#this felt somewhat integrated

[elizabethwydevilles]

I think that 'you're like a father too me' vs 'you were my brother' is crucial in understanding the Anakin and Obi-Wan dynamic and their particular brand of dysfunctional communication.

[forhyune]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[carouselunique]

Here you go!

Bonus Explanations for the Elements:

I treat the Elements as the values being the same throughout it's just how the bearers choose to interpret those values is how they end up being defined. In a sense the original Mane Six and the Swap Six all have similar values but express them somewhat differently.

Roseluck: Element of Inspiration - Rose inspires others to be their best selves, she is inspired to strive toward her dreams through her friendships and wants to pay that forward.

(Element of Generosity - Rarity focuses on what she can give to others while Rose focuses on bringing out what one already has.)

Ditzy Doo: Element of Cheer - Ditzy always delivers a smile, a cheesy mail joke, a wing to lean on, a feathery shoulder to cry on so you can feel better, someone to remember you and make you feel seen etc. She makes others feel lighter and cheerier and that cheer spreads to others in a domino effect!

(Element of Laughter - Ditzy doesn't mainly focus on laughter the way Pinkie does because she believes not everyone needs a laugh to feel cheer. Pinkie is more of a clown type while Ditzy is, well, more of a motherly type)

Sea Swirl: Element of Trust - If you put your trust into Sea, she won't let you down. She is honest sort, even if you sometimes have to take a leap of faith that you aren't sure about at first. Sea will uphold your belief in her with a trustworthiness that makes you want to be someone that others trust as well.

(Element of Honesty - AJ treats her Element as a very literal value while Sea doesn't feel the need to say every true thing outloud, more that you know that she is someone who's words and actions you can inherently trust even if she isn't always literally honest.)

Ginger Gold: Element of Integrity - No matter what ambitions Ginger has, she will always have the integrity to stick by her friends and family and do the right thing. Her integrity and willingness to do what's right by those she cares for no matter what even at the cost of her own goals makes everyone around her a little more honorable in turn.

(Element of Loyalty - It's nearly the same here more just that in my head, Rainbow will be loyal to her friends because they're her friends while Ginger Gold will have integrity because it is something she believes one should just always have and by having that she can be loyal to her friends - not to say one is more noble than the other, that is just how they see it if they're asked to really define it.)

Sunny Rays: Element of Empathy - Sunny is, as her name suggests, as warm as the sun. She is soft and understanding and empathetic and seeing everyone as being worth a chance at being seen and their issues felt allows everyone a kinder view of situations.

(Element of Kindness - Sunny Rays sees empathy as different than kindness, especially as she develops. She can have empathy and not always be kind as someone might see it and someone can be kind but not understand the point of view through an empathetic lens and therefore be kind but not empathetic. Of course it's a struggle to balance how to be kind and empathetic or when kindness has to stop because you know it is hindering your understanding of a situation, etc.)

Minuette: Element of Friendship - Her friendship brought the group together and allowed them to share their best values with each other and her realization that you should make time not just for academic exploration and what we can discover but for the cultivation of emotional and social development and that we need our connections with others to be truly happy helps other realize what truly counts.

(Element of Magic - In my head, Twilight calls it Magic because she believes that Friendship is a form of Magic a flaw that shows up in the later seasons where friendship is treated as something inherent and almost religious in a sense? At least to me? While Minuette believes that the Magic comes second to the Friendship and can only occur if one works on Friendship and treats the Magic of Friendship as something you work at and feel more than it is literal magic.)

[manhandlememando]

loving you is a bloodsport. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!Mormont!reader

format: one-shot

tw: (buckle up y’all, we’re in for a ride) MDNI warning: attempted SA, heavy gore, violence and resulting injury descriptions, BLOOD, descriptions of injury to an animal, ptsd symptoms, anxiety attacks, language, blatant sexism, female rage, enraged/feral Cregan (the warning is very necessary he almost bites off someone's finger)

NSFW warning: this work has sexual elements not suitable for those under 18 years old. please MDNI. (piv sex, oral (both receiving), face fucking, praise kink, sickly sweet Cregan, semi-rough sex, the Stark breeding kink, THEY BREAK THE HEADBOARD), no physical description of reader other than female anatomy and hair that is somewhat long.

word count: 12.3k

song inspirations: talk by Hozier, moments silence (common tongue) by Hozier, me and the devil by Soap&Skin, girl with one eye by Florence and the Machine, brutus by The Buttress, seven devils by Florence and the Machine, devil’s backbone by The Civil Wars, shallows by Daughter, foreigners god by Hozier, it will come back by Hozier, to be alone by Hozier

excerpt: The growl that escaped the beast reverberated throughout the small pit, being felt within the chests of all the men spectating. However, fear eluded her as she looked into the animals eyes, accepting her fate with a fury. The cry that left her as she charged the creature could have caused even the most barbarous of warriors to quell in fear. Dodging the swipe of its large paws, she lunges forward with the small blade that was provided to her. If she is to die here, it will be a death of integrity knowing she was more like the beast in front of her than anything as meek as the men watching from above. They will not take my strength, she thought as the claws of the grizzly descended upon her.

- or -

Lady Stark is abducted in the night from the walls of Winterfell by a vassal house of the Starks. Thinking that by placing his wife into the jaws of a grizzly, the Warden of the North would bend to their will. They do not know how mistaken they are.

this story is dedicated to all those who have felt the heavy hand of the patriarchy upon their shoulders, or have fallen victim to it. i see you, i hear you, our rage is valid. keep fighting.

It was a commanding sort of presence that she held, not forceful, but one of reserved strength that cultivated respect amongst the people of Winterfell. Their Warden of the North and Liege Lord had chosen wisely in his marriage pact with House Mormont.

It was this same conserved ferocity that drew him to her, he could feel the magnetic pull of her tenacious spirit the second he was in her acute vicinity. Her eyes held a look that was as firm as stone, and her mind was as sharp as a blade. It was known that the women of House Mormont held a certain standing on their island that couldn’t be found in much of Westeros; women could be rulers, and warriors. Having been raised by her father, Lord Mormont, after the passing of her mother in childbirth. The young girl grew into a fearsome woman, having been trained as the successor to the Mormont line, she was raised as any heir would be; as a son. Given her families ancestral sword, Long Claw, at the age of just six and ten she was a formidable fighter in just two years time. With the full understanding of how she would be viewed as the “weaker sex” by the men on her fathers council, she made sure to mold herself into one of the most indisputable warriors on the small island. No man dared to raise a sword against her unless they wanted to be met with the what most referred to as the “she-beast”.

Cregan knew from the moment they met that he would wed her. They were young when they first made each others acquaintance, not more than 10 years of age. She had traveled with her father to attend the annual feast which House Stark held in the Great Keep of Winterfell. He still remembers seeing her for the first time as she descended from the wheelhouse that she had ridden in. Feeling his heart clench and his throat go dry, Cregan was not normally at a loss for words, but her whole presence consumed him. She was like sunlight embodied, a miracle born within a person. Her beauty touched everything in her vicinity with its warm glow. It was hard for him to look anywhere else when she was near. It was an instinctual feeling, one that arose within him being something involuntary and foreign to him. As if it had been whispered to him long ago by the Old Gods themselves; she will be your wife, someday.

————————————————————————

The flesh of his back had been clawed raw. Teeth marks and deep bruises left behind by her violent kisses had begun to blossom on Cregan’s neck and shoulders. She is a bear, indeed, Cregan thought to himself as an amused expression crossed his face. Gazing at his reflection in the looking glass in the corner of their marital chambers.

The bedchamber was a haven for both of them, the privacy lending itself to their most animalistic acts. The two had been wed only a day previously, not being able to leave the sanctity of their post-coital bliss much before falling back into one another. Ripped clothing strewn across furniture, fur pelts and pillows lined the floor, the carved wooden headboard now on the verge of cracking due to the fissures created in the wood as they tore into each other.

The bedding ceremony never seemed to end, although it never truly began as Cregan refused to allow anyone to view such an intimate act. Feeling incredibly protective over his newlywed, he would hear no argument on the matter because her body was for his indulgence, and his only.

Although, for those living within the walls of the castle it was very apparent that the consummation had taken place, many times. The sounds which echoed throughout the castle that night could be heard by all as Cregan led her to her highest peaks over and over again. But the symphony of pleasure didn’t stop once the sun graced the horizon, or even when it was touching the highest point in the sky.

However they had grown increasingly hungry as the night grew closer and dusk layered its deep blues around the fading light on the horizon. The stars beginning to seep through the darkening navy sky, as if surfacing from the black ocean where they swim to look upon the Earth as the eyes of world did the same to them. Standing upon the balcony which sat just off of their bedchamber, she took a long breath as a small smile rose to her lips, turning her eyes to the shining specks in the sky.

How lucky am I? She thought to herself, knowing that she no longer had to prove herself worthy of a station, or a role in a council. Having been raised as the heir to Bear Island she had always felt a sense of pressure to encapsulate the image of the "perfect daughter". However, her father thought she did not see his disapproving glares or glances of doubt or disappointment as the time passed. He wanted a son, not her. But now she finally knew what it felt like to be wanted, having not known the feeling from her father in her lifetime, it was an emotion she couldn’t even put into words. Her father cared for her, to an extent, but mainly treated her as a thing to be trained and disciplined, rather than a daughter to be loved.

“Darling?” She heard Cregan call from somewhere inside, pulling her from her thoughts. Moments later the large wooden door creaked open as he finally appeared, the softest smile gracing his face as he laid eyes upon her.

“What’re you doing out here? You’ll catch a chill, my love,” his voice laced with concern as he pulled the wool housecoat from his shoulders and placed it around hers.

“I just wanted to get a breath of fresh air before we go dine for the night,” she responds, smiling as he pulls her into him.

“We have worked up quite an appetite, have we not?” Cregan teases, leaning down to brush his nose with hers. “Shall we go?” He asks softly, his lips brushing hers as he speaks. She nods and giggles as he swallows her answer in a kiss. It would be a miracle if they made it to the dining room at all.

————————————————————————

The food prepared for the Lord and Lady of Winterfell was decedent and rich, warming her stomach and easing the hunger that began to naw away at her gut.

“Does the foodstuffs suffice, my love?” Cregan asks, looking at her with an amused expression on his face. She was almost inhaling her meal, the answer to his question being quite obvious. She nodded as she took another bite, humming in contentment at the burst of flavor in her mouth.

They sat in silence as they each devoured what was left on their plates, sharing kind glances and small laughs of amusement. After they had finished dining, he beckoned one of the servants to bring forth their dessert. However, his breath seemed to escape him as he felt a hand begin to creep up his inner thigh.

She had reached under the tablecloth and begun to slowly move her hand to the rapidly growing bulge in her husbands trousers.

“My mischievous wife, what do you think you’re doing?” Cregan whispered, giving her a warning glance as the dessert was placed in front of each of them. She didn’t respond, only sliding her hand further up his thigh. He had to suppress a groan as her palm grazed his hard length, giving the serving butler a curt nod and dismissing the rest of the staff from the dining room. As he hears the rumble of large hinges moving and wood connecting, he knows they are finally alone.

“I think you know exactly what I’m doing, dear husband,” she said as she sank herself onto the soft pelt on the floor beneath the table. Crawling beneath the expansive wooden slab to appear between Cregan’s knees, a smirk dancing on her lips as she licked them in anticipation.

“You will be my dessert, my love. I desire nothing more than what you have to offer me,” she said in a low seductive voice, beginning to undo the thin strings of his breaches. Cregan stared at her with eyes the size of the serving platters resting on the table. His mouth hung slightly agape and a soft moan escaped his plush lips as she finally released him from the confines of his breaches and smallclothes.

“I do not deserve this, let us continue in our -,” Cregan begins to reason, not seeing the point in allowing her to indulge him when he’d done nothing to deserve it. But before he could finish his nonsensical statement, he was cut off in a loud moan as she took him fully in her mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat immediately, causing her to gag slightly but she was not discouraged from her actions. Only opening her throat more to accommodate her well-endowed husband.

“Fuck… oh dear Gods,” he groaned, his breath staggered as his hands tightly gripped the arms of the dining chair, his self control beginning to lack as she continued her heavenly ministrations. As she rose to the tip of his cock, she revealed the sensitive head to her lips, kissing his leaking tip and circling her tongue around it. Cregan could barely think, the sweet whimpers and moans falling from his lips caused a burning coal of desire to ignite in her womb. She adored the way he could hardly say her name without it transforming into a delicious groan of ecstasy.

“My love - Seven hells… oh fuck,” Cregan couldn’t form a sentence before another moan would swallow his words and leave him breathless. Looking towards the ceiling with brows furrowed and his jaw slack with pleasure, Cregan was a sinful sight to the Gods.

She slowly ascended off of him, bringing her lips to the base of his length and laying a kiss to the sensitive spot that laid just above his heavy balls. She relished in the choked groan that the action elicited from him, Cregan's hand grasping her hair so tightly it stung but she only hummed at the sensation. The vibration of her moan as she took him back into her mouth sent Cregan into a heady space, suddenly feeling himself lose any sense of restraint. The hand that was laced into her hair moved to the back of her neck as he sat up somewhat, gasping and panting as they shifted position. The hand that wasn’t anchored to her was tightly gripping the top corner of the chair as his hips shifted to change the angle; he wants leverage.

Just as the thought ran through her head she felt his hips buck upward, beginning to slowly move in rhythm with her mouth. She let him take control of the pace after several more thrusts had hit the back of her throat. She knew Cregan loved it when she allowed him to fuck her mouth. He tried to be gentle, he really did. But within a minute of such actions he was gripping the hair at the back of her neck with a force as he arched his back and drove more power into his thrusts. He often got lost in the oasis that was her form, his love and lust mixing and becoming so intense even he became blinded to his strength. Although he would never intentionally bring harm to her.

As she took a fleeting look up towards his face, she wasn’t able to find her breath at the sight before her. His head was thrown back, mouth open in an illicit moan, neck strained and flushed red. His Adam's Apple protruding and bobbing along with his moans. The scarlet hue disappeared down past the collar of the thick tunic he wore, his chiseled chest out of view. However, she knew full well how far down that sea of hot, flushed skin really went. She could see how his body was arching off the back of the chair, muscles in his arms flexing with the strain of each thrust. The only thing keeping him from falling off his perch on the edge being his other arm finding purchase on the back of the chair. In that moment he looked down to her and seeing those beautiful hues in her irises staring back at him, he felt himself tip over the edge into the Seven heavens themselves.

She felt the slight stutter of his hips and with a final deep thrust into her throat he came with a howl of a groan.

"OH - ngghh - fuck... yes, fuck like that," he gasped, a low whine rupturing from deep within his chest, trying to ground himself as his wife continued to slowly drag him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He slumped against the steep back of the dining chair, his legs trembling as he spread them wider and his hands found purchase on the arms of the chair once again. She finally lifted her mouth from his cock, her lips glistening with a mixture of spit and his arousal. He chuckled lightly at the sight.

She is a gift bestowed upon this Earth by the Old Gods themselves, he thought to himself.

"I do not deserve you," he said as he smiled softly, reaching a hand down to cradle her jaw as she hummed in contentment at his words. "You are more angel than human, I am astounded by you with every passing moment we share with one another. I love you, I do hope you know that," Cregan spoke, the sentiment behind his statement clear within his words as well as his tone. His eyes searching hers, looking for an answer.

"I do know, my dear husband. I know very well, and I love you just the same," she said, a smile gracing her features as she rose from the floor beneath the table. Grabbing Cregan's breaches from the furs and handing them to him with a smirk, she moved back to her seat to his left at the large table.

"Shall we finish our dessert?" She asked cheekily, and his only response was a hearty laugh that filled the room with his joy.

————————————————————————

Several weeks following their wedding, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were torn from their bed in the night. It is still unclear to Cregan how his men had been so easily overwhelmed, how he hadn't heard anything, or seen anything. No one had.

It was as if he had woken from a slumber into a nightmare itself. Cregan felt himself be ripped from the sheets and dragged to the floor before he had a moment to comprehend exactly what was happening.

He reached for his beloved but was met with empty air and soon opened his eyes to find her being held up by her hair, whimpering in pure terror as Lord Bolton loomed over her. Feeling the strong arms of some of Bolton's guards beginning to constrict themselves around Cregan, he fought against them as hard as he could.

"You bastard! What in the Seven Hell's is going on? Let her go, don't you dare touch her!" Cregan yelled, beginning to thrash against the men trying to contain him. Lord Bolton only chuckled darkly as he then took her by the neck and hauled her towards him.

She let out a choked cough as his palm pressed her airway. Pinning her back to his chest with his hand still snaked around her neck, she began struggling against him and clawing at his wrists.

“You foolish… foolish girl!” Lord Bolton exclaimed, wrestling against her as she continued to thrash against him. Holding her still with him other arm, Lord Bolton finally subdued her.

“The ties between House Mormont and House Stark will be forever broken tonight. The Stark household has had control of the North for far too long, and with this new union it is made clear to all other vassal houses that they are less important. It is whispered we will have less say in certain matters, and that this bitch and her feeble House Mormont has more standing than mine own,” Lord Bolton seethed, releasing her neck and yanking at Lady Starks hair once more. She let out a small huff to shroud her discomfort, she would never show weakness to this man as long as she could help it. Although, as she looked at Cregan who was now being held to the floor of their bedchambers, she felt the small trickle of terror slip down her neck and root itself into her spine.

“I will not let that stand,” Lord Bolton snarled and nodded to one of his men to step forward. With much difficulty he was able to get a black hood over the woman’s head, his fingers narrowly dodging her nashing teeth. Cregan bellowed as he fought against the hands holding him down, barely allowing a hood to be placed over his head as well. Spewing profanities and declarations of violence, Cregan tried to make his voice sound as poisonous as possible. But through his verbal assault he could hear her slight gasps and whimpers of pain, and not being able to see what was befalling his wife, his panic grew tenfold.

“Bolton I’ll have your fucking head for this!” Cregan barked, yanking at the hands on his limbs as they hauled him from the ground and to his feet. He could still hear her growling at Lord Bolton, hearing a shuffled noise and a clear sound of struggle, Cregan’s breath hitched as his throat closed. He was powerless, his vision stripped from him and his strength subdued.

“Get off of me you sinister man!” She shrieked as she felt Lord Bolton grab at her waist and snake his arms around her from the back, holding her tightly to him. He had since been able to tie her hands behind her, with much difficulty. Therefore she was powerless to the blade she could feel against her neck. As she tried to pull away from his taunting grip the blade cut into the skin of her throat causing her to shout in pain, the abrupt sound ending in a rumble of fury.

“I will slit this beautiful throat like that of a lamb for slaughter,” Lord Bolton sneered to her.

“You’re fucking dead, Bolton! You’re dead! I’ll kill you myself, get the FUCK OFF MY WI-!” She heard Cregan roar from what sounded like only ten feet in front of her, only to be cut off by the sound of a crack of metal meeting skull. The slump of his body could be heard faintly as he fell limp into the men’s arms. She was then dragged from the bedchamber and into the halls of Winterfell, the bitter cold of the stone floor scraping against her bare feet.

"The Stark family has had too much say in the matters of the North over these many years, they are not the only house capable of holding The Wall. Have you ever wondered what it could be like if your father ruled as the Warden of the North? Or... possibly myself?" Lord Bolton ventured in his treasonous explanation of how he would take control of the castle, as he had already done with some of the Stark's guardsmen. She was struck then with the notion that Lord Bolton and the men he brought with him must have had help to enter and now exit the Keep without being noticed.

