#i was expecting so much tragedy and received so much hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

romanoffsdarling · 7 months

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Later Never Comes

Pairing: CEO!Silver-Fox!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your love for her knew no bounds, but there’s only so long you can hold on— only so many empty promises you can stand— before you finally have to let go. Before you finally realize that later may never become real.

Word Count: 4,779

Warnings: G!P Wanda, legal age gap, brief oral (R receiving), dirty (and slightly possessive) talk, mommy kink, slightly rough sex, neglect, and angst (with a bittersweet ending). 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I know I promised a second part to Summertime Sadness and Time To Say (Goodbye), but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I hope you can forgive me!

Great love always ends in tragedy.

That’s the saying, right? A stupid one if you had anything to say about it. What’s so great about love if it only ends in heartbreak? If you don’t end up with the person that makes your entire being thrum? If everything that had once been so colorful is suddenly black-and-white due to their absence?

Is the love great due to the story? To the emotions, the events, that occur throughout its long winded saga? Or is it great because it was doomed from the start? Because, even though it’d end one way, two people were still willing to fight the odds, to fight fate, even if they’d never end up winning.

You’re not sure, nor do you care, because there’s no way a love of that kind could be anything except terrible— except bone-chillingly agonizing in the way you’d have to figure out how to move on without it. Figure out how to be without the person that made everything make sense, that made you feel like the person you were always meant to be.

Even if it’s been years since you’ve seen her, years since you’ve felt her lips against yours, an elegantly lithe body pressed to your own, and the sweet scent of sandalwood and lavender mixed perfectly in your nose, you haven’t been able to figure that out. Haven’t been able to get her out of your system, no matter how much you may try.

How could you? When you’ve loved, and been loved by, Wanda Maximoff?

[Past]

“I’m just saying she’s been interested to meet you since she saw our group picture from Fiji.” Your best friend, Agatha, relayed, jovially leading you towards the small, yet upscale, café that Wanda Maximoff— CEO of Scarlet Entertainment— agreed to meet you. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie. Especially one that came about due to my own propensity to lose bets with that witch.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m just not sure what exactly this meeting is supposed to be about. I just graduated college, I barely have any experience under my belt.”

“But you have me as a mentor,” she rebukes, a small smirk on her lips. “And that’s all that you need to get into Wanda’s head.”

“Ah, yes.” You roll your eyes, amusement welling within your chest. “How could I forget about your age-old rivalry?”

“Don’t phrase it like that. Makes me sound old.” Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours, eyes narrowed.

“And mentor doesn’t?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. “That makes me sound wise.”

“And what does wisdom come from again?”

You’re just able to dodge the swat directed at your arm, a bright smile tugging your lips upward, as you finally enter the quaint café— the aromatic smell of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and something slightly citrusy, hits you all at once. A combination that shouldn’t have worked as well it did.

Once you placed your order— a simple coffee with your usual additions— you turned back to Agatha with an expectant expression. “Anything I should know about this meetings, Ags?”

She shakes her head, tendrils of brown hair escaping the haphazard bun she had thrown them in. “You’re here.” Agatha hands you the drink the barista had just put beside you, a wane smile on her lips. “That’s the important part to achieve for any date.”

Your steps stutter, nearly causing you to trip into a nearby table. “W-What?” Widened eyes meet Agatha’s unaffected one, a certain level of calmness that you found irritating. “What do you mean date? I thought this was a meeting?”

Agatha waves her hand. “Lunch meeting, lunch date. Means the same thing in the end.” She shoulders her purse, clearly not planning on staying any longer than she has to. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a catch. Maximoff would have to be a bigger idiot than I think she already is if she lets you go.”

Before you’re able to respond, Agatha places a chaste kiss to your cheek, offers one last cheeky wink, and saunters her way out of the café, leaving you completely alone. You’re honestly tempted to just abandon ship and get out of dodge— you weren’t good on dates, let alone blind dates. Something your best friend is well aware of, and would definitely be getting in an earful about this later.

However, before you’re able to make a concrete decision on your exit strategy, a husky voice speaks up from behind you.

“Are you Y/N?”

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen stood in front of you when you turned around: long auburn hair, speckled with the beginning signs of gray, paired perfectly with the sharp emerald green of her gaze. An elegantly lithe body, encased in a form-fitting suit, tailored made to enhance every perfect curve, relaxed in a way that almost seemed arrogant— if it was for the confidence that exudes from her very being.

“Yes.” Your brain finally catches up with you, remembering the question she had asked. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A small smile catches full lips, a slender hand grasping your own in a firm shake. “Wanda Maximoff.” Green eyes trail down your body. “And, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

The months that followed the blind date went by in a blur. You could honestly say that you’ve never met anyone else like Wanda Maximoff— a woman that personified ice and fire. Watching her work— whether it be as you’re lounged on her large leather sectional, laptop balanced on her lap as slender fingers gently stroke your back, or she’s pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear; voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance, underlined by a calm collectiveness that never failed to make you swoon— was an art form in itself, but being able to see the woman that appeared at the end of the day?

Where an icy facade of professionalism melts into warm smile and gentle eyes. Sharp words being replaced by sweet nothings and gentle humming.

In Wanda’s arms you’ve found a place you never even knew you were missing— home. You had a couple relationships in the past, but none of them made you feel the way Wanda does; all paling in comparison to the beautiful Sokovian.

The one thing you hadn’t expected upon beginning to date the older woman was how insatiable she was— not that you were complaining— but Wanda needed to have you as often as she could. Taking you the bedroom of your apartment, the various rooms in her penthouse, in her office within Scarlet Entertainment, hell even in the back of a limo on the way to an event. Wanda needed to have you and you needed to have her right back.

Another little thing you’ve learned about her? Or, you should say, not so little? The Sokovian sported an extra appendage that had quickly become your new best friend— not that you were going to tell Agatha that— who seemed to want you as much as Wanda did.

Which is how you found yourself where you are now— on your back, thighs clamped around Wanda’s head, as she thoroughly ate you out on the couch of her office.

“Yes.” You arch sharply, a sob being torn from your throat as Wanda’s tongue plunges even deeper into you. Your girlfriend hums happily at the sound, the vibrations sending a shockwave across your clit, and another wave of wetness gushes out of you— something that Wanda is all too happy to lap up. She had told you on more than one occasion, after she spent hours upon hours between your thighs, that you beat out even the finest of wines to her. “Please. I need you.”

With clear reluctance to leave, Wanda pulls back and easily settles on top of you. Lips and chin shining lewdly in the dim lighting of her office, darkened emerald eyes sparkling even brighter.

“You taste great, detka.” She lowers her head, offering her tongue for you to suck on. Giving you a taste of yourself, mixed intoxicatingly with her own natural one. “Could spend hours eating up your perfect pussy, but that’s not what you want, huh?” She jerks her hips, rubbing her cock against your wetness. “You want mommy to be inside you, right? Want her to stretch you out and make you scream?” Another roll of her hips causes you to arch, a breathless gasp leaving you, but Wanda doesn’t relent. “Answer me, detka. Be my good girl and I’ll give you what you crave. What do you want mommy to do?”

“Fuck me.” The cry is practically wrenched from your chest, a deep felt plea for her to just plunge into you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that she hasn’t been able to accomplish that already. “I want you to slam your cock into my pussy and make me yours, mommy. I want your cock to make my pussy its own, to shape me in its image.”

A deep, almost rumbling, snarl erupts from Wanda in response, her hips snapping forward and you’re finally filled; stretched out so fucking perfectly, an obscene slurp echoed across the room the moment Wanda’s hips met your own. She hadn’t made you cum with her mouth, but you had been so close, she had given you a mini orgasm just by entering— a feat that brings a smug smile to Wanda’s lips.

“You feel that, detka.” She takes your hand and brings it down to the slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “That’s my cock ruining you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to fill you the way I do, make you scream yourself hoarse.” Wanda snaps her hips forward after a shallow pull-back, giving out a satisfied hum at the feeling of your slick walls pressed around her. “Your pussy belongs to me, your pleasure belongs to me, and you belong to me.”

Wanda lowers her head, lips pressed firmly to your own, giving you even more of a taste of yourself than before, as her tongue practically fucks your mouth while her cock fucks your pussy. When she detaches her lips from yours, only a thin trail of saliva is left, before she’s far enough away for it to snap.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh permeates the air, an occasional grunt or moan intercepting it, and you’d be concerned about the noise level if Wanda hadn’t sent Peter, her assistant, home early— having planned to have you like this from the very moment she had invited you over.

“Just like that, mommy. Keep fucking me like that,” you babble, drunk on pleasure as Wanda kept driving her hips forward, one slender finger roughly rubbing your clit in time with each thrust. It’s of no surprise that you find your release quickly after, gushing over Wanda’s cock.

The tight contractions around her cock— as your second orgasm was much more powerful than your first— causes Wanda to groan, hips stuttering in their brutal pace. It’s clear that she was close, sweat slicked brow, causing strands of silver hair to cling to fair skin, but she obviously wanted you to come one last time— to be tossed over the edge with her.

With a shake breath, Wanda roughly brings you to the brink of your third orgasm, not even giving you time to fully get through the second. “One more, detka. You’ve got one more in you for mommy.” She dips her head, lips tenderly brushing across your forehead. “And when you come around mommy’s cock, I’m gonna fill you up like the good girl you are. Would you like that?”

You nod, practically whining. “Yes. Please.”

The older woman snarls once more, clearly affected by the look on your face, and, before you’re even aware of it, you’re crashing over the edge again— a cry of Wanda’s name passing over your lips as you spasm around her. Barely being able to catch Wanda’s own groan in response: “Yes.”

Jets of her cum paint your inner walls white, warming you up. It’s a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to— or want to get used to, if you’re being honest.

Once she’s spent, Wanda gently lowers herself onto your still slightly spasming body, lips pressed softly against your cheek. “You did so good. So perfect for me. My beautiful girl.”

You happily nuzzle into Wanda’s neck, eyes drooping out of contented exhaustion. “I love you.”

You’re too out of it to feel Wanda stiffen in surprise, or to really understand what you had just whispered, but you are aware of Wanda’s arms tightening around you, her lips pressing more firmly against your skin, as she cuddles you closer to her.

And, as you begin to drift off completely, happy in Wanda’s arms, you faintly feel Wanda exhale across the shell of your ear, a shaky breath, uncharacteristic for the older woman, before her soft voice breaks through the silence: “I love you too. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”

[A Few Months Later…]

“How many do you want?”

It’s asked softly, one of Wanda’s hand gently running up-and-down your back in a soothing motion. Her lips pressed against the crown of your head, your face nuzzled against the crook of her neck, a place you don’t feel like leaving anytime soon.

“How many what?” You snuggle closer, delighted in the way her arms tighten instinctively. “I want a lot of things, Wands.”

Wanda huffs out a light chuckle. “Children, Y/N. How many children do you want?”

You stiffen in surprise at the question— Wanda hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t plan on having kids. That she didn’t think she’d make a good mother due to her childhood and her busy lifestyle, but you also know that your girlfriend wouldn’t ask something unless she’s serious about the answer. Something you’ve figured out after all these months together. Regrettably, you pull your face away from the warm nest it had made so you’re able to look at her, and Wanda met your eyes calmly, sharp green softened in a way that’s only ever meant for you.

“What’s this about, Wanda?” You roll your lips, trying to process your next words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

Emerald eyes flash warmly. “I didn’t want a lot of things, Y/N.” She easily tugs you back into her arms, lips pressed to your forehead. “But that was all before I met you.”

Touched by her words— and the clear sincerity within them— you decide to just bite the bullet, there wasn’t a point in delaying your answer. Especially if Wanda expected it.

“Two.” A gentle kiss is placed to her collarbone. “I want two boys. Twins.”

She breathes out another chuckle. “Twins, huh?” Maneuvering you both, you’re suddenly pressed against the mattress, Wanda hovering over you, smile still in place, with a familiar hardness nestled between your thighs. “That seems like something we’d have to get just right, correct?”

