#heres some sea glass son

[historiaxvanserra]

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: After his mate and the mother of his son abandons them, The High Lord and Nyx are left alone and wanting.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

The sky is painted in hues of lavender and mauve and the flowering ivory clouds shade Velaris in a perpetual state of dusk. The silvery light of the waxing moon seems to cast you in a gentle opal light as you approach the opulent manor. The High Lord’s townhouse is nestled in the heart of the city of starlight and wreathed in the colors of twilight; a slate facade that looks as though it is crowned in green, climbing ivy and night-blooming jasmine frame the large bay windows on the ground floor. From here you can see the large stained-glass window on the top floor, light refracts and it casts a myriad of dancing light onto the stone below-- dappled pinks and roses that fracture and give way to amethyst and indigo.

You spare a look to your aged companion as she breaches the threshold of the High Lord’s residence and, on unsteady feet, approaches the ornate wooden door and knocks thrice. 

You remain for a moment a solitary figure at the entryway of the property, contemplating the series of events that led you here. Mother above, you chastise yourself. The thought occurs to you then, that perhaps you had made a mistake in coming here; that you should have given yourself more time, that you should have remained in the quiet solitude of the library where the world seems like a bitter memory. 

“Come, girl.” Madja’s voice is tired and impatient as she beckons you closer with the wave of a crooked finger. “Don’t just stand there.” 

You swallow thickly, bowing your head in obedience and you notice how her eyes soften as you approach the door tentatively.

“Nervous?” the old woman asks, you feel her eyes on you-- examining and critical.

“A little,” You admit, eyes downcast as you loose a shaky breath, “I haven’t left the library besides for training in quite some time.”

You stare down at the sleeves of your faded pewter robes as they billow in the evening breeze; the silver embroidery around the cuffs has begun to fray and the layers of fabric gather about your waist, the pleats have been poorly ironed and the heavy fabric falls over the curve of your hip haphazardly and pools to the floor in a swathe of heavy cotton. Shame pools in your stomach at the sight of your slippers as they peek out from the skirts of your robe. 

It’s about time you asked Clotho for a new set of robes you think. 

“You’ve met him before, no?” Madja’s voice breaks the tenuous peace you have found in those moments. You look up at her and a deep set frown graces her weathered face, “when you first came to Velaris?”

The visions fall on you like night; the Moonstone Palace saturated in onyx and jade, the reflections of your face in the marble of the throne room floor, the sentries as they dragged you before the High Council. The sounds of your screams and a sea of rubies and pearls as the bodice of your dress is torn away from your heaving chest-- all that red. Terrible and red. 

Hewn City had always been cruel to you. You, a useless daughter to an ambitious man. The dreams are less vivid now but the sound of footsteps on marble still haunts you. 

“Yes, it was him who brought me to Velaris-- after-afterwards,” You acquiesce to her questioning, eyes set on the light beyond the frosted glass panes of the onyx doorway, “though I doubt he remembers.”

Your avenging angel.

Madja looks at you carefully, taking account of you before she nods to you in silent acknowledgement. 

The door to the High Lords townhouse opens with a flourish to reveal Morrigan. She’s more beautiful than you remember, radiant even as the dark shadows of sleep cling to her. Her golden hair hangs in loose waves over the delicate curve of her shoulder and though the deep umber of her eyes meets yours in a warm inviting stare as she utters your name. 

She knows your name. 

“Come on in from the cold.” she beckons you with the curve of a slender hand. You smile politely as you cross the threshold of the house. The wards fall away as you pass through into the foyer and the smell of mandarin and night blooming jasmine flood your senses. 

The foyer to the townhouse is truly beautiful; a testament to the fine artistry and craftsmanship that seemed to define Velaris’ art district. The walls are paneled wood, painted in a shade of twilight that can only be found here, in The Night Court, and the burgundy carpet so rich in color that it reminds you of a blood moon, the oil paintings that hang on the walls seem to exude an air of majesty unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

In this room night reigns triumphant and you behold it all with a sense of wonder and awe. A careful deference to the love and care contained between these walls. It is a home that has been truly cherished by the people that live here. 

“Did Madja tell you why you had been summoned here?” Morrigan’s voice is soft and sweet and the feeling of her hand on your robed arm pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Sorry - I - uh” I stutter, glancing between her hand on my arm and the unyielding warmth of her gaze. “No she didn’t, only that there was a position in the High Lord’s household that Clotho recommended me for.”

“It was my recommendation actually,” Morrigan smiles proudly, letting her hand drop to her side idly. “Clotho just happened to agree.” The words leave her lips with the ghost of a smirk as she recalls the conversation between her and the High Priestess.

The last time you had spoken to Morrigan would have been in Hewn City, all those years ago. You abandon yourself to those days; when you had been the cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. The girl you were died under that mountain. The woman that stands in her place had been forged of blood, and splintered bone-- made strong by violence and tempered by time.

You nod solemnly and cast a glance to Madja who watches on in quiet curiosity. 

“Rhys is upstairs,” Morrigan says softly to you both, gesturing up the staircase to the upper level of the house, “I’ll fetch him down”. 

You notice then how troubled Mor looks. The rings around her eyes are pale purple and blue and her skin, once radiant, has become pale and sallow. She begins her ascent up the stairs with a small wave of her hand signaling Madja to follow. From here you can see a singular light that pierces through the blanket of the dark that shrouds the upper levels of the house.

Mor regards you once more as Madja passes her on the stairs and points towards the ornate door that leads to the antechamber at the heart of the house. “Go on in, we won’t be a moment.” In a flourish of golden blonde hair and crimson Morrigan winnows away and leaves you to linger in the foyer for a quiet moment. 

The smell of cherries and marigold shades the air in her absence.

Voices, disembodied and distant from the upper levels of the house draw you into the heart of the house.

The antechamber of the High Lords townhouse is a beautiful living room, plunged into near darkness spare the slivers of jade light that dapple the dark walls from the emerald chandelier, even in the darkness you can make out the dark marble of the hearth that is draped with moonflowers and ivy. The low backed chairs are elegant and worn from use and there are books strewn about the room and a small library contained neatly in the alcove. 

Your eyes find the painting hung above the hearth; immortalized on oil and canvas the High Lord of Night and his Lady. The High Lord is painted in a deep navy tunic and the silver paint mimics the delicate embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors in The Rainbow. His violet eyes shine bright against the dark. 

He is a thing of dark beauty, you think.

In this light, his High Lady looks as though she is wreathed in starlight as smiles down on the antechamber from her place above the hearth. You observe the pointed curve of her nose and the upturn of her cerulean eyes and something aching and jealous festers in you at the sight of her beauty. 

Otherworldly and ethereal.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The low tenor of a man calls out from the darkness of the room, the voice is measured and devoid of any emotion as it permeates the dark. The male cuts an intimidating figure in the low light and all thought and sound eddies from your mind. You’re sure the sound of your heart like an echoing war drum is loud enough to shake the mountains as he takes a step towards you.

“High Lord?” you question. He steps further into the light and you regard him pensively; his skin is pallid and his eyes are ringed with dark circles of amethyst that trouble you. His onyx hair is left tousled and the ends have grown long enough to curl away from the harsh lines of his face. The sharp junction of his jaw has become obscured by the smatterings of coarse, black hair that grow there.

Even still, even in the unforgiving jade light, he is the most beautiful male you have ever seen. He smells of night blooming jasmine and violets undercut with something inherently masculine. Pine and whiskey perhaps. 

His presence is something truly captivating; dark and intoxicating. When he looks at you there is only dark in those violet eyes. 

The High Lord sinks into the worn armchair by the hearth with a deep sigh and for a moment he allows his eyes to flutter closed as he breathes deeply and all you can do is surrender yourself to that dark magnetism. The dying fire in the hearth warms him and in this light you notice the golden hues of his skin and the dark inky trails tattooed across the planes of his chest where his shirt opens. 

“You’re staring--” The High Lord’s violet eyes falls onto you. In those liminal spaces between the seconds, when he is looking at you, all ceases to be. You tilt your chin downwards, hoping to avert his gaze, as you offer him a courteous bow. 

“My apologies High L-” the apology is cut off by the High Lords gentle protests. None of that, Love.

You pray to the mother that he doesn’t notice the flush along the tops of your cheeks or the wild fluttering of your heart at the pet name.

“Sit down,” The High Lord gestures simply to the seat across from him by the hearth and his whole demeanor is somehow softer when you deign to look at him again. Wordlessly you comply with his request, a careful hand runs down the length of your robes to smooth out the lazy pleats in the skirt as they fan out around you in the low backed chair and while you don’t dare to meet his eyes directly you can feel him looking at you.

    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes though his voice is distant, despondent even and his eyes find the painting that looms over the hearth. “The portrait-- It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses, tipping the rim of his whiskey glass towards the portrait. 

“Very beautiful, High Lord.” you agree, smoothing the heavy material of your robes again. He watches you then with a curious glint in his eyes and he takes a few moments to assess you.

“Just Rhysand will do,” He smiles lightly, though there's a sense of apprehension as he regards you playing with the threads of your sleeves for the third time in so many moments, “there’s no need for such formalities when it’s just the two of us.” 

“No of course not,” You agree and look at him through thick lashes and offer him a small smile in return, “forgive me, I’m--” you extend a hand to him over the small end table between the arm chairs and he takes it in earnest shaking it lightly. A calloused pad of his thumb rubs an absentminded circle into the skin of your hand before he brings your hand, trembling and slender, to the sulk of his lips and places a chaste kiss against the knuckles. 

“I know who you are, Priestess,” he says lightly-- playfully. You offer him a polite laugh in return and nod your head again. 

Something dark burns in his eyes in those moments; silver and violet. Like the darkness between the stars. He smiles to himself then, a soft beautiful thing. A secret shared between him and the dying light in the hearth as he picks at an errant threat on the stitching of his shirt.

“Why am I here, Rhysand?” You ask, inhaling deeply, hoping that his answer might assuage the anxiety that has been coiling in your stomach all afternoon. The door to the antechamber opens then and light, golden and radiant spills into the room all at once. The radiant light reveals the room to you fully, you observe the emerald velvet chairs and the dark wood furnishings, the landscapes hung on the walls and the rare manuscripts and novels bound all in black that line the walls. 

This house is something truly breathtaking. 

It feels like a home you realize. 

“There you are!” Morrigan's velvet voice smothers the morose tension in the room as she comes into view. She’s since shed the tiredness that plagued her before and you notice the way her hair frames her face like a halo of gold in the soft ochre light. In her arms, swaddled in sapphire spider silk, is the High Lord’s son. 

“We were beginning to wonder where you had gone.” Mor coos at the bundle in her arms as she approaches Rhysand who takes the babe in his strong arms. 

As if he could get any more beautiful-- the man looks as though he was carved by The Mother. 

It’s wrong, you know. He is your High Lord and you are…

The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord, you remind yourself.

Rhysand glances at me hesitantly and I meet his eyes briefly before focusing on the babe in his arms. He’s since broken loose from the swaddling and his chubby fist clutches at his fathers shirt. I can just see the top of his little head, it's all tufts of curly blue-black hair and pointed pink ears. You smile fondly to yourself as he continues to wriggle in his father’s grasp. 

Gods, it’s been so long since you had smiled that wide without the feeling of guilt that usually attends it. 

“You used to be a governess, didn’t you?” Mor says by way of explanation for your summons. To her credit her smile never falters even as your demeanor hardens against her, “Clotho said you had talked about it a few times.” 

“Yes. I was,” You admit swallowing thickly, your voice comes out strained like the words themselves pain you to speak, “that was a long time ago though.”

That had been long before him. 

You must have only been a youngling yourself. You had been happy-- that much you remember. Those were the happy recollections of your old life; summers spent under the opal lights of The Moonstone place, children’s laughter like birdsong that breaks apart in the humid air as you danced and sang long into the nights. Of dark autumns and smoky air, a bonfire and a small hand that holds your own with such gentle reverence. 

“Clotho said you wanted to leave the Library?” Rhysand questions you, his eyes are dark and filled with a thinly veiled darkness that draws you into their depths as you speak to him without pretense. 

“I do,” You answer him honestly, your voice wavering only a little, “I don’t want to spend my days rotting in the depths of that House.”

Rhysand considers it carefully and his face twists into a pained expression that almost breaks your resolve. You hadn’t meant to hurt him-- never. But you’re done hiding in the dark. 

The world is a cruel place and full of cruel men. It always had been and it always will be. There is nought you can do to change that. So why should you cower from the world any longer? 

You want to live. 

The whining of the restless babe in Rhys’ arms rouses your attention and something akin to longing gathers in your chest as you regard him. You pull a lip between your teeth as he fusses and Rhysand struggles to soothe him. The babe looses a cry that comes out as a pitiful howl and you can feel a small ripple of power permeate the air.

“May I hold him?” The words take everyone in the room by surprise and the High Lord only nods easily and stands to pass the babe into your arms.

“I’m grateful,” You continue as Rhysand stands before you and transfers his son’s weight into the crook of your arm, “To you and your court for providing me, and girls like me with somewhere to heal but--” 

“But you weren’t meant to cower in the darkness of the library forever.” Rhysand’s words come out as little more than a whisper and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin is something entirely perverse. 

You shake your head, mouthing an inaudible ‘no’ before lowering yourself back into the chair by the hearth, hoping to hide the rosy blush that spreads across your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t retreat back into his armchair like you had thought he might and instead sinks to his knees before you and allows one of his son's fists to wrap around his ring finger. The babe seems to quieten then in your arms as he nuzzles against your chest, one balled first clinging to his father and the other pulling at the neckline of your robes and he smiles sleepily in your arms.

Looking at him now you are overcome with the realization of the absence that had stained this family’s happiness. Rhysand had given himself completely to a woman who had changed her mind. And their son-- their son; all cherub cheeked and big blue eyes framed with dark lashes-- had been abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love him without condition. Before the ghost of her had been an abstract thing. Something intangible and errant, a whisper or a memory, but now, as you look between the babe in your arms and the woman immortalized about the hearth you feel nothing but biting fury. A dangerous wrath only tempered by the stilling of the High Lord beside you. 

It is Morrigan’s movement at the side of the room that rouses you from thought. “Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement?” The smile that graces her lips is brilliant and calculating and the sparkle in those umber eyes tells you she is genuine in his intentions.

“An arrangement?” You ask hesitantly, raising one arched brow to her. 

“Yes.” The High Lord nods in agreement as Morrigan approaches you all casually, sauntering over to snatch a glass of wine from the decanter, “you’re free to leave the Library at any time but--”

“Help me take care of Nyx,” The High Lord beats you to it, his voice is soft and gentle and one of his fingers runs along the curve of Nyx’s ear as he begins to doze in your arms. 

“High Lor-” You start, and you’re torn between declining outright and trying to dissuade them altogether, “Mor, I haven’t cared for a babe in well over 60 years.”

“Listen to me,” Rhysand’s violet gaze is unyielding and when you can no longer avert his gaze he takes on of your hands in his own and all but pleads with you,  “take care of Nyx, for one year-- just until I get used to doing it on my own-- just until he starts his pre-schooling.” 

The thought of him raising his son all alone pains you, a physical, bone deep ache that settles over you. You mourn for him then, for the love he thought he had, for all that he lost and then you mourn for the babe in your arms. For the son who will grow up without knowing his mother’s love. The High Lord looks at you through dark lashes and you note the tiredness in his eyes and the desperate sadness that seems to radiate from him these days and yet, he smile softly at you. As one might smile at something lovely and precious. 

“And in return?” You ask peering down at him with sympathetic eyes when his whole body goes lax.

“I’ll help you get set up somewhere-- anywhere you want.” The words come quickly and if you were a cruel woman you would see what more he would offer you. But when he’s looking at you like you might just be his last hope you can’t find it in you to do anything but allow yourself to be persuaded by him.

You see a home; a cottage maybe, made of ancient stone and covered with climing ivy and jasmine. On the outskirts of Velaris, away from the artisans and market stalls of the main square, but close enough that you never feel truly alone. A home and it smells of mandarin and moonflowers, the sound of children laughing, and a garden blooming with violets in the garden in the leonine yellow heat of high summer. You smile wistfully and you swear you feel the gentle caress of a hand in your mind's eye. 

“You can live here with us in the meantime” Rhysand continues gesturing to the house around you. 

It’s warm and inviting and your body sings in response to the prospect. 

“I don’t think that's a good--” 

“Just until you find somewhere of your own.” He assures you standing to his full height before you. He casts a morose glance to the portrait that hangs about the hearth and you can see the moment his violet eyes meet painted cerulean. 

“Rhys--” You warn gently. 

“Please,” He turns to you again and the desperation in his tone has you yielding to him further, a gentle sweep over your face before settling on the sleeping babe in your arms, “please.” He repeats it once more and you swear your heart breaks just a little bit for him. 

He had saved you once, you think. You had only been a girl then but you remember looking at him in that light; he looked like the shadow of some dark winged God-- avenging and angelic.

Perhaps this time the girl can save the God.

“A bargain then.” You muse lightly holding out a pinky finger to him.

Rhysand huffs out a laugh and curls his finger around your own. Nyx’s hand seems to flex in response, his own tiny pinky finger outstretched in agreement. 

“A bargain.” With the simple confirmation you feel the gentle burn of a promise as it kisses its way up your wrist, and you see Rhysand’s own inky sigil as it glows faintly on the skin of his outstretched arm.

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #rhysand imagine #rhys acotar #rhys fanfic #rhysand headcanons

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Okay but imagine if the Creator's child was Kaveh's.

Out of literally everyone in the world and the creator bags the broke architect 🤭

Que Jessica Rabbit's 'he makes me laugh'.

He still lives with Alhaitham bc the idea of sharing a literal child with the creator but still getting locked out of your apartment is hilarious.

The creator had a the broke architect's child

Creative child

After your child is born with no distinctive features other than his blond hair the first one to know who your lover was is your own child

WC: 900~

To be 100% truthful I only thought about doing this for the iconic physical feature like neuvi, Diluc, etc but this was fun jsjs

“Morning, parental unit” your blond son stands on the door joining your library and the solarium in which you often humored visits.

“Morning, uhm, offspring?” Your hand reaches towards the book shelf without minding him, people said children his age find joy in speaking and behaving weirdly, and yours wasn't an exception, if his giggles meant something. 

“I heard you speaking with mister Diluc about visiting Sumeru”

“It's bad to eavesdrop” softly you chastise him but he pouts and stomps.

“I wanna go! You told me dad lives there, I wanna meet him”

“Shush! I told you that as our secret” you close the book you were skimming over but sigh as you see his yellow eyes “but last month when I told you to come for a festival in Sumeru but you didn't want to go”

“Because aunties Eula and Amber were going to teach me how to skyyyy” he whines the last word, already sensing you wouldn't want to take him there. 

“Bratty child” you groan “fine, if you manage to make up for the 4 days we will not be here with your tutor I will take you” and as you finish talking you hear him slamming the door shut and his bare feet hitting the floor as he runs away.

And, somehow, your usually mischievous child managed to work hard enough to make up for a few absences, or so said his tutor, who you still believed was under the spell of his puppy eyes, just like when he managed to smuggle two cats and a cryo slime.

“Karen, stay close, we have to go to the akademiya to check some paperwork and sit through some meetings” you grab his forearm, dragging him away from the colorful stained glass mobiles and the fluffy beasts carrying spices and fruit.

After a fair bit of bickering with every stand selling something he has never seen you manage to reach the akademiya, even if Karen was almost being dragged. 

Popping your head on the administration room you see a row of desks, a familiar face standing out amongst the sea of brown hair, a long gray hair standing up tall from his scalp.

Alhaitham is lounging in his desk, a book on one hand and a pen on the other, seeing him so calm makes you decide against bothering him and rather to ask one of his coworkers, even if you have to wait for a little bit while they finish transcribing as you chat them up, knowing it could be intimidating to have you stand silently besides them.

“C'mon let's just go to himmm, he looks like he is just lazing arounddd” Karen tugs on the bottom of your tunic but you ignore his little tantrum and keep asking the girl about the date she told you she will have after work.

Seemingly waiting for five minutes was too much of a waste of time that could be used to explore this nation. Sneaking silently behind you he stands before Alhaitham’s desk, but is ignored as he has his noise canceling earbuds and Karen isn't taller than the desk.

“Hey” he says, no answer “Heeeyy” no answer, now ticked off Karen slams his small hands against the thick wood board “HEY! STOP IGNORING ME” 

Alhaitham just peeks his head towards him, not hearing the noise but seeing his hands, but when he looks at him his annoyed look and yellow eyes seem too familiar.

He opens his mouth, eyes half closed as if he was thinking about something. 

Now noticing he was causing the ruckus you drag him by the armpits so he stops hitting the desk, as you start making Karen apologize you see Alhaitham's face. His eyebrows now almost up with his hairline and his green eyes uncharacteristically wide, but quickly he changes into a smirk as Karen apologizes for yelling.

“Please don't tell me it was-”

“Keep reading your book”

“Not my guest's bed~” he teases while grabbing his book, expecting the office to be calm again when the door slams open again, a blond huffing and puffing ready to face his housemate.

“YOU… how come you always grab my keys?! I couldn't enter the house for 2 hours!” to which al haitham tugs a set of keys out of his pockets and dangles three keys and a lion doll.

“Ugh, calm down. Why even wait 2 hours if you already know where I work?”

Under all their yapping you mumble something to your son “that is your dad” and you let a small promise to make both meet if he is busy, but after 5 ish minutes of bickering and the paperwork you needed snug in your hand it's obvious it will be quicker to just end this fight yourself. 

“Kaveh? Oh, hi, it's been so long” one of your hands falls on his shoulder, making him notice your presence “like 4 years ago?” You ask as you feel Karen hug one of your legs.

“oh, yeah, it's been so long” he laughs lightly, feeling suddenly bashful.

“It's a shame I was so busy I was just able to visit Sumeru, someone wanted to meet you” the flat part of your nail rakes through your son's hair.

“Huh?” He just now notices the kid behind you and his bright hair.

“Could you take care of him for a second? I have to finish a meeting and I should be able to meet you two”

“Yep! I will show him around and we can meet at the cafe, in sure we will have a lot to talk about”

Don't dare to run away so fast... Who allowed you to use my house like a motel

Hick!

#genshin impact #gi #sagau #self aware genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x y/n #genshin impact kaveh #sagau x reader #genshin impact headcanons #self aware genshin #for the record I used karen because of some mythology i found in Wikipedia but I think its meant to be used as a surname jsjs #if someone knows iranian mythology could fact check me #jsjs

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed. 

The lighthouse, you knew. 

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty. 

But now, there was a man in your home. 

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth. 

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new. 

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one. 

Two plates or bowls of food. 

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything. 

One for you.

And one for the man. 

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage. 

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious. 

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness. 

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine. 

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said. 

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend. 

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased. 

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude. 

In fact, it had almost happened. 

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’. 

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin. 

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave. 

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more. 

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought. 

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

-

It was hot. 

Too hot. 

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight. 

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms. 

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest. 

Not someone.

Aemond. 

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment. 

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say. 

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised. 

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you. 

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips. 

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse. 

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him. 

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment. 

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods. 

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him. 

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them. 

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm. 

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse. 

You mustn’t have shut the door properly. 

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material. 

In his hands, your coat. 

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you. 

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did. 

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly. 

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder. 

Okay. You were sure of it. 

Perhaps he was a Siren. 

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze. 

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly. 

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him. 

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process. 

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours. 

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. 

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation. 

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed. 

He was just like the others in town. 

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table. 

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you. 

Court. 

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling. 

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

-

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs. 

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say. 

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together. 

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless. 

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm. 

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core. 

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating. 

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you. 

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily. 

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose. 

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you. 

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped. 

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty. 

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features. 

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him. 

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening. 

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand. 

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage. 