"Who have you been conspiring with in these treacherous plans? How did you gain access to the Kee- ," she begins to question sharply, not giving him any recognition on his comments. Only until she is struck again, this time blood sprouting from a small cut on her lip. The taste of iron and musk on her tongue only angered her more.

"Shut up, you stupid woman. You dare interrupt me when I am speaking to you? Such behavior will not be tolerated when you are my wife," Lord Bolton sneered, she could feel his hot breath through the dark cloth of the hood, recoiling from him at his statement. Beginning to pull against Lord Bolton once more, she spoke her rejections to the union loudly, trying desperately to get free of this torment. In her effort to evade her captor, she received the same end as her lord husband as she was knocked unconscious.

————————————————————————

She did not know how long she had been unconscious or where it was she had been taken, but by the biting feeling against her wrists and the throb in her head she knew the attack wasn’t a nightmare. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had been kidnapped and many of their guards slaughtered. Feared gripped at her chest as she felt rough hands on her arms holding her still, and the cold bite of the wind against the exposed skin of her hands and upper chest only furthered her anxiety. Was she outside? She thought so, but even with the hood over her head she could barely tell if it was night or day.

“Has she awoken?” She hears Lord Bolton ask somewhere in the distance and the soft padding of feet on muddy ground neared towards her. Suddenly she felt a strong grip on her arm, gasping at the brutality of it as her skin stung with the aggression of his hold on her. Feeling herself being let go by those who held her previously, she was then pulled forward, her feet betrayed her once more as she stumbled in the mud.

“Come here,” she heard Lord Bolton growl as he yanked her upright, her stumble having caused her to fall to her knees.

With a flash of blinding light the hood is then torn from her head, and she is not able to see her surroundings for a moment or two as her eyes adjusted to the light of day. However, she could hear Cregan’s protests from somewhere close, but they were muffled. Sounding as if he was trying to speak through wads of fabric.

They fucking gagged him, she thought as she felt anger boil in the pit of her stomach. The emotion making its way into her body as the flames of ferocity licked up her spine and finally nestled themselves in her chest cavity, making a home in her heart. As her eyes adjusted, they burned holes into the figure before her; Lord Bolton finally coming into focus.

She could see the smug expression wash over his sharp features, twisting them into something more sinister than that of what lied within. She despised this man, and all like him. The audacity of man knew no bounds, reaching far and wide, ever perpetuated by its own grueling ends; unable to breed love for one another, men would sooner tear each other apart then see vulnerability conquer over power. As for the women and innocent, the vulnerable and the weak, it is them who are forever afflicted with the agony of oppression, the pain seeping deep into their bones and finding a final resting place in the generations to come.

She knew this, she had known all her life what it felt like to want to be a son. Although her father granted her the liberty of becoming the heir to the Mormont household, it became quite clear what his true intentions for her were when the marriage proposal from Cregan was accepted. Her uncle was then named heir to the seat she had been promised since her first breath.

Men had already disappointed her more times than she could count, and although she did love Cregan dearly, her father had broken her heart as he had his promise to her. Therefore, she did not fear Lord Bolton or his threats towards her, even as he grabbed her by the chin and forced her to meet his eye. Her response was only to sneer and spit in his sullen face, his expression morphing into one of disgust as he brought his hand across her face with a quick slap. Watching his wife be struck, Cregan could be heard roaring against the fabric that had been shoved in his mouth, soft grunts of effort could also be heard escaping Lord Bolton's men as they tried to wrangle Cregan into standing still. The disgraced Northern Lord turned towards her lord husband with a rather nauseating smile. Yanking her forward he neared Cregan enough to reach out and take the dark fabric from her husbands mouth, barely moving his hand away before Cregan could catch it in his teeth.

"Tell me, Stark, is she an obedient wife? She seems fiery in nature, is she the same to bed?" Lord Bolton asked, turning to look back at her as his grip on her arms tightened.

"No! No, no please!" She shrieked as she felt him tear her robe from around her frame, leaving her in only a thin shift. Pulling away from him, digging her bare feet into the earth as she tried to escape his hold. Her hands and wrists ached as she tugged at the twine that had bound them behind her. Her breath beginning to come to her in short bursts as the true reality of the situation had sunk in. Cregan was making threats of terrifying violence towards all those present and participating in this coup. Hurling vile insults at Lord Bolton as he practically foamed at the mouth with fury. However, beneath the horrifying facade Cregan adorned, he was struck with fear to his core.

"Stop. Fighting." The vile brute of a man grunted as he tried to control the woman in his grip. She looked to Cregan then who could be heard howling in protest the entire time, continuing his struggles against the limbs of the men holding him. He held her gaze, the terror reflecting between them as his heart broke over and over again. Cregan couldn't protect her, and as much as he tried, he couldn't seem to free himself. Although, at the thought of being made to watch the horror before him as Lord Bolton took hold of the one thing in the world that could affect him, Cregan vowed he would die before allowing it to happen.

The woman was proving a worthy adversary to the Lord of the Dreadfort, continuing to evade his full control over her as she slipped from his grip once more. Her arms were welted and showing the signs of the struggle she was putting forth. The cold of the wind seemed to lash at her limbs that were now fully exposed to the elements. Her robe had been stripped from her and she stood before the men in just her cotton sleeping shift. The fabric was thin and pale and left little to be desired from the view of her frame, she saw the young knights of the Dreadfort and how their eyes wouldn’t move from her, even if they put in an effort too. Bile rose from deep within her throat at the thought of not only this disgraceful man taking advantage of her against her will, but also knowing it would be for all else to see.

Although the fear was prevalent in her mind, the adrenaline was finally beginning to kick in as she felt the hairs on her body stand at attention. With a final tug of her body from Lord Bolton’s grasp, she stumbled and fell into the muddy earth of the pit below.

With a sharp gasp and piercing shriek she hit the ground hard, causing the wind to evade her lungs and a struggling gasp to pass her lips. Having been standing so close to the edge of the circular, wood-paneled ring, it was not surprising that she had fallen over the edge in her attempt to finally get away from the Lord of the Dreadfort.

She could hear the menacing laughter emanating from above her, the vile sound bouncing between Lord Bolton's men and the Lord himself.

"It seems our entertainment will begin sooner than expected, boys!" Lord Bolton announced, walking towords Cregan, addressing him as he did. "See, I had planned on taking her as my own as the Gods bare witness, as well as yourself. Prolonging your pain would be more satisfying than flaying a man alive, which is my custom as you well know, but it seems the Gods have other plans. After consumating the union of my new marriage, I was going to leave you to the beast and watch as it mauled you for our wedding entertainment. But this seems to prove more interesting, does it not?" Lord Bolton smirks and Cregan only bellowed louder. "If she survives, she will be my prize, and I will have the pleasure of killing the Warden of the North myself," Lord Bolton sneered as Cregan spit at him. The fury behind Cregan's eyes was unhinged, dragon fire could not even compare.

Wiping the saliva from his face, Lord Bolton only grinned, "Hold him still. I want him to see all of this," he said to his men. Cregan couldn't think straight, the fire residing within him spreading across his entire body as he pushed and pulled against the men holding him in his place. Looking down into the muddy pit below, he could see a door being opened to reveal a large, formidable animal, and the fear that gripped his wife as she struggled to free her hands.

She looked up to be met with a mass of dark fur and the small dark eyes of the massive creature before her. A bear, the sigil of House Mormont, a beast that she was raised to respect and model her own spirit after. Something she found strength in, a force akin to religion, something to find faith in; and now she was being made to destroy that of which she had built her own strength upon. The notion of it all was revolting. Looking around her, she drew in shaky breaths, she searched for any form of weapon to defend herself with. In that instant Lord Bolton seemed to find a sliver of remorse in his heart and tossed a small blade down to her, smirking as he did so. The bear emitted a thunderous roar as it began to circle the circumference of the small pit. She brought the blade to the twine still binding her hands behind her back and was able to free herself after somewhat of a struggle, moving away from the carnal animal as she did so. Fear subsided to her more natural instincts and suddenly her head became clear. She looked up to meet the eyes of the bear before her, drawing in deep breaths and settling into a skin that was known to her; the skin of the "she-beast".

My old friend, how good it is to have you with me again, she thought to herself. She would not allow these men to diminish her power or to take it from her. Every woman is born with the rage of their mother nestled deep within their chest, the resulting anger of years of being made less than human. The sorrow of being made to sacrifice their bodies and their souls for a man's pleasure, weighed upon her shoulders. She could feel it, she always had. It seemed accustomed to every woman she had ever met, to share a deep-seeded understanding that this world was not made for us, but for us to attend to. She refused that notion, and in this moment when no other woman was there to share this fury and sorrow with her, she decided to embody it herself, for all those who didn't have a chance to fight. For all those who were made less than, or treated as only a body to be taken. They will not take this from me, she vowed to herself.

The growl that escaped the beast reverberated throughout the small pit, being felt within the chests of all the men spectating. However, fear eluded her as she looked into the animals eyes, accepting her fate with a fury. The cry that left her as she charged the creature could have caused even the most barbarous of warriors to quell in fear. Dodging the swipe of its large paws, she lunges forward with the small blade that was provided to her. If she is to die here, it will be a death of integrity knowing she was more like the beast in front of her than anything as meek as the men watching from above. They will not take my strength, she thought as the claws of the grizzly descended upon her. Her mind had been captivated by adrenaline, her muscles now following in the steps of combat that they had walked before. Although she had never faced such a formidable opponent as this beast, she knew her training would serve her well. She rolled to evade the claws of the bear, ducking beneath its giant form and bringing the blade to its underbelly as she did so. An agitated sound escaped the brute as she cut into its fur, resulting with a swipe of its large paw in her direction. However, this time she wasn't quick enough to side step the beast and its claws caught her collarbone and ripped the flesh open. A scream of agony left her and she stumbled to the outer part of the fighting pit. The bear's eyes met hers once more and she could see the bloodthirsty look reflected within them. The beast snarled and ran towards her, outstretching another paw to swipe at her again, but she managed to dodge it once more and bring the blade across the creature's arm this time. This only resulted in more fury from the beast, a deep grumble of rage came from its bared teeth.

I can do this, she thought to herself as the bear stalked her along the edge of the ring, contemplating its next move. There was a moment of stillness between them, as if they were both assessing the other and its next move. Although, she knew it wouldn't be long before another move was made, so she chose hers. With a terrifying yell she charged the beast, it rose on its hindquarters with its two front paws out to block the blow, but as she got near it, she ducked. Deceiving the beast and sliding in the mud towards its belly. The blade was firm in her hand as she drove it into the creatures heart, twisting it as deep as she could, so the hilt was half-way into its flesh. A pained cry came from the animal, and it slumped over her, still thrashing its paws at whatever it could reach. She only drove her own body deeper under the bear, trying to avoid the creatures talons as much as possible.

Cregan watched in horror as the whole ordeal played out, not knowing if his wife would survive or not. When she disappeared in the mound of fur his heart clenched at the notion that she would not emerge.

When she arose from beneath the creature, it was as if the bloodthirsty beast had become her. Drenched in deep maroon, her torn shift clung to her form as the blood created small streams down her limbs. It matted her hair and splattered her face in a nauseating way, creating an image that struck fear into the souls of all bearing witness. As she lifted her gaze, she was met with the sight of Lord Bolton descending from his perch at the edge of the pit.

“You don’t have a choice, anymore,” he spoke in a tone laced with malice and smugness, as if taking claim to her before even placing a hand on her.

“NO! Don’t you dare touch her, you cunt!” Cregan screamed, finding more strength in his limbs and beginning to fight back against those holding him still. The three men had to be assisted by two others as Cregan had broken one of his hands free and connected it to the nearest jaw he saw. Cregan was spouting profanities at Bolton’s men as he was once again pinned to the cold ground. Two of the men now holding each of his legs, two pinning both of his arms, and one having to climb on top of Cregan in order to prevent him from getting up. However, the man holding his left arm down was not paying enough attention to the positioning of his hand upon the Lord’s shoulder. Cregan lunged his head down and caught the man’s pinky between his teeth, and without a second thought he bit down, hard. The man shrieked in pain and recoiled from Cregan in seconds. His pinky still intact but bent at an angle and would sport a nasty scar at the base of it for the rest of the man’s life.

Cregan only smiled, a sickening sight as his mouth was stained crimson. With his hand now free he reaches behind him to unsheathe one of the other’s swords, and then in an instant he rolled to his right, causing the man perched atop him to fall to the ground. It took Cregan a moment to gather his mind, because before swinging the sword as he glanced over and saw how Lord Bolton was stalking towards her. He was beginning to undo his cloak and doublet, it only further spurned the fire that was burning hot in Cregan’s chest. However more men who had been spectating came to replace those of whom suffered the Wolf of the North’s wrath and had fallen to him. Although, this time they did not pin him. Instead choosing to hold him upright with a blade to his neck, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to watch as the devil descended upon his wife. Cregan refused to show weakness, but in his chest arose panic and fear as he struggled against the men’s hold on him. Small cuts littering his neck as the blade was pushed harder against it.

“I’ll slit your fucking throat, don’t think I won’t,” the man holding the knife whispered into Cregan’s ear.

“And I’ll have your head for this,” Cregan spit back, yanking his body forward once more as the men stumbled with him. His strength a hard match for the four men it took to hold him in place. The blade dug into his skin but he didn’t care, the pain of the small knife was nothing compared to what he was being made to witness.

She let Lord Bolton approach, standing as if stone had solidified her muscles, but pulled taught as if ready to spring. The moment his hand outstretched towards her chest she reacted, swiftly ducking beneath his reach and taking hold of his exposed wrist and plunging her knife deep into the supple skin. Only releasing the blade when she felt the crunch of bone as it connected.

Lord Bolton screamed and crumpled around the fatal wound, holding his limp hand in his grasp. Towering over his quivering form she lifted a leg and connected her foot to the man’s shoulder, easily pushing him to the ground. As he continued to whimper and gasp in the depths of pain, she slowly descended upon his form. Kneeling beside him as she lowered her mouth to his ear.

“Any sane woman would choose a feral beast over the threat of a meager man and his cock, every time. Know this, Lord Bolton, fore if you leave the woman to the bear long enough she will learn its ways, and will return to rip your heart from your chest while adorning a smile," she whispered, her bloodstained lips twisting into a malicious smirk.

"Seven Hells," Lord Bolton cowered, wincing at her words.

"Yes... I do hope you experience every single one of them, and when you meet with each of the seven devils, tell them who sent you; they should learn my name," she growls, her face only inches from his, and he could see then that this unadulterated rage with which she embodied was going to be his demise. It was then that she arose to her feet, grasping the man's sword as she did so.

Too enthralled in her own fury, she was not perceptive of how the audience before her had gone quiet. The men of House Bolton becoming increasingly aware of their Lord's imminent death. With a final cry she drove Lord Bolton's own sword into his chest, spearing him through the heart. The blood curdled gasp he released was one of disbelief, not understanding that he had lost, indefinitely.

She couldn't feel her limbs as she ripped the sword from his chest and raised it above her head, but she heard her words clear as day.

"Anyone who wishes to challenge me for the Bolton line, step forward now!" She shouted, looking to each of the men that stood above her at the edge of the ring. Her husband took the opportunity to continue to physically lash out at each of the men, continuing to pull ferociously at each of his limbs at an attempt to break free. The audience of men was stunned, looking between each other with gaping mouths as they waited for someone to make the first move. It was one of the men trying to hold Cregan still that acted first, letting go of his Liege Lord and stepping back with his hands raised. The others followed suit, taking several steps away from the enraged man as they released their hold on him. Cregan let out a cry and began attacking anyone who was in reach. Landing multiple blows to the man's jaw and screaming obscenities as he did so.

She watched as her husband tore through two more Bolton men, the Wolf of the North making appearances through his blinding rampage. The sword felt heavy in her hands, and she could feel her legs begin to grow weak. The sword hit the ground before she did, exhaustion taking hold of her frame as she stared into the greying sky, rain drops began slowly falling and painting her blood-tainted skin with lines of pink and white as she let the darkness take her vision.

————————————————————————

The darkness of the night brought the greying memories hidden in the back of her mind that kept her recollection of that day, into full florescent light.

Cregan found himself waking at least once every night after that treacherous one, to the sound of her screams and pleas for mercy that weren’t warranted to anything outside of her own mind. It had become something of a routine they had subconsciously formed, a torturous nightly ritual that seemed never-ending. Cregan would wake with terror at the sound of a wail, instinctually he would turn in the direction of the sound and try to bring her into his arms as quickly as possible. Holding her tightly to his chest, brushing her sweat-matted hair from her forehead and placing soft kisses in the wake of his fingers.

“You are okay, my girl. You’re alright. We’re home in Winterfell, you’re with me, and you are safe,” he whispered into her hairline.

“You are safe,” he repeated the statement in reassurance as he began to rock her slowly. But a soft pang rang through his chest as she continued to tremble in his arms. He could hear her still weeping, burying her face in his broad shoulder and clutching him like he would disappear into thin air. He brought his hand to the back of her head and cradled her to him, continuing to mumble sweet nothings into her ear.

“I just want to stop seeing it, even in my sleep; seeing him lying there in front of me slowly approaching death from an injury I inflicted. It keeps happening over and over in my head, it’s torturing,” her voice shook as she explained the terrors that plagued her memory. All Cregan knew at this moment was pain, knowing he would not be the salve to heal this wound to her mind. But he would be here for her always, holding her as she fought a battle in her head that he couldn’t get to; it was torture for him too.

“I’m so sorry, my sunlight. Such a beautiful brain shouldn’t be polluted with this grotesque darkness. You did not deserve to have this happen to you and I am sorry I wasn’t able to protect you from it,” he said softly, emotion weighing his voice down as his sentence came to a close. He felt as she trembled in his arms, wanting nothing more than to bring her the comfort she so deserves. Yet, once again, he was left to fall on his metaphorical sword and watch as she suffered these horrors in her own mind; feeling forever helpless.

————————————————————————

The Lord of Winterfell had been summoned to a meeting in the council hall by his Bannerman of the North, regarding an urgent matter, or so it stated in the note he had received.

“Why have I been summoned here when it is I who should be summoning you?” Cregan snarled, his icy gaze spearing through all the men gathered before him as he stalked to the head of the long council table.

“Well… it is the business of your lady wife, my Lord… and the incident that has recently taken place,” Lord Cerwyn spoke timidly. Looking to the empty seat where Lord Bolton used to reside.

“What business? What opinion do you, of all people, have to offer?” Cregan snapped towards the lord.

“It is just that… we fear she is a risk to you, my Lord,” Lord Cerwyn continued to explain.

“Do you think she would harm me? Mine own lady wife? Do you truly believe she would attack me, or anyone else for that matter, unprovoked?” Cregan scoffed, taken aback by this ridiculous notion.

“It is a possibility, my Lord,” Lord Cerwyn muttered quietly in response.

“Do you know what it is like to feel helpless, Lord Cerwyn? How it feels to know you will never be able to give your wife what she needs. I have sworn to protect mine and even I could not do that. What if Lady Cerwyn had suffered the same situation as my lady wife? What would you do then? Lady Stark was assaulted, and if she hadn’t acted when she did, her and I would both be dead. You would do well to remember that,” Cregan growled at Lord Cerwyn.