Even though it’s posed as question, you can tell that Wanda meant it rhetorically. That she already knew the answered you’d both settle on— an answer you always agreed upon.

Wiggling your hips, grinning mischievously at the sharp gasp that leaves Wanda’s lips at the added pressure, you throw your arms loosely around her neck.

“Yes.” You pull her closer, lips millimeters from her own. “I think it’s something we’re going to have practice quite a bit.”

Not needing any more prompting Wanda descends onto you with a ravenous hunger. One that you’re all too happy to match.

You can’t wait to experience your future if this is what’ll be waiting for you there.

The phone is cold against your overheated flesh— a concoction of anger and disappointment courses through you like lava.

“Wanda—” You pinch the bridge of your nose to stem the tide of anger. “This is the eighth time this week alone. What the hell am I supposed to tell the caterers? Again.”

A soft sigh resounds through the speaker. “Just tell them that I won’t be able to make it, Y/N.” The response, in a clearly distracted tone, does little to ease your growing ire. “I know you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I don’t want to handle it, Wanda. This is our wedding, I’d like for you to also have a say in it.” From the time on the clock, you didn’t have much time left to leave the penthouse. Not if you wanted to get to the appointment on time. “I’ve been planning this entire thing by myself, I want your help. I want to hear your opinions. I want you.”

To care goes without words, but you’re certain it rings out just the same. You had been so happy when Wanda had suddenly proposed, seemingly out of the blue. Though wasn’t that the point? Taking you to a rooftop restaurant, which she had rented out, and offered you the rare chance of getting to taste her impeccable cooking; all dishes she had learned from her mother back in Sokovia. It had been a night you’d forever cherish, memories forever ingrained in your heart: the way the stars made the green in Wanda’s eyes sparkle more, the subtle wind allowing you to be surrounded by her comforting scent, the bright smile she had given you when she dropped down to one knee, and the happy laugh that had escaped her when you said yes. It had been a fairytale, everything you had ever wanted.

Until you realized your Disney fairytale was beginning to turn into Brothers Grimm.

“You have me, Y/N.” Wanda lets out another sigh. “Look, I can’t keep talking the investors for the meeting just arrived and I need to get prepared. I promise that I’ll go over everything you discuss later, okay? I love you.”

“Wanda—”

You’re only met with the sound of the dial tone, barely getting the chance to reply before being hung up on, and the familiar aching sense of silence that follows— a hollow sound that distantly reminded you of what your heart has become.

It hadn’t always been like this. The penthouse, upon your first visit, had been cold, lifeless in a way that seemed almost inhuman, but slowly it had livened up— been filled with a sense of warmth and peace. Of love. It had been a place you could go to when you just needed an escape from the rest of the world, when you needed to be surrounded by things that remind you of the woman you love.

Now it’s suffocating in a way that you never wished for it to be.

You’re aware that Wanda is a busy woman— had been aware of it before your first date occurred— but she had always at least tried to be there. Always left you feeling like you were at least on the list of things that mattered, you didn’t necessarily need to be at the direct top; not when she had so many things to content with already. But, you’ve felt like nothing more than an afterthought lately.

Gentle kisses in the morning turned to brief parting words as she made her way quickly out the door.

Soft smiles, and inside jokes, turned to barely there quirks of full lips, and stretched out silences.

The warmth of her hold, the safety you felt from her touch, turned to an icy chill as she left you to the cold air— you don’t even remember when the last time was that you had been together properly. Since you had woken up in her arms.

You didn’t need a lot, you didn’t need all of her time, but you wanted to feel like you still mattered— that everything you have isn’t just another thing Wanda had marked off on her checklist of things to do before she turns 55.

Checking the time, a small curse leaves your lips once you realize that you’re going to be late, and, with one final glance towards the empty penthouse, you make your way out the door— hoping that the growing chill you feel isn’t indicative of a love grown cold.

Silence had become your greatest friend in the weeks that followed. The one thing that you’ve grown to count on as Wanda’s schedule only seemed to get busier and busier— hell, your relationship with her personal assistant had grown to the point that he’s been calling you by your first name now. Instead of the usually nervous ma’am or Ms. L/N.

Wedding appointments had come and gone, all of them spent alone, with Wanda barely perusing the choices that had been made before crashing out of sheer exhaustion. Conversation had grown stilted due to her own growing ire at you consistent worry— although she labeled it as nagging. That she’s been running her business for over thirty years, and she’s been doing fine.

Even now, on New Years Eve, as the clock moved ever closer to midnight, you were completely alone— expansive shadows, that seemed darker somehow, stretched out towards you like ghastly fingers, trying to tear whatever semblance of comfort you’ve found away. You’re not sure what you had been expecting, not even sure if you’d truly believed that Wanda would show herself, but you can’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped.

Hoped that today, of all days, would be different. That you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, within your own life, within your own home.

Fanciful musings and hopes of a lovestruck fool.

The small chirp of an incoming message pulls you from your reverie, a bright smile appearing instantly at the sight of who it’s from, before withering away once you read it: Sorry, I won’t be able to make it home tonight. Going to the Hamptons to meet some new business partners. I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I love you.

You don’t bother to send a message back— what could you possibly say? Yet another promise had been thrown to the wayside by the older woman. Even if it was just a cursory, and unspoken, one being as simple as not leaving your fiancé alone on New Years. Or waiting until the last minute to actually say anything about it.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, an acidic twang settling over your tongue, as bitterness seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning your heart and soul. You knew what you needed to do, have known since this had become your new normal, but hadn’t had the strength, or the courage, to make it a reality. Until now.

Until the heartbreak, the suffering, has become as close of a friend to you as the oppressive silence.

And, as the door to the penthouse gently closed behind you, never to be opened by your hand again, you feel a sense of bone-deep sorrow settle over you. For everything that could have been, for what you had hoped for, and all that you now had to live without. You could just step back inside, hide or destroy the letter, and Wanda would never know. She’d never find out how close you had been to giving up, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Could no longer gather up the power to keep fighting for something that’s been lost long ago— no matter how much your heart screams at it not being true.

Tears gather in your eyes as you take another step away from the door, away from the place you’ve lived in for the last two years, and your heart breaks with every step. But, it breaks even more at the knowledge that you were leaving your true home behind too— that doing this would destroy everything you have with Wanda, never to be salvaged. The penthouse may be expensive, and it may be beautiful, but it’d never be home to you like Wanda; it’d never offer you the same feeling of protection like her arms did.

You’ve been shut out of your home for months now, and being left out in the cold has finally frozen your heart enough for you to be able to do this. No matter how much more it was going to hurt once it thaws once more.

Shouldering your duffel bag, the only thing you’ve allowed yourself to bring, you step into the private elevator and press the button for the lobby. Hands tightening around the strap of the bag, trying to ignore the way your ring finger no longer felt the familiar press of metal against it as you do so.

It was time to look forward, to finally make your own laters, the things you had been pushing off, become an actuality.

Even if you wanted nothing more than to have never needed to say goodbye to Wanda Maximoff in the first place.

Losing the ring was one thing, but losing the love of your life?

It’s a wound you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to recover from.

[Present]

“Mom?” The small voice catches your attention, your eyes focused back in to see bright eyes, twin grins being sported between the pair. “Can we still get hot chocolate?”

Billy and Tommy had come into your life when you needed them to most— a blessing that you’d definitely been searching for after everything imploded with Wanda. And, even if how they were conceived didn’t lend itself to a happy tale, you’d never change a thing. They were your twin miracles. Your beautiful baby boys— even if they were eight years old now.

“I thought you decided to get caramel popcorn instead?” You poke Billy’s side gently, delighted in the giggle the actions caused. “That’s what you both told me at the theater.”

Tommy’s eyes widened dramatically, in full puppy-dog mode. “But that was before you took us past our favorite store.” He points to the small café only a few feet away— one that you frequented with the twins when you could find the time. A place that you hadn’t even realized you’d be leading them towards. “Can we please get hot chocolate.”

The twins chime in unison: “Please.”

You chance a glance towards the café— deliberating your options— but you know that you’re going to cave. After all, the reason you had gone to the movies was to celebrate their stellar report cards. What harm could some extra hot chocolate do?

So, with a faux long-suffering sigh, you relent. “I suppose.”

“Yes!” Twin cheers are your immediate response, brightening the smile on your lips, and you soon find yourself in the quaint café— one that held so many memories for you. Phantoms of your past the whispered in your ear as you placed your order and directed your boys to their usual spot.

Only half-listening to their chatter about the movie you had just seen— some superhero film— you simply bask in the simplicity their joy brought you. Observing their small faces light up, little hands waving around as they discussed various points, and your heart swells with more love than you ever thought you could feel.

“—What did you think, mom?”

Billy’s sudden question tears you from your musings, his widened eyes, alight with excitement, giving you the impression that he really wanted to hear what you thought.

“About the movie?” They both nod. “I thought it was good, bug.”

Tommy pouts. “Yeah, but what did you like most about it? Did you have a favorite scene?”

“I—”

“Order for Y/N.”

Saved by the bell, you think. A wave of relief crashing over you. “You two stay put.” Standing, you ruffle their hair. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

At the prospect of their hot chocolate they don’t seem to mind that you didn’t answer their question— though you’d certain Tommy would ask you again. Though you’d have more than enough time to google some things about the movie before then. Small miracles.

Stopping at the counter, you take the tray with the drinks with a smile and a nod in greeting to the server you’ve grown quite fond of.

“Y/N?”

Breath catching in your throat at the husky voice sounding out behind you, the cadence and tone so familiar that your heart still burns from it. Hesitating only slightly, you turn and meet the shimmering emerald eyes you haven’t seen in a little over eight years. Her face still as beautiful as you’d last seen it, if a bit older now.

“Wanda.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #avengers imagine #mcu imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagines #later never comes

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kamaluhkhan · 13 days

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GUILTY AS SIN?

GLUTTONY — part vi of we'll write sins like tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 3k summary: after a mission gone wrong, you unknowingly take the fall for a friend; you get drunk with the enemy; and you start to think that, if they’re going to crucify you anyway, you might as well indulge in a few fatal fantasies. warnings: set during the last olympian so spoilers for the entire pjo book series; luke + reader get drunk; mention of death + war + reader has some survivor's guilt; smut (unprotected p in v, oral f receiving, kinda sub!luke, brief allusion to knife kink — 18 + MDNI) + angst author's note: not sure how i feel ab this one but i've been workshopping it for weeks so i think her time has come !! also maybe got a bit too deep into book lore oops. also also ive been listening to this song an outrageous amount and i hope i did it justice ANYWAYS lmk what y'all think, thanks sm for reading ♥

♪ "guilty as sin?" by taylor swift

you’re well aware of how suspicious this looks, rendezvousing with the enemy at a sleazy dive bar in the heart of the city.

he walks in, and your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation. his familiar deep brown eyes are now striking gold, and a streak of gray is woven through his signature dark curls — evidence of the battles you've fought, on opposite sides, and an ominous reminder of a war that has yet to be over.

as he casually orders himself a drink and one for you, you keep a hand on your concealed dagger. it’s become an instinct of yours, whenever he’s around.

“i didn’t come here to fight.” he assures, catching the glint of your blade.

“and what about…..” you gesture broadly at him.

“we’re not entirely synched yet, so it gives him a break whenever i’m in full control,” he explains as though reciting from a textbook (something like how to betray your loved ones and overthrow the olympians 101). “it’s only me tonight. i swear on the river styx.”

a shiver passes through you.

about a year ago, luke tracked you down in new york. apparently, kronos was pushing him to do something extreme, and luke felt conflicted.

you thought it had to be some sort of cruel joke, because you could not think of anything more extreme than what luke had already done in facilitating a war between gods and titans. you had no patience for his crocodile tears, not after he played you so well the first time.

you told him as much, then told him to fuck off.

to be fair, you didn’t know that would lead to him bathing in the river styx and becoming a vessel for the titan lord himself.

luke wears the curse of achilles well: all strong muscles and sharp angles, his tan skin glowing ever-so slightly, and his body devoid of any fresh cuts or bruises despite surviving an explosion just a few days prior.