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

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[abibliophobiaa]

Bad Idea - s.h. x f!reader

note: thank you to @crappymixtape for the initial prompt that started this fun little fic. <3

summary: steve happens upon you while you're reading a smutty book and chaos ensues.

warnings: oral (f receiving); p in v smut -- that's all, really (18+); barely edited, slightly rom-com vibes, so do not take this seriously (haha).

-

“I got a bad idea. How 'bout we take a little bit of time away?”

-

A fan blows in the distance. The low hum is a constant drone, offset by the sounds of your quiet breathing and the gentle turn of a yellowed page in your book. You’ve been sitting in your window nook for hours, the weather too hot outside to linger for too long. 

Your fingers halt on your current page, eyes glancing out your bedroom window. 

Summer burns bright outside. The sky is a bright blue, smiling down on all those who thrive beneath it, its golden sun winking on full display. Your bedroom window is parted enough to allow air to filter in, the sounds of birds chirping greeting your ears. Across the yard is the Harrington backyard. Their pool glints blue and bright beneath you, lounge chairs filled by his parents now back from whatever business trip they’d been on, glasses of champagne already in hand. 

Steve’s mother soaks up the sun, all long, lean legs, wide brim sun hat, oversized glasses, and the diamond ring on her finger that seems gargantuan even from here. You catch the sight of his father, stark dark hair like his son’s, leaning over to press a kiss to his wife’s lips before settling down on the chair beside her. 

Steve’s nowhere to be found, but you know that’s always the case when they’re home. He’s likely on an errand, trying to stay away from the home, trying to cut all interactions to a bare minimum. Because he’s twenty-two and still working at Family Video, he’s twenty-two and should have more in his savings, should be taking on the family business, should be thinking about his future, should be—

Your attention is drawn by the sound of children’s laughter. The neighbor’s kids have shoddily drawn a hopscotch grid onto the ground, the sound of their sneakers knocking against the warm concrete audible even over the low hum of the cars that slowly slide on past. 

And there, in front of your home, you catch the all too familiar sight of Steve’s BMW, and that pretty head of dark hair as he clambers out the driver’s side door, sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. 

Your eyes return to your book, knowing you have approximately sixty seconds until he’s in your bedroom and making himself at home. The main characters, two best friends oddly enough, are about to finally cross over a line of no return. You’ve read it enough times to know what comes next. 

Nathan will tell Cora he loves her and she’ll tell him the same. He’ll grab her in his arms, pull her close, and kiss her until she’s breathless…

“Hey.” 

And there he is, all fitted denim and a striped tee shirt that shows off how generous the years have been to your best friend. Long gone are his gangly limbs of boyhood. Now he’s all corded muscle, finely hewn, high cheekbones, that lovely jaw, dark eyes and his goofy smile that has your heart somersaulting as he plops down against the sea of pillows near your headboard. 

“Hey,” you reply, eyes shifting back to your book. 

It’s not unusual to sit in silence like this. In fact, he pulls one of your Cosmopolitan magazines from your bedside table and glances down at the woman with gorgeously blown out hair, shifting over onto his stomach. You both read in silence, your ankles hooking over one another as the scene in your book changes and suddenly Nathan and Cora are kissing in the back seat of his car, a little hot and heavy, wild and dirty, groping hands starting to remove clothes. 

Your hand comes up to curl around the back of your neck, wiping at some of the sweat pooling there, both from the way Nathan’s hands slide underneath Cora’s shirt and slide along her breast, and the heat spilling in from outside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, head lifting from whatever article he’s likely not even really reading, hair flopping with the suddenness of the gesture.  

You close the book for a moment, thumb holding your place, and offer him a nod. “Anything good in there? I don’t even know why my mom orders them; I don’t even read them.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t read this article on ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man?’” He chuckles, turning the magazine to show you. “Really riveting stuff. I’ll cut this one out for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you snap, though your voice breaks off into a laugh at the end. You never really can stay mad at him, not when he looks at you like a lost puppy in need of attention. All round dark eyes, elbows on your bed, lip jutting out just so. “Stop pouting. It’s not a good look—and don’t make any corny comments about how all your looks are good looks. Don’t you give me that face, I’ve known you since we were eight.” His look of incredulity falters, those lips of his curling into a smile because he knows you’re right. 

Your eyes drift back to your book, picking up right where you left off as Nathan’s fingers unbutton Cora’s jean shorts and he helps to slide them down her thighs, fingers exploring every new inch of exposed flesh. 

“Want to go to a movie tonight with Robin and Eddie? We all have off, might as well,” Steve muses, flipping the page of the magazine, and then flipping it again when he realizes it’s only ads for some clothing brand. “They want to see Dead Poets Society, and I remember you said you wanted to see it last week.”

Nathan’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of Cora’s underwear, asking for permission to touch her in a way no one else has. Your knees press together involuntarily, hand coming to rest over your swiftly beating heart, suddenly very grateful for the fan oscillating in the corner of your room. 

“Did you hear me?” Steve asks, rolling over onto his back. His head dangles upside down over the edge, face immediately growing red like a tomato, your head shaking at him. “I asked if you wanted to go to the movies with Robin and Eddie later.”

“Oh…” You swallow as Nathan’s fingers start a slow drag along Cora’s center, making her writhe and moan in the back seat of the car, the sun setting and bathing everything in pink and orange shades that dance along his skin with dappled light. “Y-yeah. Sounds good, Stevie. I’d love to.”

You settle back into a comfortable silence. Steve still hangs upside down, tossing a tennis ball you must have left on your floor up into the air from your brief stint trying to play. Couples tennis, minus the fact the two of you weren’t a couple. But he thought it would be funny, and you’d long decided you would give everything at least one chance before ruling it out. 

Your eyes drift back to the page, resuming where you left off, right when Nathan slides Cora’s panties down her thighs and asks if he can taste her. Your breath catches, and Steve rolls back over to look at you, brows furrowed high on his forehead in concern. 

“Are you okay over there? Seriously. You’re breathing all funny and you’re barely here right now as it is,” he worries his lip between his teeth, those dark eyes of his meeting yours from across the room. 

“I’m okay.” You glance down at your lap and tap your book. “You just walked in as things were picking up in my book.”

Maybe it’s not the right choice of words in retrospect. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all and instead played it off like, yes, yes you were feeling a little under the weather because of the heat. But you don’t, and it’s the small fumble over your words that has Steve pushing himself upward to sit on the bed, head tipping lightly toward your floppy paperback. 

“What are you reading anyway?” 

“Nothing,” you mutter, sliding your bookmark into place. You press your book onto the cushion beside you, arms coming to curl around your body, shoulders shrugging. “Just a book.”

“You already said that,” he replies, throwing one foot over the edge of the bed, followed by the other. You shift further against your nook, your book sliding beneath a pillow as your hip bumps against it, obscuring it from view. “What kind of book is it?”

“Adventure,” you say quickly, turning a bit to meet him as those hands come to rest on either of your shoulders. “You haven’t hugged me today.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, but he appeases you anyway, his face inches from yours as he bends down to fold you against him. 

You hum against his chest, relishing in his warmth, when you ask, “And what is that?” 

“Trying to distract me.”

“I’m not distracting—”

Your words are cut off, because Steve’s hand reaches swiftly behind you to curl around the edge of your book and tug it close to his chest. The shriek you let out frightens even yourself as you rush after him, arms curling around his waist and sending him hurtling down against your bed. The book skitters toward your headboard, but that’s the least of your worries right now. 

The only thing terrifies you more than him reading the scene that comes after where you left off is the way you’re sitting on top of him. With a slow, horrifying clarity, you take in the room around you. Thighs splayed on either side of his hips, your hands pinning his arm closest to the book above his head, and his hands reflexively against your hips. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, those dark irises rounding around the edges, his fingers clutching into the belt loops on your shorts. 

You both look at each other in silent panic. Because this is your best friend. This is over ten years of friendship lying beneath you. It’s the boy who has seen you scrape your knees learning how to ride a bike, sat next to you on the swings at the park, was there for your first heartbreak. Because he’s the boy you were there for when it then happened to him with Nancy, the one you walked around town with after dark on a warm day with cups of ice cream in hand, the one you told everything to, who knew you best, the boy you snuck your first beer with, and fought off monsters from the Upside Down alongside. 

Luckily, he seems to come to the same revelation just as quickly, shoving you off him onto the mattress, hands coming to dance along your ribs until your sides hurt from laughing so hard. A foot comes out to kick him in the thigh when his hand slides out above you, and you hear the familiar slide of your paperback against a blanket. 

“Not fair!” You growl, watching him lean back on his haunches, book tucked into his shirt that he’s then tucked into his jeans. “That’s disgusting. You can keep it now. You’re sweaty.”

“I just showered.”

You huff. “Still. Why do you care about what’s in it so much?” 

“I wanna know what’s got your panties in such a twist,” he says. Your heart thuds in your ears, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Are your panties in a twist? Is that why you’re all out of breath?”

“Steve,” you warn, though there’s no malice in your tone, only hesitancy. You curse yourself inwardly. 

His voice drops into a whisper, “Is this a sexy book?”

You want to throttle him. Want to wrap your hands around his shoulders and shake the look of pure and utter delight off his smug features. Only you don’t. You sit there and watch as he slides off your bed and stretches his arms above his chest, which outlines the rectangle hiding against his skin all the more. 

It’s then you remember: Steve Harrington hates books. Hated them in high school so much that you had to always read them for him and give him your breakdown of what happened, and you know for a fact he hates them now. The likelihood that’ll change brings you some peace. Confidence rising, you lean back onto your palms, grinning widely up at him. 

“Movies at eight then?”

He arches a brow at your sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Everything will be just fine. 

-

Only it’s not. 

You learn quickly that, though Steve’s hated every book given to him thus far in life, he absolutely devours this one. 

There are certain fears that have always lingered in the back of your mind throughout the years. 

The first being the worry one day Steve would find out about your years-long crush you’ve had on him. The feelings that have lingered way longer than you ever intended for them to. And it’s not like you hadn’t tried to push them aside; you dated other people, put yourself out there, all to take your mind off of it. It always works…initially. That is, until he does or says something that has you falling all over again, wondering if he’d ever feel the same—wondering if he’s ever felt the same. 

But this isn’t a romcom movie, and not all stories like these end up in a relationship, and you had already accepted that…for the most part. If there’s any hope, it’s more like a small flame. A tiny flicker. Nothing noteworthy or remarkable to see here. 

Your second fear is the newest one. The fear that Steve would read the book you’d allowed him to sneak out of your house a week ago—actually read it—and unleash a new kind of petrifying hell on you and take actual pleasure in your demise. 

It starts over Eddie’s place. He’s got an apartment with Robin now, a dingy little place you’ve always thought they should move out of, but theirs all the same. Robin and Eddie are picking out a movie while you and Steve stand in the kitchen, getting various bowls and trays ready with chips, candy, popcorn, and drinks. 

Neither of you has said anything about the book catastrophe. That night, you’d gone to the movies as planned and even shared a soda together, your shoulder pushed against his like nothing even happened. You figured he’d torture you a bit, keep the book for a few days, and give it back with your bookmark exactly where you’d left it. 

But he still hasn’t returned it, and when you ask him for it in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen he only shrugs and says, “I’m actually reading it again. I think I skimmed it the first time; I want to make sure I take it all in. Every word, and, you know, every inch of it.”

You glance his way out the corner of his eyes. On a good day Steve’s odd, to say the least. It’s one of the many things that endears you to him and has made you love him as much as you do. Right now, however, he’s all flushed cheeks and wide smirks, looking very much like the cat who swallowed a canary. 

“Why are you smirking?” 

You shuffle about him to reach into one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a scissor. You snip the corner edge off of an M&M bag and pour some into a bowl, watching him the whole time. 

His smug self reaches down to grab a handful of your freshly pourn candies and plops a few into his mouth. You’re about to reprimand him when he moans around the mouthful, saying, “You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your throat dries. It’s worse than the Sahara Desert. Sandpaper slides across your vocal cords, your mouth opening and closing to try and form sentences. Words. Vowels. Anything would be better than the fish-like gape you’re left with, eyes widened in absolute horror. 

“What did you just say?” 

He turns to face you, his hip pressing against the countertop. Another M&M is lifted to his pursed lips, tongue sliding over it before pulling it into his mouth, his voice low as he repeats slowly, “You taste…so sweet…baby.”

Your eye twitch is your only response. 

Your personal hell gets worse, if that’s even possible, two days later. 

It’s a particularly balmy June day. Luckily, Steve’s parents are once again out of town, leaving the two of you behind to do whatever it is the hell you want to do. The both of you had settled on a pool day. Just the two of you lounging on floats, smelling of suntan lotion, your cherry chapstick freshly smacked against your lips, and soaking in the sun’s rays. 

You’re on a round float in particular, arms spread out beside you, fingertips dancing along the pool’s surface. Music blares from a speaker in the distance, your warm beers long forgotten near the lounge chairs covered in your colorful towels. 

You still don’t have your book back, but you can’t find it in yourself to ponder on it. Not like this, not with the water dancing along your skin, chilling your sweat-slick body, bobbing along the water without a care in the world. 

“Should I make burgers or hot dogs?” Steve asks when the sun starts to set a bit and the humidity in the air lessens. 

You slip down into your tube now, legs kicking in the water, arms propped up over the plastic edges. He treads water in front of you, hair slick against his head, face tanner than it was earlier that evening. He’s even got new freckles along his shoulders, dark against his golden skin.

“Can you do both?” You grin, reaching forward to poke at his cheek. “Please?”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, moving to go swim toward the shallow end of the pool where the stairs are. 

You’re lucky you’re holding onto a float, because you’re pretty sure you would have momentarily choked under the water at the sight of his form disappearing beneath the surface, long legs kicking in that red bathing suit. Those strong arms of his slice into the water, perfectly practiced motions from the summers he spent life guarding. 

You’re so rendered immobile by the sight you briefly forget it’s a scene that happens in your book. A moment when Cora realizes she’s physically attracted to her best friend. Only you differ from her in the fact that you’ve known Steve Harrington has been gorgeous for years. If that isn’t enough, though, when his body slowly walks up the stairs and he turns around to face you, your cheeks burn hotter than the sun could have ever warmed your skin. Because he slides a hand up onto his hair, bicep and abdominals rippling and on display. 

Is he moving in slow motion? No, he can't be. Can he? What the actual fuck is going on?

“I’m onto you, Harrington.” You drag a thumb along your throat in a warning. 

He only laughs and flexes his arm once more, asking innocently, “Whatever do you mean?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to actually have to kill him. 

Over the course of the next few days Steve ups his antics. 

It’s diabolical, you’ll give him that. 

You make a mental note to talk to Eddie about it, because the dramatic flair practically screams his influence. 

One of the days he wears a button up in the middle of your kitchen and offers to wash your dishes. Slides his sleeves up over his forearms so you can see all the tendons rippling as he moves (you almost pass out). Unbuttons the collar of his shirt complaining of heat to show that dark hair spattering his skin (you walk into the fridge).

Another day he takes your hand and dances with you like Nathan and Cora do in one of the chapters, spinning you round and round despite your initial protests, to something exceedingly romantic for your best friend’s tastes.

On the third, he accidentally brushes up behind you while you’re grabbing a board game from your closet and you feel the firmness of his chest against your back. You have to pray, something you haven't done in a long time, to keep yourself from doing something you might forever regret, because when did Steve get so muscular?

The fourth day brings soft serve ice cream, which is usually an innocent, non-sexual experience. Until, that is, Steve starts trailing his tongue along it. Little kitten strokes at first, long swipes through cream, the occasional slurp. And that’s all fine and dandy, something you can deal with, until he moans and you have to threaten him with the garden hose (after contemplating using it on yourself to cool off) because you’re not sure if you're about to combust into flame or kiss him square on the mouth and ask him to reenact his performance with the ice cream for real this time.

The fifth, while you’re minding your own business and actually trying to restock the tapes at Family Video, he plants dirty quotes from the book around the place. The two of you play games all the time. It gets you both into more trouble than you’d ever really like to share or admit, but this one is bolder, more evil than any that have come before it. 

You’re torn between loathing him and loving him more for it. 

And while you don’t particularly enjoy your job there, and really only use the pay to help you put yourself through college, you also don’t want to have to explain to Keith why there’s dirty talk written and hidden in parts of the building. You can picture him firing you already, fed up with Steve’s and your constant antics. 

In the break room. I want to taste you. 

Attached to the employee bathroom mirror. Let me hear those pretty sounds. 

On a back room shelf. You feel so good around me. Feel how deep I am? 

Inside one of the cup holders in your car (must have snuck that one while you’d been in the bathroom) I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my name. 

He’s proud of himself, laughing whenever you make a point of ripping up the paper loudly in front of him, letting the shreds drop one by one into a trash can. In actuality, though, your insides are fluttering from the words he’s chosen and you don’t even want to think about the way your thighs clench together or how you feel wetness pool inside your panties, so you decide you need to do damage control. 

“So what you’re saying is he’s torturing you?” Robin asks at the conclusion of your debrief. 

Her and Eddie sit across from you on the couch, watching wearily as you practically burn a hole in the carpet from your constant pacing. It’s been like this for a half hour. You frantically tell them all the ways Steve’s been haunting your every waking moment. How you’re feeling things you’ve long since tried to suppress. 

You’re pent up. 

A rubber band ready to snap.

You’re just afraid of what happens when that moment comes. Afraid of what you’ll do, what you might want. 

You can’t voice it, let alone allow yourself to think it. 

It would be a bad idea. 

“Yes!” You nearly shriek, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“You two share a single brain cell, and it’s actually quite amusing,” Eddie says. 

It’s the only thing he’s said the whole evening, and you pause to whirl around and face him. “What did you say?”

“The two of you,” he says evenly, hooking an ankle over his knee. “Share a combined brain cell.”

“That’s rude,” you snap, narrowing your eyes. 

He laughs, glancing over to Robin. “Are the two of you ever going to, oh I don’t know, act on your feelings? I thought it was because of all the shit with the Upside Down. But we saved the world, remember? So what gives?”

“I’m not following…”

Robin interrupts, all wild hands and frantic speech. “You two dinguses like each other. And stop with the ‘we’re best friends’ bullshit you feed everyone. The two of you are dancing around each other and have been for years now. Why not…talk it out and see what happens? You’re clearly feeling some sort of way over this weird little game the two of you are playing this week.” 

But the two of you are best friends. You’re not Nathan and Cora. That kind of stuff happens in your books. Those fated relationships, destined to be at a young age. 

You know how to separate fact from fiction. 

Steve and you are fact, and you don’t want to dabble in fiction when it comes to him.

Right…?

-

Tears for Fears blares through the speaker system, Family Video empty save for the two of you. The ‘OPEN’ sign on the door has already been flipped to ‘CLOSED.’ You’re meant to be going through new releases for Keith and unpacking them from the boxes laid out in the back room. He’s already told you where he wants them placed, which movies to arrange on certain shelves for different occasions. 

Your pencil scratches along paper, calling out the names of movies to Steve, crossing out a box to confirm you received all the titles the business was expecting. It’s tedious, and you’d rather be doing just about anything else, but it takes your mind off the tension swirling in your gut over your ‘Steve situation.’

Neither of you have spoken in a bit. More so because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to address the elephant in the room: the fact you like him, want him, and have been struggling to remind yourself that this game you’re playing is only a game. It’s a dangerous line to walk, even scarier to tread. On one side, the safety of friendship, and on the other is the unknown. 

So you return to your tapes, the shadowed in boxes, the methodical strokes of pencil against paper. It’s another ridiculously warm day. You curse the shoddy air conditioning system Keith never calls in to get fixed, hands sliding down the sides of your skirt, grateful for the slight breeze that tickles your ankles with every movement. If Steve’s warm, he says nothing of it, only picks up the pace with going through the inventory and closes up the box once you’re finally done. 

“We just need to double check the back room is clean and then we can lock up,” he says. Your head lifts abruptly, having gone so long without hearing his voice it almost shocks you. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Coming,” you tell him, clipping your pencil to the board and sliding the whole thing onto the shelf beneath the counter. 

Steve’s shoving the box onto a wooden table when you join him, your eyes doing a cursory scan about the room to make sure everything looks to be in its proper place. What you don’t expect to see, however, is your book resting in your pocketbook on the chair you left it atop of. 

Steve follows the line of your gaze and chuckles. “Figured it was about time I gave it back.”

You lift the tattered old thing in one hand and flip through the pages. He’s moved the bookmark all the way to the back, and you know he’s read the whole thing. Satisfied with its condition, you tuck it back into where it belongs and lean against the wooden table, palms curling around the edge as you shift to face him. 

“You done teasing me?” You ask pointedly, head tipping to the side with a little smirk. “Even I have to admit that was a cruel game.”

“Why was it cruel?” He steps closer, the already small room shrinking even further.

“You were making fun of me.”

“No I wasn’t. I liked the book,” he admits, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I just had one question the whole time I was reading it.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” You’re genuinely curious, leaning back further against the table. 

Steve takes another step closer, dark hair bouncing with each movement, those eyes dark and kind. “You’ve written down all the dates you read the thing in the front. So I assume it’s your favorite. Why is it your favorite?”

It’s…not a bad observation. If anything, it has your blood burning a bit, heart starting to flutter faster in your chest. Still, you keep your cool, shrugging your shoulders in reply. 

“Come on now, since when do we keep things from each other?” 

His hand drops down onto the wood beside your hip, his chest nearly pressing to your knees where you sit. Your feet kick mindlessly back and forth, brushing against his shins, skirt fluttering around you. 

“I like the plot,” you admit, popping the 'p' for emphasis, trying to look anywhere but his face as you continue, “I like the idea of two people who already know each other trying to see if there’s more between them.”

“Cora and Nathan are best friends.” It’s not a question, but a fact. You nod, watching his other hand drop onto the other side of your hip. “Is that why you got all hot and bothered in your bedroom? Why those notes made you squirm?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s a book.”

“Is that all it is?” He asks, looking into your eyes with an unfamiliar intensity. You want to hide from it, but it dredges up something new in you. Something bold and dizzying. “If it’s just a book, tell me that’s all it is and we’ll close up and go home.”

You don’t say anything for a while. 

How could you? How could you admit that the reason it’s your favorite is because it’s about two best friends falling for one another? How could you admit you dreamed and hoped maybe one day it would be your reality with him? How could you admit you wanted to taste him, touch him, feel him for years now? 

Steve moves to head back toward the main room when you make your choice. 

“Steve?” 

He whirls around on the spot, eyes searching your face. He rushes back over to where you’re sitting. Your hands slide up tentatively into his, testing the weight of them in your palms. 

You exhale a deep breath, “Kiss me?”

There’s no moment of question. No hesitance behind his gaze when he curls a palm around the side of your face and swoops down to kiss you soundly on the lips. It’s not slow and sweet like in the many movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read. Instead it’s an urgent, hurried thing. His hands slide around your hips and draw you closer to him, your thighs parting to make space for him, mouths licking into one another hungrily, years of pent up emotion spilling into the spaces between you. 

It’s a nip of his bottom lip here, the gasp from you when his mouth slides along your cheek in search of your jaw, sucks below your ear in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders, dragging him closer. Fingers pinch into skin. Frantic hands slide over your Family Video vest, his mouth forming the quiet question of “Can I?” And your head is nodding, heart thundering. He slips it free from your form and touches at the hem of your shirt hesitantly. 

“You can touch me,” you rasp out, hands clutching around the edge of the table. A callused palm slides up and along your skin, dances along the curve of your breast, right over the rapid thrum of your heart. “Stevie…”

He’s kissing you again, hand sliding out from underneath your shirt and instead rucking up the sides of your skirt. A gust of cold air hits the tops of your thighs as he bares you to him. You watch those fingers that have held you all these years, have tended your wounds, soothed away your worries, drag along your flesh. Up over the curve of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and down again. 

“I want you to touch me, Steve. I want you,” you whisper against his ear, curling an arm around his shoulder and shuddering into the side of his neck. Those fingers slip down the front of your panties and trail a dangerous path from your slick center to your clit, teasing lightly, circling where you want him most. 

He hums pleasantly. “This all for me, pretty girl?” He’s smiling to himself at your quiet cry, tracing the same pattern once more before dropping down onto his knees to help you slide them down and off your legs. “Are you sure?”