“Apologies, my Lord. It is only that we worry for your safety, as I stated previously. As well as the safety of those on your court and in the public, my Lord. If the question of safety is at stake should we not consider other options?” The vassal Lord responded, surprised when the acceptance of his ideas came from the Warden of the North.

“And what would those be?” Cregan asked, his tone as sharp as the blade of his sword, poised to strike at any moment. He was completely opposed to any ideas this nuisance of a man gave him, however he would entertain any chance he could to defend his beloved. Wanting to eradicate any idea of doubt they had towards her and her sanity.

“Perhaps the Lady Stark may take some time away from Winterfell? Or rather… be solely kept within the walls of the castle? Just until she is well enough of course,” Lord Cerwyn suggested, hesitating with anxiety as he saw Cregan practically boil over in rage from across the table. The other lords grimaced, knowing the on-slot that was about to ensue.

“Are you out of your damn mind to even suggest such a thing? She is your Lady of Winterfell, and just because she has more courage than the whole lot of you, doesn’t mean she should be feared. She should be revered!” Cregan reviled the men before him as they all refused to look at their Liege Lord as he shouted about their lack of respect for his lady wife. Specifically looking at Lord Cerwyn while doing so.

“I am repulsed by you and the thought that you could ever come to me and suggest such a thing about my wife,” Cregan seethed, rounding the corner of the table to meet Lord Cerwyn at his seat. The vassal Lord stood up slowly as Cregan towered over him, staring daggers into the man’s soul.

“Get the fuck out of my castle,” Cregan sneered with venom laced into his words, looking to the rest of the men around the table.

“GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!” He roared, stepping away from the table and motioning for a guard to begin the escort of the Lord Bannerman from The Keep.

————————————————————————

When Cregan had gained his composure, he went around the Keep attending to his evening duties as he always did. As he made his way to his marital bedchamber he was struck with confusion at seeing his wife’s handmaiden standing outside the door.

“Ayla, what are you doing out here?” Cregan asked, concern painting his face, but nodding politely when she bowed slightly to him.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord. I have tried to get her to open the door, but she refuses. I did not know what to do with my Lady’s nightgown… so I’ve just been waitin’ for you to arrive, m’lord,” the young woman said as she kept her head down, taking a slight glance up at him but feeling intimidated she chose to look away once again.

“Thank you, Ayla. That was very kind of you to wait. But may I ask, how long have you been here exactly?” Cregan inquired, worried about the condition of his love and how long she’d been like this.

“I couldn’ say, m’lord. But if I had to venture a guess, possibly an hour, m’lord,” Ayla spoke again, still avoiding his now deeply concerned expression.

“I can take this on from here, Ayla. My thanks, again,” He spoke, trying to keep his tone more professional as he took the clothing from the handmaidens arms and watched as she walked out of sight before trying the door.

He called her name, announcing his presence, but heard nothing.

“My love, please come to the door, I do wish to sleep in our bed in the near future if you so permit it,” he said loudly, trying to keep a lighter tone and not give off the impression of any sort of anger. When met with silence again, Cregan feels a trickle of dread slip down his spine not knowing if she was okay or if something had happened. He began to rap on the door, his knock growing louder and more desperate, along with his pleas to her.

“My darling, I must see that you are alright, plea-,” Cregan begins to beg but is silenced by the sound of the lock coming undone from the other side of the large doors. Without hesitation he enters the room and looks around for a moment before his heart falls from his chest and onto the floor at the sight of his wife in such distress. She is already in a nightdress, but it is wrinkled and in disarray upon her frame. Clearly in a state of panic he could see she was covered in a thin veil of sweat that caused her hair to stick to her skin, as the rest stood at odd angles or was mussed in some way. When she looked up at him from her seat on the floor in front of their hearth, it was evident that fear had her in its midst and was racking through her mind, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her breath seemed to be lost on her. Cregan went to his wife in an instant and knelt on the furs next to her as he gathered her in his arms. Stroking her hair in comfort and placing soft kisses to her temple, Cregan tries to calm his wife, but in her anxiety-ridden state she was unable to resist the waves of terror washing over her. It was clear in the way she couldn’t catch her breath, and how her body would tense and relax repeatedly.

“Okay, okay. Shhh it’s okay - that’s it. Breathe, my darling, just breathe,” Cregan spoke softly into his beloveds hair, rocking her back and forth as she tried to gain control of her breathing once more.

“My darling girl, what has caused this pain?” Cregan questioned, his tone laden with concern. She had to take several more deep breaths before she was able to finally respond coherently.

“I am no longer worthy enough to uphold your family’s house values,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze as he had tried to get her to look at him.

“No, my girl. How did you ever reach that conclusion?” Cregan’s heart breaking at the thought that she believed herself not good enough for anything.

“The men on your court, they wish to see me kept away, I heard it with mine own ears. I have put a stain on your house with my actions. I hear what they whisper about in the corridors, and in your court, calling me the 'the Mad Lady Stark'. I am anything but honor or duty, I killed a man that was the lord of one of your vassal houses. I don't want to be feared, Cregan. I dislike it very much... I am starting to fear myself," she finally explained, “…they said I should be locked away,” she whispered again, her voice cracking and her chin trembling.

“They would have to slay me first before anyone else took you from me. Honor be damned if it means having you by my side, no matter what anyone may say,” Cregan responded, his palms cradling her jaw, softly pushing her head up so he could look her in the eye. The statement rolling off his tongue so easily he didn’t even realize what the implication of that sentence was; he would throw away honor and dignity for her every time.

“I seek no kind of absolution from anything other than that of what lies within your soul and the God who crafted it. In your absence, my life would be without purpose. Fore if I am not permitted to love you and keep you, my days would be spent living half a life,” he proclaimed, tears gathering on his lash line. She too was weeping, her eyes distant as if she were not seeing him in front of her.

“Do you hear me?” He asked, his gaze desperate as he searched her eyes for understanding.

“You are safe, no one will take you from me,” he concluded as she finally focused back onto him and slightly nodded her head.

“Okay,” she relented, not wanting to take his words for truth even though she knew they were, it was the distrust she had within herself that was stopping her from believing. It was hard to hold his gaze, knowing he could read the thoughts dancing through her eyes like seeing something through a clear window. She couldn’t hide from him if she tried.

He could feel the uneasiness still residing within her, so he brought her hands in his and pressed kisses to her knuckles. Slowly taking each fingertip to his soft lips and laying feather-light kisses along them as well, then moving to the inside of each of her palms to do the same. As he moved lower and pressed his lips tenderly to the inside of her wrists, he saw her resolve begin to dissipate. Her insecurity dissolving at the touch of his lips to her skin.

“These hands protect you, they know how to wield a sword better than most of my men. They comfort me when I am in need, they will hold and comfort our future children. I am so in love with these hands; do not fear what they can do, because if it wasn’t for you we would both be deep in the frozen ground by now,” Cregan explained in a soft but sincere tone, continuing to place soft kisses to her knuckles and wrists.

“Cregan…” she sniffled, a small smile coming to her lips as he continued to travel his lips further up her arm, and then slowly moving upwards he pulled her nightdress from her shoulder to reveal her collarbone. The three large scars that ran along the soft skin were close to being fully healed, as much as they could be. Cregan leaned down and placed the tenderest of kisses upon them. He cradled her waist as he pulled her into him, her thighs wrapped themselves around his middle as he stood slowly from the ground, bringing her with him. Moving to the bed, he set her down on the pelts gently, shifting her up the bed as he crawled over her, his eyes searching hers for something.

“It is never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable by my advances. But if you would permit me, may I show you how in love and committed to you I truly am?” Cregan asked in a whisper, still keeping himself propped up above her. A soft smile spread over her face, her cheeks heating up at the notion of such adoration.

“If you do not wish it then it shall not be done,” he reassured, his eyes still searching hers for any type of doubt or hesitation.

“Cregan… prove to me what I cannot prove to myself in this moment,” she responded softly. With the permission granted, he smiled as he laid a heavy kiss onto her lips. Then as he had done moments before, he pushed the sleeve of her nightdress down her shoulder to reveal her scars to him. He continued to kiss over the marred skin, trekking lightly up the slope of her neck until he reached just below the shell of her ear.

“These scars are proof of extraordinary resilience; proof of your undeniable courage, something I have always admired about your spirit,” Cregan spoke softly as he placed a kiss to her temple. “… and this… this stalwart, brilliant, stunningly cunning, and expertly charming brain of yours… you are a marvel to me… all of you,” Cregan continued to speak as he placed more kisses along her temple and under her jaw as she sighed and smiled. He began to move down further, kissing her unmarked collarbone and traveling south. However the hem of her neckline proved a worthy adversary to Cregan’s wishes to desire his wife. His hand travels from its place beside her body to slip under her nightdress and waltz up her thigh as the fabric went with it. He couldn’t help himself from running his fingers over the expanse of her thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The light caresses of her husband would always make her weak. She felt his hands grip her hips and carefully move her small clothes down her legs, a shaky breath escaping her as he does so.

“These hips… these hips will cradle your womb as you carry our child, they are strong and will birth the bravest of warriors,” Cregan spoke against her skin as he exposed it to himself. Having removed the dress fully from her body his lips began to paint tapestries across the skin of her lower stomach. His hands wandered, feeling every inch of skin he could reach, whispering his praises to every piece of her he touched. The noises that emitted from her were the sweetest melody Cregan had ever heard, the soft sighs and gasps of built up anticipation.

He loved it all.

Placing both of his hands at the back of her thighs he slowly coaxed them to rise as he shifted lower and placed his head upon her inner thigh, turning to meet his lips to the supple skin. He became drunk on the whimpers that fell so gracefully upon his ears as he teased the inner most part of her thighs with hot breaths and light caresses of his fingertips. Until finally he met his lips with what he considered the gates of the only heaven that truly mattered. In his hazed state he let his tongue wander through the petals of her cunt, like sifting through the petals of a freshly picked rose. He fell more intoxicated at her scent and taste as it poured over his senses, his grip on her thighs becoming stronger as his fingertips dug in. With a gentle force he moved her legs farther apart to be fully flat on his stomach, making the perfect angle for him to -

“OH CREGAN!” She gasped and cried out as she felt his tongue part her center and delve into her like a craved man. Her fingers carded through his locks and roughly tugged at the base of them, causing a moan to escape Cregan’s throat. As he continued unraveling her from the inside out, he loosened his grip on her thighs and began running his hands along the expanse of her skin. He got lost in the feeling of how soft and warm she felt against his fingers tips. He wondered how a human could possess such a physical sense of grace, as his skin had been marred by combat and in training, it was foreign to him to feel such a thing. As one of his hands began caressing her breast, running the rough pad of his thumb over her peaked nipple he enjoyed the sounds the small motion elicited from her. Beginning to get engulfed in desire, Cregan could not resist as his hips drove themselves against the mattress as he tried to get friction on his aching cock. The motion and resulting friction caused a small whimper to escape him, his cheeks burning at such a sound coming from him, but he couldn’t help it. It was all just too damn good. Retracting from her slightly he looked up to her, and was met with her gaze in return, their eyes communicating what their lips didn't have to.

They couldn't wait anymore.

His fingers never left her as he sat up and began undoing his trousers with his other hand, holding her soft gaze the entire time. She looked like an angel splayed before him, having fallen from the heavens and landed directly in their bedchambers. Throwing the garment to the side, he slid his fingers from her and brought them to his lips with a groan.

"You are the sweetest thing in all of the Seven Kingdoms my love," Cregan whispered to her as he climbed atop her. Feeling as her own hands roamed his broad shoulders and a moan escaped her as he tucked his head into her neck and began leaving soft trails of kisses down to her collar bones.

"Are you ready, my lady," Cregan asked softly, not wanting to move forward any further without her specific consent.

"Yes, my love," She whispered into his ear, a small smile gracing her beautiful lips. Taking hold of the back of her thighs, he hoists them around his waist and lines himself up with her entrance before slowly beginning to push in. The groans and gasps shared between them left them both feeling breathless. Positioning himself on his elbows to support himself, he cradled her head in one large palm as the other twisted itself into her hair. He began to move slowly, falling into the velvety bliss that was his wife. Moans and gasps danced from her parted lips as her husband gently led her down the road of pleasure, softly touching and kissing her. She adored the softness with which he caressed her, the way he held the back of her head like it was fragile. But she hadn't felt this intimacy with him in weeks, and she needed it a little harder and faster than what he was providing currently.

"My love," she gasped, her breathing staggered as he hit a spot within her that brought her the utmost pleasure, "my darling, fuck me," she demanded through gritted teeth, and he did not need to be told a second time. Bringing himself off of her, he balanced on his outstretched arms as he moved upwards, bringing her hips with him. This new angle provided her with the intensity she was looking for. Allowing him to meet his hips with her own in a powerful way, without crushing her with his enormous form.

One of his hands was softly caressing her face, cradling her jaw in his large palm. The action so opposing of the passionate and intense motion of his hips against hers, driving forward with a force as he got lost in her ether. The bed creaked and shook with the physicality of it all. The sound of skin meeting skin accompanied that of the complaints from the wooden frame of the bed and the sounds of pleasure ricocheted off the stone walls of their chamber; it was a sinful symphony. Feeling the burning knot of pleasure beginning to slip from his control, whimpers and grunts of desperation began to fall from his lips.

“My love - my light, I need you to look at me,” Cregan begged, his voice strained and thick with desire. Her eyes had been sown shut with the pleasure he brought her and her jaw had fallen slack, so lost in Cregan and the feeling of him that was surrounding her. It was an effort to look into his eyes as his thrusts became more erratic and she felt him hit that spot with a strength that took the breath from her lungs. It was impossible for him to come undone without looking into her eyes. She was the sun, blinding in her beauty to see with a naked eye yet captivating nonetheless, and he couldn’t look away.

He saw her struggling to focus and keep her eyes from fluttering shut as strangled moans came from deep within her. She was the most stunning vision to behold with her head thrown back and her hair splayed around her like a halo. The sweat-slick skin of her neck and chest as beautiful as fresh dew shining in the sunlight in the early hours of the morn. But he had to see her, look into her eyes as they took each other over the edge. He called her name gently, pleas quietly spilling from his mouth until moments later she was able to make eye contact with him.

The groan that came from him was desperate and loud as she finally answered his prayers.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Cregan grunted, all he heard in return was the rough panting and delicate groans of his wife as she felt nothing else but him. So consumed by him and his body she felt as if she might burst. Moving one of his hands down her torso as he ventured towards the space between them, wanting so badly to hear those gorgeous moans that fall from her mouth every time he touches her there. They both hung on a precipice, each thrust threatening to push them over the edge into oblivion. As he thrust several more times, the creaking of the bed was echoing off the stone walls of their chamber, the sound joining that of her whimpers and gasps of his name. Starting to thrust with a more erratic nature and needing more leverage, he pulled his hand away from the haven between her thighs and took ahold of hers, placing it atop the headboard to join the other, having took hold of it for balance.

In this position Cregan had never looked more strikingly handsome, his head hung between his outstretched arms above her, the dark locks of his hair falling around his face. He looked as if he was sculpted from marble, a statue of his grandeur created just for her. She heard quiet whimpers begin to fall from his mouth and she knew he was holding back with everything he had, but he didn’t need to.

“Come with me, my love,” she whispered to him between pants, their breaths mingling within one another, eyes never breaking each others gaze. The most divine groan fell from his plush lips, his face contorting in pleasure and then going slack as she felt his hips driving harder. As she felt the knot of pleasure begin to unravel in her lower stomach, she cried out his name in ecstasy and arched into him. The hand that was entangled in his gripped the headboard hard as she pulled herself up into him. Dropping his other arm to the mattress, he reached around her waist and anchored himself to her. With a final broken moan he felt himself cum as his hips met hers and he buried himself as deep as he could within her. They were still for a moment as they both began to come down, but suddenly Cregan began to move again. Dragging out his strokes and angling his hips so he could hit the one spot within her that he knew would result in another orgasm for her.

It was an intense and angelic experience for them both. As she felt him move slightly, squeezing her hip and holding her to him as he continued to rock into her. Cregan could feel the flutter of her walls as her peak never seemed to fade away, he was pulling the utmost pleasure from her and she never wanted it to stop. She clung to him with her available arm, running her hand through his hair and gripping the roots.

“Fuck, darling. You feel so divine.” Cregan spoke into her ear, his tone strewn with gravel as he too began to feel his ascension into the heavens once more. He ducked his head into the valley of her neck as he placed hot, needy kisses along the column of her throat. Her response was nothing more than mumbling and moaning, the love and lust clouding her mind to anything other than what he was giving her.

“I know baby, I know,” Cregan whispered and although he too was beginning to get lost in overstimulation, one of the only things he knew in that moment was he needed to feel her release one more time.

Cregan pulled back in that moment and released his hold on her waist as he then gently led her back onto the mattress. Having also released her hand that had been intertwined in his own on the headboard, he could feel both of them now moving over his skin and her nails slowly digging trails down his back.

He groaned at the sensation and as he went to shift his weight off the headboard, a sharp CRACK could be heard echoing off the walls, and suddenly Cregan’s weight dropped onto her. He caught himself, for the most part, but the sudden change had caused their lustful trance to be interrupted.

“My love, are you alright?” Cregan immediately turned his attention to his wife who was staring up at him in shock. With Cregan still sheathed inside her she was having a hard time comprehending what had just happened as she fought to focus herself.

“Yes, yes I’m okay,” she said to him as he brought a hand up to cradle her head, his thumb traces a dip from her cheek to her temple, a gesture of reassurance.

“Did we just break the headboard?” She inquired after a brief pause between them, an amused smile forming on her face and soon after an eruption of giggles poured out of her. Cregan looked surprised at the outburst at first but soon was chuckling at the circumstances right along side her. Slowly maneuvering off of her and to her side, they continue to share loving glances and can’t help the laughing that results.

“I think you know the answer to your question,” Cregan finally responded. Pulling her into his chest, their breathing slowing as they felt the exhaustion from the day wash over each of them.

“Do you know how in love with you I am? Do you understand now? Because I will spend every waking second I have left in this world trying to prove it to you,” Cregan whispered into her hair as he comforted her with soft touches and the warm embrace of his strong arms.

"I do know," she reassured him. She hummed in contentment as she felt his large palm move down to her lower stomach, encompassing the area above her womb.

"I do hope that took, I cannot wait any longer to see you round with my child," he says softly to her, adoration in his eyes as they looked down to where his hand is resting.

"Can you promise me something, Cregan?" she asked, looking to him intently but with a meaning behind her eyes.

"Anything, my sunlight," he responded.

"If we have a daughter, I want her to never feel as though she is not a son. She deserves to live in a world where she is not seen for her body but for her soul, and one where she isn't treated differently because of the gender she was born into. She should not have to feel like she needs to be anything other than herself, and we should provide that for her," she said, Cregan propped himself up on his arms and took his wife's face into his hands.

"We will provide that for her, I promise," he said, kissing her forehead and then gently placing a kiss to her lips.