“so….what? you’re the pilot whenever kronos needs to take a really long nap?”

“i’d say timeshare is the closest way to describe it.”

“50/50 ownership?”

“more like 90/10.”

you scoff. “sounds like a scam.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. it reminds you so much of old times, his boyish charm peeking through whenever a camper would try to pull a prank on him, and then complain when he’d beat them to the punch.

“it’s just me,” he repeats, but you didn’t need any more confirmation.

you know deep in your gut, from that mischievous smirk alone: it’s not the lord of time, but luke castellan next to you.

the bar is surprisingly busy for a weeknight. there’s a game being shown on TV, and people wearing sports jerseys occasionally groan or cheer or come to the counter to order another pint for their table while keeping their eyes glued to the screen. the jukebox in the corner plays music from the 70s and 80s as a group of friends starts to dance, tipsy after a deadly combination of jello shots and sangria.

for the first few drinks, you and luke are silent, letting these sounds of regular human existence fill the space between you. you half-expect him to ask about law school admissions, or the new tattoo you got on your upper thigh, or your band’s latest show — all fragments of your own mundane mortal life used to distract yourself from demigod realities.

he doesn’t, though. luke just stares at the hockey game, one you know for a fact he doesn’t care about because the rangers aren’t playing, as he sips his old-fashioned like he has all the time in the world.

“did you wanna meet so we could just sit here in silence or….”

when you had agreed to this meeting, you had a clear goal in mind: find out who the spy is and clear your name.

it might be too much rum or the crushing weight of recent events, but you no longer have the energy nor the drive to be strategic or even cautious around luke. now, you’re looking for a cure to your bone deep boredom and heartache.

"no. i’m here because….” he falters and runs a hand through his hair. “look, i heard about what happened at camp. and, with beck —”

“dying?” you finish, taking one last gulp of your drink. all the rage, resentment and grief you’ve been feeling has been lodged in your throat. you’d hope each sip of your dark and stormy would burn through it, but instead it comes tumbling from your lips.

“honestly, beck would probably still be alive if you didn’t join the dark side. i guess you’re kinda leading the dark side now, aren’t you luke? what’s that like?”

luke polishes off his drink, too, his cheeks flushed. he gestures at the bartender for a third round of drinks. or is it fourth?

“don’t be a dick,” luke sighs once a replenished glass is placed in front of him. “i obviously never wanted to hurt you — any of you.”

if you were of sober mind, maybe you’d point out that it’s too late; that luke already hurt all of you the minute he decided to side with kronos.

“i know i did, though,” he adds after swallowing a mouthful of his drink.

you know that if luke was of sober mind, he would never have admitted that. he seems to know better than to apologize though, hopefully recognizing that the damage has already been done.

it’s not like your hands aren’t bloody, too.

“it was supposed to be me, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “i was supposed to go with percy on the mission, but beck offered to go instead because he thought — he knew — that it would….it would be hard for me to see…. you.”

luke pauses and turns away from you. “you couldn’t have known what would happen.” his voice wavers, too. “beckendorf was looking out for you — it’s what he does. did.”

“i couldn’t even go to the funeral,” you continue. “i feel like i didn’t really get to say goodbye, you know?”

“yeah,” luke hums sorrowfully. “mourning someone who fought for the gods isn’t really allowed where i am.”

again, you could point out the irony in what he’s saying. given everything he’s done, luke dug his own grave and clearly some for his friends, too.

tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. the reality is that one of your best friends died because you couldn’t handle an encounter with your ex-boyfriend, the one you’re currently sitting beside.

you might not have done what they accused you of, but you’re nowhere near innocent. who were you to give yourself permission to cry?

in the dim neon light, you notice a tear slide down luke’s cheek before he wipes it away just as fast.

he clears his throat. “to charles beckendorf: a hero by any other name.”

you tap your glass against luke’s, and you both drink in honor of your lost friend. you drink to everyone and everything you’ve lost, too.

beckendorf is dead; chris has lost his mind; clarisse might start her own war with the apollo cabin over a flying chariot; and ever since the princess andromeda mission went terribly wrong, silena can’t go one minute without bursting into tears.

it was too easy for everything to fall apart, as though this was always what the fates had in store for you — the next generation of greek tragedies.

thankfully, there always comes a break in the tragedy, and it seems to be now: you and luke, getting drunk off whiskey and rum and old memories.

you remember countless times sneaking out to the beach after curfew, mixing store-brand soda with cheap alcohol smuggled into camp by luke’s half-brothers; hot summer nights spent fantasizing about existence outside of camp and returning to your head counselor duties in the morning with chiron and mr. d none the wiser. once you started dating, it became routine for the two of you to wander away from the group for some privacy, somewhere far enough away so that no one could hear you scream luke’s name.

those memories still make your skin flush, even as you’re here drinking cocktails at a bar in the city, with one friend gone to elysium and everyone else calling you a traitor.

“i can’t believe you don’t remember that night! mr. d caught a few senior campers getting drunk in his office? they stole a super expensive bottle of wine, threw up all over the carpet, and had to spend the rest of the night cleaning it?”

you continue shaking your head. you tip your glass back to capture the last drops of amber liquid before confessing:

“what i remember is spending the whole night jealous of malcolm pace because he got to slow dance with you.”

luke lets out something between a scoff and a laugh, then he’s silent for a few moments.

“i love this song,” luke muses, words blurring together. “i haven’t heard it in a while.” he finishes his drink and sets the glass down, holding his hand out to you.

your brain is a bit foggy from all the alcohol, so it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking.

“you wanna dance?”

“yeah,” he answers. “make up for lost time.”

it’s not until you feel luke’s chest pressed against yours, his hands firmly on your waist, that you register what song is currently playing.

“downtown lights” by the blue nile — luke had spent so long trying to find the right song for your first time together.

you told him not to worry, teased him a bit for planning every detail so meticulously, but deep down, your heart swelled with how much he cared.

the empty hermes cabin during capture-the-flag, both of you pretending to be too injured from sparring practice to play. luke’s sweaty hands fumbling with the condom, you having to step in and rip the wrapper with your teeth. clothes being haphazardly thrown on so you could run back to the infirmary before anyone noticed. silent vows to do it again, and again, and again.

the more time spent exploring and experimenting, the more you got the rhythm of each other’s bodies, knew how to make the other squirm and throw their head back in pleasure — and that didn’t just go away when luke joined kronos’ army.

even when your loyalties were more clear, your consciousness was plagued with visions of you and luke together, ones that left your sheets burning, more than the blazing summer heat. you confided in silena about these once, and she assured you that there is no such thing as bad thoughts.

she did warn you, though: it’s when you indulge in these fantasies that they risk becoming fatal.

now, thinking back and forth between memories with luke and the events of this past very shitty week, you realize that maybe that’s why you’re here.

despite everything you’ve done, you supposedly betrayed people you consistently fight beside, fight for; you were thrown out of a place you once considered home and told never to come back.

you were doomed from the start — a daughter of nemesis, assumed to be wicked and revenge-seeking since birth.

well, if they’re going to crucify you anyway…..

once the song ends, you ask:

“you wanna go outside for a smoke?”

your hands start playing with the curls at the base of luke’s neck, hinting at what you were hoping comes next.

luke licks his lips, gold eyes darker than before.

“guess you’re itching to put that celestial bronze to good use,” he says lowly.

“only if you ask nicely,” you drawl.

luke blushes.

you pull away from him, start walking towards the back exit, and pray that he follows you.

—

this is why meeting with you was dangerous: there’s no one else in the world – god, titan, or otherwise – luke castellan would get on his knees for, let alone in the filthy alley behind a bar.

technically, kronos sent luke here to recruit you.

the scythe charm — the one used to communicate with silena — sits heavy in his pocket. it’s part of the reason why you were exiled from camp, why your friends don’t look at you the same way. why you can’t ever go back home, not really.

luke imagines you might resent those who threw you out of camp, but you would never betray them. he knew that you weren’t likely to join kronos’ army.

he’s thankful that, at the very least, you still have a penchant for breaking some rules.

the two of you are a tangled mess of teeth and tongue. luke tastes the spiciness of ginger beer and rum, mixed with sweetness from the clove cigarette you just smoked. you lock one leg around luke’s hip, and the brief glimpse of your lacy black underwear has him throbbing. one of your hands slips underneath his shirt to trace the contours of his abdomen. luke’s breath hitches when your hand reaches down even further.

“wait –” you pause your actions to let luke finish his sentence, and already he regrets voicing his hollow concern. “i….i probably should not be doing this.”

“me neither,” you concede, breathing steadily.“but, they already think i’m guilty.” with your other hand, your thumb dances over his kiss-swollen lips and luke feels something ignite in the pit of his stomach. “maybe i am, with how much i think about you.”

luke knows what’s at stake for him, if anyone finds out, but in a booze-soaked haze and with you looking at him like that, he can’t seem to care.

it’s coming back to him now: that endless cycle of waking up sticky and drenched in sweat over dreams of screaming your name and going about his day like it wasn’t a paradox to be leading kronos’ army and still wanting someone aligned with the enemy to devour him.

when he agreed, however reluctantly, to be a vessel for kronos, luke had to lock those desires inside a vault deep inside his mind.

this might very well be luke’s last chance to satisfy his cravings, once and for all. tonight, he’s in full control of his body and mind.

he’ll happily yield his power to you.

soon enough, your teeth gnaw on his top lip as luke messily thrusts into you, your underwear hastily pushed to the side. he tries to savor every part of this, of you — the heel of your combat boot digging into his back; the sting of your nails where you grip him; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet cherries and burnt vanilla; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging him to go faster, harder. following your orders, luke wraps both of your legs around his waist and digs his fingers further into your hips to keep them secure.

it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the brick wall as your orgasm crashes through you. luke follows a few seconds later, pulling out just in time to paint the inside of your thighs with his cum.

luke grins as he watches you come down from your high, eyes closed, chest heaving, neck engraved with the outline of his teeth.

“sorry, didn’t mean to give you a concussion.”

you open your eyes just to roll them at luke, who’s tucking himself back into his jeans.

“you’re such an asshole,” you jest through labored breaths, registering his shit-eating grin. you fix the hem of your leather skirt and pout dramatically. “and you had to leave a mess behind, didn’t you?”

without another word, luke kneels in front of you.

he leans his head back to admire how your lips curl into a bemused smile at his antics. your fingers press into his pulse point, no doubt feeling how reckless his heartbeat becomes underneath you. once more, your thumb prods at his lips; this time luke grants access, the cold metal of your ring burning on his tongue.

“is this how you pledged loyalty to your titan king?” you taunt.

luke shakes his head, still sucking your digit.

he did have to bow, but not like this. the only entity he’d worship this desperately is you.

“i’m honored,” you coo. luke bites back a whimper when you remove your thumb from his mouth, instead tracing the scar on his face, up his cheekbone. “i have to say though: i miss your brown eyes, pretty boy.”

his whole body is on fire with how you touch him, but your passing observation feels like a knife to the gut. wanting to be good for you, to prove he’s still your pretty boy, luke pushes up the bottom of your skirt so it bunches around your waist.

“luke!” you attempt to scold, concealing a moan when his teeth graze your clit through the damp fabric of your underwear. “someone might see.”