“Pleas—” Your voice breaks off into a moan. That taunting mouth of his licks a deadly path from your entrance to that sensitive nub, rendering you at his mercy. He slides one of your thighs up and over his shoulder, the other held out to open you further to him. “Just like that, just like that.”

He licks into you, murmuring into your skin about how he’s wanted you like this for years. Dirty sounds of your slick meld together with your gasps and whimpers, fingers reaching down to grasp at hair, tugging hard, hips grinding involuntarily into his face. 

“Steve!” Your head falls back at the white hot flash behind your eyes when that first finger slides in all the way to the knuckle, a sinful slide in and out of you that has you craving more. More fullness, more something, more Steve, until you’re whining pathetically. The second finger joins the first, stretching and sliding against skin, working in tandem with the flat of his tongue against your clit. 

You come with a cry of his name, body bowing over the top of his head, fingers a tangle against his scalp. He continues to lick and pump into you through your orgasm, his other hand holding tight against your hip you’re sure you’ll have bruises come morning. But you don’t care. You don’t care at all. You grip the front of Steve’s shirt and drag him upward to your mouth, tasting yourself on him. His tongue glides over your own, moans mingling in the spaces between you. 

Your hands work on his jeans next, needing more of him, his mouth moving languidly over yours. Shaky hands slide the button through the hole, fingers pushing down the zipper, the desperate wiggle of fabric down his thighs so he can kick himself out of them. You waste no time sliding him out of his boxers, hand pumping him once, twice, before he’s sliding on a condom fished from his wallet and asking you how you want him. 

It’s how you end up sliding down to the edge of the table, his fingers dipping into your slick heat, still sensitive from your orgasm, his cock straining against your hip when he drops down to kiss you once more, whispering, “Are you sure? Need your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you…I’ve wanted this, Steve.” 

You feel him nudge at your entrance, so full and thick it has your eyes rolling slightly at the first delicious stretch. Your arm curls around his shoulder to drag your chests closer, gasps mingling, the hand curling around your hip gripping tighter while he sinks inch by inch into you until he’s buried to the hilt.

He rocks slowly against you at first. A slow, torturous drag in and out. In and out. Until you’re whimpering steadily into the quiet room, ankle curling around a hip, drawing him closer. Always closer. It’s a slow build up. Face pressed into his chest, hips rolling in tandem with his, relishing in his sounds rumbling deep within his chest. 

It’s Steve, you remind yourself. 

Steve, your best friend in the world, rocking into you, chasing your peaks together. He's whispering how pretty you are, how good you feel, praising you. He murmurs ‘good fuckin’ girl’ against your mouth when your head shifts and you kiss him greedily, a messy tangle of lips, tongue and teeth. 

“Faster, Steve,” you plead, eyes pinching shut. 

His hips snap harder against yours, his grunts and groans filling the space, driving the table to knock against the wall, sending the box of new inventory hurtling to the ground. Neither of you can be bothered with it, hands clutching against clothes, mouths tangling, wet skin slapping against skin, lurching closer and closer to the edge.  

Steve’s laying you back against the table, chest crawling over your own, mouth like a brand against yours, your hair fanning around your head. He curls a forearm under your lower back, tilting your hips, the new angle hitting that part of you over and over and over again that makes your vision grow white around the edges. Your whimpers of his name spurring him on, your thigh crooked over one of his elbows, drawing him closer, deeper. 

Steve comes seconds after you do, face red and chest heaving, gasping at the way your body clenches around him. Kisses you in between broken cries of his name falling from your pretty lips. 

Your thigh slides back down from around his elbow. The other thigh slowly drops back down against the wood, skirt bunching indecently around your hips, his chest heavy against yours. Your fingers come up to brush along his hair, humming when he leans over to kiss you once, twice, and then slides off of you, your body immediately missing the feeling of being full of him. 

You dress and clean in silence. Little awkward chuckles spilling here and there as he helps you slide your underwear back on, head disappearing beneath your skirt to teasingly nip at the inside of a thigh. Your hands help to smooth his unruly hair back into place. It’s a gentle slide of fingers together when you both make your way out to his car and slip inside, the cheeky grin from him when he leans over the center console and smacks a kiss against your cheek, making your skin burn ablaze. 

“Want to go get food? Maybe a milkshake,” he suggests, curling a hand around his steering wheel. “On me.” 

“Like a date?” You muse, watching his hand curl around your own to draw your palm to his lips for a slow kiss into the center. 

“If you want it to be.”

-

Steve and you open up at Family Video the next day. 

Your late night plans the day before in hindsight may not have been the best idea either of you had in a while, but seeing him early that next morning with his sunglasses perched on his face and his lips eagerly seeking yours over the center console had made it worth it. 

You’d spent the evening huddled over a basket of fries, talking about your feelings, about giving things a try, constantly touching. Hands, cheeks, shoulders, legs. You craved it all, this new need to be attached at all times, butterflies fluttering in bellies, grins tugging at faces. Later it had been chocolatey milkshake kisses under the stars at Lover’s Lake, a new world of exploration at your fingertips. 

Presently, Robin and Eddie mill about in the distance, looking for a movie for your usual Friday night in, the two of them calling various movie titles over to where you and Steve work behind the countertop. 

“How about Heathers?” Eddie asks, just as Keith barrels out of the back room, looking red in the face and on a mission. 

“Looks like you two—” he points between you and Steve. “—did some rearranging in the back room last night. That wall you dented and then tried to hide behind the table, however you managed that, I don’t know…but yeah, you’ll be paying for it. And the stack of movies on the floor? If any are busted, I’ll dock both your pay for them as well. Count your lucky stars I’m not firing you both.” 

He’s gone back the way he came, leaving you standing beside Steve, your mouths open, eyes rounded in fear. 

Steve mouths, “We forgot to clean up the movies…”

You turn into his chest to hide, mortification burning your face. 

Robin and Eddie smirk, high-fiving amidst the movie displays. 

-

-

-

-

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington imagine #my writing #luna's writing

[megalony]

Father's Day

Here is another Eddie Diaz request from Anon, I hope you like it, lots of fluff ensues. Thank you all for the amazing requests and feedback I'm so pumped all I wanna do is write continuously.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefanthefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) and Chris decide to give Eddie the best present he could wish for on Father's day.

Enjoy.

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

"Can you remember what day it is today?" (Y/n) pulled Christopher's top over his head, watching the way his hair bounced and puffed up around his head while she helped him slip his arms in and pull it down.

"Daddy's day," Chris smiled brightly and brought his hands down to rest on (Y/n)'s shoulders so she could help him stand up and pull up his bottoms.

"Yep, it's father's day so while daddy's in bed, we need to get his presents ready."

Eddie always tried his best to get father's day off no matter what job he was doing because it was the day he could celebrate Chris. He was always telling Chris that he was the reason Eddie was a dad so it was technically his day too. They all spent the day together and to get the day off, Eddie had taken the night shift last night and got in at six this morning.

The plan was for Eddie to get some sleep and recharge and then after dinnertime he would get up, get showered and they would all go out for the afternoon.

At least, that was what Eddie thought the plan was.

(Y/n) and Chris had decided different. They had a special surprise for him this year so the plan was to get his presents ready, bake him his favourite cake and make time for Chris to make him his card. Then they would wake him up, surprise him with his presents and then he could decide where they went in the afternoon.

(Y/n) followed Chris out his bedroom and down to the kitchen and when he held his arms up expectingly, she smiled and lifted him up onto the kitchen counter. It was easier for him to sit on the side and help rather than rest his weight against the counter and fumble to lean over. This was easier on his legs.

"What cake are we making for him?"

Chris leaned his head from side to side, letting his eyes glance around the kitchen for inspiration. They had made a large batch of pancakes, half of which Chris had demolished for breakfast, and the rest were waiting for Eddie to devour when he got up.

"Chocolate,"

"Alright! You know what to do,"

They had a well working system in place since baking was something Chris loved to do and was good at. Plus it helped him with his motor skills.

He cracked three eggs into a cup which he then passed to his mum so she could make sure no shells were left in. And when (Y/n) weighed all the ingredients, Chris tipped them into the bowl and smiled when a gust of flour and cocoa sprinkled up into the air and clouded his glasses.

When it was all mixed, (Y/n) held the bowl and Chris scraped the mix into the dish. Waiting for the cake to cook was the part Chris didn't like, he wasn't good at waiting around, he wanted it to be done in two minutes and cooled immediately so he could decorate it.

"Okay, let's get his card done while we wait, sweetheart." (Y/n) looped her arms around her son's waist but when she went to put him down on his feet, he shook his head and giggled.

With a roll of her eyes, (Y/n) kissed his forehead and lifted him higher on her chest until she could hold his legs and carry him properly. He had a thing for being carried around and (Y/n) knew he was probably because he was carried a lot as a child. Although they encouraged him to walk, they did physio and a lot of training to get him walking and help him walk without his crutches, they carried him around while he was little. If they were in crowded places or they had to hurry to catch the bus or make a quick exit.

And when Chris got nervous or upset as a child he would stop walking and wait to be carried around because it calmed him down. It was a habit he hadn't quite grown out of yet and something both parents loved to do.

He buried his face in (Y/n)'s chest and tickled his hair against her neck while she walked over to the dining table. She got the colouring box out that was full of stickers, gems, glitter, felt pens, paint pens and piles and piles of coloured card. Crafts was another thing Chris loved to do.

(Y/n) sat down next to him and sorted through the small bits she and Chris had gone out to buy last week. Chris had picked out a dark blue pillow that said 'World's Best Daddy' in white italics with a love heart at the bottom. And they had designed a shirt with the outline of a fireman on the front that said 'Smoking Hot' in the middle. Along with the cake they were making and the card which (Y/n) realised was going to be rather big, Eddie was going to be spoilt.

But his main present was the thing (Y/n) was most excited to give him and it was something that couldn't be bought in any shop.

"Can I have some card please baby?"

When Chris handed over a piece of light aqua blue card, (Y/n) folded it in half and grabbed a red felt tip. On the front she wrote 'Main Present' then on the inside in italics, she wrote Pending <3.

He wouldn't know what that meant which meant Chris could excitedly explain what his main present was going to be. Not that Chris really understood either but Eddie would once they explained.

It surprised (Y/n) that Chris stayed at the table for a good hour drawing, colouring and editing his card to make it just right. It gave the cake time to bake and cool and kept him occupied. The end result made (Y/n)'s heart swell. There was Eddie on the front in his fireman uniform, a hose in his hands and a fire in the corner that he was putting out. Then in scribbled green pen was The Best Daddy and about fifty XO's inside.

"Okay baby, I've wrote down what we talked about yesterday, do you think you can remember to tell daddy all of this?" It wasn't a lot but she had gone through what Eddie's main present would be when he was at work yesterday. Chris didn't understand and (Y/n) didn't expect him to but he was happy nonetheless and he was desperate to be the one to give Eddie his main present.

"Yeah, do you still have the present?"

"I do, it's al safe and sound. Let's decorate the cake, what do you want on it?" (Y/n) knew she didn't have to ask, she knew exactly what her son would put on the cake.

And she was right when she followed him into the kitchen and watched him get out a big bar of chocolate that he bashed against the counter to break it up. Chris was just like his dad, chocolate was their weakness, especially melted chocolate that they always had when they ate strawberries.

"Are you leaving some for daddy's cake?" (Y/n) snapped a quick picture when Chris shoved a spoonful into his mouth and dribbled more down his chin as he went in for another mouthful. Eddie would be lucky if he got any on his cake.

"Maybe,"

The counter was covered in chocolate dribbles and splotches when Chris tipped the bowl over the cake and giggled as it covered every square inch of cake. For the top, he threw a whole jar of sprinkles over the top along with some edible glitter left over from (Y/n)'s birthday and then a single white candle in the middle of the cake.

"Done!"

"Let's get a picture then,"

Chris looked up at the camera and grinned, holding his hands out towards the cake he'd made with smeared chocolate all down his face. (Y/n) grabbed a handful of wetwipes to clean him up but they both froze when they heard Eddie groaning from the bedroom and the door open. He was getting up. He wasn't supposed to be up for another half an hour.

"Baby-"

"Ahh, he's awake!" Chris was hobbling out of the kitchen and speeding down the hall before (Y/n) had chance to clean him up.

Sighing to herself, (Y/n) hastily cleaned the counter before she grabbed the cake and put it on the table along with the rest of the presents and Chris's card proudly in front. She knew what Chris was going to do, he was going to drag Eddie in here for his presents before he got chance to get a shower or get dressed. If he was awake he was getting spoilt straight away, no room for debate.

"Daddy! Daddy,"

Eddie rubbed his eyes with the base of his hand but his lips curved into a smile when Chris's voice stopped him in his tracks. He barely stepped out of the bedroom before he was caught redhanded trying to get into the bathroom. He paused in the hallway, wearing nothing but his boxers and waited for Chris to meet him.

"Hey- oof, wow bud," Eddie coiled his arms around Chris and slumped back into the wall when his boy nearly took him down to the floor with his force.

"Happy daddy's day!" Chris tucked his chin into Eddie's stomach and smiled up at him with his arms tightly wrapped around his waist. The cheesy grin on his face made the tiredness wash away instantly and Eddie grinned down at him and kissed the top of his head. This was why he always wanted the day off, his boy always managed to make the day special for him.

"Thank you," Leaning down, Eddie kissed the top of his head and then peppered kisses across his cheeks. "Am I allowed a shower quick?"

"No, you need presents." Chris's voice gave no room for debate and he wasn't taking no for an answer. He turned around, took Eddie's hand and started to guide him down the hallway towards the kitchen. Eddie mumbled a quiet 'okay' and followed along. "Presents!"

He moved his hands to Chris's shoulders and kissed the back of his head while he helped him sit down at the table. When Chris was sat down, Eddie moved over to (Y/n) and wrapped his arms around her waist, reeling her into his chest like a fish on a hook. He tucked his face into the side of her neck and smiled against her skin, kissing just behind her ear when he felt her hands smoothing up and down his bare chest.

"Happy father's day," (Y/n) brought her hand up to cup the side of his face and kissed him sweetly.

"Thank you, mi amor," Eddie leaned forward to kiss her again, tilting her back with how far he pushed into her until a voice interrupted them.

"Daddy, open your presents!"

"Alright, alright I'm here." He pulled out a chair and sat down but kept an arm reeled around (Y/n)'s waist so he could pull her onto his lap. She leaned back into his chest and kissed his neck a few times until he squeezed her hip, silently telling her that if she carried on she would get him wound up and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it with Chris wide awake and rearing to play.

Leaning forward, Eddie rested his free arm on the table and looked over all the stuff they had laid out for him. He had been spoiled today.

"You made me a cake?"

"And pancakes,"

"God, I'm starving," Eddie pulled the cake closer to get a look at all the sugary sprinkles on top. He could see that Chris had gone a little overboard but it was as sweet as it was endearing and the thought made his heart explode. "Looks great, bud. What should I open first?"

Chris grabbed the small blue and red bag and slid it across the table for Eddie, clapping his hands when Eddie shuffled (Y/n) further into the middle of his lap so he could weave both arms around her and open his present. A deep chuckle left his lips when he held up the shirt that he was definitely going to wear to the station tomorrow and show off to the guys.

"Wow, I'm gonna look so cool tomorrow, thank you." He laid the shirt out on the chair next to him and grabbed the second bag on the table, grinning when he pulled out a cushion. There was a collection of various cushions on his and (Y/n)'s bed. Ranging from small square ones that said His Lordship and His Ladyship to a deep purple one Eddie got (Y/n) when they got married that said Mrs Diaz with a ring symbol at the bottom.

When Chris was born, (Y/n) got the picture of Eddie when he first held Chris printed on a pillow and that sat proudly on the chair in their bedroom.

"Here's your card,"

"That is amazing. Can I take this to show Buck tomorrow? He'll love it," Eddie reeled Chris into his side and kissed the top of his head. He had a collection of cards in his top bedside drawer of all the cards, keychains and little things Chris had made him over the years. But all their favourites got stuck on the fridge or in picture frames on the wall.

"And as always, you get a main present."

Gently cupping Eddie's face, (Y/n) pulled him in for a kiss before she reached over and handed him the small slip of card. She could see the wheels turning in his mind to work out what it was. He could never tell whether he was getting tickets to a show or a starter to a treasure hunt around the house to find his actual present. That was something they did on Chris's birthday and (Y/n) started doing it for Eddie too because Chris loved showing him around the house and hunting for clues with him.

"Pending? I don't get it," Eddie turned the card over and did a quick sweep of the table again, but he still came up clueless.

Had he missed something? Was he supposed to find another clue somewhere on the table and start searching for something? Did he have to wait until this afternoon or tonight for his present? That would be amazing if it turned out to be the latter.

(Y/n) moved to stand up and turned around so she was facing Eddie who watched as Chris got up too and moved to stand near (Y/n). Seeing as they were both stood up, Eddie got up as well and folded his arms over his chest, smiling at his family as he waited to be told what was happening.

"Come on, someone spill. What am I waiting for?"

"Go ahead baby," (Y/n) rubbed Chris's shoulders and kissed the side of his head to encourage him. They had gone over what he had to say and the paper was in her back pocket just in case he needed it.

"You can have your main present in," Chris turned round and looked back at (Y/n) who smiled and mouthed the words he was doing his best to remember. "Seven months."

"What?!" Eddie threw his head back with a laugh that creased his eyes at the corners. He planted his hands on his hips and cocked a brow at his boy who was biting down on his thumb and giggling madly, looking between his feet and his dad. He clearly knew something Eddie didn't that was making him excited, he loved all of Eddie's reactions to any surprise that he got. "Why do I have to wait that long?"

Crouching down, Eddie reached out and grabbed Chris by his sides and pulled him closer until his arms bumped into Eddie's chest. Chris tilted his head back, still giggling and biting his thumb, a habit he always did when he was happy or excited about something. And when Eddie started to tickle his sides, Chris leaned forward and burrowed his face into Eddie neck and patted his chest.

A shiver bolted down Eddie's spine when he felt Chris laughing into his neck. He snook a glance up at (Y/n) who was leaning forward on one of the chairs with a knowing smile on her lips and a glint in her eye that made him grin.

"Come on, why do I have to wait?"

"It's not ready yet."

"Oh, it's not? Can you at least tell me what it is? I deserve to know why I'm waiting so long," Eddie gently pulled Chris away from his chest so he could look at him and he waited patiently while Chris looked over at (Y/n) for approval.

"You can tell him, sweetheart." (Y/n) nodded while she tangled her fingers together in front of her. They had rehearsed what he was supposed to say so he remembered and got it right and didn't come out saying something entirely different. She just prayed he could get it right but she was sure he would.

"Mummy has a baby in her belly."

Chris pulled his hand away from his mouth long enough to speak properly so Eddie could understand him but as soon as he spoke, he was biting down on his thumb again and patting Eddie's shoulder happily. He watched the sparkle light up his dad's eyes and watched his jaw drop before he tilted his head back to look at (Y/n).

"Are you serious?" Eddie's thumbs smoothed up and down Chris's sides but his eyes were focused on (Y/n).

"Now you have two reasons to celebrate father's day,"

With a quick peck to the side of Chris's head, Eddie tickled him again before he moved over to (Y/n) and lifted her off her feet. His arms cocooned around her waist, pulling her up into his chest and his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck and shoulder as he started to laugh.

This was definitely not the present he had been expecting but it was more than he could have hoped for.

(Y/n) gripped his wrists, feeling the tears start to well up in her eyes when Eddie set her back down so he could cup her face in his hands. His lips were hot and feverish against hers as he kissed her between laughs before he went down on his knees and moved his hands to her hips. She stayed still, happily letting her husband roll up her shirt and slip his hands down beneath her jeans and underwear to hold her hips tight.

But when Eddie kissed her stomach, he felt a pair of arms curling around his neck and a chin perching on his shoulder. Chris didn't know what Eddie was doing but whatever it was, he wanted to join in too.

"Baby?" He giggled, pointing towards (Y/n)'s stomach.

"Yeah, baby's in there,"

"How'd it get there? Do you have to get it out?" He tightened his arms around Eddie's neck and leaned onto his back, smiling when Eddie tipped his head forward into (Y/n)'s stomach and pulled her closer like he was silently asking for her help.

He wasn't sure how to answer that in a way that Chris would understand.

"That's just where babies come from, bud, like you when you were a baby."

"Oh,"

(Y/n) dragged her fingers through Eddie's hair, slowly smoothing back the curls until she heard him murmur, "Thank you, mi amor," against her stomach.

What a present.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #imagne #911 imagine #911 #911 fox

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Hello! Would you do a mild angst Buggy x Reader fic? With some fluff at the end? Where Buggy and Reader where a fling back in the day when she suddently disapeared. When raiding a village one day years later he meets a boy that looks like the perfect mix of him and his former lover- finding out that he's his son and she died long ago? Her only legacy was this boy.

Buggy as a father omg AHHHHHHHH 😭😭😭

---

One Night

It wasn't enough searching the seas on his own, he wanted to deploy every ship possible. He wanted to dive into the depths of the ocean even if it paralysed him just so he could find the truth about your disappearance. It pulled apart his mind like no other trauma he had ever faced. He drank till he could see the stars or if he was lucky, your face. As a pirate captain, he had been with endless women. Faces he never recognized, voices that never mattered because all they ever did was hold him for the night but you.

He pushed away from the railing, he wanted to scream, to throw this bottle in his hands and break it into shards. His tears weren't enough, he tugged on those gloves as if they were his armour, preventing his fingers from yearning for your warmth. You were the one that slipped away.

A young merchant by a seaside port he had docked once. He had come by your stall demanding you hand over your wages when you stood your ground, looked him in the eye and said no. His henchmen cracked their knuckles behind him as they edged closer but he remembered his hand shooting up, telling them to stop because something within him had shifted.

Noticing his intrigue you had brokered a deal with him instead. To trade all your hand made lanterns instead of the money because no one was buying them and there was no room for you to stock them anymore.

He tilted his head, all the signs pointing towards the fact that you were closing down your shop.

"I have no need for your lanterns.", He scoffed but you shrugged your shoulders, continuing to wipe the glass in your hands.

His crew began to murmur and laugh behind you at your audacity.

"I have a need for the money I've earned. You seem to be doing well for yourself.", you responded looking behind him at his ship and his crew.

He couldn't understand you. You were at his mercy but why was he feeling like he was at yours?

You were an enigma, a map he couldn't read and that was enough of a challenge for him to concoct a plan. Although a pirate, his life was mundane. The same raids, the same celebrations but you were a spark. A different colour he had never seen.

"That is true.", he rolled back on his heels as a smile threatened to spread across his face.

"You can keep your money.", he said turning to catch your eyes again, he heard the silent gasp amongst his crew mates. He had never been this generous before.

"But I would like to hire your services.", he spoke picking up one of your glass lanterns. It puzzled you, you stopped what you were doing as you focused on him, your nervousness now turning into confusion.

"What for?", you asked.

"My circus lights are in need of an upgrade and the quality of your glass is spectacular, along with it's workmanship.", he held the glass up to the light to inspect it.

"I need you to replace all the lights on the ship.", he looked at you and you gasped.

All the lights on the ship, that was two months of work plus the wages. You didn't have to go to bed hungry. Pirate or not, it was honest work and you needed it. So without making him wait for long, you took up the offer.

"When do I start?", you asked.

"The sooner the better.", he hummed flashing you a smile and for second you forgot who he was.

The beauty about the circus was the magic and he embodied it. Never letting you know who he was, elusive like a rabbit in a hat, here one moment, gone the next.

But with every day you boarded the gaudy vessel by the docks, you grew to understand there was more to him. The quiet nights you spent when the town and crew were asleep, to screw on the bulbs and fuse the glass pieces. He kept you company. He wouldn't talk much, but he snuck glances at you and you did the same.

The distance between you, lessened as the days went by and soon he was seated by your side holding up the tools you needed. His soft eyes gazing into yours before looking away. This was a side no one could witness cause he had it sealed. This version of him wasn't up for display.