"We will do better than our forefathers, and she shall know how special she is just for being who she wants to be," he reaffirmed, a smile gracing both of their lips as the promise of a better future was solidified between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @itsaslaminak @entitled-fangirl @ethereal-athalia @vastseamind @r-3dlips @hotdhoe @kaidaophelia @lv7867 @oni-jiri @mysticalhills @makaria-burton @ivorains @cregnstark @eldrith @bucksplum @swordgrace @earth4angels @princessvelaryon @dr3amfyr-e @username679273 @targtowerxstark @cregansdingdong @creganstarkswife @dipperscavern @xxselenite @v3lary0ns

[m0chisenpai]

Louis x reader x Armand

The reader is a witch and she meets Armand and Louis and Claudia when going to watch a vampire play. They are mesmerized by her enchanting presence, wondering what and who she is

superstitious

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

˚｡⋆ platonic!claudia x black!fem!reader

in which the missing piece fills the gaps

author note: We're gonna play with the idea that Louis has somewhat integrated into coven life

Another night of plays. And a new role for Claudia. A nod to the past, Claudia plays the maid to Marie Antoinette who witnesses both affairs and murders of the king and queen.

The role is silent, but it is better than falling out a window every singe night in that godforsaken blue dress. At least she could be a woman for the many nights to come. She'll give Louis that little credit due.

As always, Louis assumes his usual spot, watching his sister perform while his companion sits above. There is peace between all three. And at the same time, a feeling of lonesome resides. Like there is something missing. He assumed Madeline would fill it, a fledgling that he felt such pride and dare say love.

But the loneliness remained. She could feel it in him. But Louis would brush her curious gaze aside.

Until that evening when she enters.

Armand smells her before she even steps foot into the theatre. It is rich, it is new. It almost smells familiar of his previous years abroad. Whoever is here, their blood sings to his dead heart. It begs for him to consume it, to be bathed in it.

Had an ancient one found their way back? He looks down into the seats. Soldiers, husbands and wives, students fill the house. But he sees nothing.

Louis catches Armand's gaze, he sees his gaze, 'what is it?'

'Something is here. An ancient thing or being. I do not know what it is. But there is power in it.'

His gaze shifts to Medline, 'keep watch over yourself and your companion.'

"One ticket please!" The dressed up vampire hands the young woman her ticket which she holds between gloved hands. She felt out of place in her softer colors against the dark theatre, but she always did stick out. Perhaps the vampire assumed her to be a child, she certainly exuded such child like excitement as she skipped into the theatre

"Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires," you whisper to yourself in awe finding your seat. "How dramatic, Prudence was right. But when is she never?"

The act begins. Murder marks the end of all the scenes and your laughter is like a bell in the vampires ears. Armand searched but can not find you nor can Louis pinpoint your presence. But a magnetizing feeling washes over their bodies.

Then the final act happens. The vampire troupe feast on the woman and silence fills the theatre. But you stand in loud applause shouting your praise in French. And it is as though the world ends when all three look upon you. Even though the applause thunders over your praise, they hear it so loudly.

How your eyes shimmer in praise, how your pearly white smile lights the room. Claudia freezes with the blood dripping along her lips. Trying to remember your face as the curtains pull shut. Armand watches as you look up, nodding your head giving your applause to him now.

But Louis, oh he wants you then and there. But the crowd keeps him from meeting you in the aisles as you quickly move out.

You may appreciate the arts, but you know not to engage those much farther up the food chain.

"Oh sisters it was wondrous as you said!" you whisper in awe as you tie your scarf looking in to the mirror of your flat.

"Did I not tell you it was a delight, though in their early days they were more Shakespearean. I suppose they choose to cater to their English crowd now."

"And times are changing sister dear. some of us have not graced this land as long as you have," you smirk as she gasps at your retort.

"And did you see the leader? Is he not handsome!" Your fellow sister Urydice exclaims moving Prudence aside to stand in front of the mirror. Her milky white gaze grounds you as she press forward closer.

"He was..beautiful." you shyly whisper and the girl squeals.

"Oh you must approach them! you must! if not for you then for romance my sister!" She was always the most romantic of you all. Each of your sisters had their areas of the arts they adored. And your dear sister favored love above all.

"Enough girls return to your chambers."

"Yes Mother." You whisper your goodbyes to all the girls until she sits in front. Your leader, the mother of your group. She is old and wise from the many lifetimes she has survived, but no age touches her complexion. Her hair large and thick is braided back and you realize how much you miss your mother.

"My darling," she whispers with a smile on her lips "I see you are adjusting well to the city of love." You quickly nod, folding your hands tight in your lap. "Be safe. These vampires hold great power. And they have numbers. Until we have arrived you are to not engage them, please my dear."

"Yes mother," you bow your head and press a kiss to your pointer and middle finger pressing it to the glass. And as soon as she does the same all that is left is your reflection.

You should listen to her, but you don't. You ponder and mull over the many protection casts that could offer you a chance to possibly approach. But in the end you toss any ideas aside and blow all the candles out and raise a hand to dim the lamps as well.

And as you shed your robe to slip into your bed. The golden eyes that watch from your balcony disappear into the night.

That next night you sit at the cafe writing letters to your scattered sisters. Some in English, three in French and the one in Italian you work on slowly, whispering your thoughts to yourself.

"You're not from here ma'am? Haven't heard Italian before," the young girl sitting in front of you startles you, but you keep your face neutral. The younger ones are far more dangerous. Quick tempered, more fierce.

You smile at her and shake your head. "No, I am not. But Italy is not my home unfortunately." You sip from your glass of coffee. "I must say you are an exceptional actress. The breath was taken right out of me, especially at the end."

"Thank you, years of practice led me here."

"From...America?" you guess, no you know.

Her eyes widen as does her smile, "how'd you know?"

"Southern accent. Heard it growing up when I was a bit younger than you, course till we moved and such."

"Claudia, what'd I tell you bout disturbing folks?"

You hate to admit how the man who joins you both at the table makes your eyes widen. The way he places his hand on the back of her chair, appearing from the entrance inside the cafe to sit beside her. Your cheeks feel hot as his gaze settles upon you. You seem to have some affect as well because he is no longer chiding at the girl.

"No, she is fine sir. Just some simple conversation is all" you tilt your head, "your daughter I am assuming?"

"Ah well...yes" he fumbles his words. "Lost her mother and wound up here for some time."

"How sweet," you smile at the two now bundling your letters to drop at the post hoping the tremble of your hand is unnoticeable. "I should be taking my leave now. It was lovely to speak to you both."

"Claudia," she quickly shakes your hand when you step to her.

"Louis."

They wish you could stay. But you toss the necessary amount by your cup and leave the two behind to watch you walk down the stony path. You move slowly, hoping the urgency in your leaving goes unnoticed. Where two are gathered surely a secret third will try and interceded. To make you a meal.

One night turns into two, then three when you return again it has been a challenging week. A week of you trying to avoid that theatre, but they call out to you in the night. "Come, come to us." It's as though they sit by your windows whispering, begging for you. But the leader requests your presence tonight.

One of the women leads you to where he sits. The only empty seat beside him is where you situate yourself.

"When did he turn you?"

"Don't have a creator." You whisper, eyes remaining on the stage. They flicker to Louis who looks up, giving you a smile which you quickly return along with a small wave.

"You know we are not human, yet you yourself are not one of us," now his head turns to look at you. "But you do not smell mortal. And your presence...it is unusual."

"I smell?"

"Nothing like the boys of war I can assure you, it is not unwelcoming" Armand can not help the smallest of smiles when he hears your sigh of relief. "But I must ask you again. What are you if not human?"

You hesitate, remembering the words of your mother. "We are not human. In the past humans maddened by thoughts of God and Satan killed us one by one. They stopped it from being publicized but they still hunt us to this day running us into the shadows of the night and to all corners of this world."

"You are a witch?"

"We refrain from calling ourselves that," your hand rests against a necklace. The very one all of you share engraved with an ancient sigil, the metal untouched by the years you have owned it. "We are scattered across the world to avoid any more unnecessary murders."

You pause to clap for Claudia, smiling as she grins up at you at the end of her act.

"Will you be in France for long?" Armand asks once you sit back down.

"I would like to be. Rome was for a moment. And I am not sure I wish to return again to Greece, though I miss the waters." Armand returns his gaze down to Claudia and Louis both steal glances at him.

"If you stay here, I can gurantee your safety."

Claudia adores you and spends any moment she can to hear about your travels. Taking you to Madeline's shop where the young fledgling happily dresses and styles you and around the city while Louis walks around the city with you. Taking shots of you facing the moonlight or along the river. They are some of his best work.

Armand shows you artwork from the world. And some of his older works of plays dating back to the theatre's founding days.

Each of them can not help but feel you fill the gap in their hearts.

They feel dizzy just being in the midst of your presence.

Then one night, as you sit atop Armand's lap. Louis' hand settles at the back of your neck, squeezing it gently to pull your head to look up at him. Your bare chest heaves as Armand lays kisses upon it. There is something electric in the air, something magical in your eyes.

The candles burn brighter with each kiss. Flickering with your breathing, as though they are breathing with you.

"Stay with us," his voice a whisper. Your eyes remain on his. He whispers it again, "join us."

Your mothers words are drowned from the two. Their warnings are nothing but a fly in your ear which you swat away.

"Yes, please." Armand lets a soft hiss as he bites into the juncture of your neck while Louis bites into the other side. And it is like liquid fire fills your vein and fills theirs.

The candles flicker out at that very moment.

It is as though you are bonded to them in that moment.

Theirs for an eternity.

[hortaheart]

It’s crazy how Voyager, by nature of its premise, should be half about the Maquis, but it straight up isn’t. I know we talk about this a lot and that there’s a million examples of this, but I just rewatched “Hunters”, and it’s utterly bizarre to me how the news of the mass death of the rest of the Maquis is so glossed over. It’s presented as just an emotional problem for B’Elanna, which is only equally as important as Tom’s dad-related angst, Janeway’s Dear John letter from Mark, and Harry being anxious for a letter from home.

Like. Half the crew is Maquis. And this is four years into the journey, when the crew has become fully integrated and entangled with each other. No matter how the various originally Starfleet crew felt about the Maquis before, they have to be at least somewhat sympathetic now. Or at least to care about them because the Maquis crew members they‘ve become close with care about them.

This should be a huge deal for the entire ship. Everyone should be upset by this. The Captain should make a statement to the crew. We should see the various Maquis crew members break down sobbing, and others comforting them. There should be a service to honor them that everyone attends.

It has every reason to completely overshadow everything else. It’s insane how background it is! We don’t even see Chakotay’s real reaction!

And then Neelix throws a party at the end that everyone attends, Chakotay smilingly arm in arm with Janeway, who we never see formally receive the news. A party!

It should be a funeral!

[vi-tamine]

hey!! would you write vi with childhood crush!reader and they've spent years liking each other but were too oblivious/insecure to confess, then vi gets with caitlyn in s1 leaving reader heartbroken but then they break up so vi and reader finally get together? like a angst to fluff... only if you dont mind obviously!!

after the storm (vi x reader)

words: 2,7k (oh... my god...)

genre(s): fluff and angst

warnings: kind of drunk vi, vi x childhood crush!reader

n/a: maybe I've gone a little overboard with this request but omg I had such a good time writing about my girl…. little reminder that english isnt my first language, im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes <3 hope u enjoy!

When you were younger, you frequented the famous The Last Drop in the undercity, where you became friends with a small group of somewhat brothers. You frequented that bar because, apart from the fact that they had a delicious tomato juice that you had never tasted anywhere else, there was a certain pinkhead girl who had accepted you into the group and integrated you into it as if you had always been part of it. 

You both had very different personalities, while she was hard, determined and direct, you were more quiet and reserved in certain aspects. And yet, you complemented each other perfectly.  You admired her a lot, or so you thought. 

Little by little, you both grew to trust each other. You frequented her space, she invited you on adventures with her group and she told you things she couldn't tell her younger sister or her brothers. 

You wanted to mentally beat yourself up when you realized that you no longer saw Vi as a friend, but that you were beginning to feel a certain attraction to her. They were confusing feelings for you at the age you were. You never said anything because you finally had a friend you felt you could count on and you didn't want to spoil your friendship with those silly feelings you were sure you could ignore.

One day, the subway city seemed to go to hell and was covered in mourning. Vander passed away and you never heard from the boys, Powder or Vi again. 

.

You attended to one last customer as you escorted him to the door, said goodbye in a light whisper and closed the door as you turned the Closed sign. After your mother's passing, leaving you completely alone in the undercity, you took over your business, a humble junkyard frequented, as far as you knew, by some of Silco's henchmen. 

Leaning on the counter, you noticed that one of the shelves was missing a few knick-knacks, and frowning you realized that the wretch had stolen them. You cursed to yourself as you lightly tapped the counter. Since that day had been hard days for you, you were facing the world all alone. You knew that Powder, or Jinx, as she now called herself, was “fine”, but you still knew nothing about the others, not even Ekko, with whom you had exchanged a few words.

You heard knocking at the door. “Closed, it says so on the sign” you shouted from inside the shop as you finished packing up. Still, the knocking did not stop. 

Snorting, you headed for the door, opening it in complete anger. “It's closed! Don't you know how-” you shut up when you saw the person in front of you. That totally unmistakable pink hair, the freckles on her nose and her powder blue eyes staring straight at you. “Vi?” you muttered in a whisper. You felt her arms wrap around you tightly, and you still confused, it took you a little while to return her embrace. 

You felt the warmth of her body against yours hit you full on, and you definitely felt like you were going to burst into tears. She was so beautiful, grown up, more grown up, stronger, more everything. 

“Where were you all this time?” you mumbled asking into the crook of her neck, still not letting go of her arms. “Stillwater” she replied in a whisper, still wrapping her arms around you. You stood for a while longer holding each other, you had needed this for a long time, and to be honest, you had to hold back the urge you had to cry. 

“You're... so changed” she murmured once she broke away, looking you up and down, ending up in your eyes. You let out a giggle. 

“Not you, you look the same. You have the same punk face you had seven years ago” you joked with her while you gave a light tap on her arm, noticing how stiff it was. Seeing her made you feel strange, you felt the same as when you were little, you still had that feeling towards her, but it was possible that having seen her again after so many years, had increased those feelings.  “How did you get out of jail? And why did they arrest you in the first place?” in Zaun the word was spreading fast, but from that day on you shut yourself away from taking care of your mother and the store, you didn't know anything about what had happened. Vi gave you a brief summary, told you everything that happened that day and how it all went. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, a piece inside you shattered as you learned of your friends' passing. 

“And about how I got out...let's just say  the council got me out” you arched an eyebrow at her response. What would the council want her for? 

The door burst open. A girl, who looked about your age, blue hair and slanted sky coloured eyes, appeared in this one. You frowned, for she did not look like someone proper from Zaun, despite her robes. 

“Vi? You got it?” the girl spoke to the girl. Confused, you looked at her.

“Have what?” you asked, looking at your once friend. She looked at you, you watched as she swallowed, and when she was about to speak, the taller one cut her off.

“Information. About Jinx” your gaze shifted to the stranger. Her gaze towards you, while trying to be neutral, you could sense a bit of distaste in it. You didn't understand anything, but what you did seem to understand was that they knew each other. 

“Give me a few minutes, cupcake” you felt something inside you snap a little more. the taller one snorted and walked out of the store again, slamming the door behind her. What's wrong with her? you asked yourself, still staring at the door.

“Who is she?” you asked in a whisper. 

“Caitlyn Kiramman, the officer who pulled me out of Stillwater” Vi replied as she shrugged her shoulders. You mumbled lightly. You had a lot of questions. 

“Cupcake?” you asked in a mocking tone, though to be honest, you hadn't been the least bit amused.  A few years ago it had been you she called in that nickname, “because you were so sweet, like a cupcake” she had once told you. “Are you with a piltoverian?” you asked, this time, raising your voice a little higher than you would have liked.

“What?” Vi shrugged. “What's your problem? It's not like you released me from prison, honey” she teased wryly as she looked directly at you. At this point, you got the feeling that Vi had forgotten her entire past, or at least a past where you belonged in her life. Years ago you thought she might reciprocate your feelings, perhaps. Now it was clear that had never been the case for her. 

“Go away. I don't have any information from Jinx. Ask somewhere else” you spoke softly. You really were out of strength to fight. You didn't want to, at least not with her. Taking her by the shoulder you accompanied her to the door, and opening it, without saying goodbye, you slammed the door once she set foot on the street. You closed the door with every possible lock. 

“Anything?” ”Nothing. Never mind, we'll ask at the brothel” after those murmurs on the other side of the wall, you couldn't help but feel your tears start to fall one after the other more and more abundantly. You felt a pressure in your chest, you felt full of guilt. You were alone again, with your heart hanging in your hands. 

You thought maybe you had overreacted, that you shouldn't have treated Vi like that after not having seen her for so many years, but your feelings got the better of you.

And once again, you decided to disengage from the issue and whatever happened from that point on. 

.

One more day in your routine, you closed the store once the last customer of the day had already walked through the door to go out into the street. As usual, you swore on the sign indicating that the store was closed to the public, and began to sweep and tidy up the shop to have it ready for the next day first thing in the morning. 

The last six months had been an odyssey for you. You did not stop hearing everywhere you went about the return of Vi, about everything that was happening in the city above and especially what was happening with Jinx. You stayed on the sidelines, even though wherever you went you were gathering information.

You had been thinking a lot during this time, thinking about the pinkhead and how everything could have been different if only the Piltover girl had not been there. You didn't blame Vi, you knew she had every right to hang out with whomever she wanted, but you couldn't help but feel angry and jealous at the slightest thought that she would never be with you. 

You heard a knock at the door. You sighed, you were not in the mood for this kind of nonsense. You ignored the knocking, the sign was clear, they would notice. Even though you kept sweeping and cleaning, the knocking didn't stop and your patience was limited. Just as you were about to say something to the person who kept insisting, the sound of the door opening startled you. You turned to complain, but you saw her.

She was significantly changed. Her pink hair was badly dyed a very dark black color, and her eyes were made up in a totally disastrous way. She was dressed in black and several bandages covered various parts of her body. You frowned at the sight of her looking like that.

“Did you fall in a puddle of oil?” you asked as you went back to your work. You heard her snort. Glancing sideways at her you noticed she was wobbling a bit, and taking a couple of steps forward, she looked like she was almost going to fall, leaning against the counter. You put the broom aside and approached her, the smell of alcohol becoming more and more present. “Have you been drinking?” you asked. She simply nodded. You snorted a little and bit your tongue. 

You slipped one of her arms over your shoulder, and holding her by the waist, guided her to the back of the store to go upstairs to your apartment. She stumbled over her own feet as she walked, making your steps clumsy as you climbed the stairs. She mumbled things you couldn't understand, but she seemed hurt, for some reason. 

Once you got up to the apartment, you directed her to the living room to sit her carefully on the couch. She looked at everything with curiosity, and in silence, you went to the kitchen to bring her a glass of water. You held the glass out to her and she, with a murmur of thanks, took a sip.

“It hasn't changed a bit...” she murmured still observing the humble decor of your living room. “And your mother? How is she?” he asked awkwardly. You didn't answer, didn't even look at her, just shrugged. Vi got the message right away. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't- fuck, sorry” she mumbled setting aside the glass. 

“Why did you drink so much?” you asked leaning against the back of the couch. Vi did the same, settled back and let out a sigh. She even seemed to find it hard to speak. “Drink water” you took the glass again and held it out to her. She heeded and took another sip. 

“Things aren't going well...” she muttered. You knew what she was talking about, nothing was right when a war between two cities was about to explode. 