“it’ll be fine, baby,” he assures. “is this new?” luke is mesmerized by the fresh ink on your thigh, fingers trailing over swirling black lines.

you hum, a goddess gazing down on her disciple. “do you like it?”

luke nods. he replaces his fingers with his tongue, journeying across your skin, tasting salty sweat mixed with his cum drying between your legs. he hears your whimpers for more. he complies and plunges two fingers beneath the lace until you reach your peak. luke places one last kiss to your core, before getting up again.

you crash your lips onto his, and you’re kissing him the way you did back when you really loved him, chaotic and feverish. your fingers snake through his curls, and you tug on them just enough to make luke’s head spin.

you’re somehow more intoxicating than however many drinks he downed earlier.

he sees something simmering behind your eyes, when you ask if he wants to come back to your apartment. you both know you shouldn’t, but honestly — in the grand scheme of things, what’s one more sin?as the two of you are tangled beneath your bedsheets, you decide to frame it differently, as a mutual vow: maybe just one more time will satisfy this hunger.

#we've only got two sins left idk how this happened....#thank y'all sm for reading!!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #luke castellan series #luke castellan x nemesis!reader #pjo fanfic #saf writes

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unwantedtomost · 11 months

Note

Pls pls pls 🙏🙏🙏

You miggy and your dad all go out the the fair and some dirty shit goes down

so needy — miguel o'hara

dbf!miguel x fem!reader

word count: 659

summary: dirty things happen at a carnival and you wonder if this is how it has to be. part ii to so dirty.

warnings: slight angst, fingering (f!receiving)

a/n: thank you so so so much for all the attention on so dirty! i was definitely not expecting for it to get that much attention. i do think i'll be coming out with a part three that fits the themes. thank you anon so much for this request it definitely gave me much needed inspiration. keep sending in requests!

You couldn’t believe what you were doing.

You don’t know why on earth you would agree to something like this. Being trapped between your father and Miguel for an entire day. You were almost positive the night would end with tragedy. Someone would say something, you would slip up, then your father would be aware of your little affair. That’s exactly why you ended it after the little stunt Miguel pulled during the neighborhood cook-out.

You knew it was going to be hell and it was.

Your father wanted to go to the carnival. It was a tradition, you couldn’t say no. Miguel was a lonely bastard and your father’s closest friend, so of course your father invited him to tag along. And of course he said yes. Bastard.

He was trying to get you under your skin, trying to worm his way back into your heart, back between your legs, but you weren’t going to let him. You were positive you were strong enough not to give into him. Absolutely positive. You never felt that confident about anything, that’s how you knew it was a lie.

Miguel’s eyes were on you the entire day, you could feel it. His gaze burned your skin, you sadly invited the heat. Every time you tried to catch him, make him admit just for a second about what he was doing, but it was no use. He was too quick.

You started to wonder how you had avoided giving in for so long. You had pushed him away for two weeks but in five hours you started to melt at every glance. It was so easy to forget about him when you tried to forget about his existence but now that he was in front of you, there was no hope.

Everything started to boil over when you were finally trapped alone with Miguel.

Your father insisted you and Miguel enjoy the ferris wheel while he waited in the long line to get corn dogs for everyone. You were at an impasse: either you act weird and risk getting caught or get trapped alone and possibly give into the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid.

There was really only one option.

Now you were trapped at the top of a ferris wheel with your face pressed into Miguel’s neck and his hand buried between your thighs.

“Baby, why have you been hiding from me?” he whispered into your ear.

“This is wrong, so … wro...” your thoughts drifted off as two fingers entered your dripping heat.

You missed him. You missed him so much. How could it be so wrong when it felt like heaven? You loved him, you wanted him. Who cared if it was taboo?

“But you like it, don’t you, amor?”

“I love it,” you whined. You would feel embarrassed if you weren’t so needy.

“Tell me how much you want me,” he cooed in your ear.

“I need you, Miggy. I want you forever. Don’t care who knows anymore. Just need you forever.”

His fingers pumped into you harder, his other hand rubbing fast circles on your clit. The coil in your stomach was about to snap. You hated how good he could make you feel, hated how he had you cumming in minutes.

“I love you,” he whispered and continued like a chant.

Suddenly, you were gone. You bit his neck, trying to hide the loud moan bubbling in the back of your throat. Your thighs clamped around his hands. Despite the pressure, he tried his best to continue his motions, helping you ride out your high.

The ferris wheel started moving and you sat up straight.

“Let’s get out of here, Miggy,” you said as you fixed your hair. “Let’s figure this out.”

He smiled at you and you felt warm everywhere. For a moment you realize that you didn’t have to be Romeo and Juliet. The story didn’t have to end in a tragedy.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #oscar issac #oscar isaac smut #smut

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fatalwa · 3 months

Text

I will also join my fellow Ukrainians in sharing how 24th of February 2022 went for us.

I didn't go to sleep that night. The day before I had a check-in call regarding my uni project. All of my group mates did. I don't remember what I was doing so late at night but the fact is - I didn't sleep. My partner was already in bed but still scrolling her phone. Suddenly she sits up and says that russians on social media are saying that "we all will be fucked", and that Ukrainians are commenting on hearing loud bangs in their cities. We sit in silence shocked for a couple of minutes. Then we hear it as well. A loud bang. The kind that shakes the ground. We hear car sirens. A moment passes before we hear another one. I started packing my backpack with my documents and money. My dad says it won't be necessary, that they are just attacking the strategic military buildings. I don't remember how the rest of the night/early morning went. I don't remember if I've slept. In the morning the president had announced that the war has started.

Two weeks later I would leave for Belgium with my partner to not sit on my family's shoulders, to not be a burden. Everything is going relatively well for me: I found a job, I have a place to live, I am not struggling with food. Of course I had to sacrifice my degree for the lack of language and my hobbies for the lack of free time. That is why I don't draw much anymore. I just hope that in the future I will be able to do it again.

Two years passed and I feel like people abroad got used to the war. I am not fully aware of the whole situation but from my side it feels like people are forgetting about us. Like we are receiving less support. Like we are starting to loose. I just hope that it's not true and that it just feels that way.

Though Internet has been really hostile to Ukrainian voices lately. And there is so much misinformation. My partner met a woman near the station who pretended to be Ukrainian to beg for money. She didn't speak any Ukrainian or, for that matter, russian, just English. She didn't expect someone to talk back to her in Ukrainian.

I just hope that we will win the war and it will happen soon. My whole being hurts when I read the news about russian war crimes and the tragedies that just keep happening to my people.

If you have anything to spare, consider donating to the Ukrainian army. Reach out to your government, show up to protests. I'm tired of seeing only Ukrainians doing it. We can't do this alone, we will need everything that we can get.

https://u24.gov.ua/

Слава Україні! Героям слава!

І мирного неба!

#ukraine #stand with ukraine #russia #russia is a terrorist state #russo ukrainian war #war in ukraine

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hausbabylon · 11 months

Text

treacherous

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 6,994

A/N: Hey! I received an anonymous request, but I accidentally deleted the draft where I directly responded it. The request said pretty much what says in the synopsis. Thanks to whoever sent it, made me happy <3! I hope you like it.

A/N II: Also, it’s 3:27 AM and I wrote this half asleep whilst listening Red TV three times in a row.

Warnings: Unspecified legal age gap (Natasha is older), mention of guns, manipulation, intrafamiliar abuse, trust issues.

Natasha Romanoff struggled with trust issues due to past relationships. Her fear of being hurt overshadowed any chance to open herself up to the possibility of a relationship. That was, of course, until she met you.

Hydra was a group of evil masterminds with a mission to take over the world, employing advanced technology and weapons to achieve said objective.

It hurt you too much to even think about the fact that you were part of it all, for ever since you were incredibly young, you were the victim of experiments and ruthless training to basically turn you into another of their deadly weapons.

You were just a little one, desperate to get your adoptive father's approval, and deep down, you still were, despite the fact that you were a young adult now. However, no matter how hard you tried, he always seemed disappointed in you, and you were willing to do anything to make him proud.

That's what you thought, of course, until you couldn't take it anymore. So much spilled blood, uncountable innocent lives lost, all in the name of greed and evil. You switched sides, and betrayed the organization you once called home.

You didn't know how many hours you spent hiding in one of the lockers from the Hydra facility that was attacked by the Avengers, while you listened to the tragedy happen outside this cold little compartment. You were supposed to be the main counter-attacker, and you were expected to kill at least one of them in order for the others to back off for a few months.

However, it was too much. As you fought them, the dilemma you found yourself in was too much to bear; you wanted to make your adoptive father proud, but you also wanted them to win because you repudiated every aspect that made up the twisted organization which you were unfortunately a part of.

So, as you walked down the corridors to attack one of them, you simply stopped dead in your tracks and went to hide instead. Until you heard nothing, only a silence that was somehow deafening, while intrigue kept eating you out - had good won over evil again?

When you kicked the door of the locker so you could get out, the first sight you encountered was the Black Widow, who got startled when she saw you and immediately pointed a gun at you. Your first instinct was to raise your arms.

Your face was streaked with tears, for you had sobbed desperately, fearing what your father would do when he found out you had failed this mission, but you were also drowning in shame for your actions.

And you didn't need to say anything, Natasha knew everything as soon as she saw you in that disconsolate and defeated state. You didn't want to do any of this, you desperately wanted to be good.

The Avengers welcomed you with open arms, and as you stood beside them, fighting for what was right, you finally felt you were part of a family, where your efforts were seen and appreciated, something you never felt with Hydra.

"I know these brutal injuries are a little bit of a scratch for you, but..."

"But it worries you when I go on missions that involve more than big men fighting me," Natasha finished the sentence before you could, a huge grin plastered from ear to ear.

You just chuckled, as you carefully worked to heal those terrible wounds on her face, product of a more complex mission than usual.

"Come on! Who knows if that creature that hurt you might give you some disease from the outer-space microbes it had in its claws. It could get infected and you could start a new pandemic, you know?" You half-joked.ñ

Natasha let out a loud laugh, that could be perhaps be heard all over facility.

"Well, look on the bright side, maybe I'll get to be the one to name it," she chuckled, and she flinched subsequently, her wounds hurt due to her smiling-facial expression.

"Silly!" You playfully nudged her shoulder with your fist, as you kept smiling enormously. "Jokes aside, please promise me you'll keep those wounds clean. You'll apply this," you showed her a small container of antiseptic soap, "And after that, you must apply this as well," you showed her a spray of alcohol.

She never told you this at first, but she appreciated enormously that you cared for her in this way, and that, on top of that, you were always willing to look after her as if she wasn't used to risking her life in all sorts of places.

The older woman nodded and laughed a little. "Of course, I'll make sure to clean the wounds and apply those, it's not too bad really. Don't worry yourself, okay?" She smiled kindly and warmly at you.

"Perfect... I'll let you off, then," you replied, with a grin. "Go get some rest, and I'll see you again when..." you paused. "I'll see you again," you affirmed this time.

You didn't know when you would see her again.

You had a very simple mission, so simple that you didn't need to go out and take risks as you normally did. You just needed to find information, leak some documents, hack into certain bases, and you could do it all from the comfort of the Avengers Tower. You were almost done when Natasha returned from her mission with the rest of the Avengers, and you insisted in helping her with all those wounds she had in her face, which again, were not something new for any of you, but still... you hated to see her even in the slightest discomfort. And just like on the other times, she refused to receive your help, but eventually gave in.

Outside of coincidences like these and the missions you had together, you didn't convive with her. And you missed her more than you could admit.

It was a strange feeling. You both got along well... excellent, to tell the truth, and you liked each other's company. However, that was no different than your relationship with the other Avengers, even so, Natasha Romanoff was the only one whose presence you longed more than usual whenever you were apart.

"Sure, I'll see you again," she nodded, as she rose from the seat she was in, and patted your shoulder affectionately.

This was always the way goodbyes were, and you couldn't lie, it hurt a little bit to realize that you didn't have a relationship with her outside of work. That was to be expected, many years of knowing her teammates didn't compare to a couple of months of knowing you, but you had to start somewhere, right?

That day, Natasha did as you told her and rested in her room of the Tower, and you, on the other hand, returned to the solitude of your apartment, watched a few episodes of your favorite series and waited to be summoned again on another occasion.

Said occasion was about a week later, and amidst the catastrophe that ensued, the taste of victory for having done well never ceased to leave you with a feeling of accomplishment.

