doubted that.”

Alicent smiled faintly through her own tears, brushing her thumbs along your cheeks, wiping away your tears with a tenderness that felt like a long-awaited balm to your soul.

“You are my everything,” she said softly, her eyes filled with a deep, unconditional love. “And I will spend the rest of my life making up for those moments I wasn’t there. You’ll never have to carry this alone again. I’m here, always.”

You let her words sink in, the weight of them finally lifting the sorrow that had gripped you for so long. In that moment, you realized that even if things could never return to how they were before, you weren’t alone. And that, perhaps, was the start of healing.

After your heartfelt conversation with your mother, you walked slowly back to your room. The weight of the emotions you had shared with her still lingered, but there was a sense of peace in knowing that, for the first time in a long while, you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable and open.

When you reached your room, the sight that greeted you warmed your heart. Aegon was lying on the bed, his arm wrapped protectively around both Jaehaera and Maelor. They had all fallen asleep, tangled in the softness of the blankets, their small bodies curled up together. Aegon’s chest rose and fell gently as he slept, his face relaxed in a rare moment of peace.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Despite everything—despite the pain, the loss, and the uncertainty—here they were, your family, still together. The children had found solace in their father’s embrace, and Aegon had found solace in being there for them, for you. It was a bittersweet comfort, but it was real. It was yours.

You tiptoed over to the bed, careful not to disturb them, and gently brushed a lock of hair away from Maelor’s face. You gazed at both your children, your heart swelling with love for them. They were so young, so full of life, and you would do anything to protect them from the world that had already taken so much from you.

Sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, you took a moment to simply watch them, feeling the overwhelming sense of gratitude and love fill your chest. There were still many challenges ahead, but in this moment, you allowed yourself to just be. To be a mother, to be their mother. And that was enough.

With a soft sigh, you leaned over and kissed each of them gently on their foreheads, taking one last look at Aegon before you settled beside him.

As you lay down, your head resting on the pillow next to him, you finally allowed yourself to close your eyes. You weren’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, you were surrounded by love, by family, and that was all that truly mattered.

The next morning, life began to return to its rhythm, though it felt different now, marked by a sense of fragility and the lingering ache of loss. Jaehaera and Maelor resumed their lessons, the sounds of their tutors filling the halls as they continued their education, seemingly oblivious to the weight of the world outside. Aegon, too, returned to his duties, attending council meetings and engaging in matters of state, his focus unwavering despite the quiet storm of grief that lingered beneath his composed exterior.

As for you, you found yourself once again immersed in the responsibilities that came with being the queen. After a period of isolation, you knew that you needed to find your footing again, not just for yourself, but for your children and your kingdom.

You visited your mother, Alicent, and together, you focused on the kingdom’s affairs, the two of you working side by side as you once had in the past. It felt grounding, familiar—though the shadows of grief were still present, they seemed a little less consuming in these moments of shared purpose. Alicent, with her quiet strength, guided you as you worked through the challenges of governance, just as she had always done, but now with a deeper sense of understanding.

At times, you would find yourself lost in thought, thinking of Jaehaerys and the pain that would always follow you. But you also found solace in your family, in the small, tender moments you shared with Aegon and the children. Slowly, day by day, you began to rebuild, piece by piece.

Though you didn’t have all the answers, you knew that as long as you had your family—your children, your husband, and even your mother—you could move forward, even if it was just one step at a time. You carried their love with you, even in the darkest of days, and that gave you the strength to keep going.

As you sat with your mother, Alicent, and your sister, the conversation flowing between the three of you, you suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over you. The room seemed to spin, and your stomach twisted in discomfort. You tried to push it aside, focusing on their words, but the nausea only grew stronger, threatening to overtake you.

You clenched your fists, trying to control your breathing, willing the sensation to pass. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the discomfort intensified. Your body betrayed you, and before you could stop it, you turned away from them, covering your mouth as you rushed to the side.

The nausea hit full force, and you vomited into the nearby chamber pot, your body trembling with the force of it. When the wave of sickness finally passed, you felt weak, your head spinning.

Alicent and Haelena, startled by the sudden turn, quickly rushed to your side, concern etched on their faces. Alicent gently placed a hand on your back, her voice filled with worry.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her tone soft but insistent. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

You felt a mix of embarrassment and exhaustion as you tried to regain your composure, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” you said, though your voice was strained. “It’s nothing… just a momentary weakness.”

But deep down, you could feel that it was more than that. Something wasn’t right, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was changing within you.

Alicent’s eyes softened with concern as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You need rest,” she insisted, her voice filled with maternal care. “You’ve been through so much lately, and now this… Please, let the Maester check on you. I’ll send him right away.”

You could feel your heart tighten at the thought of Aegon finding out, knowing how deeply he would worry. The stress of everything already weighed so heavily on him, and the last thing you wanted was to add to his burdens.

“I don’t want him to know,” you murmured, your voice shaky as you met her gaze. “Please, don’t tell Aegon. He’s already carrying so much… I don’t want him to lose focus.”