“Something I heard” you simply mentioned. Vi looked at you. The only thing she thought when she looked at you was that the dim light coming through the window really fell in a very angelic way on your body. She always thought you were a jewel in the rough,  someone who didn't have to belong to this city, someone who deserved better from everything life had given her. “Your girlfriend? All good with her?” when she heard those words come out of your mouth she frowned and growled. 

“No,” she replied. She didn't add anything else. You didn't want to ask either, you supposed that also added to things not going well. 

“I'm sorry” you mumbled. You weren't sorry. If you had to be honest, you were kind of glad it hadn't worked out with that girl. The atmosphere was starting to feel tense as you weren't talking anymore. You listened to Vi take sip after sip of water. She started to sit up a bit, you took it for granted that she was starting to sober up and become more aware of the situation. 

 Still silent, you felt her head rest on your shoulder. “You don't know how much i've missed you all these years” she murmured. You felt her hair brush against your cheek, and you couldn't help but fall into nostalgia, letting your cheek rest against her head. “I've missed you so much too, Vi...” you felt her hand brush against yours before taking her fingers in yours. Her hand was warm, unlike yours, which always had cold fingers. You enjoyed the warmth her body emanated, closing your eyes slightly, enjoying the company you both gave each other.

For her part, Vi during her stay in Stillwater, always dreamed of a scenario similar to this, without the alcohol and tragedies in between. Just you and her sharing such a sweet moment as you were doing at that moment. Ever since she was little she had always felt a certain attraction to you, you were always so sweet and positive that she felt you two complemented each other perfectly. You could say that her heart melted a little more when, that same night, instead of kicking her out of your tent, you offered her your help and shelter. 

“Thank you, for everything” she murmured still leaning against you, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb. You felt, hearing her voice so calm, your heart skip a beat. 

“You don't have to give them away. I wasn't going to let you down, you're my Vi” you murmured back. The girl couldn't help but smile. Your Vi. She was yours. 

“And you're my cupcake” you rolled your eyes, letting out a chuckle. 

“That's not so clear to me, cutie” you joked, referencing that it was the same nickname she had used with her ex.

“You’re mine too” Vi sat up on the couch, both of them very close to each other. Her eyes connected with yours and you both became lost in each other's gaze. Placing her hand on your chin, she brought her lips to yours, leaving a small kiss on them. You felt a slight shiver run down your spine. You had just experienced what you always wanted, and in such a sweet way, that you could only think you were dreaming. But when Vi started kissing you one after another, feeling her lips on yours, you knew it was real. You reciprocated each of the kisses Vi gave you sweetly, and as you parted, you both looked at each other and laughed lightly.

“You don't know how long I wanted to do this,” Vi said leaning her head back against the back of the couch, looking directly at you as she kept smiling, her cheeks rosy. 

“You don't know how long I've waited for you to do this” you leaned against her, leaving a kiss on her cheek. “I've always liked you, you know? These years have been torture...to think you could have been-” Vi stopped you when you felt her hand on your cheek, caressing it in the sweetest way possible.

“Time has passed, and I'm already here. And I'm not going to move from your side.” you smiled at the girl's words. You took it as a correspondence. 

After the storm you were finally starting to see the sun. 

[bohoteacher]

Navigating Betrayal: Reconciling Admiration with Disillusionment

Like many Neil Gaiman fans this month, I've been shocked and distressed by the news regarding the SA allegations. I won't go over the details, as they're readily available online. I'll start by saying that I believe the accusers, and even the most lenient interpretation of events is still troubling enough to discredit Gaiman. For a long time, I didn't know what to say. I was just shocked and, somewhat naively, felt betrayed. I don't typically idolize actors, authors, or other public figures—I'm here for the characters, they're who I love and believe in. So, how did I end up believing in this man and his rhetoric?

I only had a parasocial relationship with him, which is to say no real relationship at all. But I took his Masterclass on writing, spent hours taking notes, and learned from him. I feel betrayed by someone I saw as a beloved teacher. I know this is insignificant compared to what the women who came forward experienced, but it's a valid feeling, and I needed time to process it. My initial reaction was to throw out and discount everything he’s ever written or done—of course it was.

This isn't just about my love for Good Omens, although how can it not be? I learned so much from this man—about writing, about not being too hard on myself, about the creative process. I read his books to my middle school classes, and we all learned how to be better people from them. Today, I saw and bought Instructions, a children’s book by Neil Gaiman illustrated by Charles Vess, from the used bookstore where I volunteer. It was a used copy, so no royalties will go to him. It’s a beautifully illustrated book where the main character walks through a land that clearly symbolizes life, learning lessons like saying please and "if any creature cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain." How could someone write this and then do what he did? I asked myself. "What an evil hypocrite," was my first thought. But then I recalled a line from another author, Stephen King. In The Stand, a character is described as "awake at the lectern, but asleep at the switch," meaning they know the right thing to do and can talk about it, but in the moment of choice, they act without integrity.

I don’t know if I’m making sense, but I think it’s too easy to label Gaiman as simply evil, as if he intentionally manipulated us by saying the right things just to make us read or watch his creations. The reality is likely far more complicated. Within this man is the amazing, thought-provoking, life-affirming wisdom that many of us have tried to live by, but also the hard, thoughtless, selfish cruelty that led him to abuse young, vulnerable women. The wisdom does not justify the abuse, and the abuse does not nullify the wisdom.

I think it's too simplistic to say Gaiman is despicable and always has been, hiding it from us all along. This doesn't acknowledge the complexity of human nature—that there is potential for both good and bad within us all. As it’s said, possibly by Terry Pratchett or possibly by Neil Gaiman, “It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.”

Gaiman is a man who has done some fundamentally good things and some fundamentally bad things. I can’t forget either one.

This is just my opinion. I know some people want to cancel him, while others want to exonerate him. You do you. As for me, I will continue to love Aziraphale and Crowley. I will continue to read and create fan-fiction. I will continue to find comfort and wisdom in books that have meant so much to me over the years. But I will also remember that they were created by a very flawed man whom I can no longer trust.

I understand that opinions on this matter vary widely. I know some people might feel that not discarding everything associated with him is wrong, but this is where I stand. I’m not looking to debate this or be told how I should react. I just needed to process my thoughts in writing and move forward in the way that feels right for me.

[odinsblog]

“I'm observing such a huge gap between different social groups that I didn't even realize were different. I, you know, most of my friends are in the media. A lot of my journalist friends are just much better informed.

A lot of them have had experience reporting in Israel, Palestine, and are quite critical of both Israel and the antisemitism narrative. Then, like, my wife is a lawyer, and her circle is a little bit different, right? It's not dominated by media people, like people in the law or in other professions seem to be broadly much more kind of taken by the sense of profound insecurity and shift in the American Jewish experience.

I think we sort of see different things, for example, when we watch the hearings in Congress on antisemitism on campus.

The university presidents, of which there have now been two hearings, one with three presidents, one with the president of Colombia, and there will be many, many more. And what I see is a right-wing campaign against higher education that is weaponizing antisemitism as an idea, right? Not antisemitism as a practice.

And what they see is, with the possible exception of the president of Colombia, is people who represent institutions or lead institutions that they feel an affinity with, often institutions that they graduated from, who are not standing up for them. Which I find that viewing of those hearings somewhat shocking because people seem to be turning off their critical faculties. But people, intelligent, educated, politically astute people don't turn off their critical faculties unless they're scared.

So I think the underlying fear is real. But just because it's real, it doesn't mean it's justified.

I think a factual account of what we're seeing on campuses now is that this generation of Americans is far more critical of Israel than their parents' generation. And this is true of both Jews and non-Jews. I think that they look at information available to them and they see a 57-year brutal illegal occupation.

And they don't understand how it's possible that their parents and the politicians that their parents support and the politicians who come and give commencement addresses and all that other stuff that I can say about politicians, how it is possible that these people support that state? I think that is an entirely understandable view. It also reflects a huge generation gap.

I think some of those young people are assholes, and some of them are antisemites. I think it's a small minority of the protesters, and it is not actually part of the critique. The protesters' demands, the protesters' organizing beliefs are not in any way or shape antisemitic.

And then there are Jewish students who were brought up Zionist, who were brought up to identify strongly with the state of Israel, who are, I think, a little bit like my cousin in the settlements again. They see these protests, and even probably the participation of their fellow Jewish students in these protests, as threatening their core identity, as threatening their ties to their families, as threatening everything that they were taught for the first 18 years of their lives is true. And of course they feel rattled, of course they feel unsettled, of course they feel threatened.

Like, wouldn't you, if you felt that everything you had believed in was being turned on its head, and if you, by apparently reasonable people? And so you have a couple of options. One is to look at what the protestors are saying, to engage with the facts, to engage with the critique of everything you've ever believed.

There was a terrific, George Curran's podcast a couple of weeks ago with three Columbia students, one of whom sort of narrated that kind of trajectory, getting to university and finding this stuff out and having their mind blown. That's a very difficult path, and it's a very difficult path, especially if you are, say, a first year student in 23, 24.

And then there's the easier path of staying integrated in your community, in your beliefs, and saying this is antisemitic.

Because unfortunately the things that the protestors are talking about are so horrible that you can't say, okay, let's agree to disagree, that you can't hold both of these things in your mind at the same time.

You can't continue to hold your family's uncritical, long-standing support of Israel, and an understanding of what is happening in Gaza and the occupation that has preceded the war in Gaza.

So yeah, of course they feel rattled. That doesn't mean that they're being surrounded by antisemitism.”

—Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses campus protests (part 3 of 3)

[somewhereincairparavel]

If Jason had been written to have atleast somewhat of a jealousy streak of Percy, then it would have made him more human tbh. Ironically I feel like the fandom would've been much more empathetic to his character, if he acknowledged that he envied Percy a little and then came to terms with it. We know that Jason's fear of being 2nd best is a very integral part of his character, I mean, Gaia taunting him with that in his nightmares was enough to reduce him into tears. and that's the ONLY time we've even remotely seen him cry. Percy had so many things Jason didn't have, a loving mom, a loving girlfriend who took a knife for him and never broke his heart, a loving camp that looked for him endlessly after he went missing, people ACTUALLY wanting him to survive because they care about him not because they need him for glory, etc. and if im being honest Poseidon wasn't even that bad of a father (for a big three god, atleast) tbh he still came to percy's 15th birthday, invited him to fishing, genuinely loved sally, she was probably the only mortal he fell in love with and it stayed that way, he was never rude to percy and stuck up for him etc. not tryna say percy had it easy or anything ofc he didnt, but there is no point in denying that he had a MUCH better support system than jason ever had.

The fact that Jason despite having none of these things was not even remotely envious of Percy made him appear like a bland robot with no emotional baggage

Compare this to Nico, who was rightfully a little jealous/idolizing Percy while simultaneously having a crush on him, also a little jealous of Jason because he was "the golden boy" who everyone respected, it made him have SO much depth and the fandom loves him (rightfully so)

also, leo. He was resentful of Percy up until blood of Olympus because of how everyone loved him, how Calypso fell for him almost immediately, etc. it's very realistic.Jason feeling a little resentful of Percy and then later talking it out would've made his character much less of a shallow stereotypical nice guy that ppl dislike.

maybe Rick could've expanded on Jason's jealousy of how quickly camp Jupiter accepted Percy and how quickly Reyna made him praetor, when jason himself had dedicated his whole life to it and was only made praetor in the last couple months, how camp Jupiter and his supposed friends never held a memorial for him even after they thought he was dead, etc. Also how Percy spent more time with thalia than jason ever did, we know he did feel a little envious since he mentioned how much he wished thalia looked for him the way she was looking for percy

I would've loved to see Jason being a little cold to Reyna too because of this and then they later talk it out, since it's VERY realistic, I was surprised with how quickly jason shrugged the whole Percy- being- a -praetor thing off, I thought he'd have felt a little betrayed by Reyna considering that they were childhood friends, and reyna never really sent a search party or something after him like annabeth did, gods, the amount of angst potential this man had i love him ugh

[squidpedia]

pedia, how would a clover and lilac swap au be in your style? like, nothing else changes except for them

Lilac if they weren’t fucking around (phrase said at least 12 times while drawing with hysterical laughter and sleep deprivation). Three leaf clovers for clover because getting the role of integrity is not a lucky one,,,,,,,,

And yeah that does mean clover would be stuck sharing the amalgamate body with kanako too to me

Lilac is a very naturally distrustful person, Flowey trying to use them would be a ticking time bomb, there is not a reality where they 100% believe he has their best interest at heart. “Shady fucking flower has ulterior motives but going along with it for now is better than dying i guess” - Justice Lilac probably. I think Lilac after enough resets would be able to reach the pacifist ending and give up their soul, there’s a certain point where they don’t remember the other timelines but they feel insane amounts of unconscious guilt over the obscene amount of LOVE they gained before. Giving up their soul would go against all of their personal rules of self preservation, but I can see them doing doing it after enough time. They wouldn’t know how to explain this, it so seemingly out of character for them but its what felt right.

I think Clover would ultimately still end up dying to axis and their soul being used in chujin’s experiments. Thats integrity soul canon event to me. Original sketch of clover had them seem much more happy, but I toned down their expression to give them a more unreadable smile. Integrity clover is a little difficult to parse for me in terms of actions and intentions because I imagine them to be a very selfless person that has a difficult time acting in their own best interest (whether it be execution in the name of justice for the fallen kids or giving up their soul to help ensure a better future for monsterkind). Integrity Clover would also have special emphasis on their role as a performer rather than as a deputy, so idk, they aim to never break character, keep up a smile regardless of the things that are happening right now. The world is your audience, and the audience wants to see a smile. But meanwhile I think their actions would be a bit more morally grey and odd to track, chujin’s attempts at using the integrity serum still don’t work because the soul lacks a pure heart after all. Integrity clover has an interest in exploring and finding the truth behind mysteries, while having a somewhat mysterious way of behaving themself I guess

[therealslimshakespeare]

Hi! I’m an environmental eng girly myself so I’m sort of very interested in this (and also a new reader so please bear with me if I’m lacking on some knowledge here). The 1950s were just generally a very interesting time for women in stem/ engineering but obviously not great for equality still. For example, since you mentioned that Lu is from Texas, in the 1950s there were roughly 700 engineers working with the Highway Dpt of Texas and only THREE were women. So I’m curious, how does Lu handle/ cope with being in a field that would have her be surrounded entirely by men? She would very likely be the only women in most of her classes and professional endeavours. And I know you mentioned that when she works on that Twisters inspired Tornado project with those military boys, all of them love and adore her which I LOVE! Because she’s so smart and such a genius so it makes my heart really happy to see that that allows her to command respect 🥰 But in college, how does she manage being in a space with all these guys who might not all respect her (god like uni eng guys are a special brand of asshole, I’m not saying all of them but some…). Because I’m being so real- that is still an issue in engineering and still something that my girl friends and I have experienced/ felt 😅 And then also with environmental engineering specifically a lot of the work is sort of… rural and isolated. Like you won’t be working in a big crowded space a lot of the time. And being with all those guys, (also like… again, college guys are just a special brand of asshole? I feel like every girl would be out of her comfort zone if she were to be around only them, even now) is that something that induces anxiety for her? Does she ever worry that “putting herself in that position” is inviting anything similar to the horrific violence she’s already gone through? And then on the fluffier side, HOW does she persevere?! Because again we know she wasn’t doing well? I get the vibes from the asks that she was genuinely very depressed and not at all in a good place. So I’m just so intrigued by this era of hers. Anyways this is sooo long and convoluted feel free to ignore it haha. It’s just something that is so interesting to me I love this woman in stem so much 🥰 But yeah I’m interested in her college days and how she handles her horrible mental health, a very very shitty boyfriend and THIS on top of it all.

Oh and to add, we know that Ida worries for her often (along with the rest of the trinity), is she ever concerned about Lu being in those sorts of situations? Because Ida has so much complex trauma of her own (remember in Hardwoods how she has that thought that being alone with men is courting violence!!!!!!!!!!!) and she had to SEE Lu being assaulted? Just wondering because I love these two. And the rest of the trinity I guess. I know my parents would be🤧

Aaaaah see now you’re educating me about the Texan engineering!!! Omg that’s so cool. I knew it had to be slim pickings but goodness, three? Yeah, wow, ok then Lu, ya got your work cut out for you. Also, Nonnie, you’re so cool, I feel special for you gracing my inbox 🥰

Oh yes, just from acquaintance I am somewhat familiar with the engineer bro vibe, ha. Having come from the army has to help her a little. So far in the story we’ve focused on all the boys who love and take care of the girls as integrated into themselves, but you know there were the assholes in the 100th about it and you KNOW there were absolute pigs in the stalag, too. So it’s not a fully new issue. But, somehow this is even more secluded, likely? So, it’s intense.

I think she’s already very withdrawn during this era so she’s not trying to make friends with them all, if they’re assholes she does her best to keep her head down and then enjoys smoking them at tests or in the field. If they wanna play a practical joke to sabotage her?!- oh well, they shouldn’t have picked on Bucky Egan’s daughter. But omg, for all these women there’s the question of if they’re inviting that violence again by pursuing these careers and that’s so horrible to even be considered but it’s so real!!! My girl has her brass knuckles though, the (pretty worthless social friends from Spencer’s crowd) and a will of iron. This is the field she wants to work in, she always did and she happened to go to kindergarten in war for it but by god she’s gonna keep at it through college.

Also. Not wanting to fail. I think depressed and miserable as she might’ve been, failing (she’s so like Gale lemme go scream) would be worse than anything that could happen to her while she was trying. She’s so dogged about it, and this is something of her own, it’s not her crew and it’s not her squadron, it’s her. She’s doing this, and she might as well not get up again if she fails, I think is her attitude…when she’s so down, ya know?

Ida…for a long time Ida lives in a world where everyone could potentially be awful. She can’t contextualize it well. It takes a massive toll on her mental and bodily health, that constant alertness and suspicion and stress. Being in Germany likely only exacerbates that, tbh. Nice thought Rosie but, she’s having some severe ptsd just living amongst the language every day. 😭

[captn-trex]

make it feel better

Rex x F!Reader

word count: 4.3k

description: when scouting a new planet, you fall into a bed of flowers that you understand the effects of all too well. Captain rex is the only person around and the only one who can help you.

warnings: NSFW (18+) minors begone! sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, oral (f! recieving), pinv sex, almost voyeurism not really, some reader masturbation, swearing, little bit of praise, non-established relationship

a/n: okay so this is the first ever proper smut I've posted and I'm SCARED. do not judge me pls and thank you <3 I haven't seen any sex pollen with Rex so I thought I'd try my hand at it

The sun was only just clinging to the horizon as you made your way back to the ship, taking a shortcut through the forest. You and Rex had been scouting for a new, and safe, planet to move to, where the small rebellion you were a part of could operate without detection. This one had been uninhabited, and so far proved to be a solid contender. You had come along because of your in depth knowledge of various flora and fauna across the galaxy, and Rex deemed you the most qualified to ascertain whether or not the planet would be suitable. He also enjoyed your company but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

You and Rex had known each other for many years, as you were somewhat of a consultant to the jedi in the war. Your knowledge of different cultures and languages throughout the galaxy proved most useful, and you often became an intermediary between the Republic forces and the primitive beings you encountered. A lot of your time was spent in the field, which was where you met Rex.