The nights had become his favourite now, he didn't have to utter a word, make up a joke, exert his authority, he could just sit by your side and listen to sound of the waves. Watch you mix the colours and bring to life the ideas in your head just like he did with his shows and strategies. He didn't have to peel away his clothes to feel seen, your knowing smile after he pulled a stunt or threw a tantrum was enough.

But it was when you had told him it wasn't his fault for all the hurt he carried, after a night he had a little too much to drink and began to writhe in his self hatred, you were there. To hold him up, to quiten these thoughts that were loud in his head and though his vision was blurry, he could never forget the moment you had kissed him then.

You did in the hopes that when he woke up the next morning he would have forgotten about it, but the days after that he looked at you like he had remembered all of it.

It was the final night, the ship rocked gently but the deck was alive. Your lights brought a new life to this ship, it's crew smiling for the first time since you've been here and while you stood in the middle admiring your work, yours eyes found his. There up by the helm, his head resting in his hands with his eyes set only on you.

That was the night, you could never forget. The truth behind you shutting down your shop was not because of poor sales but because you were sick. Only you knew, and you were set to spend the money you had travelling or doing good of some kind, to leave a mark before your time had come.

So this was perfect. Your lanterns would adorn this ship always. You didn't want to bring down the mood of everyone around, so you held this moment to yourself. Nothing could top this feeling of satisfaction.

You stood by the railing, looking out at the sea, the waters dancing under the moonlight and the soft colourful glow from the ship, when he bumped his shoulder gently into yours.

"I feel like we've become friends after all this time.", he said sweetly and you smiled. It was true, he had become your friend. The only man who made you laugh.

But the moment his eyes lingered on yours it was as if he could read your sadness, he jutted his chin towards you in a manner of asking you what was wrong but you shook your head to put him at ease.

"Just that this is my last day on this beautiful ship.", you pushed away to spin around as soft music played. When you came to a halt, your smile so full on your face that when you saw him looking at you, you were certain he was in love. In love with you.

Your tried to hide the sinking feeling but he only made it worse by walking towards you to catch your hands in his, guiding you into a dance that the warmth in his gloves felt soothing from the cold of the night.

"You've made it beautiful.", he said confidently and it stung you. The truth you knew, that you didn't have all the time to offer him.

"You'll always be welcome here.", he continued and you could gauge where this was going.

"Buggy.", you whispered his name, trying to interrupt him but your heart didn't. When would be the next time you would feel loved? You didn't know. So you stayed, documenting his words so that you carry it with you till the end.

"In fact I feel it's time I come clean about about our deal.", He said and his eyes reflected the colour of the lights.

"Somewhere in between these two months, from the first moment I saw you, I've fallen in love with you.", he said, the rhythm picking up in the song that he twirled you around as though you were a star and he was your admirer.

You forgot about the pain in your life and let your heart roam free. Just for this night. When morning came you will cage it and disappear.

You danced around him, escaping from his hold because you couldn't tell him you had fallen for him too. Because that would break him. But he reached for you again, his hands pulling your arms to him that now you couldn't evade him any longer. A vacuum settling over him and you drowning out the music as you gazed into his eyes.

"Say something.", he laughed nervously as though he had put his entire life on the line.

"I cannot offer you an eternity.", you spoke, your smile dying away.

"but I can give you one night.", you let your fingers hold the sides of his face and watched him unravel.

"One night of your love?", he questioned and you nodded your head, sure that he was going to laugh at you.

"That is more love than I've ever received in my life.", he flashed smile just like yours, one mixed with peace and melancholy.

With that he pulled you in, his lips kissing you where he pleased as he stubbled along with you into his quarters, kicking his boots off like he was a drunken sailor, taking you with him as he fell into the bed.

One night, that changed the course of your lives.

Now those memories won't die, in fact they insisted on pestering him, drowning him in the frustration that your words were something he could never hear again.

"Captain, land up ahead.", his crewmate approached him.

"What do you want me to do with that information?", he barked back angrily.

"Do we put down our anchor or pass it by?", the boy answered nervously.

Buggy looked at the island, the lights near the docks reminding him of you again. He groaned.

"Raid it, you fools!", he ordered, stomping away to the helm.

--

The citizens were wary of his arrival. They scattered away from him as he walked down the streets. Everyone left, except for a little boy. He was by the street corner, juggling glass lanterns as he balanced himself on a unicycle. Buggy stopped in his tracks, the boy's face resembling yours and his dark blue hair looking a lot like his.

"Do we burn down the town?", a deckhand asked him.

"Go back to the ship.", Buggy ordered leaving his crew in confusion. They were reluctant to act on his word that he turned back to yell at them. Telling them to leave.

As they went away, he approached the boy.

"Good day to you, sir. Would you like to see a magic trick?", the boy beamed at him.

Buggy fought back tears, as he crouched down.

"I would.", he said softly and watched as the boy pulled out a card, he tried to hide the card within his tiny fingers to then flip it around quickly to hold up a golden coin instead.

Buggy's heart stopped. The gold coin wasn't an ordinary coin. It carried the seal of his Jolly Roger. One given to crew mates and friends as a means to let people know that they were under his protection.

He tried to take it from the kid but the boy closed his fists on it and drew it back.

"I can't give it to you, sir. It was my mother's.", he stared Buggy down. His eyes the same as yours that Buggy couldn't help but let out a knowing laugh.

"Do you know that coin could fetch you a lot of berry, boy?", he asked to which the boy grew silent, his eyes falling to the floor as sadness seeped into his tiny face.

"I know. But my mother said if I kept it safe, my father will come in search for me.", his sweet words broke through Buggy's facade.

"Where is she?", he asked instantly, wanting to take you and your son home with him. He looked around the market, his heart picking up it's pace in the hopes that he could see you once again.

"She's not here. She's gone home to the clouds, that's what the doctor told me. She can't come back from there.", he heard the boy say and understood what it meant that he broke down to sit on the dirt road. The innocence in the boy's face now replaced with a grief he was too young to understand.

Buggy reached for the lanterns the boy owned, it looked similar to the ones you had made.

"Would you like to buy them? I know how to make more of those.", the boy chirped, his eyes looking up at Buggy with the expectation of making money.

Now that made him feel like he was looking straight into a mirror, he smiled.

"Did your mother tell you about your father?", he asked only for the boy to jump up.

"Oh yes. He owned a huge ship. Travelled across all the seas, fought bad guys and sea monsters. He also had blue hair just like me.", The kid said with evident excitement.

Buggy reminisced your presence, that you left your mark in everything and everyone. That even now, you had made sure the boy knew him as someone good and that was how you had seen him. Buggy met the expectant eyes of the boy and slowly removed his captain's hat.

"Blue hair like mine?", he asked and watch the gears turn in his head.

The kid reached for his hat to run his finger over the crest. Placing the coin next to it, he drew in a gasp. It was a match. The crest was the same as the one on the coin. Buggy prepared himself to explain more, but all he felt was the sudden force with which the child ran into his arms. He wrapped his hands around him and Buggy knew he was never going to be the same again.

"You came. You came for me.", the boy cried and Buggy couldn't help but let the tears he held back roll down his cheek.

He had found you, a part of you and that was all he could ask for.

He wiped away the tears as he carried the boy.

"Now come on, I've got to show you my ship.", he said with a dramatic flair as he walked down the street with his son in his arms.

#buggy x reader #buggy thoughts #op buggy #one piece buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #opla #op live action #opla buggy #op fluff #op fanart #one piece fan fiction #one piece fluff

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

im the person who asked about the vague thing, and i mainly asked cause im terrible at specific prompts/requests(?? is there a difference idk) LMAOAOSOS

BUT BUT HERES THE REQUEST!!!! percy jackson x gn reader hurt/comfort??

TY FOR DOING THIS IF YOU DO LOVELY 🫶🫶🫶

thank you so much!!! and of course!

here’s a little something while I work on pt 2 of golden! sorry for the wait, I’ve been super overwhelmed with school n extracurricular stuff :(( cw: violence and fear

frosted glass (percy jackson x reader)

The fluorescent lights are making your eyes water.

“Look. Look!”

An unforgiving hand grabs you by the face and turns you to him. You meet sea-green eyes, narrow and seething.

“You did this, Perseus. All for that little potion.”

You know you look bad. Your cheekbone is painted an ugly purple, eyes bruised with bags. Crusted blood tracks from your nose. It itches. Your throat burns. “No,” you force out through your teeth, breathing hard. “This wasn’t your fault—”

Knuckles knock against your teeth, sudden and biting, and an ache blooms across your top lip. That’ll swell, you think, and you can feel it start to.

“Just hand it over, and we’ll let you both go.”

Percy doesn’t have the bottle. You do — a small glass vial filled with golden, syrupy liquid. It brings someone back to life, if only for a few minutes. Chiron needs it urgently, but so does this boy.

He looks only a little older than the two of you, with wiry blonde hair and vengeful eyes that glint a brilliant blue. He wants— no, needs to speak with his mother. He’s an Ares kid, if you remember correctly, and a deserter. If you’d had two vials, you’d share it. But in his desperation, his love for his mother had turned into hatred for you, and he was, after all, his father’s son. Rage was in his blood. He punches you again.

Percy lunges forward, but there are arms threading under his and locked on either side of his head, so he’s not going anywhere. He looks so angry it would've scared you if you hadn’t known that he’d never hurt you, not even if his life depended on it.

Your head bounces off the ground as you’re thrown down. Percy lunges again, but this time he breaks free and rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” He’s saying before he even kneels. You were bracing yourself up on your forearms, having fallen face first. He turns you forward gently, helping you into a sitting position.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I’m fine.”

You’re not fully sure where you are. You’d been woken up by a punch to the jaw, and you hadn’t had much time to take stock of your surroundings since then. It looks like the back room of some sort of convenience store; the walls are lined with rusted shelves that are stocked with vibrant packaging. The only illumination comes from greenish can lights.

Percy thumbs the blood from your lip. You wince. “Sure you are, hun.”

“Real cute.” The blond drawls. He’s probably about to make some sort of stupid wisecrack, but then the door jingles. It sounds like the bells that are attached to the front door of stores, further reinforcing your theory.

The boy exchanges a look with his friends. Suddenly, you’re being pulled away from Percy. You kick and curse him in the name of everything under Olympus, but a hand is clamped over your mouth and damn, this guy can’t even be that much older than you, yet you’re completely overpowered. You hate the feeling. A muffled sob tumbles forth.

The blonde stares real hard at you for a moment. “Don’t go anywhere,” he finally says, and slips through the frosted glass door.

“How can I help you?” You can hear him say after a moment.

“Oh, I think you know how.”

The voice is strangely familiar. A dangerous tangle of hope, relief, and fear swells in your throat.

“Pardon?”

“Where are they?”

There’s a pause, and then a dull thud.

Then silence.

Its unbearable, almost. To have help so near. At least, you hope it’s help. If it’s not, you're screwed.

The hand tightens around you, a warning.

You’ll take your chances.

You bite down, hard enough to taste blood. The kid shrieks. You’d almost feel bad if he wasn’t totally beating you up earlier.

The door is kicked open, and you don’t remember much after that.

He remembers it clearly, though. It went something like this:

You stumbled forward and Percy caught you. He tried to hold you up— he really did try, but neither of you was strong enough. The two of you fell together, all buckled knees and shaking hands.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, breathless, as he tried to get a grip on you.

You were in his arms — cold and trembling, he could feel the damp patches in the fabric of your shirt where you were bleeding; but you were clinging to him and he was clinging to you and none of it mattered because you were here. You were here and you were alive, and for a moment, everything was alright again.

#pjo #percyjackson #percy jackson #percy jackson fics #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson disney+ #fanfiction #pjo fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

[wito-chan-bla-bla]

Nightmare

You had a terrible dream. A dream where you are married to Satoru Gojo, have two sons with him and are expecting another child. But it can't be real… r-right?!

~

You definitely remembered falling asleep at Shoko's bachelorette party. In front of you was a warm and welcoming sea, under you was a comfortable sunbed, to the right was a small table with drinks and the bride herself, who lazily sipped something from a tall colored glass. Utahime was yelling at the local wizards somewhere, because right in the middle of your vacation together, a huge curse came out of the water and tried to devour her drink! The young woman couldn't ask for this!

So, you remembered exactly how you ended up on the beach. Shoko unexpectedly announced her wedding, invited you and Utahime. Buying tickets, collecting things, taking a long flight, and confirming your hotel reservation... all of this is not interesting and not so important. Why? Well, because you were in an unknown apartment, and not on the beach!

You blinked around in surprise. Everything around looked expensive and rich, the designers obviously tried their best when designing this place. There were a few green plants around that clearly weren't going to bloom any time soon.

You find yourself in a hallway, facing an archway that leads to a large living room. From this angle, you could see a huge dark green sofa and a TV that you wouldn't be able to wrap your arms around... if you held it upright. It looks like someone really rich has lived and is living here.

But what does it have to do with you?

You looked around once more and were about to move on, but suddenly two voices merged into one, causing you to freeze and look in front of you in horror.

–Mama!

No, it's not that you didn't like children... not at all! The fact is that the children who ran to you looked like a complete copy of Satoru Gojo, better known as the sorcerer you can't stand!

Two boys of five or six years old, dressed in casual, light clothing, ran towards you with the big smiles you saw throughout your high school and for years afterward. One boy's eyes were covered by sunglasses, while the other wore ordinary, thin-rimmed glasses. The first one had an earring in his right ear with a gemstone the color of your eyes, the second one had it in his left ear.

While you were looking at them carefully, both children stopped in front of you, smiling and holding out their hands, wanting to be hugged.

You looked around at their snow-white fluffy hair, shining blue eyes, wide smiles that hid pranks, and felt disgusted. Who can be worse than Satoru Gojo? That's right, three Satoru Gojo! But even worse was the fact that these are Satoru Gojo's children, so they will still infuriate you even more than their father! No, even worse is the fact that these two rascals are calling you "mama" for some reason!

You wanted to push them away and get out of here, but your body was acting against your will. You suddenly crouched down and held out your arms to the boys, who jumped into your arms laughing. You wrapped your arms around their small bodies and leaned in to kiss each of them on the cheek. They responded by clutching your clothes with their little fingers and covering your face with their baby kisses.

It was... nice. The kids definitely had positive feelings for you, they loved you and weren't afraid to show it. You suddenly felt ashamed that you wanted to push them away rudely… But still! You've hugged them enough, it's time to stop! If these are the children of Satoru Gojo, then you must get out of here as soon as possible before their father comes and ruins everything!

You got up, but the boys were right behind you. They hung on to your feet, laughing and refusing to let go. You tried to throw them off, but the kids definitely took it as a game, because they clung to you more tightly!

Their laughter filled the long but narrow hallway. You let out a loud sigh and stood up straight, looking around. Where is the door to leave this hell? Yes, the children were incredibly cute, you really wanted to bite their cheeks as a joke, but you don't have time for this!

You turned sideways, catching sight of a heavy metal door that reeked of cursed energy, and were about to start moving in that direction when you froze, wincing in disgust. Oh, this sweet, not quite suitable for a man cologne you will know everywhere! And the voice! That voice was in your nightmares!

–Okay, let Mom go right now! Do you even know how much you weigh?!

–But Dad, you always hold us back easily! – the boy with the usual glasses craned his neck and peered over your leg. – Or are you saying that Mom is weak?!

–No, but I'm `the strongest' here, not her!

Great wizards of the past, you hate that grin. And that tone! It's like someone put together the words "arrogance, ""selfishness", "big ego," and "redwood self-esteem," put it in a blender, and made it out of the resulting person!

–However, you cried in pain when I squeezed your hand while giving birth, – your mouth moved against your will, but this time you didn't mind at all! The phrase is correct!

Oh, how nice to see Gojo deflate right away. He put the spoon in his mouth and began to lick it softly. Just now you've noticed that he wasn`t in his usual uniform. He was currently standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, as far as you could see, and was wearing his usual black T-shirt, camouflage pants, and house slippers.

On top of all this was an apron with two dogs, very similar to the "pets" of one young sorcerer. Instead of a blindfold, Gojo wore the round sunglasses that you so wanted to hit when you were young (and still want to hit!), because this way you can break his favorite thing and still get hit in his eyes!

He still took out his spoon and started talking again. What a pity! He looks better and more solid when he is silent! 

–Okay, I admit defeat! But you really hurt my hand! And I couldn't even use Infinity because you were holding on tight to me!

–Did you cry, Dad? – the second child, wearing sunglasses, also poked out from behind your leg. – So you're imperfect somewhere?

–No! Your dad is perfect and the best! Otherwise, how did he get such wonderful sons, eh?

 Gojo leaned over and patted the boy's cheek. How dare he do what you wanted?! For this, the sorcerer deservedly received a blow on the head.

–Ouch!

–Don't forget that I'm their mother. They could very well have been born so talented thanks to me.

–Yes! Mom is the best! – the boy with the usual glasses confirmed.

–Yes, but your eyesight is still so-so, – Gojo nodded at his son.

–One more word and I won't go to the candy store!

–No! – the man dropped to his knees and pressed against your thigh, immediately starting to whimper and hug you tightly. How... disgusting! – Not again! Please, my dear, my only ray of light, my goddess, my beautiful wife, who is the best person for me, do not mock me so much! I know there's a good heart hidden under those breasts that can't let your husband suffer!

H-husband?! Was he kidding you?! You wouldn't marry him even if you were threatened!

–We also want sweets! – the "sunglasses" got a tighter grip on your leg. – Mom, you promised you'd buy us a cake!

–I want ice cream! – "glasses" also pressed into you. – I'll even brush my teeth as many times as you want!

Your face is the face of the most unhappy person on earth. Not only are you surrounded by three whiners, but there are also three Gojo whiners!

For some reason, your voice sounded nice and weak, rather than filled with hatred and annoyance. 

–Just let me go, you heavy ones. You're growing up so fast that I can't hold both of you at the same time.

–And I? So you can hold me?

– Satoru, - ugh! Ugh, ugh, ugh! Did you just call him by his first name?!. – to get you up, I need to summon an elephant... or Yuji-kun. I'm still afraid to imagine what you're feeding him, so that he can manage to drag the closet to the fifteenth floor without an elevator in one go.

–Because a talented teacher has talented students! Don't you think so?

–Satoru, – and here it is again! – the longer you hold me, the further away the sweet stuff is.

–But I love my wife so much! – he got up and kissed you on the lips. You almost grimaced at how disgusting it was. – My little angel, my little cinnamon roll, my siren!..

–Dad, ew, stop it! – "sunglasses" tugged at his father's pant leg. – And mother told you not to distract her!

–I'm not well liked in this family, m-m-m, it`s so sa-a-ad!..

 They don't like you anywhere! But you didn't shout it out, instead blowing the man a kiss. It's terrible!

–I'll be back soon, and you can kiss me as much as you want... if you finish making dinner by then, of course. Kids, – you said to the boys still holding on to your legs, – we're going now, before it gets hot.

The boys nodded and immediately let you go, racing to the main door, to your precious exit! However, before you could even take a step, Gojo hugged you from behind, leaned his body against you, and kissed the top of your head. You rolled your eyes, wanted to punch him in the jaw, and patted his big hands that were pressed against your stomach.

–Come back soon, my sweet cupcake. I'll be looking forward to seeing you.

–Me too, – why does your body keep lying?.. – Don't get bored here, okay?

–I'll be fighting the stew that's trying to come out of the pot, so I'll have more work to do.

You giggled, although like all Gojo phrases, it was stupid and unfunny, turned around, pressed your hand to the sorcerer's cheek (unfortunately, not because you slapped him), and kissed the man on the lips. He bloomed, left a few small kisses on your face, and ran off to the kitchen when his kids started yelling at him to hurry up and leave Mom alone.

You let out a sigh of relief as Gojo galloped off to the kitchen. Grabbing your bag from the nightstand in the hallway, you put on your sandals and hat and headed outside.

After a long elevator ride down and crossing a small room, you find yourself on a hot, unbearably hot street. Your body was immediately covered in sweat, you began to stink, but the children... they happily ran forward with their heads uncovered, competing to see who would reach the store faster.

You belatedly thought about giving them some caps... and then remembered that they were actually Gojo`s kids. Yes, they called you "mama," and that idiot sorcerer even dared to mention that you allegedly gave birth to his children, but you would never do such a thing! Plus, it's definitely a nightmare, because there's no way this could have happened in reality, so you don't have to worry about any boys!

And yet your body didn't think so.

–Raito, Kurai, – the unfamiliar names came easily from your lips, – did you forget to put on your caps again?!

The boys stopped and looked at you with the eyes of little puppies. You ordered them to come to you immediately. As soon as they approached, you took out colored caps with the image of some superheroes from your bag and put them on the children's heads. They straightened them, brushed the white bangs from their foreheads, and then sped away from you with even greater speed in a direction that seemed familiar to you.

You walked with your bag slung over your shoulder, following two loud kids who were competing to see who could run the longest on the curb. The sun was shining strongly, and you took out a bottle of cool water that came from somewhere along with your caps. After drinking a little, you offered it to the children, but they refused, continuing to run forward.

The kids led you to a small grocery store, where they ran in with loud cheers. You rolled your eyes and said hello to the middle-aged man behind the counter. While the sons of a man who really pisses you off were picking out something, you stopped by the cash register to talk to the owner of the store.

–You've forgotten something again, haven't you, Mrs. Gojo?

"Mrs. Gojo"... even sounds disgusting! How could you agree to accept this status? Yes, it's a nightmare, but any horror must have some limitations!

–With such children and a husband, you can forget anything. Even your own name. Raito, – the boy with the sunglasses stopped instantly and looked at you, – would you be so kind as to have some more milk?

The child smiled happily and ran to find the right package. It seems that at this age, buying groceries is perceived as a fun puzzle.

–I know I had little children myself once... speaking of which. Has your husband returned from his business trip yet?

 If my husband is Gojo, then he'd better stay there!

 –Yes, – you said, somewhat shyly. – He's cooking dinner for us right now.

–Are you going to tell him something, Mrs. Gojo?

–What... what are you talking about?

A middle-aged man leaned over the counter and leaned closer to you, beginning to whisper:

–I mean the pregnancy test. From the look on your face when you came here last time, it seems that everything went well for you. You ran away so fast as soon as you paid for your purchases that I didn't even have time to ask how you were doing.

–I-I... I was just in such a hurry! Just on this day, my husband arrived earlier from his business trip! – you laughed awkwardly, and you was hitting yourself on the head inside. How, how could I have given this idiot two children, and now I want to give birth to another one?! My genes shouldn't be anywhere near his! – And... yes, you're right, it went well. We're going to have a baby.

At that moment, you were about to faint. Well, what child?! Especially from Gojo! He's like a child himself! Yes, he has two sons, but you can be sure that if you leave him alone with them, one of them will surely die of hunger or from the stupid ideas that come to these white heads!

–Congratulations, Mrs. Gojo! – please don't. - It's nice to see a lot of children born in really loving families.

–In my husband's family, it is customary to give birth to many children. Satoru always complained that he was alone. I think he didn't have enough of a brother or sister to play with.

–Yes, you said that he had some pretty strict relatives on his father's side... oh, Kurai-kun, you shouldn't bring ice cream to the checkout at the very beginning. It can melt. Bring it back as soon as you've chosen everything.

–We've already chosen everything! – the boy with the glasses got up on his toes and tried to put a large colored bucket on the counter. You immediately went up to him and helped him. – Raito is already running with cake and milk!

A second later, the second child actually appeared from behind the tea shelves, carrying a bottle and a large plastic box. You went to it and picked up the groceries, checked the date everywhere, and only then started paying. Kurai tugged at your leg, asking you to let him pay himself, and you picked him up, giving him a bank card.

As you walked with the cake in your hands, you watched the children running ahead with milk and ice cream. They talked about school and the curses they'd cast out during school break. Your body smiled, you smiled with it. These kids... even though they looked exactly like Gojo, they were quite cute and innocent. You hoped that they would be brought up better than their father.