It was even better than the others, since it was a mission against the organization you had unwillingly dedicated your life to serving. And this time, you were on the right side.

Your eyes watered a little. And Natasha didn't say it at first either, but she was the first to notice it because she used to watch you more than she would like to admit.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong?" She asked you, turning to you with a concerned expression on her face. "Don't tell me you regretted joining us, because I'm going to hit you," she joked, and there you realized that was a habit of hers, for the purpose of lightening the mood.

And she succeeded, because you laughed, "Quite the opposite. I'm so happy to find myself on this side and to be able to make up even a little bit for all the bad I did," you confessed.

She let out a little 'Awww' and proceeded to hug you.

It felt like... like home. And maybe your home wasn't the kindest to you, so it was more like you found a new place where you could feel warm and comfortable.

It felt like a shelter from the world's harshness, and that you were at last somewhere you belonged. The embrace was gentle and firm at the same time, somehow it was a combination that could go well altogether, and it was as if every little thing that had ever hurt you was washed away by the love in that hug.

She stayed that way for as long as you needed. And later, at the Avengers Tower, everyone asked you if you were all right, and when they made sure you were calmer, they left to their respective rooms, but not before giving you words of affirmation telling you how valuable you were and what a priceless job you had done on the mission.

And after that little moment of closeness you had with Natasha, two days passed when you saw her again.

You were not specifically summoned for a mission, rather, Tony Stark needed your help to develop a new artificial intelligence prototype that would assist Peter Parker. The only difference was that Tony wanted her to ask him about his feelings and get concerned for his well-being, almost like a therapist or a mother would.

There had been maybe four or five opportunities where you had the pleasure of demonstrating your mental abilities, which were numerous.

Of course at Hydra they weren't going to raise you to be physically astute, they needed to train you mentally as well, and sure as hell they did. Because, maybe it would take Tony Stark more than four or five tasks to trust someone, but you completed them so efficiently, that very little was enough for him to be impressed and take you into consideration for this field as well.

About seven hours had passed, where you were discussing and employing the famous "trial and error", when Natasha came to interrupt. Tony wasn't too happy about it, but you were delighted.

"It turned out like shit," she concluded. She had a little dirt on her suit and her face was scarred with small injuries, but these weren't man-made, they were more like falls. "The target had already left the base by the time we got there, and took everything. All we did was kill the guards for nothing, no objective."

Tony took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. For him, if there was anything worse than interruptions, it was interruptions for bad news.

"That's the third time in a row they've had us looking like idiots playing Tag," he snorted. "We'll figure out what to do. We did what we could."

Natasha was not at all pleased with his answer, as she wanted an immediate solution, and for her, the worst thing that could happen was to fail in something as simple as attacking a Hydra base.

"That's it?" She exclaimed, and at Tony's lack of response, she let out a groan and with giant strides, she left the room.

You ran after her, caring very little if she yelled at you to leave her alone. You wanted to at least make an attempt to be there for her.

"Nat!" You called out to her. "Nat, come on!"

She stopped, and turned to look at you, "What do you want?"

Now thar you were close to her, you noticed how fresh the small wounds on her face looked, and you would soon set out to help her with that, but the support she needed the most was the emotional kind.

"There's this place near Willow Lake," you laughed at her mild surprise. "I know, it's a bit far from here, but we can grab a bite to eat, take a walk down to the lake afterwards... you don't have to talk if you don't want to, I just want to offer you this little method of escape that has helped me in my darkest days."

There was no power on earth that would make her turn down such an offer, not only because this would be the first time she would be spending time with you outside of missions and work, but because it really sounded like a plan that would help her tremendously in all that stress she was going through.

After Natasha took a shower and changed, she went to find you in the room where you were working with Tony, who gave you a grateful smile before you left.

The drive there was long, and neither of you said much more than small talk, but it was extremely comfortable at the same time, with Taylor Swift's music playing on the car's speakers.

With this alone, she seemed more relaxed as she remained in the passenger seat. It was clear that the unsuccessful mission was eating her mind, but by having a moment to think about it, she gradually lightened up. She was very grateful that you gave her space and didn't try to distract her.

As soon as you guys got out of the car, the first thing you could feel was how pure the air was in that area, and how uncrowded it was compared to the noisy city. With that alone, Natasha understood why you brought her there, it was a peaceful and perfect place to think.

"Do you like it?" You asked, and if the redhead hadn't been too invested taking in her surroundings, she would have noticed that you were in turn, completely dumbfounded watching her..

"I love it," she nodded, with a huge smile, and proceeded to close her eyes and take a deep breath to enjoy the air.

When you entered the small cafe, you ordered a panini and a soda, and encouraged Natasha to order whatever she wanted, it would be your treat. Neither of you had eaten and it was already four in the afternoon, so you couldn't wait for the food to arrive.

You didn't ask her anything about it, and you didn't bring the subject up, you just waited patiently for her to speak first. And she did so about five minutes after she ordered.

"I feel better already," she said. "Maybe Tony's approach wasn't the best, but he's right, we'll find a way, in the meantime, we did what we could."

You smiled.

"We'll find a way to come out of this victoriously. Believe me when I tell you that they no longer have any threats and all they have left is to run. We'll find a way to corner them," you encouraged her, almost sensing firsthand how frustrated she might have felt earlier.

She nodded in agreement, "We have to come up with a plan," she replied. "I've already given a lot of thought to it, and I think right now, what I want to do is enjoy this moment with you, because, you do realize this is our first outing together?"

You did realize, and you couldn't begin to express how much you looked forward to this moment. While the conversations during missions or at the Tower were enough for you to grow fond of each other, there was always work involved.

"You're right. I wouldn't have wanted to wait this long, but I understand you're busy, and, I wasn't sure if you were in the mood to go out during your rest time."

She chuckled at the comment, "Oh, no! I like going out. And look, maybe I am busy, but you might just be worth dropping everything for... you know, once in a while!"

You reacted with a small and subtle giggle, feeling even more charmed and flattered by her.

"I must say, it's an honor to potentially be worth dropping everything for, even once in a while," you responded lightheartedly.

The food arrived just in time, and you both exchanged a look of acknowledgement at how good it looked.

"Well, bon appétit," she smiled, and didn't wait five seconds to start devouring her lunch.

You both ate in silence, very focused on enjoying the food as it was already too late after the regular lunch hour. You were starving.

When you finished your meal, you talked about banal topics to get to know each other better, such as favorite books, movies and series, hobbies, the music you enjoyed the most and whether you preferred summer or winter. It was a nice chat, where you both found a lot of common ground and were introduced to new possibilities, because let's say you left that restaurant with at least twenty songs to listen to, ten books to read and five movies and series to check out.

It was until you left the restaurant and walked to the lake that the conversation deepened. She asked you about your past, and although you didn't spill those details so easily, you ended up telling her even more than your closest friends knew. Natasha was just that kind of person.

And when Natasha shared her story with you, that was the most painful, deepest and perhaps most precious aspect that you shared — that intrinsic feeling that impelled you to abandon all evil sown in your hearts.

You were so immersed in conversation, that it seemed like in five minutes the sky went dark when in reality it had been about three hours straight.

From then on, whenever your free times coincided, you made the most of it. You made it a regular part of your lives, would always make plans for upcoming meet-ups and, naturally, your relationship slowly started to grow and deepen over time as a result.

You started to appreciate the little details that shaped Natasha, from her stunning smile to her sweet laugh, from her thoughtful glances to her kind words. It was like a flame had been lit inside of you, eventually growing into a roaring blaze that could not be tamed. You were slowly and deeply falling in love with her, there was no denying it anymore.

"Nat, I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but you leave me no choice," you said, as soon as you pulled a +4 card as a last resource. Your only cards remaining were two red ones and of course you would decide said color as the next.

Natasha let out a gasp of surprise, and shook her head.

"How could you?" She exclaimed, and with much indignation, took the four cards.

"I choose red," you stated, very indifferent to her reaction.

She checked the cards she had taken, and the red card she placed, was one that would prevent you from your turn, and then, she placed a red one with a number on it.

With a victorious smile, you shouted "UNO" as you placed the second to last card you had left. And to your bad luck, Natasha didn't have one of the same color, but she did have a blue one with the same number.

"Excuse me, you were saying?" She replied, in a mocking tone.

It was your turn to gasp in surprise.

"Natalia, you monster!" You exclaimed. "My devious scheme has been disrupted, and I have been bested. I expected this from everyone, but you?" You said in an over-dramatic tone, placing your hands on your chest, as if you had been stabbed.

You two were cross-legged playing UNO on Natasha's bed, having watched a couple of movies and ordered food. You had been playing for maybe an hour and a half now, and this last round was no different than the previous ones, since you were always looking for ways to trick and betray each other in this little game. Until, Natasha finally won.

"Ahhh! This was a tough one!" You commented, collecting the cards from the pile and sorting them. As you were doing this, you noticed something under Natasha's leg, sticking out slightly. "But of course, it was honest play, wasn't it? It would be a shame if you cheated."

She snorted, "Yes, honesty first and foremost, I agree," she acted innocent. You did your best to hold your laughter.

"Hey, since you're closer, would you mind getting up and handing me my phone?" You pointed to your phone, which was charging in her bedside table.

"You get up, lazy!" She teased, making you gasp in surprise.

"Well, I may be lazy, but I'm no cheater!" You exclaimed, pointing to the card under her leg.

"Oh, whaaaaat?! How did this even get here?!" She said, making her voice a little higher pitched and feigning surprise.

You couldn't help it and laughed loudly.

"Oh, come on, Nat!" You answered. "We're resuming this game, now!"

Luckily, you caught on to her trick before you rearranged the cards, and you hadn't yet touched hers and yours.

"Give me that card," you ordered her, and at that, she didn't let you have it and kept moving the card just out of your reach.

You suddenly realized you've leaned forward to try and grab at the card, and you accidentally ended up on top of her, with her lying on her back underneath you.

The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you exchanging a few shy looks and smiles, acknowledging the position you were in, feeling a little nervous and uncertain about it.

The pounding of your heart was racing a million beats per second, its rhythm matching the rapid pace of your thoughts. Your cheeks flushed with warmth whilst you embraced the profound effect she had on you.

And after a while, you summoned all your courage and made the first move. You leaned in, closing the distance between you and Natasha. In that intimate moment, your lips gently met hers, softly and tenderly.

However, the thrill of the moment was replaced with confusion and disappointment when Natasha pulled away.

"I can't," her words hung in the air.

You reluctantly drew back, giving her the space she needed, and you searched her eyes, longing to find the reason behind her hesitance, but all you could see was a glimpse of regret and shame.

It was as if she carried a secret, a secret that prevented her from fully embracing the moment, despite the chemistry you thought there was between you both. Or maybe you got lost in translation, maybe she simply didn’t share your feelings.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your voice breaking. "I didn't mean to overstep. I misunderstood."

"Please, just go," Natasha's expression remained resolute.

Her words felt like a cold-hearted stab in your chest, leaving you at a loss for what to say or do. Nevertheless, you decided to respect her boundaries, honoring her wish to be left alone.

With a heavy heart, you nodded, gathering your things. Subsequently, you whispered another "I’m sorry" as you started to walk away.

The taste of that stolen kiss lingered on your lips for a long time, as a reminder of the brief, tantalizing ephemeral glance of something that could have been.

In the meantime, you only hoped that someday, the circumstances would align, allowing both of you to talk it out and move on.

That happened when you were contacted for another mission. With the help of the advanced technology and scientific knowledge that the Tower counted with, everyone contributed to analyze the data collected.

Each member expressed their concerns, ideas and proposals for the next step to take. Natasha, in particular, treated you with incredible disdain and professionalism, leaving everyone around you surprised. It was as if she created a barrier between you both, as if she barely recognized your presence now. There was no trace of shame or shyness on her face, unlike you, who struggled to even hold eye contact with her.