The 501st had been part of a relief mission to Abednedo, where you were required for translation purposes. The Abednedo mostly spoke basic, but it was their written language that proved difficult for the Republic to understand, and with you understanding the Republic’s supply logging system, they opted to have you catalogue the supplies rather than teach the Abednedo to use it.

Rex had been uneasy around you initially, with you being someone from outside of the GAR, but he quickly warmed to you when he saw how well you integrated with the rest of his brothers. That was part of the reason that you joined his band of rebels in the first place - you definitely had a soft spot in your heart for the clones, and even more so for Rex.

Your feelings for Rex had grown steadily. Naturally, you found him to be handsome when you first met, his closely cropped blond hair making him stand out among his brothers, but your attraction for him really set in when seeing him on the battlefield, taking down almost a whole wave of droids with only two DC-17s and his own sheer will.

Though that was years ago. Now, you found yourself harbouring deeper feelings for him, feelings you had been reluctant to admit to yourself.

When Rex had found you after the end of the war, sending you a message on your encrypted comm channel, you felt like you had finally hit a stroke of luck. The transition from the Republic to the Empire was turbulent for you, to say the least. The Empire had uses for your intellect, but you had quickly become disillusioned with the whole regime when you realised the deception that they covered up in every corner of their reach. Rex had all but saved you from the Empire, and for that, you’d always be grateful to him.

Meeting him again after the end of the war, when you hadn’t seem him in some time, was like a breath of fresh air. You had never been exceptionally close with him, no closer than you were with any of the other clones at least, but upon seeing his tired and haggard figure on the other side of the hangar, you couldn’t help but speed over to him and embrace him in a tight hug. He had chuckled and returned the embrace, commenting something about ‘understanding the feeling’.

Since then, the dormant feelings you had previously harboured for him only grew. You worked closely with him, spending most of your days by his side in the command centre, helping however you could. It was an inescapable fate that you would fall for him, and now here you were, living out that very fated feeling. You had no indication from the Captain as to whether he felt the same way, and so you kept it close to your chest, electing to not tell him.

Rex had gone back to the ship to comm the others, to say that this planet you were on could be the one, while you had stayed out to investigate a few final things. The water from the natural springs was drinkable, and the small bug you had captured carried no known diseases, and so you were satisfied that this planet would do nicely. You commed Rex and let him know what you were coming back, not waiting for an answer before you switched it off. It didn't really matter whether he heard you or not, you'd be back soon.

It was dark in the forest as you cut through, but it was just bright enough to see where you were going. Mostly.

You found yourself disproved when your foot caught on a tree root and you were sent tumbling forwards with a small yelp. Thankfully, there was a thick bed of flowers that cushioned your fall, so the pain from the impact dissipated quickly. You stood and brushed yourself off, but immediately felt your nose itching, and before you knew it, you were sent into a sneezing fit. You had sneezed at least ten times before you lost count, and you stumbled forwards, resting yourself against a tree when you came to a clearing.

The orange tone of the sky cast a gentle golden light over you as you caught your breath. The sneezing subsided, but as you breathed deeply, you realised that something felt wrong.

You felt your insides burn hot, the heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach, but it quickly twisted into a heavy pain. You doubled over, holding your stomach as it cramped up and sent shockwaves through your system.

You dug your hand into one of the pouches on your belt urgently, pulling out the small torch you carried with you. You switched it on and shined it over the bed of flowers that you had just landed in, and inspected their yellow petals and purple centre, your eyes going wide.

Fuck.

You knew exactly what flower these were, you had studied them and their effects in your time at University on Coruscant. You knew exactly what was going to happen to you, and you almost wish you didn't.

Aphrodisiacs.

You dug your heels into the ground in frustration as you threw your head back into the tree, your eyes screwed shut. The burning in your stomach was quickly transforming from a small flame to a full blown bonfire.

Somehow this was typical. This planet was so close to being perfect, and now you had to go and trip into some flowers that would cause you a pain so sensual you'd be driven out of your mind. It had to be you, didn't it?

As you were writhing against the tree, contemplating if you could really get yourself off right here, you heard your name being called and groaned quietly. Why did he have to come looking for you right now?

You tried your best to stay quiet, listening to him calling out to you and hoping that he wouldn't find you, but then he came through the treeline, his eyes finding your struggling form.

“What's wrong?” He darted over to you, at your side in an instant, and you instinctively flinched away from him. His gaze was filled with worry.

You we're clearly in some kind of pain, your skin damp with sweat and a deep blush across your cheeks.

He reached out for you as he called your name, and you moved away again, having to look away from the man that you desired fiercely at any other given moment, but especially this one.

“Rex” You breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady, “Please don't touch me”

“Why?” He asked quickly, “Is it your skin?”

“It's… everywhere, it's not going to go away, It hurts, it hurts so much” You spoke, though you weren't sure your words were even coherent.

“What hurts?” He asked more urgently, trying to get a read on the problem the best he could without touching you.

I can't tell him. I just need to get him away.

“You need to leave. Go back to the ship and wait for me” You pant.

“What? No, let me help you” He knelt down beside you, his hand itching to reach out and comfort you, “What can I do?”

“Nothing. Please go away” You begged, but he didn't understand what was going on at all. For all he knew, you could be asking him to leave you to die here.

“Please let me help you”

You let a small moan escape your lips, one hand stifling it and the other gripping at your clothes to resist from touching yourself right in front of him.

“Rex please go away” You said desperately, your head now in your hands and gripping at your hair to try and distract you.

“I can't! I can't leave you like this, are you crazy?” His voice was so exasperated, and you ground your teeth together as you shook your head in defiance.

“I need you to leave, now. Plea-” You were cut off by your own whimper escaping your lips.

The pain in your core was becoming unbearable. While you knew you couldn't die from this drug, you knew the only solution was to satisfy the intense desire that it gave you, but you would've taken death before pleasuring yourself in front of Rex.

“Cyar'ika let me help you” He said softly, coming closer to you again.

“Please don't call me that” You practically whined, your body acting without permission and splaying out of the floor, twisting back on itself.

“Tell me what's wrong” He ordered firmly, and you felt your desire for him only spiral further.

“The flowers” You exhaled, “They're making me… hot”

“Hot?”

“Yes, hot” You gritted through your teeth, your hand playing with the top button of your trousers. You had to relieve this pain soon before it became worse.

“What can I-”

“Just leave Rex!” You hissed, the pain becoming blinding, “Please leave” You were on the edge of tears, your frustration nearly matching your arousal. You continued begging, different sentence formations that included the words ‘leave’, ‘please’ and ‘Rex’ tumbling from your mouth in a last desperate attempt.

“Cyar'ika” Rex grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and another whimper escaped you at his touch, “I'm not leaving you”

You whined, “If you don't leave I-” You couldn't finish the sentence.

“You'll what?”

“I need to- you can't be here” You said already unbuttoning your trousers with shaking hands.

“Why not? Cyare you're not making any sense”

You'd were finally at your limit, the pain driving you insane.

“It's an aphrodisiac Rex!” You screamed, hands tightened into fists to hold yourself back.

Rex froze, “Oh”

“Yeah. Oh” You mustered up a desperate chuckle, curling up in a ball on the floor.

“What should I-”

“I don't know. I don't know, you just need to get out of here before I do something I regret” Your words tumbled over each other as you spoke.

He touched your shoulder lightly, and when you moaned at the simple gesture, he understood how bad it really was.

“Rex, leave!” You screamed at him again, your hand finally finding its way past the waistband of your underwear.

Rex immediately averted his eyes, “I'm just going to be over there, I don't want to leave you here like this”

“Whatever! Just do it!” You said, a loud moan escaping you as you fingers found themselves running easily through your slick folds.

Rex quickly moved away from you. The sounds of your moans spilling from your lips were driving him crazy, but he was also overwhelmingly worried about you. He wanted to help you, but he knew that wasn't something he could really do without… well, fucking you. The idea alone was working him up, and the sound of your moans growing more and more frustrated had his cock hardening and pressing into his codpiece uncomfortably.

“It's not working” You cried out and removed your fingers from working your clit to pull your top off, trying to at least ease some of the heat. You were at your wits end, your thoughts all blurred together.

“Rex!” You shouted helplessly, “Please come here!”

Rex ran back over to you in a flash, the sight of your body sprawled out on the floor making his heart beat out of his chest.

“It burns” You choked out, tears spilling from your eyes, “It hurts so much”

“Maybe I could help?” He suggested, letting his emotions get the better of him.

“Help?” You said in a disbelieving laugh, “Are you going to fuck me yourself Rex?”

The silence was so loud.

You looked up at him, standing above you, and his expression was absolutely flat.

“You're serious?” You practically gasped, and he just nodded.

You brought yourself onto your knees and cradled your head in your arms, mumbling under your breath. “Maker, this is so fucked up, I can't believe this is happening. I can’t-”

Rex interrupted your ramblings as he knelt down in front of you, placing his hands on your arms to take them away from your head. You looked up to him desperately, and you could see the pity in his eyes.

“Rex it hurts, it really hurts” You whispered, the pain continuing to burn into you.

“I know” He said soothingly, “I'm going to help you, okay? I'll make it feel better”

You whimpered, your breathing calming just the tiniest bit.

“Is that okay?” He asked, getting a confirmation that this is what you wanted from him.

“Yes” You breathed out, any shame now escaping you, “Please help me”

With that, Rex took you up in his arms, and darted back the short distance to the ship. He set you down on the bunk in the back area and pulled off your trousers and underwear in one swift motion. The sight that greeted him drew a deep groan from within his throat, but he was hesitating.

“Rex please” You begged in a strangled moan, needing to feel him immediately.

“I'm sorry Cyar'ika, I just didn't think it would happen this way” He said honestly.

“Wha-?”

Before you could even ask what he meant, his tongue found its place between your legs. You cried out, the pain in your stomach melting away into pure pleasure. He was eating you out as if it was his last meal, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. It felt so incredible, and yet, your head still felt foggy, and your pulse was elevated to an unhealthy rate. Even as he worked at your clit, the sensation of him sucking and biting feeling divine, given straight from the maker, you knew it wasn't enough.

“Rex I need-” You began, your words getting caught in your throat.

“Tell me what you need Cyare” He hummed against your pussy, “Anything”

Your hips bucked, “I need more, I need you” You panted.

“I'll need a little bit more than that I'm afraid” He said, and you looked down at him to see the slight teasing smile curling his lips.

“Please don't make me say it” You whined as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Come on Cyar'ika, tell me” He cooed, his hands gripping at your thighs tightly.

“I need your cock! I need you inside me Rex! Please” You finally admitted, and felt Rex hum against your core.

“See that wasn't so hard was it” He rumbled.

He placed a kiss to your clit before he moved away, and you shuddered, feeling the pain begin to twist at your core once more. Rex made short work of his armour, his dexterous fingers working the clasps quickly, his brain on autopilot as he looked down at you writhing beneath him. He then slipped off his blacks and his cock finally sprung free. You moaned as you saw it, throwing your head back onto the bunk and trying not to think about how wrong this was.

“See something you like Mesh’la?” You knew Rex was smirking, you could hear it in his voice. It only drove you more insane.

“Shut up and fuck me Captain” You hissed, which pulled a deep groan from Rex.

He chuckled slightly as he replied, “Yes Ma’am”

He lined himself up with your entrance and looked up to you for confirmation, taking your face in his hand to make you look at him. You could see the question in his eyes, and behind all of your blinding arousal, your heart fluttered at the careful actions of the man you were undoubtedly in love with. You nodded.

“Please” You sounded so pathetic, and Rex brushed his thumb across your cheek tentatively.

“I’ve got you Cyare, don’t worry, I’ll make it better”

He breached you entrance and the moan that escaped your lips was the most sinful sound he had ever heard.

“Oh Rex” You whimpered sadly, and he stopped his movements to check that you were okay.

“What is it?” He rocked his hips back and then forward very gently, earning another moan. “What is it Mesh'la?” He whispered.

“I'm sorry” You whispered

“Why are you sorry?” He frowned, and pushed your hair from your face to get a proper look at you.

The pain burned hot inside you, but you needed to say this.

“You shouldn't have to do this, I'm so sorry”

“Cyare, I can stop if you don't want me to do this, I can let you finish yourself”

“No!” You said quickly, too quickly, “I mean-” You were floundering to find the right words but Rex just pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You don't need to say anything” He said gently and pushed deeper inside you, his cock now fully sheathed within you. You moaned gently at the sensation of the stretch, and it was music to his ears, “I'm going to fuck you now, and we can forget about it later okay?”

“Okay” You breathed out unsteadily.

He started to pick up the pace and it was heavenly. The feel of his cock dragging along your walls was divine, and if this was any other time it would have been perfect, but right now, you needed more.

“Rex, please-”

“Tell me Cyar'ika, what do you need?”

The underlying feelings that you already harboured for Rex were spilling into your words before you could stop them.

“Please, I need it harder, faster. Fuck me like you mean it Rex, please”

“Won't be a problem” He said breathily before he began pounding into you, and you could already feel the familiar coil tightening in the pit of your stomach, replacing any pain that once inhabited it. Rex slid his arm around you, arching your back so he could hit the deepest possible spot within you.

“Fuck” You hissed.

“That feel good?” He panted out, and you nodded hastily. Rex tutted slightly, “Use your words Mesh'la, tell me how it feels” He said, dragging his lips across your neck, leaving small markings behind as his teeth nipped at you.

“Fuck Rex, it feels so good. Please don't stop, I need you” You were whispering, as if it were a secret you didn't want to tell.

Rex groaned loudly, burying his face in your neck, “Say it again”

“Which part?” You said letting a small smirk onto your face at his reaction to your words. You knew exactly which ones he wanted to hear.

He looked up at you in disbelief of your teasing at this moment, then pressed his forehead into yours, slowing down his pace and making you whimper at the loss of intensity, “Tell me you need me”

You had no problem saying something as true as that. “I need you Rex, I want you” You emphasised, your eyes burning into his from a mere hairbreadth away.

He groaned, the distinction between the two phrases not lost on him. He quickly resumed his punishing pace, pulling away from you slightly to watch you. You felt the coil pull taught within you, just waiting to snap. You weren’t certain if the drug had something to do with it or not, but you had never been wound up to an orgasm so quickly by anyone else before.

“Stars, just like that” You moaned, eyes closing and head pushing back into the bunk.

“Fuck, look at you” Rex breathed out, “You’re so beautiful taking my cock like this”

The words hit you in the very centre of your being, and without thinking, you grabbed the back of Rex’s neck and pulled him in to your lips. His hips stuttered for one second, but then he was groaning into the kiss, his hips snapping to yours even harder, his fingers holding you down with bruising strength. You didn’t care at all. The idea of having his hands imprinted into your skin only sent you careering towards your orgasm.

“Rex I'm gonna-” You couldn’t even get the words out.

“That's it Mesh'la, let go, cum for me”

His words tipped you over the edge, the coil snapping suddenly and harshly, filling your system with intense pleasure. Rex wasn't far behind.

“Where-”

“Inside, please. I want to feel you Rex” You scraped your nails down the back of his neck as he rode you though your high.

“Kriff, you're going to be the death of me Cyar'ika” He mumbled, hooking his lips with yours as he snapped his hips to your one final time, spilling all of himself inside.

You both took a second to come down from your highs, breathing heavily against each others lips. The more your breath returned to normal, and the burning inside of your limbs subsided, the more the dread crept in.

Rex slid out of you without saying a word, without looking at you. You whimpered slightly at the loss and covered you mouth out of embarrassment. He left the room and your thoughts instantly spiralled out of control.

He’s never going to speak to me again. He’ll never look at me again. I’ve ruined everything. There’s no way we can just move on from this. I’m never going to be able to forget this. He’ll never look at me the same.

A moment later, Rex returned with a damp towel and knelt on the floor, placing a hand on your knee. “Open” He said gently, a kind smile across his lips as he guided your legs open to clean you up. You couldn’t look at him, opting to lay your head back and stare at the ship’s ceiling.

“Rex, I’m so sorry” You said quietly, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

“Don't be, I'm just glad I could help you” He replied, as sweet as he always was, and you felt the tears spill, running silently down the sides of your face.

Everything's ruined.

When he finished cleaning you up, Rex noticed your despondent expression and tear stained face and grabbed your hand tentatively.

“What are you thinking Mesh'la?” He asked, his deep voice exceedingly smooth.

“This isn't what I wanted, it shouldn't have been like this” You stared up blankly, blinking hot tears out of your eyes.

Rex's heart started beating faster, “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” You sat up, looking into his eyes, “It's not that it's-”

He brought a hand to cup your cheek and his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, wiping some tears from under your eye, “It's what?”

You took a deep breath. Now felt like both the right and the wrong moment but you were past caring, your dignity was already laid outside in the bed of flowers that started this whole mess.

“I- I actually like you Rex, I might even love you, and now…” You looked down to your lap, shaking your head, “Now I've ruined everything. I'm just sorry” You buried your face in your hands, feeling ashamed of your actions, even if they weren’t entirely your own.

“Hey, hey” Rex pried your hands away from your face, “Cyar'ika look at me”

You raised your gaze to look into his eyes, your head still angled down as if it would stop the confrontation.

“You haven't ruined anything okay? Its not your fault, I-” He smiled a little, “I like you too, might even love you” He mimicked the way you had said it and your heart stopped.

“You do?” Your eyebrows pinched as you stared into his amber eyes, seeing only admiration and honesty swimming in their depths.

“Yes” He placed his hand on your cheek, “It's like I said, I didn't think it would happen like this”

“Oh, that's what you meant” You said plainly, and he chuckled at your expression.

“Yeah” He said, gently rubbing your thigh, “I'm sorry, I should've told you before all of this happened” He said, some kind of guilt creeping across his features.

“It’s okay” You took his face in your hands, “Thank you Rex, for helping me”

A smirk grew on his face, “Anytime”

[beegomess]

T.N. || Summer wine

Summary: You and Theodore spent the summer vacation with his family on the Italian coast, something you definitely loved. However, your boyfriend could be somewhat insistent when it came to having you and your beautiful body near him for so long. Warnings: obscenities, +18, smut, relationship established.

A/N: Inspired by @motherearthlovesus imagine/moodboards about spending the holidays at Theo's summer house in Italy. I loved it so much and I had to write about...💕💕

Orders are open!

The sun threw its golden rays with a magical intensity over the Italian coast, making the turquoise sea shine like an immense sparkling emerald that extended to infinity. The heat vibrated in the air, creating a slight tremor on the surface of the water, and the gentle breeze that blew from the ocean brought the salty and fresh aroma of the waves. Every time the breeze passed, it caressed the skin like a touch of velvet, offering a gentle relief to the scorching heat of the day.

You were relaxed on the lounger by the pool, with the crystal clear water reflecting the clear sky and accentuating the feeling of tranquility that surrounded the environment. The heat of the sun seemed almost palpable, heating your skin and making the pool an irresistible oasis of freshness. Your eyes, semi-closed and shining under the sun's rays, slowly slid through the pages of the book you held, each word unfolding in a hypnotic rhythm.

The scenery around him was a visual and sensory delight: the waves beat lazily on the rocks in the distance, emitting a soft and rhythmic sound that mixed with the distant murmur of seabirds. The warmth and peace of the environment created a perfect refuge.

While you were completely immersed in reading, Theodore was at the edge of the pool, his forearms resting relaxed on the edge, with crystal clear water running down his arms and creating small waves. His shoulders, slightly tilted forward, revealed a relaxed posture as he watched his every move with a mixture of affection and worship. The heat of the sun highlighted the tanned texture of her skin, and her slightly misaligned hair completed the look.