As soon as you went back up to the apartment, the wizard was right there. He greeted you with a loving, big hug, picked up the cake and carried it to the kitchen, listening with a big, silly smile as Ratio saw a big bug on the way. You began to change your shoes, not understanding why you are still in the apartment, where everything smelled like Gojo.

You put your bag back in its place and moved deeper into the apartment, entering a cool, dark bedroom lit only by natural light from the hallway. You went inside, closing the door behind you, and started changing into your home clothes.

You were standing with your back to the entrance to the room, so you froze in surprise when someone came in and closed the door behind them. Big arms wrapped around your half-naked body, soft hair tickled your neck. Then you started giggling as the man started kissing your neck.

Unapologetic! I have to stop him!..

 –I've missed you so much, – Gojo whispered, moving his lips to your shoulders. – I forgot you were so beautiful.

–Satoru, you always talk such nonsense…

–But I really love you, – he turns you around and you press your bare breasts against his T-shirt. – I've missed you and our home so much. I've had to sleep in a hotel and be sad without you and my little kids. You're the only ones who make me forget all my problems.

He pulled back slightly, but only to kiss you on the lips. You wanted to resist, and this time your body even agreed! You pushed Gojo away from you (not as rudely or aggressively as you would have liked) and gave him a weak smile.

–Later. Ratia and Kurai are waiting for us. And I have a surprise for all of you, so don't delay me.

–Oh, surprise! I love surprises! – he grinned broadly and gave you another kiss before starting to move towards the exit, taking one last look at your bare chest. – You look hotter than the hot springs, my sweet wife!

–You'll have to prove it tonight!

 Ugh. Just awful. You sighed, pressing your hand to your stomach, and reached for your home T-shirt.

–Hey, (Y/N)…

 What does he want? Why the hell did he come back after touching me and seeing me naked?!

 –(Y/N-N)!..

 Oh, shut up already! You're pissing me off, Satoru Gojo!

–(Y/N)!..

You turned around, only to see the door closed. Someone called your name again, and then you opened your eyes…

Only to see the familiar sea in front of her and Shoko's face as she chewed thoughtfully on a cigarette.

–You fell asleep for a long time. Is pregnancy really so tiring?

–Ah-h?.. What am I? Where am I?

–You are (Y/N), my friend, friend of the bride. We are located on our and especially your favorite beach in the entire resort. Anyway, (Y/N). Get up, Utahime is almost done yelling at the local wizards for not being able to keep the campers safe. If you keep lying around here, we'll miss the party!

–W-wait... what do you mean, 'my favorite beach'? Have I ever been here before?

–(Y/N), you didn't seem to be drinking... yes, you didn`t do it. We only came here because we had a great bachelorette party for you seven years ago. Of course, the place has changed a lot, but there is still excellent service!

–Uh, sorry, Shoko, I had such a weird dream that I... kind of fell out of reality. Can I have your cocktail? I think I need a drink…

–(Y/N), I'm a doctor. And I know that during pregnancy it is better not to drink. After all, you want to give birth to a healthy child without any consequences for yourself and for them, I am right? Besides, you yourself admitted that the alcoholic drinks here are disgusting, but excellent non-alcoholic cocktails.

–P... pregnant?! Me?!

–Yeah, I know this isn't the right time, but we planned this bachelorette party before you got pregnant, so all the questions aren't for me.

–Girls, I'm done! – Utahime ran up to you, wearing a swimsuit that strongly covers her body, with a small smile on her lips. – I'm ready to go. By the way, (Y/N), good morning. You slept well. How are you feeling?

–S-so... don't tell me... it wasn't a dream, a nightmare.

–What do you mean? – the young woman tilted her head slightly in your direction.

–About t-that... that I'm married to Satoru Gojo and have two children with him!

Utahime leaned over, patted you on the shoulder, and said sympathetically: 

–I know I still don't believe a woman like you fell for his spell, either. But at least now we can spend his money in a casino or alcohol, can't we?

–She's still not allowed to drink, – Shoko reminded her.

–That's why we have to buy alcohol here so that she can drink it as soon as she gives birth to the baby! Oh, I hope it won't be another Gojo! Please, – she raised her head to the sky, – at least let this child not look like a complete copy of his father!

–If it's a girl, then she can't be like Satoru for certain reasons.

–Shoko! You know what I mean!

The girl laughed and stood up, grabbing her drink and stretching. You looked at her with either a resigned or happy expression.

Your nightmare... wasn't a nightmare... at least not exactly what you originally imagined it to be.

–I'M MARRIED TO SATORU GOJO-O-O-O!..

–And it's worth a drink! – Shoko silently raised her glass and finished the rest of it.

You put your hand on your stomach and felt a familiar sensation. It wasn't a dream.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #fem!reader #x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Invisible Smoke - Two

Summary: There is something going on with Jake’s favorite mechanic. And he continues to pry.  Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/F!Reader Word Count: 9.7k A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter, I truly wasn’t expecting it. I apologize for the wait, but hopefully the length will make up for it!  Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, themes of stalking, cursing, mentions of terminal and life-threatening illnesses, and combative fluff :)

The ceremony was wonderful if not a little long winded but you hardly cared as you stood with the rest of the crowd to cheer as Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson presented the Daggers, officially a squadron of Lieutenant Commanders. You caught Rooster’s eye, having watched Captain Mitchell pin the leaves to his uniform, and saw that he still had tears lining his lower lashes. You winked at him, earning a small smile and a bit of pink in his cheeks. You were so proud.

“I’m so happy for him!” Came a warbled voice and you held the phone in your hand a little higher. This wasn’t exactly how you thought you’d meet Jake’s family (not that you had ever given it much thought, really) but when he’d explained that his family couldn’t make it out to the ceremony for one reason or another, you had volunteered to make sure their FaceTime was at the right angle so they could see everything. There were four of them all crammed together—his mother, Sandra, and three sisters, Mia, Kelly, and Alex—staring at what you assumed was an iPad with how Sandra was holding it; blonde heads swiveling together to track Jake’s movements on the stage had been quite the spectacle but when you had glanced up to see Jake looking at you with the biggest, brightest smile you had ever seen it had nearly made you drop the phone.

Embarrassing.

As the ceremony wrapped up and the crowd started to disperse, you lingered near your chair and watched as everyone else reunited with the family that came to watch the ceremony, shook hands with the brass, or hurried off to the Hard Deck to celebrate because Captain Mitchell had, unsurprisingly, sweet talked Penny into letting them take over (again). You waved Tasha on when she went to wait for you and she frowned but did eventually leave, looping her arm through her older sister’s before disappearing out into the parking lot.

“Is my son making you wait?”

You glanced down at the phone with a smile. “He’s schmoozing with some of the big wigs. I’m in no rush to go anywhere.”

Sandra hummed, green eyes narrowing behind her glasses as she paused. It was almost comical how much the expression reminded you of Jake when he was thinking of something. “Well, sugar, I hate to ask this, but could you remind me of your name?”

You gave it readily but added, “most call me Punch.”

Mia once again appeared on screen, leaning down with a matching squint. “Punch?”

“Yeah. It’s a long story but-”

“Oh, we’ve heard of you.”

That had your brow pinching and you fought the urge to bring the phone closer to your face as if that would help you decipher the look on Jake’s sister’s face. All you managed to say was, “oh?”

A smile started to stretch across Mia’s face. “Don’t worry. All good things.”

The phone was snatched out of your hands before you could ask just what the hell that meant and you turned to see Jake smiling at his family on the little screen. “Hi, mama.”

“Jacob Seresin!” Sandra started. “Did you make Punch wait when she was doing you a favor?”

If possible, Jake’s smile widened and his sea glass gaze shifted to you. “Already ganging up on me with my mom?”

“Your family is a delight,” you drawled. “You must be adopted.”

There was an answering laugh that had Jake’s cheeks turning a light shade of pink before he nudged at your arm with the flat of his palm. “Get out of here.”

“It was nice to meet you, Sandra!” You hollered, already turned toward the door.

Sandra’s laugh rang out again and you walked out to the car, thankful to see a few small groups of people still milling about in the warm San Diego sun. You were quick to get into your car and lock the door behind you before curling your hands over the steering wheel. Your next breath was a slow, stuttering sigh. It had only been four days since you had seen him in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Lurking.

Smirking.

And it had been four days since you felt like you could actually breathe. A familiar pressure on your chest had been your constant companion. You knew it was part of your anxiety, a physical manifestation of your fear. You were still on that metaphorical cliff, waiting to fall. You leaned back against the seat and tried to drag in another breath but it was like your lungs couldn’t expand. Pressing your hands over your stomach you tried again and again and again until the ache lessened enough for you to continue to pretend.

Pretend to be normal.

Pretend to be okay.

You’d nearly blown it when Jake had walked you out of the Hard Deck. But maybe he just thought you really wanted to get away from him and brushed it off, thinking you were in a mood. He had only texted to make sure you made it home okay and you’d spent the rest of the night on the couch with a baseball bat clutched in a shaking grip. But you had continued on. Going to work. Putting on a smile and a brave face. Keeping your mouth shut. It was better this way.

With another stilted breath, you grabbed your bag from your backseat and changed out of your uniform and into the dress you’d picked for the night before driving off base. The Hard Deck’s parking lot was already starting to reach capacity so you took the first space you could find and smoothed out your dress as your car beeped, letting you know the doors were locked. The inside of the naval bar was just as busy as the parking lot and you dodged an elbow of someone playing darts not two steps in. Weaving through the crowd, you waved at a few familiar faces—mostly other ADs grouped near one of the windows—and waited to finally make it up to the bar. Jimmy and Penny were both fixing drinks and a few other employees were picking up empty glasses left abandoned on high tops and booths. It might be a minute.

“Hey.”

You looked to the side with a smile and pulled Bob into a hug which he quickly reciprocated. “Hey yourself, Lieutenant Commander Floyd.”

Bob’s cheeks flushed a tiny bit and he adjusted his grip on the hat beneath his arm as you stepped back. “You’ve got to meet my brother before he flies out.”

“Of course. But first, let me buy you a drink.” And as he opened his mouth to protest, you shook your head. “You wouldn’t let me do anything else so I’m buying you a drink.” Bob sighed but dutifully followed you up to the bar and let you pay for his ginger ale but grumbled when you insisted on buying his brother’s drink, too. You also had Penny put together a round for the Daggers you knew would be circling the pool tables soon enough. Bob helped you carry everything toward the table where his brother was waiting. You’d ‘met’ Bob’s brother, Harrison, a few times when you accidentally barged in on Bob FaceTiming his family but it was nice to finally meet him in person. He was just as charming as Bob but had a few more extroverted tendencies and regaled you with stories about the year he took off before medical school to ‘visit’ Bob who was stationed in Hawaii and spent the entire time learning to surf and trying to teach Bob, too.

“I never quite got the hang of it,” Bob admitted, still sipping on his ginger ale.

“You tried your best!” Harrison said with a kind smile. But soon his phone was beeping and he grimaced before standing from the table. “All right. I’ve gotta catch my flight back to New York.”

“Let me know when you land,” Bob murmured as he stood and wrapped him in a hug.

You might have heard a muffled ‘of course,’ before they separated but you definitely heard Harrison say, “I’m so proud of you.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder again before turning to you with a smile and he surprised you with a quick kiss to the cheek. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“That’s mostly Phoenix,” you said with a smile.

But Harrison shook his head. “I’m sure it is a team effort. Now, keep in touch, okay?” And then he breezed away, disappearing into the crowd and probably into a waiting taxi outside.

You spoke for a little longer, mostly about the ceremony and how Cyclone actually seemed like a human instead of a robot the last handful of days but Admiral Cain still seemed like a douchebag of the highest order. By now the rest of the Daggers had arrived, to much fanfare in the bar, and would sometimes filter by the table to grab a beer and chat for a bit—Natasha’s sister was a riot and had Tasha’s blushing a surprising shade of scarlet after telling you and Bob a particularly embarrassing story about “baby Tash” trying to jump off the roof with a bedsheet cape before she, too, had to leave to catch a flight back home. And you almost hated that you knew the exact moment Jake entered the bar, like you couldn’t help but turn toward him whenever he appeared, like a sunflower facing the sun. Again…embarrassing. However, you noticed Bob kept looking at the group of women circled around one of the high tops and you nudged his shoulder with your own. “Don’t,” he muttered.

“What?” You asked, fighting a smile.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He took another sip of his ginger ale and shook his head. “It isn’t happening.”

“And why not? You deserve someone nice. They look nice…for the most part,” you added with a scrunch of your nose. “Maybe the blonde in the red dress looks a bit mean, but the rest of them look nice. Want me to go over there and test the waters? I can see which ones would be down to handle that sword-”

“Punch!” It was honestly impressive how quickly Bob’s face went a violent shade of scarlet and he nearly dropped his pop.

“You got a sword with your promotion. I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I am a lady, Bobert.”

He snorted and knuckled at his glasses to push them up again. “Sure. Sure you are, Punch.”

Then you laughed. You laughed and that weight in your chest cracked and fizzled out. For now, you could breathe again. Bob eventually got you up and away from the table with the promise to take it easy on you with a game of pool—he lied. The WSO absolutely demolished you in an embarrassingly quick game.

“That was brutal,” Tasha said as she grabbed a beer.

“It was.” You handed her the cue with a wince. “But, to make it up to me, Bob now has to let me test the waters with the ladies he’s been eyeing all night.”

Tasha glanced over at the group when you tilted your head in their direction and hummed. “Not the blonde in the red dress. She looks mean.”

Bob just groaned. “Please keep the sword innuendos to a minimum.”

“Why? You need someone who knows how to handle that ceremonial saber-”

The sound of someone choking on their beer had you all turning to see Jake wiping at his face. Tasha, smirking, smacked him on the back a few times to ‘help.’ He nudged her away with a halfhearted scowl as he licked the last few drops from his lips. “Jesus.”

“What?”

Jake’s smirk vanished but you could tell he was fighting to keep it down as his brows furrowed in an echo of a certain Admiral’s disappointed frown. “So crass-”

“Oh, blow me, Ken. It isn’t like you don’t have a list of sword-related pickup lines or nicknames at the ready.”

Tasha laughed into her beer and you felt a little zing of pride—you always did when you made her laugh.

“You did call that one barracks bunny a sword swallower,” Rooster said, cutting into conversation with ease. And it was then that the party really seemed to start and you let Tasha pull you into a game of darts (you lost) before you did actually try to get a read on the group of women and deciding that, actually, they all seemed a little mean and they were more interested in Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson anyway, if their drunken whispers were anything to go by.

You’d find a lady for Bob. One day.

After watching Bradley and Tasha beat Billy and Neil at pool and finally finishing your drink, you remembered Sarah’s invitation and stepped to Bradley’s side again as he went to grab another beer from the table. As soon as you were within reach, he slung an arm over your shoulders and hauled you closer. “You doing okay?” He asked, voice low.

You sagged in his grip, a reaction you couldn’t fight. He made you feel safe. He always did. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

You winced at the tone. He had an innate way of knowing you were feeling off. And you hadn’t been exactly subtle in how you were acting lately. But you didn’t want to put more on Bradley’s plate, not now. Not when he was high on the new hardware on his collar. “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound convincing before changing the subject. “Sarah’s throwing an engagement party for Junior. She said I could bring someone and I thought you’d like to go? I know it’s been a minute since you’ve seen them all.”

Bradley set down his beer with a nod, licking the droplets from his lips. “When is it?”

“Friday.” And your heart plummeted as Bradley’s face crumpled and his arm slipped from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Punch, but I promised Mav I’d help him haul in a part for his plane—we’re leaving at like five in the morning on Saturday.”

You nodded as you pinched your lower lip between your fingers until Bradley swatted it away with a knowing look. “I can ask Bob-”

“Bob and Phoenix have been asked to speak in Annapolis this weekend.”

Fuck. Fuck! You knew that. How could you forget? He’d been so excited when he got the call to lead a few classes back at his alma mater. “This is fine. I can just go by my-”

“I’ll go with you.”

**

Jake heard something in your neck pop with how quickly you turned your head to look at him. “What?”

And Jake almost recoiled at the amount of shock in your tone. “I mean, if you need someone to go with you.” Then, when neither you or Bradley said anything, Jake was about to retract his offer, already feeling stupid for opening his mouth in the first place. Usually he’d be more conscious to not let anyone know he was eavesdropping but the four beers he’d had probably loosened his tongue and he’d pounced at the opportunity to take you anywhere before he could stop himself with thoughts of repercussions. “I-”

“You’d do that?” And Jake hated how small your voice was, barely heard over the noise of the bar.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” And your smile was near blinding, twisting at something Jake didn’t want to acknowledge behind his ribs.

He listened intently to what the party was about—engagement for your not-actual-little brother, and when you’d pick him up—“I’m driving, you’re going to have to deal with it,” and what was expected—“just have a good time. And sign the card I’m buying, you can take half the credit for the gift I’m bringing, too.”

It sounded like it could be a good time. But if you smiled at him like that again, he’d probably agree to anything. You also told Jake to be ready by 18:20 next Friday so you’d be on time for the party and then Jake tried to ignore how that familiar feeling came roaring back in the confines of his chest as he watched you walk back toward the bar.

A hand clapping on his shoulder pulled Jake from admiring how your hips swayed with each step and he turned to see Rooster still standing beside him. His hazel eyes went from Jake to you and then back to Jake. “Let’s have a chat, Bagman.”

Fuck.

**

By the time you swiped a bit of tinted balm over your lips, you’d told yourself sixteen times that you were making a mistake but, “it would be fine.” You checked your watch and nodded: you were still on time. Early, actually. Jake would meet you at the Hard Deck and then you’d drive you both over to the Kazansky home to save room on the driveway—knowing Sarah, she’d probably invited half the people in her contacts and would still consider it a small party.

And you were contemplating texting Jake and telling him to forget it and that you’d go by yourself. It was too risky. Too intimate. Accepting his offer to go with you had been stupid. And choosing a dress that you knew made your tits look good because you’d caught Jake looking at you the last time you wore a dress like this was also very, very stupid. But when your phone chirped and Jake’s text lit up the screen—“Ready when you are, Punch!”—you knew it was too late.

And really…didn’t you deserve to have a good night?

He had robbed you of enough, hadn’t he? You could have one night. And there was a small bit of you that hoped he was satisfied with just scaring you once.

When you pulled into the Hard Deck’s parking lot, you were barely stopped before the passenger side door opened and Jake slid in with a bright smile and filled your car with the scent of his cologne—leather and oak moss and something distinctly Jake. “Ready?”

“Do you usually hurl yourself into moving vehicles or is that a recent addition to your lengthy list of ways you are a man-child?”

Jake’s smile widened. “You keeping lists about me?”

You resisted the urge to smack his arm and scowled instead as you reached into the backseat to grab the card you’d picked and made sure to hit him in the chest with it and the pen you wrestled from the bottom of your purse. “Sign that.”

Jake clicked the pen several times as he read over the mushy words Hallmark had written for a recently engaged couple and you drummed your fingers against the steering wheel as you slowed to a stop at a red light. If he said anything about the paragraph you wrote you might just-

“This is a nice card.” He then signed his name with a flourish and tucked it into the envelope. “What gift did you get them?”

“We got them an engagement photo shoot with a photographer who I may or may not have bombarded with emails and bribed after realizing Taylor follows her on instagram.” Were you proud of that? Not really. But you had felt extraordinarily bad after realizing that Junior had texted you after he proposed and you hadn’t responded until two weeks later. You knew he’d say there was nothing to apologize for but you still felt the need to make up for it.

“No, Punch,” he started. “My mama told me to never take credit for something I didn’t do. That gift is from you. I got them this.” He held up a bottle of champagne that you knew cost a few hundred dollars with a little silver bow taped to the neck. How you managed to miss that when he basically threw himself into your car, you’d never know (you were probably distracted by the way his thighs flexed beneath his nice trousers).

But it didn’t matter. You sealed the card after slipping the photographer’s business card inside. “It would’ve been fine, you know. But I’m sure they’ll love the champagne, too.”

Jake’s chest puffed a bit at that and you tried to not look too much at the tan skin that was revealed with the movement nor the silver links of his dog tags you knew were hiding beneath his obscenely tight shirt. You failed. And when he caught you looking, his smirk returned.

You couldn’t have that. “Careful, Ken. If you pop a button I’ll have to drop you on the nearest street corner.”

And then the asshole actually unbuttoned the next button. “I like to think I’d be a high-end escort. Like for senators.”

The answering laugh punched out of you before you could even pretend to not find him funny.

The rest of the drive was spent slapping his hand away from the radio when he said your taste in music was terrible—even when you caught him singing along with Stevie on your preferred classic rock station. It was good and easy and you almost hated it by the time you parked outside Sarah’s house, managing to snag a place beside the mailbox.

Jake was at your side before you reached the front door and knocked his foot into yours when you sucked in a breath before knocking at the front door. Yeah. Coming with him was a mistake. A beautiful, terrible mistake.

**

Jake had never been to the Kazansky home. On the ride over, you gave him a rundown on who he needed to know—Missus Kazansky, Junior and his fiancée Taylor, and younger sister Lily—and how to behave. It was mostly good natured ribbing and an actual threat to push him out a window if he hit on Lily.

“Okay, no Lily, but Missus Kazansky is free game?” That quip had earned him a glare so intense he would swear he saw his life flash before his eyes.

Worth it.

After all, it wasn’t all that often that Jake got to see you like this. Sure, he saw you in uniform on base and you had the innate ability to have a spare change of clothes wherever you went so you were never in uniform when you didn’t need to be so he got to see you in civvies often. But that was usually jeans and t-shirts. Maybe that one pair of shorts he thought about when he couldn’t sleep, if he was lucky.

But right now you were in another dress and he could see the thighs that he definitely didn’t dream about peeking out from the skirt as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. You were…

He couldn’t say gorgeous.

He couldn’t say beautiful.

He couldn’t say stunning.

So, you were special. And right now, as you waited at his side for the door to open, he could smell your perfume. Gardenias and sunshine.

His grandmother had special flower beds just for her gardenias—she once said that the soil in southern Texas was too acidic for her favorite flower but she was determined to have them near the ranch and had planter boxes filled with specialty soil and heaps of the flowers. All of his favorite memories of home were filled with the scent of the small white blooms.

And then there was you. You smelled like home.

The door opened and a petite blonde smiled at you before wrapping you in a quick hug. “Oh, sweetheart, you know you don’t need to knock.”

“Old habits,” you murmured as you returned the hug. When you stepped back, you gestured to Jake. “This is Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin. He’s part of the Dagger Squadron with Bradley. Jake, this is Sarah Kazansky.”

After shaking her hand and murmuring his thanks for letting him tag along, Jake stood a little straighter as Missus Kazansky’s eyes looked him over. “You’re Hangman, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you from Pete.” Then, without giving any indication as to what that meant, she waved you in and Jake followed suit. The inside of the large house was filled with people with champagne flutes in their hands as soft pop ballads from decades ago filtered through a hidden sound system, crooning about love.

You complimented Sarah on the tasteful decorations and earned yourself a motherly pat to your cheek before she called out for someone. There was an answering squeal and you shoved the card in your hand to Jake just in time to brace as a younger woman wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you so much!”

You laughed and returned the hug before holding her at arm's length with a smile. “Pasadena looks good on you! And you’re so close to graduating!”

This must be Lily, then. Jake watched you talk with her for a moment, seeing you smile as you traded a few short stories and Lily tugged at the skirt of your dress with a mischievous look in her eye. “You’ve gotta tell me where you bought this. You’re a bombshell.”

You waved away the compliment—as Jake knew you often did—and rattled off some store name as Lily shook her head.

“No, no. Take the compliment. You look gorgeous.” Then Lily’s sharp eyes moved to Jake. Jesus Christ. She was Ice Man’s daughter—that look was cold and calculating. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

And Jake’s mouth opened-

“Lily, c’mon. Stop it.” Your voice was nearly a whine. “This is Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin. He is one of the Daggers with me at Top Gun. Jake, this is Lily Kazansky. She’s about to graduate from Cal Tech with her degree in Engineering and applied science.”