Finally, the meeting concluded. As the team prepared to disperse, the opportunity to talk to Natasha presented itself. The others began to head out, leaving the two of you alone in the room. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

"Nat, can we talk?" You gently drew her attention as she evaluated the information presented in the screens.

She turned to look at you, and then nodded. It was a small gesture, but it gave you the reassurance you needed to proceed.

"I… just want to apologize," you began. "For what happened before, for misunderstanding and crossing a line that should’ve never been. I never meant to make you uncomfortable."

Her gaze softened, and she sighed, "It's not entirely your fault," she reassured you. "I should have been clearer. It's just… I have a lot of conflicts in my mind, it’s complicated."

You nodded, understanding that there was more to her story than you were told, "I want you to know that I treasure our connection, whatever it may be," you confessed, your sincerity present in every single world. "And if there's anything you're willing to share, I'm here to listen."

There was a brief pause as Natasha contemplated her response, but as the minutes passed, she felt more and more comfortable with sharing her past experiences with relationships, and how they caused her to struggle with trust issues.

"Nat, I’m going to be honest, I can't erase the mistakes of others, but I swear to you, I'm not here for just a fleeting encounter. And I’m willing to earn your trust, if you give me the opportunity."

"It's hard for me to believe that," she admitted. "But at the same time, there's something about you that makes me want to give you that opportunity, despite my reservations. It’s complicated, as I said."

In that precious moment, your feelings swirled together - joy, relief, and gratitude. You had been given a chance, an opportunity to show Natasha that your love for her could prevail over the scars of the past.

Ever since, every date you planned with her was a thoughtful gesture, meticulously adapted to her preferences as you were eager to give your best to create cherished memories. From intimate dinners at her favorite restaurants to adventurous outings exploring new places, your attention to the small details that made her happy did not go unnoticed, because she appreciated the genuine effort you put into making her feel seen and loved. She also appreciated that you never pressed her for more than she was ready to give.

You provided a safe space where she could open up at her own pace. Naturally, time went on, and Natasha began to let her guard down in your presence.

Until, one —ironically— rainy night, your phone buzzed discreetly. You glanced down and read the words from your adoptive father, that were capable of disturbing your peace within seconds…

"I hope our deal still stands, and that you didn't actually move to the Avengers' side."

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha could perfectly read the message, her expression shifting from serenity to one of concern and anger. In an instant, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Time slowed as Natasha's eyes found yours, and the depth of her pain and distrust pierced through every fiber of your being. The delicate thread of trust that had been formed between you threatened to break under the weight of betrayal.

"What is this, (Y/N)?" She asked as her voice trembled. "Have you been playing both sides all along?!"

Before you could even respond, Natasha's eyes glazed over and she proceeded to rise abruptly from her seat to leave the restaurant where you were having dinner. Little did you care and you placed a hundred dollar bill that would cover both of your consumption plus a generous tip.

Afterwards, you ran out of the place to follow her. The first thing you felt was an overwhelming cold and the rain soaking you.

"Nat, please believe me," you pleaded. "I never wanted any of this. My loyalty lies with you and the Avengers."

"Yes, yes. I've heard that story a thousand times, and I didn't like the ending," she replied.

"Nat...—"

"I don't want to hear you!" She shouted suddenly, startling you. "You expect me to believe your empty words? I thought you were different, but I see now that you're just like everyone… no, you’re worst, way worst."

The rain that drenched you seemed insignificant compared to the icy chill that her words settled within you, making the ache in your chest unbereable.

"No, Nat, please," you begged desperately, your voice being interrupted by occasional sobs. "Let’s get inside and talk, I’ll explain you everything. I love you."

She shuddered as if your words had hurt her even more. The pain in her eyes reflected the storm that ravaged her soul.

"Love? Is that what you call it?" Her voice exuded bitterness as she lashed out, determined to protect herself from further pain. "You have a funny way of showing it. Actions speak louder than empty declarations."

Her words crushed you completely, as the rain mixed with your tears.

As Natasha turned, her silhouette blurred by the rain, you eventually felt too weak to even be standing, and you kneeled in the pavement, feeling your entire body twist in pain and regret.

"Natasha, my love, please don't leave," you sobbed. "Nat… don’t leave,” you whispered this time.

But she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness and the pouring rain. And you were right where she left you drenched and devastated, unable to understand how everything could fall apart so quickly.

Your mission as an infiltrator within the Avengers was the following: to steal a valuable possession and to disrupt their missions, weakening their defenses and providing Hydra a strategic advantage.

You proposed to your adoptive father the tip of the iceberg of your original plan. You told him you would deceive everyone, in order to gain their trust and position yourself as Hydra's eyes within the mighty Avengers' Tower.

However, your true motives remained hidden. Little did he know that you yearned for a chance to redeem yourself from the shadows of your past. You genuinely wanted to make a connection with the Avengers, to join their ranks and fight for the greater good.

At first, you walked a tightrope, subtly sabotaging the Avengers' efforts against Hydra to maintain your adoptive father's trust, so he would not proceed against you or your teammates. But as time went on, you stopped even doing that, and instead, made excuses to prevent suspicion that you didn't align with Hydra's twisted ideals. And that message he sent you during your date with Natasha couldn't have been more inopportune.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of loneliness suffocated any hint of hope that remained, because as expected, you heard nothing from Natasha, or any of the Avengers for that matter. All those friendships, laughs, trust… shattered into a thousand pieces by a message that didn't represent you at all.

You even began to consider packing your belongings and escape to another country to start from scratch. Your stupid choices held you captive, and the desire to break free consumed you.

In the midst of this overwhelming despair, you received a message from your adoptive father.

"Fine, if that’s how you want to play, then so be it. If you don't bring something valuable to us TODAY, she will suffer. We have her."

The message cut through your being like a searing blade, slashing through the delicate fabric of your soul. There was no hiding what you have done, and a life was held hostage, a life intertwined with your own.

As if the threat wasn't enough, he continued…

"Also, if you call the Avengers, we'll know, and she'll die painfully before they even get there. Steal something like I raised you to do. No tricks this time."

You felt the air rushing out from your lungs, as fear gripped your heart mercilessly. The mere thought of your beloved enduring torment struck you with agony, and there was no doubt that you would protect her at all costs.

In the midst of your despair, a plan began to take shape. You would infiltrate into the Avengers' Tower and steal the highly advanced AI system you and Tony initially designed for Peter Parker.

It seemed like the perfect key to Natasha’s safety, and to meet your adoptive father’s demands. Hydra's capabilities would be significantly amplified with it.

Your exile also translated into losing access to everything you used to come and go. In consequence, using your years of training, reflected through skills and expertise, you successfully manipulated the electronic locks and bypassed the intricate security measures.

Finally, you stood before the AI, and with a steady hand, you carefully detached the system, making sure not to leave a trace of your presence. The stolen AI system nestled securely in your possession, and therefore, Natasha would be safe and sound in no time.

You headed to the place you were ordered to, and it was conveniently apart from the city, being a former abandoned factory.

You knew that Natasha was extremely dangerous and strong, therefore you couldn't stop thinking of the position she must have been in so that they managed to get her with no problem.

Once there, you took the suitcase containing AI Karen's chip and made your way towards the meeting point. You noticed that there were about ten guards guarding the area, and one of them checked if you didn't have a weapon.

As soon as the door slightly opened, you kicked it hard and entered the place.

You saw Natasha immobilized with smart handcuffs restraining on her wrists and ankles, but when you ran towards her, you were stopped by the man you most repudiated on the face of this earth.

"Hey, easy," he said mockingly. "Let's talk business."

Your eyes glazed over, as you felt your heart ache at the sight in front of you. There was nothing you wanted more than to hug her and reassure her that you would do everything in your power to save her. But in order to accomplish that, you had to obey what was being asked of you.

"This is what I got," you began after letting out a long sigh. "It is similar to the artificial intelligence that Tony Stark has in his suit, and I participated in its development," you continued. "It has various databases and security protocols that would facilitate the acquisition of classified information, allowing Hydra to infiltrate sensitive networks and manipulate events to suit its agenda. It can also analyze patterns, anticipate trends, and adjust strategies accordingly. It would make an incredible asset for global domination."

After giving him a quick demonstration, your adoptive father smiled wickedly and patted your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you," he exclaimed, and perhaps your self of many years ago would have rejoiced at those words, but now that you knew the price you had to pay to hear those words, you realize that they are not worth all the suffering, and never were.

"Let Natasha Romanoff go, father," you commanded with your jaw clenched.

His laughter echoed through the dimly lit factory. His eyes bore into yours, devoid of any warmth or compassion, as he reveled in his victory.

"Let her go," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "Why would I release her when I finally have you exactly where I want you?"

A surge of anger coursed through you, fueling a fire that burned fiercely within your chest.

"No," you declared firmly. "You should know by now that Natasha means more to me than any twisted ideology you spew."

Your adoptive father's eyes burned with fury. In that moment, you realized that your defiance had destroyed his illusion of control.

"After everything I have done for you? Don't you see? This is your purpose, your destiny!" He countered.

"That’s your purpose for me, as your puppet," you corrected. "My purpose is not to spread chaos and destruction. It's to protect the people I love and make amends for the wrongs I've done. And guess what? That’s what I’m doing."

"Ah, so the great (Y/N) has grown soft and weak in the arms of Natasha. I knew allowing emotions into your heart would be your downfall," he sneered, with an air of disappointment. "You were meant to be a weapon in our hands, an asset for the future of this organization," he added.

"… and I would rather be 'soft' in the eyes of Hydra than hardened and devoid of humanity like you," you stated. "I may have been created by Hydra, but I am not defined by them. I choose my own path, and it's one that leads away from your darkness."

He took a deep breath, characteristic of when he already lost his patience. You knew it so well, and it never failed to frighten you.

He stepped closer, his menacing presence closing in around you, "I raised you to be better, so you have one last chance," he hissed, handing you a gun. "You end Natasha Romanoff's life, or I will do it myself. And trust me, my methods are far more agonizing than a quick death."

You trembled, feeling your heart suffocating, your mind finding its way of reminding you of the laughter you shared, the tender moments, the unbreakable bond between you and Natasha. But at the same time, you knew what your adoptive father was capable of, and it filled you with dread.

There were no other options, no escape from the cruel fate that awaited her if you refused. With tears welling in your eyes, you whispered your surrender. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Natasha heard the words escape your trembling lips, her eyes widened in disbelief, and her features contorted in a mixture of shock and heartbreak.

The knot in your stomach tightened, constricting your breath and making it difficult to think clearly. Your palms grew clammy, sweat trickling down your forehead as your heart pounded in your chest.

You cautiously approached Natasha. Every step felt like an eternity, the deafening thud echoing in your ears. When you were close enough, you saw the beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, her muscles straining against the unyielding bonds that sought to confine her. It was a testament to her resilience, her unyielding spirit that refused to be broken.

In the end, this was you, a deadly weapon raised to make these kinds of actions. What was one more kill? Your entire life had been shaped by the manipulations and training of your adoptive father, molding you into a merciless instrument of his will and the will of the company he worked for.

You raised the gun, as the metal felt cold and unforgiving in your sweaty hands. And then, as if guided by an invisible force, your finger began to tighten around the trigger.

You made the last choice, the choice that would determine the path of your future and, ultimately, save both yourself and Natasha. There was no other way out.

With a determination that burned bright within you, you aimed at your objective. So, when your finger curled around the trigger, a deafening shotgun erupted in the room, shattering the suffocating silence.

In that instant, your adoptive father's body crumpled to the ground, unconscious and defeated. His presence, once so menacing and dominant, now lay broken, a mere shadow of the authority he once commanded.

Natasha's body jerked in a sudden startle when she heard the shotgun, and her eyes clenched shut, as if shielding herself from the inevitable horror that awaited her. Every muscle in her body tensed, bracing for the impact, but then, a familiar voice made itself present.

"Open your eyes, darling, it's over," you uttered, your voice trembling with the shock of what had just transpired.