When you raised your eyes and found his gaze, the affectionate and fun glow made you smile. Theodore, with a charming smile, approached and, in a sincere tone, said in Italian:

- Sei così bella oggi.

You smiled, touched by the compliment.

- I'm thirsty. - you mentioned, and he laughed, with a look that promised something more.

- How about we go to the kitchen? I promise to prepare something refreshing for you.

You followed him to the kitchen, which was integrated into the external environment of the house by large glass doors that opened to the garden. As soon as you entered the environment, Theodore turned around and pulled you for a deeper and more passionate kiss. The kiss was intense, a moment full of desire and connection, and you felt the heat intensify as it deepened.

Soon, his hands were around his neck, at the same time that he put you sitting on the white bench there in the middle in the middle of laughter and heavy breaths as the kisses went down his neck.

However, the kitchen door opened abruptly and Charlotte, Theodore's sister, came in, a little surprised to see you.

- Ah, sorry for interrupting. - Charlotte exclaimed, trying to hide a fun smile. - I just came to get something to drink.

- Hadn't you gone out with your friends? - Theodore asked with a note of irritation in his voice, as you came down from where you were with a flushed face and a racing heart.

- Yes, three hours ago... - The girl responds as if it were obvious and fun to see the embarrassment in you.

- So, how was your afternoon? - You decide to change the subject, while Theodore will finally make the drink he promised you earlier.

- It was great, but it looks like you were busy around here. I hope I didn't get in the way too much. - Charlotte, with a welcoming smile, took a bottle of juice.

- No, not really... - You clear your throat by noticing a clear malicious smile on Charlotte's face while she drinks the juice. - What did you do?

With the mood relaxing again, Charlotte joined you, bringing a touch of lightness and humor to the moment.

That night, Theodore made a special dinner for you. He cooked very carefully, and the aroma of the dishes mixed with the breeze of the night. Dinner was on the balcony, on a small table with a white towel and candles, which gave a soft light.

While they were eating, the conversation flowed naturally and the laughter filled the air, creating an atmosphere of relaxation and pleasure. As dinner progressed, you watched the reflection of the stars in the sea water, which sparkled under the brightness of the moon, creating a magical and quiet scenery. The murmur of the waves and the freshness of the night contributed to the feeling of peace and contentment that involved everyone there.

The next morning, you woke up slowly, surrounded by a cozy heat. The sun rose lazily on the horizon, dyeing the sky with soft shades of orange and pink. The first rays of light invaded the room, filtering through the white and almost transparent curtains, which swayed gently with the light breeze of dawn.

Lying on the bed, you felt Theodore's comfortable warmth next to you. His body, still sleepy, settled in the vicinity of him, while the heat of the sun entering through the windows warmed the environment, creating a pleasant contrast with the cool breeze of the morning. The soft sounds of the world awakening outside, combined with the delicate movements of the curtains, formed a symphony of serenity.

The golden glow that flooded the room seemed to amplify the feeling of peace, and the soft touch of sunlight on the skin mixed with the heat that emanated from Theodore, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and contentment.

You turned slightly on the bed, allowing your eyes to rest on Theodore. He was still sleeping, the serene expression, the features of the face softened by peaceful sleep. Your lips were ajar, and you could see the slight movement of your chest going up and down with each calm breath. The soft light of dawn caressed his face, highlighting his features in an almost angelic way.

While you were watching him, Theodore began to wake up slowly. His eyelashes trembled slightly before opening his eyes, revealing that deep look that always made his heart beat a little faster. Without saying a word, he sketched a soft smile, still half asleep, and extended his arm, pulling you gently against him.

His body found his naturally, fitting perfectly into the curve of his arms. Theodore squeezed the hug, engaging and protective, while his fingers slowly traced the lines of his back, as if he wanted to prolong that moment of closeness. The warmth of his body was comforting, and you felt even more welcomed as he whispered, with a hoarse voice of sleep.

- Good morning... - He tilted his head to leave a soft kiss on top of yours, his face still relaxed by the slow awakening.

His body, which until that moment, was covered by nothing more than a white shirt of Theodore, was caressed from under the fabric. The affection started slowly, but soon you started to feel your fingers going down more on your back, then waist and hips.

He pressed you a little more against him while placing light kisses on his face and neck. His hands traveled to Theodore's warm skin, feeling him tense under his touch, until you decide to start a slow but warm kiss.

His tightness on your skin increases as your kiss deepens. And in a quick movement, you see him between your legs, leaning over you and savoring every piece of exposed skin.

One of Theodore's hands climbed over his belly, groping his body until he found his breasts, you sighed as you felt a slight squeeze in one of them. The shirt you wore was folded and accumulated over his hand.

A smile formed on Theo's face immediately when he heard you sigh and whimper with such simple touches. In addition, the fact that he has his body pressing against his hot and humid core made him delirious quickly.

Theodore moved his face away just to observe his expression when he lowered his hand again, heading towards the middle of his legs. His bright and sleepy eyes looked at him with expectation.

- Do you want that, love? - His low voice invaded your thoughts quickly, making you nod positively. - So, say, let's go...

- Theo, please... - You whisper, causing chills all over his body, completely euphoric about the idea of fucking you in every possible way. - Please, I need...

A smile appeared again on Theodore's face when he heard you and lowered his fingers to his folds, realizing how wet you were already, completely under him now. A low moan escaped you when you felt it rub your nerve point, it started slowly to provoke you, I wanted to see how far you could stand it.

Therefore, he introduced one of his long fingers into you without stopping what he was doing. You moaned a little louder in surprise.

- Lower, dear, we don't want to be interrupted again, do we? - Theodore said if a somewhat possessive way, it was as if he waited too long for that. - I can't stand being interrupted anymore whenever I want to fuck you.

The movements in you only increased, the wet noise echoed in every room, your warm face threw itself back whenever you felt the knot form at the foot of your belly.

- Damn, you're sucking my fingers... - And in a matter of minutes you were a complete mess, your liquids spilled on the white sheets while Theodore shamelessly stared at the reaction of his body. - Yes, bella, come on, keep it up...

Your breath failed when you felt yourself spilled on the fingers of your boyfriend, who looked hypnotized at your orgasm happening, trying to prolong it even more.

While his discharge was happening, Theodore got rid of the only piece of clothing that prevented him from finally having you. Suddenly, you feel him stretch you little by little, loving the feeling of having him inside you.

- Damn... - Theodore murmurs as soon as he gets to the bottom. It positions your face on your neck as it starts with slow movements so that you get used to the increased stimulation, absorbing every moan of yours close to your ear.

- That's so good, Theo... - you say and your voice comes out a little more tearful than you would like. - Faster, please...

Your words just make it clear to him that you would no longer mind being careful with the noises or discomforts, so Theodore leaned on his arms again, seeing how you smiled maliciously at every beat of your hips, at the same time that your eyes rolled.

Theodore holds the head of the bed as a support, pushing the body against his own at a frantic pace. He just discounted all the desire he had accumulated since the day before, when he saw you in that pair of bikinis perfectly fitted to his body.

His voice mixed with the noise of the bed hitting the wall, while his other hand held one of his legs, with the intention of making his body stable.

It was amazing how much he seemed to know his body, hitting the exact places at an exact rhythm that made you even closer to another orgasm.

- You accept me so well, dear... You don't know how much I would do that all the time if I could. - The nicknames he used with you only gave more stimulus. Theodore felt you get close once again, hypnotizing with your face writhing with pleasure once again. - Make a mess, bella...

- Theo... - His voice was whispered, completely destroyed.

Your body writhed once again, squeezing Theodore and taking him along with you, your mind completely lost in him again, feeling every drop of the two of you drip between your legs.

He moved away from your body after a few seconds, coming out of you, also panting and convinced of having taken it twice. Your tired body sought refuge in it, you nestled just to catch your breath.

Theodore placed a kiss on the top of his head while you supported her on his chest, you could hear his heart beating fast, his tanned body had small droplets of sweat, just like yours.

He took you to the shower after that, you spent more than an hour in the bathtub, just talking and laughing.

While you were finishing breakfast at the same table on the balcony of the interior dinner, Charlotte appeared at the door, with her pajamas crupted, shaggy hair and her face swollen with sleep.

- Why did they wake me up so early? - The girl grumbles, dragging her slippers to one of the chairs, bothered by the sunlight. - It's still new hours.

- Don't overdo it, Charlotte. We didn't even make noise with the coffee. - Theodore answers, while drinking a sip of his cup.

- I was talking about the knocks on the wall, actually. - The girl replied, without realibing what it could be. Your face flushed and your eyes widened, while you choked on the food. - What were they doing, anyway?

- Just hanging a painting in the room, to decorate... - Theo responds with a malicious smile directed at you, taking advantage of his sister's slowness.

- You two are crazy. - She grumbles while serving herself a glass of juice.

____________________________

masterlist

xoxo, bebe💌🫶🏼

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, poorly written smut, mention of scars, allusions to child abuse

A/N: I feel like I say this about every chapter but I really struggled with this one. I even scrapped 3,800 words because I hated it so much. It still ended up being a long one but it feels like a lot of time skipping and nonsense. The beginning is nice though. ;) I hope it’s at least somewhat enjoyable. Thank you, my dears.💙

Your body was on fire; electric jolts sparking with pleasure each place where his skin was touching yours. It was never like this before. It was purely physical, without attachment. Now it felt like he had integrated himself into your very soul. You wanted him deeper than his cock dragging over your inner walls; you wanted him beneath your very skin. 

Each thrust was slow but deep, his back arching when he rolled his hips into you. His lips and hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. He wasn’t just fucking you. He was making love to you. Deliberate, delicate, yet no less exhilarating. 

Your hips raised of their own volition to meet his. You were desperate to snap that inner tension; the tightly coiled heat low in your belly. Daryl had other plans. He was drawing this out. He was savoring you. 

“Easy. I gotcha.” He purred against your ear just before his lips attached to the skin above where your pulse thrummed. “S’gonna feel real good. Hang on for me.” He ventured lower to draw a nipple into his mouth, the swirling of his tongue pulling a moan from you, your hands moving from his bare back to his hair and then returning. You urged him back to your mouth, whining against his smiling lips. 

“Please.” You weren’t sure what you were pleading for; there was so much sensation that you couldn’t even pinpoint where you needed him most. “Please, please, please.” He chuckled and made a slow journey with his fingertips, whispering down your torso to disappear between your bodies. A calloused thumb pressed against your clit and you nearly wailed. 

“That’s it. Let go for me.” His thrusts never wavered, leaving you to dimly wonder if this would be the first of many orgasms he would give you before he was chasing his own high. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

You could feel your cunt clamp around him and begin to pull him impossibly deeper, preparing for your orgasm to wash over you. You were right on the edge, teetering. His lips met yours and your hips angled upward, the knot ready to burst. Just as you felt the first wave of ecstasy—

You opened your eyes to the dim light of a small lamp on the bedside table. You still felt tired when somewhere in your mind, you could recall that something happened and you should feel better. In your sleepy haze, you couldn’t seem to summon the memories. Only the residual feel of Daryl’s body pressed against yours and the pleasure he was so eagerly offering you. 

“That must’ve been some dream.”

You lifted your head to find Carol sitting in a chair close to the bedside, a small smile on her face and her hands folded on her lap. 

“Carol.” Your lips curved upward ever so slightly. 

“So dehydrated but still able to drool so I’d say we’re making progress.” She chuckled while you dragged the back of your hand across your mouth with a curl of your lip. 

“The baby okay?” You scratched at your scalp, still trying to piece together what happened that ended with you in bed and hooked up to fluids. 

“Mhm. Hershel says the heartbeat is strong.” She smiled, the sadness behind her eyes more transparent than she probably realized. 

“What happened?” You inquired, slowly pushing yourself up to sit against the headboard without disturbing the IV tubing. Just as her mouth opened, the memories of your rescue mission came flooding back in a breathtaking onslaught. “Oh god, Daryl!” You grabbed the blanket and threw it back, aiming to get to your feet, only halting by a gentle touch to your ankle. 

“He’s in the next room. He’s gonna be fine.”

When the sudden rush evaporated, you sank back against the pillows. You had all three made it. 

“He was in shock by the time you made it back. Hershel gave him some IV fluids and is going to start some antibiotics. He’s all patched up. He’ll be back to his cheery self in no time.”

You chuckled. “Just a ball of sunshine, that one.” Your smile fell away, remembering just how horrible he had looked the last time you saw him; dragging his feet along behind you. Blood dampened his shirt, his pants. He was pale as milk, dark circles under his eyes. You held on to a fragile hope that he—if nothing else—looked better after stitches and fluids. “Is he awake?”

“He was stirring a little while ago.” You nodded, picking at your left thumbnail. “I’m gonna get you some water. Maybe we can take out that IV now that you’re awake.” The other woman stood gracefully, donning her usual smile except it wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. Your gaze followed her out the door, your heart aching for her. She was so intent on caring for you and your baby while her own child was still missing. It was a bleak reminder of how unfair life truly was. 

You inwardly sighed, your stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. How did you end up in this position? All of it. The dead rising to eat the living. Losing everyone you held dear. Making a baby with a complete stranger. And now so desperate to keep that man in your life that it frightened you. Just—how?

Everything had been so normal before. You had your routine with your father waiting at home for you everyday. You’d sit with him over a dinner that you prepared, listening to his lame jokes and laughing even harder when they weren’t funny. Your uncles and aunt would come over once every two weeks for a big supper. You’d usually save the larger kill for those occasions. 

God, you missed them. 

But they weren’t here now.

Daryl was. You’d be damned if you’d lose someone else. 

A soft knock on the door signaled Carol’s return. She had a tray of food. Eggs, apparently. The last time, when Daryl had brought them, you had been famished and paid no mind to the smell. It was different this time, and your stomach was not pleased. 

“The eggs.” You gagged, sitting up and covering your mouth and nose. Carol’s eyes widened and she swiftly put the tray outside the door and grabbed up the water glass before she shut the smell out. 

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I brought the pills that Maggie and Glenn were able to get. They found a few bottles so you should be set for now.” She handed you the medication and the water. Your stomach churned angrily. “I’ll see about getting Beth to make you another smoothie.”

“Thank you.” It was made clear by the expression on her face that she was worried. “I’ll be okay.” The pill had a grainy texture and left a horrible taste. You washed it down with a sip of water, but the unpleasant assault on your tastebuds continued. It would be worth it if it meant everything would stop trying to crawl out of your throat. 

“I’ll get Hershel to see about that IV. Then maybe you’d like to go see Daryl?”

You gave her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, watching her leave to fetch the vet. Ugh. You knew he would lecture you, but you couldn’t let it sway your desire to protect your little family. That’s exactly what it was: a family. Your relationship with Daryl didn’t alter the fact that you would share a child. Co-parent. Protect one another.

A rapid knock on the door before it opened revealed the vet. “Carol tells me you’re feeling okay. Maybe we can remove your IV if you can ensure you’ll continue to take in as much water as you can.” 

“I can do that.”

He studied you for a moment, as if searching for a hint that you may not follow through. Apparently satisfied that you’d heed his instructions, he rounded the bed and began working on removing the catheter from your arm. The grim expression was sign enough that you were about to be scolded. “Y/N, you understand the risks involved when you go out there.” And so it began. “This, I can’t stop you from doing but you should consider the safety of your child if nothing else.”

“No one else was going to try and find him. It was something I had to do.” You lowered your head, feeling not unlike a child who was in trouble for drawing on the walls and knowing better. 

There was nothing left to say. He continued to stare for a moment after instructing you to bend your arm and hold pressure on the square of gauze he’d placed there. Perhaps, he was attempting to understand. Maybe he was judging your decision. Maybe he was even praying for you. It didn’t matter. In the end, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave the room. 

As soon as the door closed, you tossed the gauze onto the bedside table, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The mattress acted as support while you ensured dizziness wouldn’t bombard you. Your vision stayed clear, even if your stomach was still protesting. Hopefully it would settle soon enough. 

You knew Daryl would likely be across the hall. There was an anxiety at the thought of seeing him; one you couldn’t validate. You knew you wanted to go, to see with your own eyes that he was alive and healing. You chose to ignore the feeling and opened the door, pausing on the threshold when you heard his voice. 

“I didn’t do anythin’ Rick or Shane wouldn’t done.”

“I know.” You could see Carol step into the doorway of the adjacent room. You stepped back behind the frame of your own, feeling like an intruder. “You’re every bit as good as them. Every bit.” The door closed, her soft steps moving further away, most likely in route to get your smoothie. 

You could absolutely throttle the redneck after hearing him downplay what he had been nearly killing himself to achieve. He had worked just as hard as anyone else in the search for Sophia. If he wouldn’t acknowledge the effort he’d put in, he was likely giving himself hell over being placed on the sidelines after his injury. There was no way Hershel was going to clear him to go back out there anytime soon. 

Your bare feet barely made a sound when you crossed the space between rooms, leaning into the door with one hand on the knob while the other quietly knocked. 

“Jesus, can’t a guy get some sleep ‘round here. What is it now?”

Scrunching your nose in response to his grumpy attitude, you opened the door and peered inside. He most likely wasn’t expecting you. His back was to you, the sheet up to the curve of his hips, giving you a glimpse of the deep, dark puckered lines of several scars. His skin was still pale. They likely didn’t appear so harsh against his normally tan complexion. Still…

“Hey, dumbass. How’re you feeling?” The way he flinched and clumsily gripped the thin cover to drag it up higher made your chest tighten. The reason he didn’t want to remove his shirt when you fucked; he didn’t want you see. 

“Callin’ me a dumbass when you was the one came runnin’ after me all half cocked.” He mumbled, not turning to look at you. Deflecting. You decided to let it go. He was so ashamed of that part of himself. He needed to keep that secret. It wasn’t yours to know. Maybe one day. 

“I could make so many jokes out of what you just said and most would be at your expense.”

“Y’can go now, funny girl.”

You crawled up onto the mattress and maneuvered your way over to where he lay, resting your chin on the curve of his shoulder while carefully avoiding adding any pressure against his wounded side. 

“Don’t be such a sourpuss. You know you’re glad to see me.”

Daryl scoffed, shrugging his shoulder to jostle your head. “Pain in my ass.” You peered at his outstretched right arm, the taped tubing leading up to a bag of clear fluids, half empty. At least his skin was feeling warmer. “Y’okay?”

“I’m sure they already told you that I’m fine.” You answered softly. You resisted the urge to brush your fingers over the bandage on his head. 

“Don’t matter. Better to hear it outta ya own mouth.”

You smiled. “I’m fine, Daryl. A little nauseous but Maggie and Glenn found the medicine.”

He grunted, a moment passing before he asked “baby okay?” His voice had lowered, muscles tensing beneath your chin, as if he were bracing himself for your answer. 

“Mhm. Hershel checked and said the heartbeat was strong.” He relaxed almost immediately. You were once again reminded of his desire to not be touched. You had seen him flinch away from Rick and Carol. After a rare glimpse at his bare back, the fear made sense. But he saw you differently. He had chosen to accept you as safe for whatever reason. It had to be more than your willingness to spread your legs for him once upon a time not that long ago. 

“That’s good.” He muttered. He sounded a little groggy. 

“He give you something for the pain?” You tilted your head on his arm, your cheek lightly pressing against the muscle there. 