A matching smile pushed at Lily’s mouth as her eyes raked over him. While Jake usually preened over such an obvious once-over, there was absolutely nothing wanting in her gaze. And maybe having you standing beside him helped…but he wasn’t going to address that. “Hangman. Yeah. I’ve heard of you.” Then Lily’s gaze flickered to you. “Enjoy the party. I think Mom needs my help in the kitchen.” And then she flounced away as you sighed.

“She’s…”

“Don’t say it,” you griped, pulling the envelope out of his grasp again.

“I was going to say intense.”

You nodded as you gnawed on your bottom lip before grabbing the champagne Jake was still holding and setting it on the gift table behind you. “She’s all Tom. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s running the Pacific Fleet by the time she’s forty.” But you waved that away, too, and tugged at his arm, leading him toward the exorbitant spread of finger foods on another table a few paces away. You snagged him a flute of champagne as you handed him a plate and then Jake let you wrangle you both onto a pair of the few remaining empty seats near the kitchen bar.

“Not going to mingle?”

“God, no. I hate mingling. You are free to go off and schmooze, if you want. There are a few people here you may know—probably shook hands with them at your ceremony.” You waved your flute toward a group of middle aged men near the fireplace and, yes, Jake knew them. All of them were upper echelons of the Navy brass and had congratulated him on the promotion. “I won’t hold your seat though.”

Jake laughed and shook his head. “I think I’m good right where I am, Punch. But thank you.” He glanced over at the men to see them already looking in your direction. They each raised their highball glasses with practiced smiles which you and Jake reciprocated with a tip of your champagne flutes. “You sure you don’t want to talk to them?”

You shrugged as you turned back to your food, plucking a small cube of cheese from the assortment and eating it quickly. “If I wanted to talk to them, I could’ve done it at barbecues or one of Sarah’s soirées that she liked to host. I just…don’t care enough. I climbed up the ranks by accident mostly. I like where I am.”

Jake frowned at that. “What do you mean?” You were headstrong and tenacious. Not having drive or ambition just didn’t line up with what he knew about you, with how you presented yourself.

You popped a cherry tomato into your mouth and chewed and swallowed before answering, almost like you were stalling for time. “I’m not a lifer like you, Jake. I didn’t dream of joining the navy as a kid or anything like that. You probably had a vision board or something, right? Asked for model planes since you could talk. You look the type. Probably ate some of the pieces, too.”

But Jake didn’t take the bait and he’d never admit that he did swallow lego when he was seven. “Then why did you enlist? You could go anywhere.”

You were quiet again and that familiar twist in his chest returned as your lips pushed up in a small smile. Then your eyes searched his face, visibly debating something, and you must have found what you were looking for because you nodded, just once, unknowingly twisting the knife you didn’t know you held. “You caught me in a good mood. I’ll tell you. No one will believe you, but I’ll tell you.”

He resisted the urge to grab at your hand and just hold it as he said, “try me.”

“Sparknotes version?”

Jake wanted to know everything. Wanted to ask you to tell him every little detail so he could know you better than anyone else. But he could wait. Maybe. “Sure.”

“My little brother, Danny, got sick his first year of high school. Really sick. Expensive sick. I was in my last year of school and had the choice to either go to university or find a job that could help with the bills.” Your next breath had your shoulders sagging. “The Navy was the only recruitment office that wasn’t on lunch when I walked in. Four days after graduating high school, I was shipping off for training. Then I was volunteering for any deployment that my commanding officers even hinted at because I knew that deployment meant more pay. So, I was accidentally a decorated AD because I was desperate.”

Jake felt you jump when his hand landed on yours as it rested on the table beside him but you didn’t pull away so he selfishly curled his fingers over your wrist, content to feel the warmth you exuded. He remembered the photo on your desk and the soft look you’d been giving him—that was your baby brother. “Is he-”

“Oh, he’s fine now. Finishing up his doctorate at MIT.” Another smile pushed at your lips as you shook your head before your other hand settled over Jake’s. “Healthy as can be. Lily actually reminds me a lot of Danny. Both of them hated their English classes in high school. They’d prefer to have a root canal than write a book report. I probably did too much to actually have them learn anything about The Catcher in the Rye or Persuasion, but I just wanted to see them succeed.”

Jake’s heart leapt when he felt your thumb sweep over his knuckles as you kept looking out over the crowd. It was just a little touch. A little brush of your skin on his. And it was…special.

But as soon as it started, it stopped as you pulled your hands away from him and waved at someone in the crowd. “There’s the couple of the hour.”

Jake turned to see a younger blond guy with his arm wrapped around a smiling brunette. She’d reached up to tangle her fingers with his, showing off the massive rock on her finger. They must be Junior and Taylor—the pair certainly had that look about them that all newly engaged couples had. Well, almost all couples. Jake knew some weren’t so fortunate.

You hopped off the seat and dragged Junior and Taylor into quick hugs as Jake followed suit and stood, shaking both their hands as you introduced him. You oohed and ahhhed over the engagement ring and poked at Junior’s cheek when he blushed as Taylor recounted the story of the proposal. You handed over the card and Jake saw you curl your hands into fists behind your back as Junior opened it almost immediately.

Just as she finished reading, Taylor all but launched herself at you and Jake had to keep you upright by catching you at the hips when you started to teeter backward. And, only for a moment, Jake thought about doing this with you all the time. Thought about showing you off at parties, watching you smile, keeping you upright with a laugh on your tongue. The invisible knife twisted again as Junior caught his eye and arched a brow after glancing at his hands on your hips.

“Oh! I can’t believe it! This is so kind!” Taylor turned to Junior with a beaming smile, waving the business card like a flag, and explained that she actually followed the photographer on Instagram and loved her work, just as you’d said in the car.

Jake felt you relax in his grip at that, a relief to know your gift was well received. “I’ve made a list of all the weekends she has available for the next six weeks. She said you two would have first dibs—you just need to call her and tell her what date and time works for you.” You’d off-handedly mentioned that both Taylor and Junior were in the middle of their medical school residencies and were rarely free for more than a few hours at a time every other week.

You spoke a little longer and Jake earned a bright smile from Taylor when he said that she and Junior would probably be the photographer’s most liked post on her page—he also earned an elbow to the gut from you, too. Jake didn’t care, not when he heard you laugh.

“But we’ll let you get back to your other guests. Thanks for letting me hold you up for a little.”

Junior frowned and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re never holding us up.”

“You’re always welcome,” Taylor said with another brilliant smile.

You nodded with a matching smile and mentioned that Jake had brought a bottle of champagne and Junior was the one to smile this time. “That’s my favorite bottle, man, thanks!”

Then you spun in Jake’s hold and all but shoved him backward toward your abandoned seats and the smile you gave him had his entire chest aching. “They’re so happy. Don’t they look happy?”

And he had to smile, too. “They do, Punch.”

But your eyes tracked to something over his shoulder and Jake turned to see you looking at that same group of men from earlier and you rolled your spine, straightening your posture. “I’m going to introduce you.”

“I thought you said you didn’t talk to them.”

“I don’t. Not as Naval officers, anyway. They think I’m like a very distantly related and adopted niece or something. They know me but don’t…know me, you know?”

Jake resisted the urge to roll his eyes but simply said, “no.”

“Doesn’t matter. C’mon, let me get you promoted again.” You were then a flurry of demure smiles and careful introductions that seemed to instantly endear you to the group of brass and Jake was readily folded into their conversations as you slipped away from his side with a wink and a mouthed “you owe me!” after being talked over twice—maybe they really didn’t have any clue that you were in the Navy as well. It almost made Jake want to excuse himself, too. But he knew you’d probably chew him out for that. Rooster’s ‘talk’ from the other night on the Hard Deck came ringing through his mind: “There’s another reason we call her punch. She can roll with the punches. But that doesn’t mean she should have to. If she comes to me on Monday and says anything about you ruining her night, I’ll shoot you out of the sky.”

You knew that officer promotions were always a game of politics and who you know so getting Jake on a friendly basis with men like this was invaluable. So, yes, Jake did owe you. But he was having a hard time fully investing in the ham-handed conversations and when he was halfheartedly listening to Rear Admiral Cunningham speak about his latest secretary snafu, Jake caught you moving through the crowd with Lily hot on your heels and a laugh on your tongue. He could hear it over the din of the party and he felt himself smiling despite knowing he shouldn’t in the present company. You and Lily were soon joined by Sarah and three of you danced around a little, sipping on canned sparkling waters. When Taylor and Junior joined in the impromptu dance party, he could hear your excited laughter.

Jake remembered that you sat with the Kazansky family during the funeral, holding Lily’s hand as she sobbed. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now he could see it. You were one of them, unofficially of course. An older sister to the kids. Another daughter to Sarah and Admiral Kazansky, if he was willing to bet.

You were special.

**

The party had continued on. The dancing you and Lily had started had somehow sprouted to most of Junior and Taylor’s friends and the living room had transformed into a dance floor. You noticed Jake stepped out onto the back porch with the group of brass and tried to tell yourself that the pride you felt was purely coincidental. That you would have introduced any of the Daggers to them and wished them the best. Really. The warmth you felt wasn’t anything other than friendly. Really. But by 10, the party was wrapping up—Lily needed to drive back to Pasadena and Junior was murmuring with a few of his friends about an “after party”—and you’d started helping Sarah clean up as people filtered out. The kids had each given you a squeeze before leaving and promised to text you when they got home.

As you tugged a trash bag around the living room and tossed the paper plates into it, you glanced up to see Jake taking a handful of half-filled champagne flutes into the kitchen. The few sentences you’d exchanged with Missus Seresin during the promotion ceremony did give you a bit of insight into Jake’s upbringing—you could see a little Jake helping in the kitchen, being told how to properly wash pans and how to keep an eye on a boiling pot under the watchful eye of his mother or older sisters.

But you weren’t supposed be thinking about that and shook it away with a grimace as you yawned. You grabbed another stack of discarded plates and pushed them into the bag with a little more force than what was necessary as Jake circled back into the living room.

Sarah stepped to your side with a tired smile of her own. “You can stay here, sweetheart. We still have your room upstairs.” She then turned to Jake with a smile. “The bed is big enough.”

You choked on your next breath and Jake patted your back as he fought a smile. “We-” you wheezed the word.

“We’re not together, but you’re kind to offer.”

Pink flooded Sarah’s cheeks and she pressed a hand over her mouth for a moment. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought…” She waved it away. “Either way, both of you are welcome to stay the night.”

“I think we’re actually going to head out as soon as everything’s cleaned up. Thank you again for inviting me and letting me bring a friend along.”

Sarah hummed as she tried to nudge the couch back into its usual position and watched as Jake quickly took over the task without issue before once again starting to grab the remaining flutes left by the window sill and take them to the kitchen—you heard him carefully putting them into the dishwasher. “Yes, a friend.”

Embarrassment burned and clawed at your throat and you turned away to see if there were any other plates for you to throw away. “Barely a friend.”

“Sure, sweetheart. I definitely can see where I got confused with the way you were smiling at him and the way he looks at you like you hung the stars. My mistake.”

“He doesn’t.” The words were barely more than squeaks. “And…and I don’t smile at him like anything.”

Sarah hummed, again. “Whatever you say.”

You tried not to think about Sarah’s words as you settled back into your car a few minutes later. Jake let out a sigh as he buckled in and you tried to ignore how his cologne once again filled the small space. And it was so strange that your body seemed to seize and relax at the same time because of it. Like you were fighting two separate and equal instincts.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I hope you had fun,” you said as you pulled away from the curb, waving at Sarah through the windshield.

“They certainly know how to throw a party.”

“This was tame. One time Junior threw a rager when his parents were out of town and his entire fraternity swarmed the house.” You smiled at the memory, remembering ordering a group of frat boys around at the crack of dawn to clean the house before his parents got home. Junior baked you a cake in thanks after learning you’d been the one to stall Tom and Sarah for a few extra hours by suggesting they stop for brunch on their way back. Lily had done the same after you’d helped her get all the bubbles out of the hot tub after she and her friends had filled it with something you’d rather not mention.

Jake was quiet for a moment as you turned down the street, heading toward the highway. “How do you know them? I mean, you seem pretty close.”

Your tongue pressed against your cheek as you thought about how to phrase your answer. Had to be careful. Had to make sure you didn’t reveal something you shouldn’t. “Bradley introduced us.” There, that was vague enough. “Admiral Kazansky was good to me. His family looked after me during a really weird time in my life and I tried to repay that kindness, in any way I could. After all, I did have some experience with what they needed.” You sighed and scraped the edge of your thumbnail against your lip. You’d been the one to deal with the home care nurses when Sarah needed a break. You knew a few ways to help Tom be comfortable through his treatments and he seemed to be grateful that he didn’t need to ask for them, keeping a little bit of his pride. You’d been so hopeful when he’d gone into remission but tried to keep it together when it had come back. You were happy to play the part of stalwart supporter when the prognosis came back grim. “They’re good people.”

Your stomach churned when you thought of why you’d met the Kazansky family but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. But you changed the subject, asking about the surely-dull conversations Jake had with the brass as you merged onto the highway.

“…if I ever get that boring, you have my permission to smack me,” he finished with a grimace.

“You’d probably like that too much. You’re just going to have to be boring and live with the consequences.” Proving your point, Jake smiled when you smacked his hand away from your radio again. There was no way you were changing the station when David Bowie was singing. Absolutely not. And then when “Rhiannon” came on next, you made sure to crank the volume as Jake pretended to not know the words.

You were having a great time. Really. And it was a little terrifying how easily he made you laugh when he finally gave in and started to croon (a little off key) alongside your pitchy warbling. But it petered out as Jake looked back with a squint but turned forward with a frown. When he turned to look back again you turned down the radio with a frown of your own and glanced in your rear view mirror. “What is it?”

“The car behind you keeps speeding up and slowing down.”

While keeping an eye on the traffic in front of you, you looked at the car Jake pointed out and your stomach sunk to your feet as you watched it drive under the next streetlight.

It was a black ‘67 Dodge Charger with a distinctive sword charm hanging from the rear view mirror.

You knew that car. You knew that charm.

And despite the shadows of the car hiding the driver’s face, you knew who was behind the wheel.

And just as that realization dawned on you, the charger’s brights flashed and you winced as the lights flooded your car.

“What is this guy’s problem?” Jake grumbled, turning back around to stare.

“I…” What could you possibly say? You couldn’t tell Jake. Wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever. But it didn’t matter because the next time you glanced in the rear view you realized the charger was about to ram into the back of your car. You stomped on the gas and the engine roared as you tried to avoid the collision.

But he kept coming.

Your heart clawed its way up behind your teeth as you merged into the next lane over, earning an angry honk from a Jeep for not using your turn signal, and the charger sped past and you almost thought you were in the clear but then he was merging too, slamming on his brakes and you had to swerve back into the other lane to avoid crashing into his trunk.

“Jesus!” Jake yelled.

“I-I’m sorry!” The words were torn from your throat but you doubted Jake heard them over the barrages of angry honks and the thundering of your car’s engine, nearly drowned out by the growl of the charger’s overpowered mechanics.

The charger moved, keeping pace with your car and you were only given a warning in the form of Jake yelling before you realized that the car was coming into your lane. You yanked the wheel, nearly hitting the dividing wall as you avoided it and pressed the accelerator to the floor. You weaved around two cars, earning more honks as you used the shoulder to gain distance, and then noticed the next exit was only half a mile away. You needed to get off the highway.

“Fuck!”

The charger followed you onto the shoulder and you knew you had to move. Now or never. You moved across the highway and nearly clipped the barrier as you shot onto the off-ramp, a cacophony of squealing brakes and horns providing a terrible soundtrack to your horrendous driving. But it worked. You saw the charger try to get to the exit, too, and miss. He had to drive on. Away from you.

You hardly remember driving the rest of the way back to the Hard Deck in silence, your heart still stuck behind your teeth. Every few seconds, you’d check your rear view mirror but you didn’t see that car again. When you parked in the Hard Deck’s lot, you finally peeled your hands away from the steering wheel and your fingers shook and ached.

“What the fuck was that?” Jake asked after a stretch of silence.

You tried to suck in a breath and only managed to make your lungs burn. You needed to calm down. Needed it. Needed… “I-I have to call Bradley,” you muttered, shaking hand scrambling through the contents of your purse to grab at your phone. “I have to-”

“What’s Bradshaw going to do? He’s out in the desert with Mav. I’m right here, Punch. Tell me.”

But you only shook your head and had your phone dialing Bradley’s number before it even reached your ear. But it rang. And rang. And rang.

“This is Bradshaw. Can’t come to the phone right now-”

Fuck. You killed the call with an unsteady breath and none too gently shoved your phone back into your purse before pressing your nails into your thighs, needing to feel something other than your racing heart. Tiny pinpricks of pain zipped up your leg and you let your head fall back against the headrest before uncurling your hands. This was better. This was okay. You’d made it. For now, you were okay. “I…need a drink.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

You turned to the side and felt just a smidge of mortification wash over you as you realized Jake was still sitting there, waiting for you. Fuck. “I’ll get you one, too.” Then you were up and out of your car, hitting the lock button four times just to make sure, and all but stomping into the Hard Deck with Jake on your heels.

**

It was either a blessing or a curse that none of the other Daggers were at the bar tonight as Jake followed you up to the mostly un-busy bar and rattled off your usual order. “And please get Jake whatever he wants,” you said, handing over your card to Jimmy.

Jake slipped into the barstool at your side and studied you for a moment. It was almost like you hadn’t nearly crashed your car three times or run off the road by a charger with a vendetta. If he didn’t know you better—and Jake tried to ignore that it was becoming clearer by the day that maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought—he might think you were just out for a nightcap. But the vacancy of your expression was too…careful. Too practiced. It looked like there was a concentrated effort to keep your brow from pinching.

“You wanna tell me what that was back there?” He asked, almost tentative. He just…wanted to make sure you were okay, but he wanted answers, too. The way you were reacting wasn’t normal. The complete shut down of your previous panic wasn’t right.

Your next breath was slow, measured. “I must’ve cut him off or something. Road rage is a hell of a thing.”

Jake bit back the disbelieving comment and thanked Jimmy as he set the drinks down with a small smile and handed back your card. Fine. “So you needed to call Rooster after all that but can’t tell me what you really think happened?” Jake had seen all the close contact between you and Rooster. He’d seen how you’d whisper in the other man’s ear. He had seen how Rooster was always ready for you with a hug or an arm around your shoulder. And no, Jake didn’t hate that. Didn’t hate that you seemed to trust Rooster more than him and he had been the one to be in the car with you tonight. “Is he your boyfriend or something? Fuck buddy?”

Your unamused stare over the edge of your glass had Jake sitting a little straighter. “He’s not my type,” you said with a shrug before downing the rest of the small drink.

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure as hell seems like-”

Your glass hitting the bar top stifled any other words Jake might have said. “Look, I’ve been trying for eighteen months to get Bradley to admit he’s in love with redacted.” You flagged down Jimmy and asked for a refill with an easy smile that evaporated the second you looked back at Jake. Your arched eyebrow had his stomach clenching for several different reasons he didn’t have the time to address. “Any other slightly invasive questions you want to ask? Want to know my social security number? What color of underwear I’m wearing?”

Jake could feel the tips of his ears burning. You were relentless. But good. At least he was getting some sort of reaction out of you. “Those are two wildly different questions, you know.”

“I do know. So, hurry up and ask. I’m giving you until my drink arrives.”

He had a million more questions but he really did need a straight answer. He could be relentless, too. But first: “You literally said redacted.”

“So smart, Ken! Look at you go!”

“Who is redacted?”

The next smile you gave him was all teeth and your tone was as condescending as Cyclone on a bad day, “well, now, Ken, when someone says ‘redacted,’ it means-”

Jake’s hand pressed over your mouth, and he sighed as he felt you frown beneath his palm. Fine. He could switch tactics. He could get one real answer out of you tonight. “You can’t blame me for thinking that something else is going on. Do you love him?”

You peeled his hand away from your face as your new drink was quickly placed in front of you and you drained it as if you needed it to deal with him. “You know, there is a Greek word,Philia. It’s one of the different types of love from Greek Philosophy-”

“Punch-”

“And it’s a brotherly love. But since I know you won’t take that as an answer, no. I don’t love him in the way you’re insinuating. And he doesn’t love me that way, either.” The look in your eyes reminded Jake of someone having just come down after g-loc as your fingernail tapped against the glass’ base. Click. Click. Click. “Bradley has seen me at my lowest. Bob, too. Sometimes I think they only keep me around so I don't do something stupid.” Your mouth rolled to the side as the tapping stopped and you pushed the glass away before reaching for your purse.

“That’s not true-”

“Look, tonight has been weird. Okay? Can’t deny that. I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.” You shook your head as you pulled out a few bills for a tip and the second drink and set them under your empty glass. And you wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t even turn toward him again. Jake’s hands curled into fists at his sides to fight the urge to reach out to you, to try to let you know that he would do it all again. All of it. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. I owe you.” And then you turned and left.

**

Driving home shouldn’t be a problem, right? You just needed to put the key in the ignition, shift into drive, and go home. But you just couldn’t move. Couldn’t pull your eyes away from the dark dashboard.

He had found you while you were on the road. He had tried to crash your car. He had tried to run you off the road. He had tried to kill you.

While Jake was in the car with you.

Tears burned your eyes and you limply let them fall, your hands not moving from your lap. A familiar, dull ringing settled over your ears and you slumped further into your seat, only to feel your entire body go rigid as you heard someone stepping up to your car, sand sliding beneath their shoes on the pavement.

You swung around as the door opened, ready to fight, ready to scream, but felt yourself deflate as Jake leaned down, shoving his way into the car to haul you closer, warm, muscular arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. And that just about broke you. The first sob was ripped out of your throat and the next followed in rapid succession as you grasped loosely at the front of his shirt. The scent of his expensive cologne was almost calming. Almost comforting.

His hands moved up and down, up and down, along your spine and you vaguely heard him whispering something to you. Something like, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” But it was barely more than white noise to your ears as your body shook. But soon you were pulling back, eyes bleary and itchy. God. You were a mess. There was an apology on the tip of your tongue that died as soon as Jake’s large hand gently, carefully cupped your cheek and his calloused thumb swiped against the delicate half moon of skin beneath your eye.

“Let me drive you home.”

Your chin wobbled with new tears and a fresh wave of self-loathing washed over you but you still nodded. It was a moment of weakness. A moment you were sure you’d regret but you just needed help. Just a little. Just for now. But still, you let Jake help you over the center console and into the passenger seat. Before you had the chance to move, Jake reached over and buckled you in and moved to do the same for himself before he frowned, looking at something on the hood of your car. He stepped out and grabbed something from underneath your windshield wiper.

You frowned as he sat back down. “What is it?”

But Jake didn’t answer, mouth set in a thin line and eyes trained on the thing in his grasp.

Leaning over, your heart almost stopped. It was a Polaroid of you and Jake at the engagement party. It was obviously shot through the window, a glare taking up half the photo. But still, anyone who looked at the picture would see you and Jake, his hands on your hips and smiles on your faces.

Did you have fun at the party? He doesn’t look like your type

“Jake, I…” Your throat was scratchy. Arid.

“What does this mean, Punch?”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your theories. Also, as an aside, I do not keep a tag list. I’m sorry! 

#Jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #tgm #top gun maverick #female reader

[deliciousangelfestival]

Underworld Insomnia | 4 - B.Barnes

Character : Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

"Frosty longed for companionship, but no matter where he drifted, he found himself alone in the icy wilderness," the soothing voice of the story lulled Bucky into drowsiness. Just as he began to succumb to sleep, he heard your urgent cry, "Bucky!"

His body relaxed upon hearing your voice, but his eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion. As he fought to keep them open, he sensed a peculiar sensation—something cool and tingling on his face. With a struggle, he managed to crack his eyes open, greeted by the sight of a small figure with oversized glasses hovering over him.

Bucky rubbed his eyes in confusion. "You... Ahh!!! What is this?" he exclaimed, noticing Conroy holding a tube of toothpaste.