Slowly, Natasha's eyes fluttered open. The room came into focus, and as her gaze fell upon you, the realization of what you did hit her immediately.

You then reached for the small monitor that was in your adoptive father’s pocket and unlocked the restraints that held Natasha captive. She carefully removed the tape on her mouth.

Her eyes glistened with shed tears as she threw herself into your arms, her body trembling against yours. The resentment and doubt she once had towards you seemed to dissolve in that moment whilst she held onto you as if her life depended on it.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered, her voice choked with tears and vulnerability.

You held her tightly, your own emotions spilling all over, "I'm here, Nat. This is me. This has always been me."

Her lips trembled, and she pressed them against yours, and in that single, stolen moment, the world around you ceased to exist. Time stood still as your lips met, fueled by a yearning that transcended mere physical desire. It was a fusion of souls, a merging of two hearts that had endured unimaginable pain and now reveled in the sweet taste of redemption.

"I love you," she whispered between kisses.

"I love you too," you murmured, and how unmatched was the feeling of being able to say it when there was no hint of uncertainty on the other side. "And as long as you allow me, I will do my best to keep showing it to you."

After securing the AI and taking down all the guards that prowled the place, you both emerged from the abandoned factory. Although the scars of the event would forever mark your souls, you knew that you had emerged stronger than ever.

Together, you would forge a new path, rewriting the narratives that had threatened to tear you apart, and embracing the love that had always been destined to bring you back together.

This was the accomplished mission that you both were most proud of. Especially because, in addition to having shared years of experiences, adventures, and everlasting memories, it was only a matter of time before you also shared the "Romanoff" last name.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #scarlett johansson #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel

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wyllsravengard · 3 months

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mutuals i know you don't know arthur morgan and a lot of you never will but i really need you to know how Moving and Compelling the cowboy game is like im being deranged of course and i do hyperfixate so often but arthur morgan is such a well written character he has such an amazing arc and genuinely it makes me sick thinking about him for more than a single minute. his entire story is based in this inevitable doom and its obvious from the beginning of the game that things are starting to go wrong. you learn about arthur slowly, and at the start - he's exactly the kind of man and protagonist you expect. he's cold and he's uncaring at least seemingly and he's awkward and he's badass and what every man who plays a game like this would want. but then he isn't. you start to play the game and you look at arthurs journal and you get to see him introspect and you get to view the sort of tenderness he sees the entire world with. he is so tender he is so thoughtful he is so considerate of nature and he takes so many things to heart. he has something to say and introspect of everyone he meets. he cares deeply about this world he's in and struggles so much to find a place with in. he admonishes himself and praises characters like charles who seem to be so good naturally. he believes deeply in his own evil and acts on, and he has a code sure - but he never feels good about what he does and it causes him such deep strife. he clings onto the life he has because its all he knows. being an outlaw is all he has ever known of himself, been like that since he was fourteen. just a boy and the two men who adopted him into his gang. he clings so desperately onto this belief that even when things fall apart, all arthur can hope for is that he can save those he cares about. its what he has always wanted deep down. its who he is which is someone who is sensitive and careful and wants deeply to live in a good world and be apart of a good world. the gang falls apart and everything goes to shit and where does that leave arthur? when young men and good men die? the man he admires as his father dies and whats left of them becomes the worst version of himself and so arthur, after all of this time, becomes his own man. at some point, he realizes what matters most to him is his brother and the woman he has a child with. and he realizes that he is simply afraid but what of exactly? of believing that he was good all along. of accepting that he has changed and that he was always good. its all so very complicated and shit starts to go down hill so quickly and just when you think it can't get worse - arthur goes to the doctor. hes sick. its tuberculosis. ailment that he received when he beat a man who couldn't pay his debts and committed a sin so great. arthur is going to die. he's sick. its not a bullet that will kill him but the weakness in his body. the same thing will happen to him in some crazy tragedy. arthur will give his life up for john and he won't regret it. he'll tell the shell of his father figure that he gave up everything for him. he will die alone in the mountains and see a stag bathed in yellow gold. but he will believe in goodness at the end because of a nun in saint denis and the woman mothering his little brothers child. he will believe deeply in the kindness of the world because he chooses to. arthur will die because he is doomed to die. there's nothing he can do except go, and he will never live to know what an impact he had on those around him. every life he's ever touched so profoundly effected by him and he never gets to find out. the man he used to admire so much, charles, buries arthur somewhere where the sun always rises. even in death he haunts the world of the game like a ghost. arthur morgan is dead and you'll hear him every where you go. john inherits his dead brothers journal and his guns and everything else and he learns a side to him he never knew. arthur morgan is dead and the world rippled in his absence like a drop of water pulsing through a lake. and he loved. most of all he loved the people around him. he loved.

#z.gen #arthur morgan #rdr2 spoilers #I HAVE TO KILL MYSELF

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creedslove · 8 months

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HEARTLESS 💔 - PART EIGHTEEN

Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels) x f!reader

Summary: You and the cowboy spend some time alone, talking about your lives and having an intimate moment. Then, Jack has a heartfelt conversation with his son and asks for his help in order to do something really special for his sugar

(This is the eighteenth chapter of my HEARTLESS 💔 series)

• PART ONE TO SEVENTEEN ON MY MASTERLIST

Warnings: angst, hurt, sad!cowboy, mentions of death, brief mentions of suicide attempt, fluff, smut (oral sex m!receiving and unprotected piv), mom!reader

A/N: besties, I know it's been quite a while, but I seem to have lost the inspiration to write in the past couple of weeks but it's finally back and so is our cowboy! Also, this chapter ended up a lot longer and smuttier than I expected and I hope you all enjoyed it as well! Feedback is life, so let me know what you besties think of this story!

5.5k words

Silver Star rested quietly on the green field, feeling tired after playing with Wyatt the whole day; the small animal was warm and felt when their best friend wrapped his small arms around their body, resting against the soft fur and closed his eyes.

If Jack had seen that scene any other day, he would be in a mix of happiness and affection, he loved his son so much sometimes he thought it would open a hole into his chest, right through his heart, as the love was so intense and overwhelming, and it was because of that love Jack felt like dying at that moment, he couldn't accept the pure, genuine love he felt from his son could end like that, not after what that witch he was forced to call a mother-in-law. It was so cruel to have done that to an innocent, sweet child like Wyatt. The older woman could have done anything she wanted to Whiskey himself, she could've said any words that came to her mind, it didn't matter, but she had no right to do that to his son. Wyatt refused to talk to him, the memory of his beautiful face red with tears falling down as he sniffed and looked between his mommy and his daddy, needing support and assurance, but the painful words his grandma told him stung so heavily into his chest it was hard to breathe, he could only feel a little better when he ran into his beautiful friend: Silver Star.

Jack watched his son dozing off next to his pony from his home office's window. He downed a second glass of whiskey as he sighed and dried the stubborn tears that insisted on running down his cheek. Jack had learned from a young age from his pa that men weren't supposed to cry, that crying was something done by weak people and that real men needed to hide their feelings, even better if they acted as if they didn't have any, that would be the right thing.

But unfortunately, from a younger age, he learned that things weren't like that; tragedies happened every day to good people and it was just so hard not to cry, to hold things back, Jack learned the hard way that pretending not to have feelings could destroy a man, it nearly destroyed him, his relationship with the woman he loved the most in the world and prevented him from building a beautiful father and son relationship, to which he was grateful to no end; his sugar and their baby boy Wyatt was the best thing he could have ever had, the way it changed his life that was once shallow and empty into something worth living. The cowboy just had to do something about it, but he didn't know what or how to. If he didn't feel so bad about the entire situation, it would've been quite funny to see a senior agent like himself, who was able to take a group of men down with a lasso without much effort, was just so anxious about dealing with a four-year-old. You, on the other hand, stood right outside Jack's office, not sure if you should enter it or not. You wanted to talk to him, touch him, look into his warm, heart-warming eyes, kiss his perfect soft lips and remind him everything was alright, that your family was a beautiful and strong one, that your son would walk into the door with his tummy howling in hunger and the three of you would have a delicious dinner together, but you didn't know until that extent it would happen; you didn't know how hurt Jack was, but you knew it was a lot, maybe he was somehow blaming it on you, and you couldn't even argue with that, as it was your mom who did it, who made that scene and angered you to no end. It wasn't your fault, but you felt guilty because you had never imagined your mom would be that low towards you and your son. Jack had made so many mistakes, but he was a good man, he was kind and sweet and he would never hurt you and your son ever again. It was unfair and heartbreaking to say the least.

After thinking to yourself way too many times, you decided to enter, seeing he hadn't locked himself in, but he was sitting on his chair, watching out the window as Wyatt spent time with Silver Pony.

"Jack?" You called him in a soft, low voice, hoping he wouldn't bark at you. Overall, Jack was a gentleman, but you'd seen his ugly side and you really hoped it wouldn't be the case at that moment. You were silent as you approached him, your fingers tangling into his stubborn curls that tried to make an appearance, they were messy from his usage of the hat and it had given him a boyish look. You smiled at him, as he looked up at you, his face was serious and his eyes were red from crying; it broke your heart, your mom had no right to cause that much trouble to your family. Taking another step, you stood in front of him, sitting on his lap and wrapping your arm around his shoulder. Jack let out a sigh and hid his face into your neck, nuzzling your skin softly and taking in your scent, there was nothing he loved more in the world than your body, your weight, your scent on him. You could feel his lips on your skin, his mustache tickling you softly as his arms formed a tight grip, his big hands groping your body in a way it moved your body as closely to his as possible.

"Sugar, I-"

"Shh, don't say anything cowboy, I know it" she said and kissed his temple, right where Harry's bullet had broken the skin and killed your man for a couple of hours. That story always made shivers run down your spine, you couldn't believe he had died and Ginger had managed to bring him back to life and to you, but you never wanted him to leave again.

"Don't leave me again, Jack, please, I beg you, my heart won't take another disappointment from you" you said and his lips trailed their way down your neck

"I ain't never leaving you, sugar… I need you as much as you need me, we're meant to be and no matter what happened, that witch ain't breaking us apart" his voice was serious and firm, he was never leaving his son nor his sugar, that was a fact, Jack's heart was only beating because of his family, that was the only thing that has kept him alive after the last disastrous events of his life. He was sure that if it weren't the love he felt for his beloved son and sugar he would've just been gone, either when he tried doing it through his own hands or when he nearly found his fate inside the meat grinder.

"I'm so sorry sugar, your mom is a horrible person, you are so different from her, and the things she said, about you and Wyatt being a replacement… it isn't true, I love you both with all my heart, it was this love that kept me alive for so long, otherwise I wouldn't have-"

"Don't go on missions anymore, Jack. Please. You have a great position at Statesman, both the agency and the company, you don't need the money, nor the thrill, you don't have to risk not coming home anymore, I know you won't be reckless, but Wyatt and I need you, what happened today was just a bump on the way, our son is crazy for you and if you just go and talk to him, with patience, I'm sure he will understand, he's small, but he's as smart as his handsome daddy" you smiled at your cowboy and pecked his lips gently. He looked at you with his sad eyes and it felt like your heart was pierced through

"I know what's going through this thick skull of yours cowboy, I know exactly how you are torturing yourself and before you go further into it, remember that my mom is a bitter woman, she's someone who doesn't accept I take my own decisions, if she got angry because of what happened between us it would be understandable, but we both know it isn't because of that, it's just because she simply can't accept I love you and we have a family together"

"But sugar, the things she said there's some truth to it… I made you go away as if you meant nothing and -" his voice broke and Jack's eyes filled with tears once more, he had hurt you so much and he already suffered his punishment, which was carrying that guilt for the rest of his life.