“Mhm. Didn’t want it. Shoulda saved it.” 

“Take the meds, you stubborn ass.” You nearly shoved at him, albeit playfully. It still would have caused him discomfort. His movements were stiff, the muscles rippling under your face as his hand came up to present a clear message in the form of one finger. “You’re so mature, Dixon.” You teased. “I’m so honored to be the birth giver of your spawn.” There was instant regret when you felt him flinch, tense up, and then deflate. 

“M’sorry.” His voice was raspy. Tired. You didn’t hesitate to caress the white bandage over his temple this time. 

“Don’t be.” You soothed, watching him battle to stay awake. “I’m not.” You glanced at the sheet covering his back, shielding his shame from you. You could see the very top of what appeared to be the aftermath of a burn. Daryl had definitely had the opposite of your childhood. Where you had love and tenderness and support, it was suggested Daryl had pain and cruelty and isolation. Somehow, you knew that he would want better for his own child. 

“I ain’t gonna be—like our daddy. My kid—ain’t gonna be like us.”

You brought your hand up to trace shapes onto his forearm, smiling as goosebumps rose from the gentle caress. “Daryl?”

You thought he might already be asleep, but then he drew in a breath and answered with a drawn out “hmm?” 

“I really am honored.” 

He went so still that he appeared to hold his breath, before he made a dismissive noise and shrugged you off of him. “Tryin’a sleep, woman.”

“Okay.” You had hit a nerve. It wasn’t like you didn’t consider the possibility he’d react negatively. “I’ll be across the hall.” You gracelessly scooted across the mattress, just having thrown your legs over the edge when there was a grip on your wrist, firm but gentle. You looked over your shoulder to find him awkwardly balanced on his right elbow while keeping the arm as straight as possible for the IV. He wasn’t looking at you but it had to hurt for him to have twisted into how he was to reach for you. 

The breath he took shuddered. “Stay.” 

“Alright.” Your free hand came to rest on the one that held your wrist, intending to provide comfort for a request he was obviously uncomfortable to make, but he pulled back his arm and settled against the pillow. Withholding your sigh, you settled behind him on your side, facing him but not touching. 

It wasn’t difficult for sleep to find you in the dimly lit room with Daryl’s deep, even breathing acting as your gentle lullaby. 

It was frightening how so many things could change so quickly. Hell, an entire world could end in a matter of days. 

You were up and about the day after you awoke with the IV in your arm. Hershel had instructed you to take it easy and, for once in your life, you had listened. You helped with cooking and hanging laundry. Anything that allowed you to sit often for water breaks and did not require you to lift. 

Daryl was also out of the house that following day. Not because Hershel had allowed it. But because he felt anxious, cooped up. He was stealthy, as per usual, and back in his tent with a book before anyone had noticed he was missing. To his credit, he did move slower and didn’t engage in anything strenuous. Well, for a few days anyway. 

Lori’s pregnancy had been a shocker to everyone. It was laughable to you how suddenly, you weren’t such a burden in the eyes of the second officer. It was also very revealing. You had suspected something all along, but watching him with Rick’s wife when he thought all heads were turned had just confirmed your suspicions. 

That same man was growing more and more volatile with each passing day. He was constantly challenging Rick, the sort of leader of your little group, and then going off on his own to do god knows what. Daryl had butted heads with him a few times over a variety of things. The most recent was just before Lori’s pregnancy was revealed. Shane made an off-handed comment—after you had once again stood your ground against him—about breeding with a redneck having an affect on your mentality. The archer had only conceded when you had stepped in front of him. 

Tensions only rose when Glenn had revealed that Hershel had been keeping walkers in the barn. The issue was debated and discussed repeatedly with no clear resolution. Shane had come stomping over to the porch where everyone was congregated, handing out guns and riling everyone up. He was determined to clear the barn. You stood with Lori, even as Daryl went in with Shane, guns blazing. The action was one that would change everything for everyone forever. 

When the lanky little girl stumbled out of the darkness beyond the barn doors, no one moved. No one made a sound. Except Carol. She had tried to run to Sophia, would have gladly allowed her daughter to rip into her throat at that moment if it meant she would get to hold her. Your fingers only brushed the woman’s arm as you attempted to stop her with a watery call of her name. Luckily, Daryl was successful. He held her until the last moment and even after the walker had fallen by Rick’s gun. 

The drama didn’t end there. 

A young man had been kept in the barn after Rick, Glenn, and Hershel had brought him back with an injury that required surgery. Randall ended up knowing of the Greene farm and thus, became a threat. Rather, the group that had left him was a threat, but—guilty by association and all that. Daryl had participated in the torture of the kid for information. That led to the collapse of already unsteady ground between the two of you. Dale had died still believing that the group was above taking a life. Randall was still in that barn, awaiting the decision on his fate. 

Daryl took the discovery of Sophia in the barn harder than anyone, the exception being Carol. He moved his tent away from the camp, hunted alone, and stayed away from everyone. 

Including you. 

The one time you had tried to talk with him, not even about the distance between you, he had reacted with anger. When you stomped away, you swore you wouldn’t go back. And you hadn’t. That had been more than two weeks ago. 

Inside the house, you were noticing even more changes but these were within your own body. It was as if, over night, your breasts had decided that your bra was just no longer suitable housing. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you studied them. They didn’t look bigger. Squeezing them in your palms, you hissed at the tender ache the gentle action left behind. You’d just have to wear a flannel over your cami so your nipples didn’t alert everyone that the evening was getting chilly. 

Your special condition had been particularly nasty the past two days, requiring fluids once again, leaving you weak and exhausted. You grabbed your jeans from the armchair and stepped into them. There was the slightest bit of resistance getting them over your hips, earning a crease in your brow. It wasn’t until the button and zipper wouldn’t meet that you realized something really had changed. 

Pushing the denim back to your knees, you turned sideways in front of the mirror. Sure enough, there was the slightest curve to your lower belly. How hadn’t you noticed? With a defeated slump to your shoulders, you let your head roll over to where your sleep pants laid at the foot of the bed. Those and your oversized t-shirt had been enough to keep you ignorant to the changes your body was making to accommodate your baby. 

“Ugh, I’m not ready, Thumper.” You whined with a cool palm over the small bump. Grumbling to yourself as you kicked off the jeans and grabbed the plaid cotton pants, you slipped them on and just pulled the t-shirt back on over your camisole. Your flannel would be enough against the autumn chill and with your boots adding to your already questionable attire, you trudged out the door and down the stairs. 

Your first stop was the kitchen. Lori was there with Carl, handing him a plate that contained a sandwich and probably stale potato chips. She smiled at you as you entered, eyeing your outfit with a barely concealed smile. 

“Hey there. Making a fashion statement?”

Drinking down a glass of water to swallow your pill, you turned sideways and hauled up your shirt and cami before lowering your pants slightly. The other woman gave you a nod. 

“Ah, I see.” Lori began putting away food that was not used for lunch. “How far along are you?”

The question caught you off guard. You honestly hadn’t thought about it in a while. You had been more concerned with Glenn being able to find enough vitamins, with keeping down enough food and water, with Daryl being a jerk, and just with surviving. The farm had brought about several weeks of safety and you wished for your little calendar that you had kept in the beginning. 

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“No, I got this.” You assured, beginning to count on your fingers. It was more difficult than you thought. The days seemed to blend, some more eventful than others, leaving you unable to recall the quiet days in between. “Maybe 17 weeks?”

Lori nodded. “Sounds about right. Everyone’s different but I’m finding myself more sick with this one than I ever was with Carl. When you have your second, it could be smooth sailing and you could have already popped,” she raised her hands in air quotes, “by the time you’re this far along.”

You tilted your head. “Popped?”

Lori chuckled and continued with her task. “Means that one day you just wake up to a very noticeable belly.”

You looked down at your stomach, still on display with your shirt tucked under your arms to keep it raised. You wouldn’t say that you have popped as Lori put it. It was hardly noticeable until you tried to fasten your jeans. However, it was there. You adjusted your clothes and pursed your lips with a hum. 

“Not sure there’ll ever be a second. I think one might be enough for the end of the world.”

You could see her expression shift, the smile and ease morphing into a questioning discomfort. Maybe it was time to table this conversation. 

“I think I’ll head outside for a while. Get some fresh air. Maybe see if someone will take me to get some different clothes. I definitely don’t want to run around in my pajamas when the weather turns.” The other woman nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“I will, thanks.”

You dipped your head and ambled out the screen door. The sun’s glare, high in the sky, was a shock to your eyes after being tucked away inside. Your hand acted as a visor against your brow as you scanned the farm. Everyone was scurrying around in their day to day activities, a sort of normalcy settling since everyone had moved into the house.

Except Daryl, of course. 

You heaved a sigh at the thought of him out toward the edge of the farm alone. He could handle himself but the self isolation he was inflicting caused a heaviness in your heart that was beginning to fester. Carol had tried to bring him back and he had become irate. The things he had said to her were shared with you when the woman had finally let her tears fall against your shoulder. You wanted to throat punch him. 

Maybe you would. 

You saw Andrea perched on top of the RV with her rifle. You could almost picture Dale hovering behind her, as he often did. The vehicles had been moved closer to the house, providing much needed reassurance of a quick escape if it were deemed necessary. Chewing on your lip, you let your shoulders drop. It was time to bury that hatchet. 

The climb up the ladder wasn’t as difficult as you thought it’d be. You weren’t thrilled about the height with your sporadic bouts of dizziness but as long as you stayed near the middle, it’d be okay. 

Andrea glowered for a moment before turning back to keep watch over the fields. 

“Hey.” You greeted. She didn’t respond, her eyes looking you up and down before she turned around again. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that. You pointed a gun at my head.” 

You had to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You could have killed Daryl, Andrea.” You kept your tone level, holding up a hand when she spun around with no doubt a snarky retort on her tongue. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I came to apologize.”

“Yeah? Apology not accepted.”

Another deep breath. “That decision is yours to make. Nevertheless, I’m sorry. I was sick. I was exhausted. I wasn’t thinking clearly and you had just shot the man I lo—the father of my baby.” You blinked, stunned by what you’d almost said in the moment. The look that suddenly appeared on Andrea’s face conveyed she’d caught it too. You shook your head and continued, hoping both of you could just forget it. “None of those things are an excuse for what I did when it was truly a mistake. So, I’m sorry.” When you turned to climb down, you had nearly let yourself be suffocated by the weight of your near an admission. Was it an admission? Were you just emotional? Hormones? Insanity? The dream and then this?

“I won’t tell anyone.” 

You turned back, catching her eye and holding it. She could. She could spread it through the group and eventually it would make its way to Daryl and you were not ready to have that conversation. After a moment, you nodded in silent thanks. “Are we good?” Your voice was weaker than you intended. 

Andrea smiled, a surprising kindness in her gaze. “We’re good.”

You inexplicably wanted to cry, barely controlling the quiver of your chin. “Thanks.” Going down the ladder was a little more difficult in part to the blurred vision for which the tears were responsible. 

Once your feet were on the ground, you just started to walk, no destination in mind. When your heart screamed for Daryl, your rationality stomped it down. He was your friend. Alright, you’d been closer to him than anyone else in the group. It was never supposed to be something more. You didn’t want anything more. You didn’t want a baby with him. You didn’t want to feel trapped there. 

But you didn’t feel trapped, did you? The majority of that group was kind to you. They cared for you when you were ill, expecting nothing from you. Daryl, for all his tendency to an absolute asshat, had been tender with you at times. You were safe when you could have been alone, left to figure out the pregnancy and raise a baby on your own. No, you wouldn’t have made it on your own. The complications would have killed you. 

You let out a sob, walking faster and allowing the tears to flow without wiping them away. Your cheeks and neck were damp. Why were you even upset? Had the world finally broken you? You thought you’d last much longer than that, but you never could have predicted the events that had led you to where you were. 

And where you were was Daryl’s camp. 

The archer was perched on the ground, next to a dark patch of earth surrounded by rocks; a fire pit that was currently unutilized. He was scowling when he looked up at your approach, but his expression changed; a sudden conveyance of concern as he hauled himself to his feet. 

“S’wrong?” 

You didn’t know why you were there. The last thought of him before you spoke with Andrea was one of anger. Your body was crying out for a feeling of safety; for a shield from everything bad that could harm you or the little innocent life inside you. Somehow—for reasons you no longer had the energy to debunk—your feet took you straight to Daryl. 

“Y/N?” His gruff voice spoke into your hair after you walked directly into his space, your fisted hands tucked under your chin while your face pressed into the solid warmth of his chest. He didn’t move. You didn’t want him to, not really. It would only make everything more confusing. 

When he remained silent but his hand came to rest lightly against your back, you turned your hands and grabbed fistfuls of his vest. You pushed him away and hauled him right back, angry that he let you. You needed him to yell at you. You needed him to tell you that he didn’t care; that he’d only be around for you because of the baby. 

When you tried to shove him again, he stood firm, his other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl! Push me away! Shut me out!” You slapped a hand hard against his chest, fingers pulling at the leather again. 

“Why?”

You couldn’t answer him. You couldn’t answer because you didn’t know. You didn’t want him to send you away. And you were so scared of that revelation that you yearned to scream just to feel something other than scattered turmoil that was enveloping your heart in a deviant swaddle of barbed wire. 

Without a resolution to your emotional plight, you continued to cry until it drained everything out of you. Damn him, he just stood there with his arms around you; being the shield you so desperately needed. You wanted to hate him for it. 

You wanted to, but you couldn’t. 

Your sobs eventually dulled into sniffles and hiccups. After what felt like hours, your legs gave out, any strength you had when you left that bedroom was utterly spent. Daryl didn’t let you fall. You knew he wouldn’t. You weren’t tired enough to miss the way he held you up or the way he bent to sweep his arm under your knees. 

You didn’t look at him while he carried you; turned your back to him when he placed you on the cot inside his tent. The flinch when he draped the sleeping bag over you was unintentional. You hoped he’d leave. Maybe he’d go out to hunt, irritated that you invaded the space he’d built for himself. 

“Why’re ya here?”

Of course he didn’t. The universe hated you, that was abundantly clear now. “I—don’t know.”

“This cause’a hormones or whatever s’called?”

You snorted weakly, your hand working out from beneath the sleeping bag to wipe at your face. “What do you know about hormones, Daryl?”

“The book says—”

“Book?” You sat up on your forearm and twisted to look back at him. The archer looked annoyed, a decent flush spreading from his cheeks to the top of his ears. 

“Went into that town they go to for the meds an’ shit. Grabbed a, uh, book about baby stuff.” You blinked at him, earning a frown in return. “Don’t look at me like that. Yeah, I read, Y/N.”

You looked past his shoulder to where two books peeked from beneath some of his clothes. The one in question was closer, upside down and open beside the battery powered lamp. 

The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips, and Advice for Dads-to-be

The small upturn of one corner of your mouth had him shifting to shield the book from your sight. 

“How much have you read?” 

“‘Nough to know it ain’t much fun for ya some’a the time.” He wouldn’t look at you now, finding interest in a piece of grass that he’d tracked inside. You hummed, a stirring in your chest that directly correlated with the feelings that had guided you there in the first place. The difference now was that you felt oddly grounded, able to focus on a single thought or feeling. 

“Daryl?” He grunted without looking up. “Will you please move into the house?”

He sighed as though he’d been asked a thousand times. “Nah, too many people.”

“Then—can I stay out here with you?” It was your turn to find something to occupy your gaze. You settled on the sleeping bag zipper. 

“Ya need to be inside. Safer there.”

“I have a bedroom.” You weren’t sure how you felt about sharing a close space with the hunter, but you knew you needed him close. Tent or bedroom, you didn’t really care. “It’d just be me and you.” 

The subtle shift of his jaw indicated he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Maybe you could find him something like toothpicks or straws, anything to keep him from hurting himself when he was uncomfortable. 

“Why ya want me there? Ain’t like I’m miles away.”

“I feel safer with you.” Now it was you turning pink, your cheeks and neck flushing warm. 

Daryl snorted. “Ya got over half a dozen people in there.”

“They’re not you.” You countered before you could think of a better way to say it. “Look, you’re the first person I met from this group. You’ve never hurt me. I trust you to fight with me.” You ducked your head. “To fight for me. To protect me if I can’t protect myself. To protect our baby.” When you met his eyes, you realized he had never looked at you the way he was at that moment. He still had that unreadable expression that you sometimes wanted to slap off of his face, but his eyes. There was something in his eyes. 

“Lemme think ‘bout it.” He stated while rising to his feet. “Gotta meet ‘bout the kid later. Letcha know after.”

You didn’t want to drop the subject but at least he was going to consider it. Sitting up, you slumped on the cot, already feeling the need for a nap. Your energy levels had taken a major hit from your momentary lapse of sanity. Scratching at an itch on your belly, you were suddenly struck with the urge to share the progress note with Daryl. He was reading damn books on pregnancy. Surely he’d want to see. Right?

“Um, Daryl?”

“Yeah?” He’d stepped out to get his crossbow and bring it inside, continuing whatever he’d been doing. He still hadn’t asked you to leave. Maybe he was afraid you’d go batshit crazy a second time. 

“I thought you might—well, this morning—” You furrowed your brow, groaning at your inability to put it into words. Finally, you just stood and lifted your shirt, sliding your pants down to just above your pubic bone. “I, uh, can’t get into my jeans anymore thanks to Thumper.” 

Goddamn the man’s ability to maintain an expression of complete and utter stoicism. You suddenly felt self conscious, exposed. Maybe he couldn’t even see the difference. Fuck. 

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I think I should go.” You slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of the pants but that’s as far as you got before you felt Daryl’s fingertips on your knuckles. He didn’t say anything as he stepped closer, shining blue orbs zeroed in on your stomach. You tracked his movements, each step slow and deliberate until he was directly in front of you. Using the tip of his index finger, he drew a line from your sternum to just where your pants sat below the small curve of your belly. 

“Really in there, huh?” His voice was soft and raspy and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you at all. It seemed like a moment between father and child. His palm was warm when he placed it flat just below your navel. You watched his hand, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin. It tickled but you stifled the giggle that threatened. 

You opened your mouth to ask what the book said about how far along you were but when you lifted your gaze from your belly, he wasn’t looking at it at all. Deep blue pools were staring right back at you. 

You knew your breaths were coming faster and your heart was beating a tattoo against your ribs. “Daryl?” Did you imagine that or did he just glance at your lips? You brought your hand to his face, barely brushing his skin when he pulled away abruptly.

“Head on back to the house. Don’t think I’ll be movin’ in there. Better out here.” He grabbed up his weapon and turned his back to you. 

You were still standing frozen, belly exposed and hand just finally dropping to your side. “Daryl, I—”

“Go.” Daryl’s voice cracked on the word. 

You adjusted your clothing and stepped toward him. “Daryl—”

“GO!”

Eyes blown wide, you flinched back and stumbled from the tent. With energy you didn’t know you had, you ran and managed to make it to the house without falling though you stumbled on more than one occasion. You ignored the concerned calls of your name, nearly taking a tumble on the stairs, before finally disappearing into the bedroom and slamming the door. With your back against it, you tried and tried to catch your breath through the onslaught of tears. Your chest was tight, your stomach rolling. 

Trapped in your distress, you couldn’t hear the screen door slap against the wall, Daryl’s boots heading toward the stairs, or even Carol’s accusatory shout. 

“What did you do, Daryl?!”