Conroy, ever matter-of-fact, explained, "Because you're not awake. Seems like your body lack of iron."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Conroy, feeling a mix of amusement and irritation at the kid's audacity. "Bah! I'm still in my prime," he retorted, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite the situation's absurdity.

You were in another room when you heard an adult male voice, and you approached them, relieved to find that Bucky was no longer asleep. "You're awake," you remarked, noticing the toothpaste under Bucky's eyes. You knew it must be Conroy's doing.

Moving closer to Bucky, you reached for a cloth to wipe away Conroy's prank. "Conroy, you have to apologize to Bucky," you insisted firmly.

Bucky was taken aback by your actions. First, as the best contract killer in the industry, he could evade guns, knives, poisons, and other threats, but he never expected your voice to act as a lethal weapon. Second, he was surprised by the sudden tenderness in your gesture. He had never experienced such care before.

Conroy put his hands on his hips defiantly. "Why? If it's not because of me, he would still be asleep," he argued.

You clicked your tongue, feeling the need to maintain respect for the homeowner who could also protect you both from the group.

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine," he assured, standing up to put some distance between himself and you. Perhaps it was your perfume that made his heart race. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How long was I asleep?"

You replied, "12 hours."

Bucky closed his mouth in disbelief. Twelve hours? That was a new record.

Concerned for his health, you suggested, "Bucky, do you need to go to the hospital? Perhaps something is wrong with your health?"

Bucky crossed his arms, feeling a bit irritated that both you and Conroy seemed to underestimate his health. He shook his head. "No. I've been there multiple times, and they found nothing wrong with me. Besides..." His conversation was cut short as he received a call.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Where the heck have you been?" the voice on the other end demanded.

"Sleeping," Bucky replied simply.

"What?! I don't even want to know. Just get your ass over here. Our situation is not good in the Caribbean Sea. Pirates tried to steal our client's ship."

Bucky's response was nonchalant, "Sure. Prepare the plane for me."

"But there's nowhere to land," came the urgent reply.

Bucky smirked, unfazed, "Who said the plane has to land?"

***********

At an altitude of 40,000 feet inside the cargo plane, Bucky surveyed the situation below. Miguel, one of his colleagues, filled him in on the mission details, "Our client hired us to rescue his son. Pirates are attempting to capture the vessel because they know our client is wealthy."

As Bucky prepared his parachute bag and checked his guns, Miguel asked him, "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

Bucky nodded confidently. "Yup. It'll be quick. See you later." With a salute, he jumped from the plane, disappearing into the night sky. Watching his fearless departure, Miguel chuckled and shook his head. "Crazy dude," he muttered to himself.

Once airborne, Bucky opened his parachute and descended gracefully toward the pirate-infested ship below. As he landed on the deck, he swiftly drew his weapons and sprang into action. With precise aim and lightning-fast reflexes, he took down each pirate one by one, dodging their gunfire with ease.

In a matter of seconds, the deck was cleared, and Bucky secured the area before moving to rescue the client's son. Amidst the chaos, he located the young man and ensured his safety, escorting him to a secure location on the ship.

The client's son, shaken but unharmed, looked up at Bucky with gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling with relief.

Bucky's work was clean and efficient, a testament to the positive effects of his recent restful sleep. He nodded in acknowledgment as he received praise from his agency's boss. "Great job."

However, when the boss mentioned wanting to introduce him to someone, Bucky politely declined. "No, I need to head back," he explained. He remembered that you and Conroy were relying on emergency food supplies back at the safe house. While Conroy might have a sharp tongue, Bucky couldn't forget that he was still just a 4-year-old kid.

With a sense of responsibility, Bucky prioritized your well-being and Conroy's comfort over any additional meetings or introductions. He needed to ensure that you both had enough to eat and were safe while he was away.

Bucky returned to the safe house to find you and Conroy engaged in making origami, a sight that amused him. It seemed that neither of you found entertainment in TV or movies.

Upon hearing the door open, you looked up and greeted him, "Welcome back."

"Hm," Bucky acknowledged, feeling a warm sensation at being welcomed home for the first time.

Conroy abandoned his Godzilla origami and rushed over to Bucky. "Is that the same chicken I had?" His hand reached out eagerly for the plastic bag, but Bucky raised it just out of reach, prompting Conroy to pause. "Hey."

Bucky raised an eyebrow playfully. "Don't 'hey' me. Ask me nicely."

Conroy's cheeks puffed up with a pout. "Can I have some of the food, please?"

Bucky chuckled, lowering the bag. "It's all yours."

Conroy dashed to the table, exclaiming, "Yes!"

Left alone with you, Bucky expressed his gratitude. "With 12 hours of sleep, I was able to finish my work quickly. Thanks."

You smiled warmly. "I'm glad I could help."

Bucky glanced around the safe house, noticing the origami creations scattered around. "What are you two making?"

You chuckled softly. "Conroy wanted to learn origami, so we've been practicing."

Bucky observed the colorful paper creations with a hint of admiration. "Looks like he's getting pretty good at it."

You nodded proudly. "He's a quick learner."

Just then, Conroy returned to the table, devouring his fried chicken with gusto. Between bites, he grinned at Bucky. "Thank you for the food!"

Bucky ruffled Conroy's hair affectionately. "You're welcome, kiddo."

As the three of you sat together, enjoying the simple pleasure of a shared meal, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging he hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, there was a sense of peace and camaraderie within the walls of the safe house.

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes focused on you with a seriousness that caught your attention. "Do you have a plan to put Conroy into kindergarten?"

You paused, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. "At the moment, no. With everything that's been happening, it hasn't really crossed my mind."

Bucky nodded, considering your words carefully. "If you want, I know of a safe kindergarten that's highly secretive. It's attended by children of parents in similar lines of work, like myself. To ensure Conroy's safety, we could even consider changing his name."

As you listened to Bucky's suggestion, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his concern. Despite his tough exterior, he genuinely cared about your well-being and Conroy's.

After you answered, Conroy interjected excitedly, "I want to go!!!" He hopped down from his chair and dashed over to Bucky, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "I want to join the kindergarten. Please,~"

Bucky chuckled at Conroy's sudden burst of energy, finding his eagerness endearing. "You can, if you behave," he replied with a playful grin.

Conroy puffed out his chest proudly. "I am a good kid," he declared, his determination evident in his stance.

You couldn't help but smile at Conroy's excitement, feeling hopeful for his future despite the challenges you faced. With Bucky's support and the promise of a safe place for Conroy to learn and grow, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

***********

The next day, Bucky continued his day with a brand new energy, grateful for the restful sleep he had gotten. This newfound routine eased his anxiety, allowing him to approach the day with a clearer mind.

He decided to visit the bar, a usual haunt where killers often gathered. As he entered, the dimly lit ambiance greeted him, familiar and somewhat comforting.

To his surprise, his boss approached him, accompanied by a figure clad in a custom suit that exuded an air of mystery and intelligence. The man's demeanor suggested he was no ordinary individual; perhaps a member of the CIA or a special undercover agent. His sharp gaze bore into Bucky, assessing him with keen interest as if dissecting his every move and thought.

The person introduced himself to Bucky with a firm handshake and a confident demeanor. "It's an honor to meet you, Barnes," he began in a voice with authority and a hint of intrigue. "I'm August Walker, and you have something that I want."

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a pence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii

[bandiera--rossa]

Running Orders

They call us now,

before they drop the bombs.

The phone rings

and someone who knows my first name

calls and says in perfect Arabic

“This is David.”

And in my stupor

of sonic booms and glass-shattering symphonies

still smashing around in my head

I think, Do I know any Davids in Gaza?

They call us now to say

Run.

You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.

Your house is next.

They think of it as

some kind of war-time courtesy.

It doesn’t matter

that there is nowhere to run to.

It means nothing

that the borders are closed

and your papers are worthless

and mark you only for a life sentence

in this prison by the sea

and the alleyways are narrow

and there are more human lives

packed one against the other more

than any other place on earth

Just run.

We aren’t trying to kill you.

It doesn’t matter that you can’t call us back

to tell us the people we claim to want

aren’t in your house

that there’s no one here

except you and your children

who were cheering for Argentina

sharing the last loaf of bread for this week

counting candles left in case the power goes out.

It doesn’t matter that you have children.

You live in the wrong place

and now is your chance to run to nowhere.

It doesn’t matter that 58 seconds isn’t long enough

to find your wedding album

or your son’s favorite blanket

or your daughter’s almost completed college application

or your shoes

or to gather everyone in the house.

It doesn’t matter what you had planned.

It doesn’t matter who you are.

Prove you’re human.

Prove you stand on two legs.

Run.

Lena Khalaf Tuffaha

Arab-American poet

----

Photos by Mohammed Talatene and Mohammed Saber - Palestinians leaving Nothern part of Gaza - October 2023.

#Lena Khalaf Tuffaha #contemporary poetry #palestine #Gaza #forced removals of people from their land

[aziraphales-library]

hello hello hello! how are you lovely mods doing? first of all I want to thank you for this blog, it's given me all the best GO fics I've read!!

I wanted to ask you, are you guys aware of any Cinderella!au fanfic for AziraCrow? Cause I've been thinking about writing one, but I don't want to accidentally make it too similar to an existing one!

Thank you ever so much ❤️

Hi, I'm good thanks! We have some Cinderella aus here, and I've got more now...

Raven by desk_mess (T)

King Gabriel's son, Prince Ezra, is coming of age to take a wife for themself. A servant-girl, Antonia, dreams of escaping the clutches of her cruel step-mother and step-sisters. Little do they know they have someone looking out for them. After all, it's ineffable. (Good Omens Cinderella AU) (Rated Teen for Language and Implications.)

A Midsummer Midnight’s Dream by pilatesandpinot (E)

Aziraphale Fell dreams of becoming an actor and dancer but instead lives in servitude to his wicked stepfather and stepsisters. When a mysterious duke invites all of the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes to the Midsummer Masquerade Ball, he thinks he’s found his escape. His stepfamily shuns him from attending, though that’s not something Aziraphale or his sassy godmother will take laying down. Will Aziraphale find his happily ever after, even if it’s not entirely what he expected? A Cinderella/Fairytale inspired AU

Cinderfall by a_serpent (G)

Azira Fell had a really though childhood - his parents died and he had to live with his terrible stepmother and stepbrothers. Everything changes when one day Az meets intriguing (and deadly handsome) redhead stranger.

Cinderphale by Ezra_Oakenshield (G)

As the title suggests, this is a rewrite of "Cinderella" with the Good Omens characters. After the death of his mother, Aziraphale is at the mercy of his cruel adopted siblings. They reduce him to a lowly servant. The solace he finds is with his animal friends, his bookkeeper friend from town, the mysterious blank book that she gave him, the prospect of the three-night ball at the palace, and a certain handsome red-head with dark glasses.

Cinders Bound by Golden Crown by AJ_Constantine (E)

Good Omens Alpha Beta Omega Cinderella AU From the far end of the ballroom Prince Aziraphale’s eyes locked on Crowley as he raised his hand beseechingly. Crowley couldn’t look away from him if his life depended on it, although he was keenly aware of the increasing number of eyes joining the Prince’s to stare at him standing frozen on the dais. As he realized that he was incapable of not answering the silent call of the bright Alpha below him, a calm washed over him, acting as a soothing balm over the jagged edges of his seething emotions. Just breathe. He inhaled shakily as he began descending the steps to the ballroom floor. Prince Aziraphale mirrored his steps, stepping forward to close the distance between them. The sea of nobles between them parted like waves receding from the shore as they moved closer. When Crowley drew close to the Prince, his hand slowly rose to settle in the Alpha's outstretched one. The Prince looked at Crowley's face searchingly. His voice was quiet yet ringing with intent as he asked, "May I have this dance?"

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #cinderella au #fantasy au #mod d

[buggysangel17]

Three Peas In A Pod II

Summary: In which the two men find out about their children. Characters: Shanks x Buggy x F!Reading (she/her). OC Twins. (Rosa & Azul) Word Count: 1,590 Chapter Warnings:  Profanities. Slight Angst.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Send Me An Ask?

Chapter II: One After Another

“I should also mention that someone else has come back to the race.” Dracule Mihawk had continued almost three glasses in to his beer since his arrival.

Shanks had a single brow raised as he took another three poster from the man, curiosity got the best of him as he decided to check who it was before quipping the delayed information. All the bravado had left his lips as he caught sight of who exactly was plastered on the poster. A whooping hundred million that now rested on your shoulder.

You. You who had decided to stay in your father’s island to live the normal life, away from the thrills of the water and away from the chaos that came with becoming a pirate. He could still remember how he and Buggy had tried their best to convince you to join both of them or even either but you decided to stay with a sad smile on your face.

A part of him knew that leaving you all on your own was the biggest mistake he and Buggy could make, but he had to respect your wishes. Even with how Buggy had resented him for it, he had no other choice but to let you be. With a heavy heart and the love that never truly diminished, he hoped one day you would come back better than any of them could ever compare. It seems the time has come too.

“Should I be worried about you and your offspring?” Mihawk inquired as Shanks was still in disbelief with the sight of your poster.

Shanks didn’t think twice as he unrolled the two other poster and it was like looking at a fucking mirror. A spitting image of him, Rosa. You named her after the very first flower he and Buggy had given you, the very name you had told them you would give your child with them if ever the time comes.

Now it made a little more sense now. Why you wanted to stay. The life of a pirate wasn’t truly for your sake but your children. His eyes turned to the other poster, a boy with stark blue hair, it was Buggy through and through just without the red nose.

Memories of how Buggy had always dreamed of becoming a father to a son that he would teach anything and everything he knows. This was the life that you had chosen for the children he never knew he had.

“Does the world government know about them?” Shanks inquired, no longer in the mood for celebrations.

“Not yet from what I have gathered, but with the mess they’ve dealt with in a nearby ship, I’m certain they will find out about the three.”

That was all Shanks needed to know. He had his responsibilities, some of which he still wonders if he had made the right choice of taking. But this was above everything else was a responsibility that he needed to face head on, but not on his own, he needed Buggy along for this one.

“Did you happen to see our good friend Buggy causing havoc on your way here?” Shanks inquired grinning and hoping his new mission wasn’t as transparent with Mihawk.

“We may or we may not have crossed paths a few days ago.”

“Right, then we’ll be on our way then.”

~

“Something wrong, Mum?”

Even as you had tried your best to keep it to yourself, it has always been so easy for your twins to pick up on something wrong with you. In days that you would be lingering in the sadness of what could have been the life you had on the sea, they were there to comfort you, assure you in their own little way that they were here for you—creating a mess for themselves enough to distract you from your own thoughts.

But at this moment, as you were staring at the sea, the sudden change of the tides had you feeling that something was amidst and you were all too uncertain if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Something in the waters.” It was the only explanation that you could give.

It was not well known to the world that you had consumed one of, if not, the most sought after Devil Fruit in the world and it was the very reason your own father had thought best that you were under the protection of one Gol D. Roger instead of him, and it was the main reason as to why you had thought best to stay away from anything related to being a pirate when you found out about your pregnancy.

But now, as you felt the waters change, there was an uncertain presence that loomed and you were worried if it was a friend or a foe that would come and halt you and your children from your plan of action.

“Remember what I’ve thought you about Pirates that we may come across.” You reminded your children, turning to the two teenagers hoping that they would understand the worry that has now lingered in your body.

“Not everyone is a friend, if they have a weapon up, it’s time to step up.” The twins spoke in unison and you patted their head in appreciation.

“Very good.” You nodded turning back and was greeted with a ship, thankfully not a marine ship but an all too familiar ship that housed a man that you never thought you would see just yet. “I hope you two are ready for a fight.”

When the twins had caught sight of the approaching ship, both of them knew what was to come. Making their way down to the sleeping quarters to wake the rest of the crew up to prepare them for what was to come.

Pulling your dagger out, your eyes lingered onto the ship, waiting with bated breath as the crew were making a mad dash up to deck and ready for a fight. You hoped it would come to this but as the first shot was fired you had ordered your crew to attack right back.

“Hey shit heads this is our territory!”

The all too familiar voice of your former lover had you tense. It seems he hasn’t caught sight of you just yet. But your children, they knew exactly who the man was, what the man meant to you and what the man had meant to them even without knowing him personally.

“Dad?” The twins called out in unison to which had halted the clown from his monologue and their ship getting closer to their own.

“The fuck you two twerps talking about?” The clown questioned and only then did you make your way towards your children, hiding them behind you and making sure that Buggy had a perfect line of sight of where you were.

“We don’t want any trouble, Clown.” You spoke, making sure your voice wasn’t shaking for finally seeing him for the first time in almost two decades. “My children are not here to cause you and your crew any trouble.”

“Well if it isn’t Captain Yellow head herself. Long time no see, toots.”

It irked you to see the man held no familiarity with you like you had with him. Maybe it was because you had chosen to stay behind even when he had begged you to come with him or maybe it was the fact that when he had demanded you to choose between him or Shanks, you chose neither of them at the time only to hesitate in choosing Shanks when he had given you the choice to stay instead.

You left him in a very sour note and you truly couldn’t blame him if resentment was well written on his features upon seeing him now after all this years.

“We don’t want any trouble, Captain Buggy.” You began, ignoring your children’s protest for acting passive in such a situation of all times.

As the ship now came into full view, you were certain that the shock was now placed all too evident on the man’s face as his eyes were solely on your children whose more annoyed than anything else at the moment.

“Hey kid, how old are you?” Buggy questioned.

“That’s none of your business, nose face!” Azul snapped even before you could cover his mouth.

“Nose?” Buggy chuckled, but it was far from amusement as he had hopped his way onto your own ship with ease.

You backed away as he tried to approach you, Rosa moving forward and pointing her sword at the man that was left unfazed by her action.

“Go ahead, slice me, kid. Let’s see where it leads you, your Mama, and your brat of a brother.”

“Fuck off!” Azul spat running to block both you and your daughter.

It shook you to the core that Azul was a spitting image of Buggy. The man has also come to realize such fact as he held Azul’s face in his hand. Rosa held onto her sword tighter ready to attack should any harm come towards her brother.

“How old are they?” His attention turned towards you now, waiting for your answer.

“Fifteen.” You answered.

“So they’re the reason why?”

You nodded knowing very well what he means. You held onto your children’s hands, pulling them away from Buggy. Hoping he wouldn’t do anything drastic that would hurt any of them.

“I’m sorry, but it was the only way.”

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve taken from me.”

#buggy smut #buggy the clown smut #buggy d clown smut #shanks smut #akagami no shanks #shanks x you #shanks x y/n #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks one piece #shanks op #op shanks #one piece headcanons #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #op smut #x reader #one piece #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #op buggy #opla buggy #one piece buggy #one piece live action #buggy headcanons #one piece imagine #buggy imagine

[pain-in-the-butler]

Could you give us some good dadbastian fanfic? Oneshots, incomplete, completed anything really, i am starved and need some more food other than coattails(which i love very much!)

Hey there, thanks so much for being a Coattails reader! As an aside, I'm not sure if you're totally caught up or not, but sorry I don't yet have an idea of when the next part will be ready. I only have 4k words written so far and chapter 33 is looking to be another doozy... I'll be sure to keep everyone informed of when we're close 🫡

Anyway, I have no idea if you're like me when it comes to Dadbastian, but I'm pretty particular about what I enjoy. Angst has to play a factor in some form, for instance. I also don't like it when Ciel and Seb are too sappy with each other without it being earned. There's a reason Coattails had like 250k words of build-up before Sebastian actually accepted his Dadbastian fate.

With that in mind, here are my suggestions!

bottom of the deep blue sea by sunflowergiorno Easily one of my favorite Dadbastian fics, hands down. I remember going positively bananas waiting for the second part to come out. It's so gentle and tender and honest. It perfectly showcases the thoughts and feelings I'd hoped for Sebastian and Ciel to have to approach after their experience on the Campania. Words, Strings, and Butterfly Wings by Kimberly_T I love this story so dearly, and it's tragic that it's unfinished. This fic is a retelling of the Circus Arc, in which Ciel and Sebastian must actually pretend to be father and son, sometimes with hilarious results, other times endearing. A major inspiration behind Coattails for sure. I would die for Falco, an original character who to me is more endearing than any of the canon Noah's Ark cast members.

Dadbastian Week Drabbles by HeartLeftovers Nobody does angst like HeartLeftovers, and you'll drink up her poetic language like nectar. My personal favorite is Midnight, but read Magnifying Glass and Domesticated Wolf first for the full impact of the final stanza.

Sensorium by OtherCat Short but sweet. A story about how Sebastian helps Ciel at the beginning of the contract to stop thinking like a boy trapped in a cage. I love that it shows that Sebastian couldn't possibly have frightened Ciel into becoming an earl: he had to actually coax Ciel towards it.

Singing in the Silence by Kimberly_T Another one from Kimberly_T. Not strictly Dadbastian, but a story about the servants learning how to help Ciel with his PTSD in their very own inventive and roundabout way. Heart-meltingly adorable. It's canon to me, dammit.

Front Page News by TheArchaeologist Also not strictly Dadbastian (in fact, Ciel is incapacitated the whole time), but I only need the slightest reason to suggest this Phantomfam-centric fic. Mey-Rin's voice is especially realized. Even though you already know Sebastian, Snake, and Ciel will make it back from the Campania in one piece, you feel the Pham's worry palpably.

Through the Years by Kimberly_T Can you tell yet that I love Kimberly_T? Admittedly, this one I haven't read with perfect thoroughness, but I can tell you that the Dadbastian moments are peak. Ciel hires a new maid, a woman who nearly killed him when he invaded a brothel on a mission for the Queen. Please mind that this involves some discussions of SA. Also mind that the story largely centers around an original character, but no one does OCs like Kimberly.

ad perpetuam memoriam by redrobin1989 Only Dadbastian if you squint, but my god if you haven't read it yet go do it now.

I also have my Dadbastian week drabbles, Cutting Teeth, if you haven't read those! I hope that's given you some food for the time being. Eat up and enjoy!

#kuroshitsuji #dadbastian #fanfic recs #coattails

[megalony]

He's Safe

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine requested by Anon, I hope you like it thank you for the detailed idea. I'm trying to get through all the Eddie requests in my inbox.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefanthefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @missdreamofendless

911 Masterlist

Summary: Whilst on a trip to the park, (Y/n) encounters someone trying to lure away her son, Chris and she hurries to get him back. Suddenly, the park doesn't feel so safe anymore.

Enjoy.

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

A smile tugged at (Y/n)'s lips and she rolled her eyes playfully when she looked down. She could feel Christopher's hands pawing at her hips and reaching up to her arms, desperately trying to take the phone out of her hand and snatch it for himself.

He nudged his nose against her arm and whined, trying again to take the phone from her because he knew who was on the other end. "Dad, I've got to go soon and Chris wants to speak to you. Here, talk to grandad." (Y/n) lowered the phone down and let Chris paw at it, squealing brightly when he held it out and saw his grandad on Facetime.

He pulled out one of the dining room chairs and perched himself down, keeping both hands tightly held onto the phone that he pulled very close to his face so he could see the picture. He hadn't spoken to him since last week and he recognised his voice on the phone straight away. As soon as Chris realised who (Y/n) was talking to, he followed her around the house to try and get the phone from her.

It never mattered who was on the phone, it was usually Eddie and Chris always whined until he got the phone but when it was grandad who lived hundreds of miles away, Chris went mad for the phone.

"Pops, it's me!"

"I know, move the phone back so I can see my handsome young man," Andrew squinted at the screen until Chris finally relented and pulled it back so he was fully in view of the camera and not just his glasses. "There you are! You've grown, haven't you?"

"No," Chris started to laugh and moved his hand to bite down on his thumb as he slumped back in his chair.

"Are you looking after mummy for me?" He lowered his voice and moved his glasses so he could see his grandson a bit clearer. Before they made the big move down to LA, (Y/n) had spent over an hour teaching her dad how to use Facetime on his phone. She didn't want Chris to miss out seeing him or for her dad not to see her or Eddie and Chris.