Alicent studied you for a long moment, her brow furrowing in concern. She could see the fear and exhaustion in your eyes, but she understood your reasoning. With a soft sigh, she nodded. “I won’t tell him,” she promised. “But you must take care of yourself. For him, for your children… and for you.”

You nodded gratefully, though doubt lingered in your heart. “I’ll rest,” you whispered, feeling a small weight lift off your chest at her understanding.

As you made your way back to your room, your mother sent for the Maester, who would check on you in secret. You couldn’t shake the unease that gnawed at you, but for now, you needed to rest. You closed your eyes, hoping that when you woke, the sense of sickness would be gone—and that you wouldn’t have to face the truth of what might be happening.

You lay back on the bed, trying to steady your breath as the Maester examined you carefully. His questions about your last cycle slowly sunk in, and with the realization, a cold chill ran down your spine. Everything had been so chaotic lately, you hadn’t even considered the possibility. The Maester looked up at you with a reassuring smile, sensing your growing anxiety.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, “You are with child.”

The words hit you like a storm, a mixture of disbelief and fear flooding through you. A child, in the middle of all the loss, pain, and stress… it seemed like a fragile hope in a world so uncertain.

Your heart skipped a beat as you sat up slightly, your hands trembling. “Is the baby alright?” you asked, the worry thick in your voice. “Given everything that’s happened… the stress, my lack of food…” You felt overwhelmed by the thought of how this had all come to be.

The Maester placed a gentle hand on your arm, his voice calm and steady. “It is understandable to be concerned, Your Grace. Stress and lack of nourishment can affect your health, but I find no immediate cause for alarm. The baby seems healthy so far. However, it is crucial that you rest and allow yourself time to recover. Eat when you can, and take care of yourself.”

You nodded, though doubt lingered in your chest. The fear of losing another child, of facing another loss, was almost too much to bear. “Thank you, Maester,” you murmured, your voice small.

The Maester gave you a kind smile. “Your Grace, you must take care of yourself. Your health and the health of the child are of utmost importance now. I will keep an eye on you.”

As he left the room, you were left with your thoughts, still in shock but also filled with a new, growing sense of responsibility. Despite the overwhelming feelings, one thought kept surfacing—this new life, this child, was a part of you and Aegon, and you had to protect it with everything you had.

As you sat there, your hand gently resting on your still-flat stomach, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you. There was a quiet joy that bloomed within, a spark of hope, but it was tinged with a deep sadness and worry. You had lost so much already—your son, the world you once knew—and now, with this unexpected news, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of vulnerability. Could you protect this child? Could you bear another loss?

You closed your eyes, taking in a shaky breath, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions within you. The joy of new life, the fear of what might happen, the aching sadness of everything that had been lost—it all seemed to press in on you at once. You thought of Aegon, of Maelor, and Jaehaera. They needed you, and now, this new child needed you too.

“I will protect you,” you whispered to yourself, speaking softly to the life growing inside you, even though it felt too early to even fully believe it. “I will do whatever it takes.”

But even as you said it, the weight of your responsibilities, the pain of your past, and the fear of what the future might hold made it hard to feel anything but uncertain.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching your room, and you quickly wiped away the tears that had started to form. Whatever the future held, you had to face it, for them, for this child, and for the family you still had.

You turned to see Aegon standing in the doorway, his gaze soft yet filled with concern. The way he looked at you, as though he could feel the storm within you, made your heart ache.

He stepped closer, his voice gentle but filled with urgency, “Is everything all right? What’s going on? You look… far away.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. The last thing you wanted was to burden him with the weight of everything you were feeling, but his presence, his concern, made it harder to hide your turmoil.

You shook your head slowly, then spoke, your voice trembling slightly, “I… I’m fine, Aegon. It’s just… a lot on my mind.”

Aegon knelt beside you, his hands reaching out to gently hold yours. His eyes searched yours, his worry deepening. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. What is it? You can tell me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you let out a shaky breath. “I found out… I’m pregnant.” You paused, feeling the weight of the words.

Upon hearing the news, Aegon’s face lit up with an expression of pure joy. He couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face as he rushed to your side, his hands gently cupping your face. “You’re pregnant?” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s… that’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

Without wasting a moment, Aegon quickly left the room, eager to share the news with your mother. His excitement was palpable, and you could see the joy in his eyes as he rushed down the corridor.

It wasn’t long before Alicent arrived, her presence immediately calming. She stepped into the room, her eyes filled with love and concern, and before you could say anything, she pulled you into a warm embrace. “Oh, my dear,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so happy for you.”

You felt the warmth of her hug, her strength and love surrounding you as tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m scared, mother,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “What if I’m not strong enough? What if I can’t do this?”

Alicent pulled back slightly, holding you at arm’s length as she looked into your eyes, her own filled with understanding. “You are stronger than you know. And you will never be alone in this. We will all be here to support you, to guide you. This is a new beginning, a new life, and you have Aegon, and you have me. We will make sure this child knows nothing but love.”

You nodded, feeling the weight in your heart lighten just a little. With Alicent’s embrace, and Aegon’s joy, you began to feel a glimmer of hope for the future. The road ahead would still be difficult, but you knew that with them by your side, you could face anything.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)