"Yeah, we going to park, play on swings." Chris had already gotten his shoes on, he was just waiting for (Y/n) to pack her bag ready.

He tilted his head to the side and watched with a grin as (Y/n) slung her bag on her shoulder and walked towards him. She had packed his emergency EpiPen and some snacks for a picnic. (Y/n) always had a change of clothes for emergencies, a teddy and his noise-cancelling headphones in case he got too overwhelmed out in public.

"Ooh, the swings. Not as good as the swings here at Pop's house, eh? Is daddy going?" As soon as Chris started to walk- which was a bit later than normal as his motor skills were delayed- Andrew had gotten a play set in the garden. Two simple swings, a see-saw and a red slide, but it was like a jungle gym to Chris and he loved going to visit his grandad and playing in the garden with him for hours. They were very close.

"No daddy today,"

"No?"

"Eddie's at work dad, he's gotten a few extra shifts this month." (Y/n) leaned down and kissed the top of Chris's head, smiling at her dad on the screen who leaned closer as if it would zoom in the image on his phone.

"I feel like I haven't seen Edmundo in ages, is he alright?"

"Don't worry we're all fine, and don't call him that you know he doesn't like it," She rose her brow sternly at her dad who simply shrugged and grinned at Chris who was in fits of giggles.

He always called Eddie by his full name just because he knew it made Eddie feel like he was back at school and in Andrew's naturally deep voice, it made him feel like he was in trouble. They had a close bond, closer than what Eddie felt with his own father and therefore gaming and trickery was also blended in with their bond.

"We have to go now but I'll call you later, love you."

"Alright, you look after her for me young man, I love you both."

"Bye pops." Chris lifted the phone to hand it back to (Y/n) so she could wave and end the call. Grandad had always been something that was too hard for Chris to say and his delayed speech didn't help matters, but he had found it very easy to say pops. And that had stuck ever since Chris learned to talk. It wasn't easy finding birthday and Christmas cards that still said pops on them which was why (Y/n) tended to make a lot of the cards Chris sent to his grandad.

"Come on then, let's get going to the park."

(Y/n) wrapped an arm around Chris's shoulders a he slipped his hands into his crutches and they left the house. It was a long walk to the park even when Chris varied his speed and sometimes zoomed all the way there, but it was good exercise for him. And if he got too tired they caught the bus back and Chris loved to people-watch.

"We go see pops soon?" He tilted his head up, flashing his signature cheeky smile at his mum as they rounded the corner onto the next street.

"He's going to come down and visit us soon for the first time, you can show him your room."

They had taken a trip back to Texas two months ago to visit her dad, more specifically to give him the news in person that he was going to have another grandchild soon. (Y/n) couldn't tell him over the phone or Facetime, it was something she had to do in person like the first time when they had been expecting Chris. And it meant Chris could see him after six months away from him.

And it had already been agreed and in motion that Andrew was going to come down and stay with them at the end of the pregnancy so he could be there when his second grandchild was born. It meant Chris could show him the house and his room and his school and all the new places he had visited since moving down here.

"School, can show him school,"

"Course you can, he'll be so proud of you."

Leaning down, she wrapped her arms around Chris's shoulders and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek making him giggle. She stayed curved around him until they reached the park they always came to.

Chris liked this park the most because it had proper swings, ones that weren't lopsided or broken or had squeaking, rusty chains. And they had a big oval net swing that he loved to sit in and sway around on. (Y/n) always made sure that if they came to the park, they had the whole afternoon free because it was hard to get Chris to leave and it tired him out if they stayed for a while.

"What are we going on first?"

"Slide," Chris moved to the bench near the left of the play area and let his crutches drop down in front of it. It was a routine to always leave his crutches in the corner so he could meddle and trot around the park and then grab them when they were ready to leave.

(Y/n) followed him to the slide and kept one hand on his back as he climbed up the steps. They were thin and steep and (Y/n) didn't like to let him climb them alone in case he wobbled or slipped down. As soon as he slid down, he was clapping his hands and a bright, bubbly expression came to his face and he went for a second go.

This was the part (Y/n) loved, when Chris would start to gear up and get riddled with excitement for letting off his energy. He gained a lot of sensory feel from being at the park, especially the roundabout which had a small rainbow bench to sit on and it didn't go very fast because it was old. It was perfect for Chris so he didn't feel too sick or dizzy, a great amount of stimulation.

"Swing,"

It was clear by his voice that he was the tiniest bit annoyed that the big net swing was in use already. That was the one he wanted to go on, but the normal swings were free and they would do until Chris could get on the other one.

Reaching over when they got to the swings, (Y/n) hoisted him up onto the seat, making sure he was holding on tight before she started to push him. Chris did help a bit, he swung his legs around and leaned forward a lot to stim, but he was starting to get heavy now he was eight.

"Higher mummy!" Chris tilted his head back to try and look at (Y/n) and his grin widened when (Y/n) tugged the chain back before giving a bit more oomph into her push. If he could, Chris would swing higher and higher until he could touch the clouds and fly with the birds.

He loved it when he had both his dad and his grandad with him at the park because his grandad would stand in front of him and his dad would tilt him back and swing him higher. They would egg each other on and give (Y/n) a fright with how high they could get Chris to go. He knew his mum was a bit more cautious, but she always tried to get him higher and higher.

(Y/n) took a step to the left and caught her breath back, moving her left hand to her protruding stomach while she kept nudging Chris forwards every time he flew back near her. He was as high as she could get him now and he was stimming so much she barely had to push to keep the momentum going.

He started to nod his head back and forth and squealed happily after about five minutes of full-on swinging. But then he started to squeal and jump up and down on the seat until (Y/n) pulled on the chains and slowed him down before he fell off.

"Baby, what are-"

"Swing! Mummy swing," He jumped off as soon as she stopped the swing and she saw where he was heading.

The net swing was free and Chris was determined to get to it first. Even without his crutches, he was as fast as lightning, arms stretched out and legs kicking rapidly to reach the black and blue roped swing.

He grabbed it and leaned his tummy on the rope edge, laughing at his triumph although there were only two other parent and children here at the park.

"Alright baby, up we go."

Holding his hips, (Y/n) lifted him up and watched him shimmy into the middle and flop onto his bum. He slouched back, half sitting, half laying back and held onto the tough rope edge to keep steady like he always did.

The moment (Y/n) started to push the swing, Chris shuffled down and laid on his back with his knees bent up and his arms stretched out holding the rope. His mouth hung open in a wide grin and he stared up at the clouds overhead, watching how the colours and shapes changed as he moved. And every time the swing went forward, he caught a glimpse of his mum behind him, sticking her tongue out and pulling funny faces at him just to see him laugh.

(Y/n) could feel her arms starting to flag and her lungs burned from how long Chris had been sat in the swing. If he could, she knew he would stay here all day.

It was such a sensory feel for him to be swaying like this, feeling the breeze on his skin and the way his head felt woozy and tilted back and forth. His tummy rumbled up and down and he loved it, like he was going up and down hills on a bumpy car ride. He had been in the swing for ages by now and it was starting to get tiring for (Y/n).

"Sweetheart, let's go have our picnic now."

"No. Swing, mummy swing," Chris stayed laid down in the swing, even when (Y/n) let it naturally slow to a stop.

"I'm starting to get tired and the baby is getting hungry. I promise you can come back on this one before we leave."

He sat up with a grin and nodded, holding out his arms so she could pick him up and settle him down on his feet again. As long as he could have another turn later, he wouldn't make a fuss. (Y/n) only hoped she could get him off the swing later when it was time to leave. Eddie normally distracted him with something if he wouldn't be agreeable.

Last time they had all been at the park, Eddie pretended he got an important phone call and started to walk away. Chris soon hopped off the swing and followed after him to find out who he was talking to. Distracting was always the best way to go about getting Chris to finish a game or project or get ready to go home if he was in one of his stubborn moods.

Once he was on his feet, Chris pointed to the bench where his crutches were and started off to go sit down.

"Baby one second," (Y/n) turned back and leaned over to grab her bag that she had slumped down next to the swing pole. It had gotten hard pushing Chris, carrying the heavy shoulder bag and the six-month bump weighing down on her abdomen.

She grabbed the bag from the floor and quickly rummaged around to find the pack up box she'd stuffed in there earlier. She did remember the juice box didn't she?

Her fingers curled around the rectangle juice box and she smiled to herself; all Hell would break loose if she forgot that. But when her eyes lifted and she took a few steps in the direction of the bench, she frowned.

Where was Chris?

Her feet paused mid-walk and her hand tightened around the juice box as her eyes scanned round. He knew they were having their picnic now, why was he pushing his luck trying to go on another game before dinner? Her eyes immediately went to the slide, but it was empty. The roundabout was in use but Chris wasn't on it, nor was he waiting near it or approaching the man to ask him if he could also get on the roundabout.

Just as (Y/n) felt a cold hand curling around her heart and fear gripping her neck, her eyes set on the all too familiar mop of brown curls.

There he was, but who was he with?

He was leaving the park. A couple were standing on either side of him, a woman holding his hand and a man with his hand on Chris's back, both of them guiding him. Who the Hell were they? What did they think they were doing?

It wasn't anyone (Y/n) knew, none of her friends would just straight up walk Chris away from her, they weren't that cruel or stupid to panic her like that. And (Y/n) didn't have any family here in LA, the only family she had were Chris and her father and he was back in Texas. And most of Eddie's family, apart from his Abuela, were all in Texas too and that certainly wasn't Abuela guiding Chris away.

Someone was taking him.

"Christopher!" His name flew past her lips in a desperate shout, knowing he always answered answered or at least looked at her when she used his full name on him. And as she expected, his head turned to the right in her direction. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning or crying or pulling one of his unnerved faces either. His head tilted to the side and his lips pursed before he reached an arm out as if wanting to signal to her that he wanted to be with her, not whoever was talking to him.

(Y/n) set off in a run. Despite the burning in her lungs, the weight in her abdomen or the dread in her stomach that made her feel sick, she ran faster than she ever had. Her feet cut into the tarmac leaving indents in her wake and her heels scuffed against the grass when she left the tarmac park and aimed over the green for her boy.

They had noticed her, they started to walk quicker, trying to drag Chris along with them but he was now confused.

Panicked repetitions of 'mummy' and 'nope' left his lips, telling (Y/n) he was uneasy and starting to get distressed.

"Christopher! Stop!" A flurry of words past (Y/n)'s lips until she was screaming his name in a mix of 'get off' and 'fire'. It had always been drilled into (Y/n) that if she was in a bad situation and wanted bystander attention, she should shout something strange like fire because it attracted panic and attention whereas people sometimes ignored 'help'.

She wasn't sure what to do when she got close to them, did she grab Chris and pull back? Did she try and tackle the two of them down? Did she punch and kick and hit them to get them away from her precious son? What on Earth was she supposed to do in a situation like this?

She couldn't slow herself down when she reached their fast pace and all (Y/n) could manage to do was turn to her side and barell her shoulder into the woman's back, effectively knocking her down to her knees.

(Y/n) could feel stars forming in front of her eyes and her trembling arms baracaded around Chris and coiled him to her chest. His fingers dug into her arm and he leaned his head into her cleavage, pushing as close to her protruding stomach as he could manage. He went to jelly in his mother's arms and let her drag him two feet back until the man had no choice but to let go of Chris and take a cautious step away.

"What were you doing with my son? Who the Hell are you?!" Her shaking hand moved up to fist in Chris's curls and she kissed his forehead, swaynig unsteadily on her feet.

She could feel eyes watching them and a few murmurs started to get louder as bypassers noticed the scene unfolding.

"What were you doing?!" She almost screamed at them, shaking with fury despite feeling Chris dig his nails into her arm and whimper into her chest. She was frightening him, he didn't understand what was happening or why she was angry. Was she angry at him? Had he done something wrong? Why was everyone upset and confusing?

"Nothing, nothing."

"Who are you? You clearly wanted my son for something- For fuck's sake!" (Y/n) stomped her foot down like an angered child when the couple took off in a sprint across the green.

They tried to kidnap him. There was no other explanation for them hurrying away with him and then fleeing when (Y/n) caught up with them and demanded to know what they were up to. Why Chris? Why choose Chris of the few other children at the playground? Why try and take a child from his mother when he was clearly happy and safe? Why take a child with special needs? They had to know they wouldn't be able to look after him or know his needs and wants.

If they took him and gave him food with milk in he could have had an allergic reaction and if they didn't have his EpiPen he could of died.

They could have gotten so much further with him if (Y/n) didn't look up quickly enough. They could have passed through the bushes and got into a car and fled with him. (Y/n) might not have gotten him back.

"Mummy…?"

Everything started to spin until (Y/n) had no choice but to drop down onto her knees on the grass and steady herself on Chris.

Her hands moved to cup his face and she kissed his cheek before she smoothed her fingers over his skin, looking for any sign of injury or distress. They didn't have time to hurt him but they could have threatened him or frightened him in some way before she got to them.

"Baby are you alright? What were they doing, what did they say to you?" Her hands smoothed up and down his arms and over his chest at least three times until she was satisfied he wasn't hurt.

"They had choc cookie, gave me one." Chris reached out to point towards the cookie he dropped a few feet away when they rushed him to walk.

"They offered you cookies?"

"Hm, said go with them and get cookies… said they were friends. Why you crying?"

When Chris brushed his finger beneath her eye and rubbed away a tear, (Y/n) couldn't stop herself from bursting into tears. She wound her arms back around his waist and pulled him into her chest, repeatedly kissing his cheek to try and calm herself down.

"Baby, oh baby… we don't take stuff from strangers, you're not in trouble I promise, they just scared mummy. Some people aren't very nice, you just stay with me or daddy, whoever brings you out, you stay with them. Okay?"

Chris didn't have stranger awareness. He thought everyone he met could be a friend. He loved all the people at station 118, he thought of them all as family and friends and he was always saying hello to people in the street or asking people if he could pet their dogs. He didn't grasp that there were some people who weren't to be trusted, Chris gave trust willingly because it was the kind of loving heart he was.

"Miss, miss are you okay? We're on the phone to the police…"

(Y/n) looked over at a young couple who were stood a few feet away, pointing to their phone. They heard the commotion and dialled for the police to be safe, it certainly looked like a kidnapping in broad daylight.

"We're okay… they didn't hurt him. Thank you,"

She wasn't waiting around for the police. Not yet, not right now when Chris was unsettled and confused and she felt like she was going to be sick. (Y/n) wanted to go home. She wanted to be safe inside her own home with the doors locked and Chris within her sights.

She wanted Eddie.

She could go to the police station tomorrow and tell them what happened, but not right now.

"Come on baby, we're going home now."

"No, picnic and swings," Chris pointed over towards the park but (Y/n) could barely hear him over the blood pounding in her ears. They weren't staying, not for anything. (Y/n) wasn't staying here and risking those people coming back or seeing her and Chris and following them home. She was frightened beyond belief and she was going straight home.

"No baby, home now."

(Y/n) didn't wait for a response or Chris's confused reply, she hooked her arms around his middle and lifted him up off his feet. The sickness bubbling in her stomach died down a little when she felt her son's arms curl around her neck and his legs hooked around her hips. With her bump in the way, (Y/n) had to sit him lower down on her hip than normal and it meant Chris had one leg twitching and swinging against her bum but she didn't care.

His heavy weight was calming and soothing in her arms, it told her that he was okay and she hadn't lost him.

She kept her eyes on the floor to avoid the concerned gazes of the few other parents in the park who didn't seem to dare approach or ask what was going on. She balanced Chris on her hip and leaned down to grab his crutches before she set off in a brisk walk home.

After ten minutes, Chris started to become very heavy but (Y/n) didn't dare let him go just yet. She rubbed her hand up and down his back when he started to hum and nuzzle his face into her neck. He wanted to stim, he was clearly anxious but being cuddled and carried like this was calming him down at the same time.

By the time they reached home, (Y/n) felt like she was about to keel over and collapse. Her lungs were starved of oxygen, her mind was fuzzy and the rest of her body was aching. But she juggled her bag, Chris and his crutches as she stumbled into the house and bolted the door behind her.

Her arms went numb when she finally let Chris drop down to his feet and her back clicked horribly when she straightened up. She shouldn't have carried him all the way home or walked as fast as she did but even catching the bus didn't feel safe. All (Y/n) wanted was to be home safe and sound with her boy.

"Let's get your dinner sorted," She guided Chris into the living room and let him put on the tv while she got the picnic out of her bag. She set the box down with all his snacks and sandwiches in and got his juice box ready.

While she was there, (Y/n) took out the dinosaur toy she took out with her for an emergency and placed it next to him on the sofa.

(Y/n) let herself drop down into the armchair and she slumped down like she was about to slide down to the floor. Her trembling hands moved to cover her face and she took shallow breaths, forcing away the tears so she didn't upset or disturb Chris. She needed to call Eddie, she had to talk to him and tell him what had happened and hope that his voice would calm her down enough to get through the day until he came home tonight.

She could see Chris wasn't going to eat all of his lunch, he was picking and choosing what to nibble on when he usually ate everything in sections. Sandwich first, then fruit, then biscuits but he was diving in taking bites of everything and throwing them back down, half eaten and unfinished. He wasn't happy, he was unsettled and worried and (Y/n) couldn't do anything to make him feel better. She had ruined his routine and he couldn't understand why.

"Here, look, have some music for a while baby while I go tidy up. You can have a bubble bath soon and a pamper afternoon, how about that?"

It was a relief when he seemed to smile at the idea although he didn't say anything.

He stayed still and let (Y/n) find his dinosaur headphones and she slipped them over his ears and turned on his Ipod. In an instant Chris got up and grabbed his toy and started to shimmy and sway to the upbeat music blasting through his ears. Music was always a sure fire way to calm him down and make him feel better.

(Y/n) stood in the corner of the kitchen near the fridge and got her phone out, making sure she could still keep Chris within her sights.

"Ola mi amor, everything okay?"

"Can you talk for a minute?" (Y/n) knew he could hear the way her voice broke and she pressed her hand against her mouth to smother a cry. She didn't want Chris to hear and become panicked or for her to lose her control on the phone to Eddie and panic him at work. She shouldn't even be calling him right now but she had to before she went insane.

"Mi amor what's happened, are you alright?"

"We went to the park… I looked away for one minute, that was it just a minute I swear and, a- someone tried t-to take Chris."

"Take him? What do you mean take him, like grab him and run?" Eddie raked a hand through his hair as he felt his lungs shrivelling up. "Fuck! Where are you, is he alright? Baby, fuck talk to me baby-"

"They offered him cookies, he was confused, I- I shouted and t-they tried to leave with him. I got him, I grabbed him and they ran off. Eddie if I was two seconds later, I…" Tears burned down her face as another sob got stuck in her throat. It was frightening to think that two mere seconds could have lost her Chris. Two seconds later and (Y/n) would be having a whole other conversation with Eddie.

She would have been calling him, frantic and screaming that someone had snatched their son and she couldn't find him. An extra second or two would have lost Chris and he could have gotten hurt or traumatised.

"But you're both alright, aren't you?"

"We're okay, he's upset, he doesn't know why I brought him home early. I'm sorry if I've freaked you out but I couldn't, I needed to talk to you, I don't know what to do."

"Do you need me to come home, cos I can tell Cap and leave right now- I am, I'm coming home, fuck this. I'm leaving-" He didn't want to stay on shift now she had told him what happened. Eddie wanted to run home to his wife and son and make sure they were alright. He wanted them in his arms to reassure himself that Chris was truly okay and didn't feel upset about what he had gone through. And he wanted his wife pulled into his chest so he could calm her down.

"No, baby no don't leave. You don't have long left, don't, it's not an emergency. I swear he's fine, he might have a meltdown later, he's stimming like mad but he is okay."

(Y/n) could see the way Chris was stimming right now, he was becoming frantic with how he was waving his free hand out at his side and rocking back and forth so bad he was about to fall over. His other arm had his teddy pinned to his chest and his thumb in his mouth and every few seconds, he would lean forward and kick his leg out behind him in some odd mix between dancing and stimming.

She was sure at some point he was going to have a meltdown to release his confusion and backed up energy. But he was alright, Eddie didn't need to come home. He had picked up these extra shifts so when the baby came they would be alright with him taking some time off.

He didn't have to come home, he should stay while he could. In case they had any proper emergencies soon like the baby coming early or Chris having an accident or something going wrong at school.

She just needed to hear his voice.

***

"No dad I swear he's fine, I- dad Eddie's home now, he's here you can talk to him." (Y/n) held the phone against her ear and swiped her hand beneath her eyes to catch the fallen tears.

She had been on the phone with her dad for almost an hour now. At first, she tried not to tell him, he called right when Chris wasn't exactly settling for bed and she gave the phone to Chris. Her dad worked wonders reading a story over the phone and Chris fell asleep but as soon as he asked what was wrong, (Y/n) broke.

Nothing had worked calming her down for the rest of the day and Chris had had a meltdown after she came off the phone to Eddie and then refused to eat his tea. The only thing that settled him was being in the bath for over an hour, playing with his cups and bubble machine.

Eddie dropped his bag by the door, not bothering to kick his shoes off like he normally did as he bolted into the living room towards his wife. He barely had time to open his arms before (Y/n) attached herself to him like a vine. Her arm coiled around his lower chest and she buried her face in his chest as she held her other hand out to pass him the phone.

He glanced at the caller ID and curved his other arm around (Y/n)'s waist, leaning his cheek on top of her head as he squeezed her against him.

"Andrew, yeah it's me… I know, I've spoken to a Sergeant at the station today, she said we can make a statement tomorrow. Can I call you back?" Eddie rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s back but he could feel how tightly her fingers were digging into his hips. And he didn't want to have this long conversation right now, not with the afternoon they had all had.

He had talked to Bobby as soon as he came off the phone with (Y/n) and he gave Eddie Athena's number. She had been very helpful and understanding and said she could come and talk to (Y/n) about a statement in the morning.

When he hung up the phone, Eddie tossed it on the sofa and curled his fingers into the back of (Y/n)'s hair, breathing softly against her forehead as he pulled her impossibly closer.

"Are you okay, how's he been?" He moved towards the sofa and sat down, pulling (Y/n) along with him so she was laid between his thighs. Her head rested on his shoulder and her arms stayed tight around his hips and her eyes fell closed, nuzzled into Eddie's neck.

"I think I scared him when I shouted after them, he didn't know why I was upset… Eddie, if I didn't look up in time-"

"Hey, you got him back that's all that matters. Athena's coming round in the morning to talk to us but for now, he's safe. You're both safe."

Eddie slouched back into the sofa and propped his heels up on the coffee table, managing a smile when (Y/n) shuffled round in his arms. She kept her head on his shoulder and her arms bound around his torso and lifted her legs up so they were laid out over his thigh. His right arm stayed curved around her waist, his hand on her stomach and his left hand moved to cup her face and pull her closer until he could kiss her temple.

He knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight; he could feel the hour-long conversation he would be having with his father-in-law soon and he doubted (Y/n) would sleep well. And between that, Eddie wanted to go and check on Chris for a while and make sure he was sound asleep and alright. Sleep wasn't going to be their friend for a while now.

He managed to close his eyes after a while and tilt his head down so his nose and mouth were smothered in (Y/n)'s hair, breathing in her scent. His fingertips feathered up and down her side when he felt (Y/n)'s breaths start to even out and her body started to relax against him.

He tried to be slow and careful, not wanting to move (Y/n) as he reached into his pocket and got his phone out.

"Eddie," (Y/n) brushed her nose against his neck and kissed his shoulder, feeling like she was about to drop off to sleep and when she tried to open her eyes and see what he was doing on his phone, she couldn't keep her eyes open.

"Sh, go to sleep mi amor."

He kept his lips against her forehead and started to scroll down an app on his phone. Thinking about his impending phone call with Andrew made something spark in the back of Eddie's mind and he found himself scrolling over swing sets. He knew Chris favoured the swings he had at his grandad's house and the main reason they went to the park was for the swings.

They needed some swings in the back garden because one thing was certain; they weren't going to the park anymore.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #imagine #pregnant! reader #911 imagine #911 fox