"You did, Jack Daniels. And it was the worst thing you could have ever done to someone who only loved you, to an innocent baby who grew up in my womb without even knowing what was happening, but Jack…" you held his head between your hands and looked into his eyes "you regret it so bad, I'm sure the pain and the guilt you feel now is worse than the pain you caused me, and I'm not going to lie, I think you'll suffer with it for a long time, cowboy, but what I can offer you now is my forgiveness and my love and a second chance so we can start over, it will never erase what happened between us, so if something similar ever happens again, you can be sure you will never see me or Wyatt again" you told him seriously, but you expression softened up immediately as you leaned towards him and pecked his lips once more, longer this time, your hand touching his smooth cheek, as you deepened it, a soft muffled sound of pleasure coming from you, so you broke the kiss and nibbled his lower lip

"That ain't never happening, sugar, I promise you with my life, that I will never disappoint you and Wyatt ever again, all I want is to be the best husband and father in the world, I love you so much, sugar… You are the love of my life; I tried fighting that off for so long, I tried running away from this feeling, even before our son, I already knew it but couldn't accept it, but you had always been the one, I know I don't deserve it, but if you just give me one chance, one simple chance, I can make you my wife and maybe one day, we could give our son a little brother or a little sister-"

You kissed the cowboy in order to shut him up. Jack often talked too much, sometimes it was something good, and sometimes it was something bad, at that moment, after you both opened your hearts, you didn't want to discuss the future, not that you didn't want it with him, you were certain you did, you wanted to marry that stupid cowboy, not so sure about another Daniels baby, not yet, but you definitely wanted your family together for good; however, at that moment you both needed something else, you needed to be close, to show each other you were there physically rather than using just words. You looked outside the window and smiled sadly at the sight of Wyatt dozing off next to his pony, but you knew that was something only Jack could fix later, so you closed the blinders and turned to him, lowering yourself and kissing him "let me take care of my cowboy, mm? Let me show him how much I love and appreciate him, make him close his eyes and relax and forget about his problems and sorrows" you whispered against his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin in an affectionate way, nibbling his flesh at the same time your hands roamed around his torso, unbuttoning his shirt and finding his warmth underneath it, the cowboy was experienced and knew exactly where that was going, his eyes darkened with lust at the same time his right hand tangled into your hair, bringing it into a messy ponytail while you got on your knees in front of him.

"Fuck sugar, what are you doing to me? You wanna kill your old cowboy like that?" He bit his lips and looked down at you, loving how you smiled at him and undid his belt. You rested your arms on his thick thighs, undoing his pants at the same time you could see his bulge getting bigger and bigger, the tent forming in his pants could be amusing if you weren't so needy of him. The thought of taking his cock into your mouth was causing you to feel as if you were on fire for your cowboy. Senior Agent Whiskey would never fail in turning you into a cock slut for him.

He stared into your eyes, giving you a consenting nod and showing he was ready for his treat

"Don't be sad my cowboy, let me show you your worth" you purred with innocent eyes at the same time you freed his cock. Wrapped your hands around his length, feeling it pulsating under your touch, his warm skin, his popping veins and that glistening tip, filled with pre cum, it all made you lick your lips before finally taking your cowboy into your mouth. You left hand gripped the side of his thigh, nails sinking softly into his skin as you went deeper down onto him, taking his length as far as you could, feeling the cowboy pulsating in the back of your throat. The right hand holding him by the base, and then going to his heavy balls, it always made them quiver and the cowboy whimpered whenever you touched, massaged and gently squeezed them. You turned your attention back to his needy tip, suckling on it, and felt how tight his grip was on your hair. It made you even more turned on, your inner walls clenching as you felt the pooling arousal at the same time your hard clit throbbed, needing some attention from that cowboy's rough hands or soft, devilish tongue. His breathing got heavier, he panted and his dirty words lost among obscene sounds coming from his mouth and you knew he was close, it was just a matter of seconds for you to taste his hot load.

"Sugar, stop" he groaned and held you by the hair, stopping you from continuing tasting him, just as he licked his lips "come on, sit on my cock, ride your fucking cowboy" he demanded in a serious tone which was more than enough evidence he was in charge again. You nodded obediently, leaving a soft, chaste kiss on his tip, causing his cock to throb some more and stood in front of him.

Jack's hands were sloppy as he undressed you, he wasn't too careful, the urge and the rush to get you naked, the way he stripped you off your jeans and thumbed your sensitive clit over your thin panties. He wasn't a patient man, not at that moment, so he used his index finger to move your panties to the side by its string. He let out another low groan the moment the fabric brushed against your soaked lips and he could see the wet puddle it formed, he loved to see how wet you were for him, you were his perfect slut, and he wouldn't trade that for any other cunt in the world. His fingers spread your pussy lips apart just enough for him to take a good look at your wetness and how hard your clit was. He chuckled seeing it throbbed at nothing but air and he knew you were perfect for him, you took his cock so well, all your holes were his and no one would touch you but that goddamn cowboy.

"Come here, sugar, your cowboy needs you, be a good fucking slut and ride me" he said and pulled you to his lap, helping you straddle him as he gripped the base of his cock, using his own tip to slap it against your clit. You moved your hips without any words, letting his tip rub against your clit slowly at first but fastening the pace as his length ran through your wet folds, just enough to have your honey spread all over his shaft

"Mm don't tease me cowboy, please, I need it as much as you do" you whimpered and in response Jack kissed you once more. His hands went for your hips, sustaining your weight and helping you sink down onto him. You slippery cunt stretching at the size of him and sliding so quickly, making you feel full and whole because of him; it was a feeling you never wanted to let go, you knew you belonged to him, that damn cowboy would be your owner, your master forever. As you moved slightly on top of him, you took both of his hands and placed it on your breasts, Jack fucking loved your tits, how soft they were, your pretty nipples pearking hard. He squeezed them, massaging gently while his thumbs ghosted over your nipples, at the same time you moved faster on top of him, riding the cowboy at your own pace, not getting enough of him, ever.

Jack pulled your torso forward, taking his hungry mouth to your nipples, suckling on each of them while his hands traveled to your ass cheeks, squeezing them and sustaining your weight so you could ride him faster and more safely. You frowned as he ignored your clit on purpose, you didn't understand why he was such a tease sometimes, but even if avoided your sensitive spot, your walls didn't fail in tightening and contracting and he felt that knot in his lower belly. He knew he wouldn't hold back any longer, so he stopped you and pulled you for another kiss

"Get off me, sugar" he commanded as you felt a little confused at first, not understanding exactly why he told you to stop riding him, but it all made sense when he stood up right behind you and told you to sit on his desk with your legs spread, which you gladly obeyed your cowboy, biting your lips as he took his time watching your body at full display for him.

"You like it, cowboy?"

"You know I fucking do, my beautiful sugar, you are always so sweet to me, only when you are being a filthy dirty slut, then you are my best girl, baby girl" he groaned and slapped your cunt without a warning, smirking at the whimper you let out. Then, Jack lowered himself, hovering over you, using his right hand to spread your pussy lips wide, making your clit so exposed to him, at his mercy, before he just lapped at it, he didn't touch the rest of your pussy though, only his tongue flicked your needy clit, the cowboy's left hand was strong enough to hold you in place the moment he began suckling on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your pussy hole wouldn't stop clenching and gaping so softly at the cowboy's ministrations, you gushed wetness, as it dropped down your asshole and it made him savor every passing second of having you as he pleased. He knew your body just as well as you knew his and the moment he focused on how your legs were shaking, how burning hot your skin felt against his own, he just knew you were close to your orgasm.

But Whiskey wasn't letting you cum just yet, not while he didn't fuck you exactly the way he wanted to. So Jack gave your clit one last lick and smirked at you, his hands flipping you over his desk "spread these beautiful legs, sugar, take my cock like you love it, baby" he whispered into your ear, kissing your neck and using his teeth to nibble at it at the same time he slid his cock once more inside of you. Whiskey's hands were on your hips, holding you by your sides as he adjusted the pace and then went for your hair, gripping at it as he fucked you. The cowboy knew he couldn't hold it any longer and the moment he felt your cunt clenching around him, your clit rubbing against the cool wood of his desk at the same he railed you was enough to set you to your very needed orgasm. You moaned your cowboy's name as loud as you could, his cock was ball deep inside of you at the same time you felt that characteristic throbbing and your Whiskey couldn't hold it anymore, cumming hard, with a loud groan while his thick load flooded into you.

•••

Jack rubbed your arms as you snuggled towards him as tight as you could, while the two of you shared the small couch he kept in his home office. You were still in your orgasm haze, wrapping your head around everything that happened between you and your cowboy, thinking of how intense your wave of lust had been; one moment you two were having a heartfelt, serious and emotional conversation and the next, you were riding your cowboy. However, it felt just so good, so carefree, so loved and desired. Jack Daniels knew how to touch a woman and make her feel like a goddess, that you had to give into your cowboy. As your eyes were getting heavy, you felt him nuzzling your neck, his hand resting on your stomach as he rubbed your belly gently and looked into your eyes

"Funny how I wanted another child so bad and yet I can't even get our son to talk to me after what happened" he sighed and you shook your head, pecking his lips

"Wyatt loves you like crazy, he's a little hurt and he needed his space, go talk to him in a while and he will be the sweetest child we both know" you assured him, taking his hand and entwining your fingers together.

Your cowboy kissed your lips gently, stroking your cheek with his gentle touch under rough hands and stared into your eyes with his warm brown ones, a soft frown appearing on his face

"What made you change your mind about me… well, us?"

You licked your lips and stared at him, would he be mad if he knew the real reason? Would Jack consider it a lack of privacy? Perhaps he would even find it offensive? You weren't very sure… visiting his first wife's grave seemed so personal, something he had always done and openly talked about it but never really invited you to do so, which you understood perfectly and felt quite relieved because you didn't know how you would do so, however, you decided you wouldn't keep any secrets from your cowboy, you two were starting your relationship once more and building it up over a bunch of lies wouldn't work at all.

"I-I went to Gabriella's grave, Jack… yesterday, when you took our son to Statesman with you, I hadn't planned on it, but while I was riding Silver Pony I ended up going too far from the property and accidentally stopped by the cemetery, then I thought I should just walk in, I'm sorry if you don't like it for whatever reason or if you think it was an invasion to your privacy, I just wanted to pay my respect to someone who was so important to you, and while I was there, I realized life is too short, and it's not fair wasting our time playing hard to get. We love each other, we want to be together, we have a beautiful son, a small but gorgeous family and our whole future ahead of us, I mean… Why not?!" You poured your heart out, being as honest as someone could be, showing him how much you meant it, and in return, Jack leaned towards you, kissing you again, his heart was a puddle of love and affection, he couldn't even imagine you had gone to Gabriella's grave, not even in his wildest dreams, but he wasn't mad, quite the opposite, it brought peace within him, to know you had acknowledged her story with him in a physical way, instead of just having heard about it, it comforted him and it made him feel better about himself.

"I love you, sugar, with my whole heart"

•••

After taking you to his master bedroom so you could shower and relax, Jack decided to go after Wyatt. He had given his son enough time but he wanted to make things clear, talk to his son honestly and explain to him that everything that old witch had said was filled with poison. While you were in the shower, he managed to take something he wanted from his nightstand drawer and headed to the kitchen, knowing exactly what could possibly cheer his son up. Cutting up a generous slice of the peach pie you'd made and a huge spoon of vanilla ice cream, Jack had a safe guess the way to his son's pure little heart was a good dessert, just as his own, when Jack Daniels was nothing but a little boy as well. He chuckled at himself and hoped that would work for them. Walking through the green fields, he didn't take long to spot his son and his beloved pony. Silver Star seemed exhausted after spending the whole day playing, lying on the grass as Wyatt caressed its fur gently, he wouldn't stop talking and giggling, certainly telling his friend all about a fascinating story that inhabited his creative mind. Jack's heart warmed with how sweet he truly was, sitting down next to him and gently rubbing his son's back. Wyatt wasn't expecting and jumped a little startled.

"Daddy?!"

"I thought you'd like some sugar, cowboy," Jack said, offering his son a plate with the pie and ice cream, Wyatt watching it with wide eyes as his tummy growled. Only at that moment he remembered he hadn't eaten anything the whole day and that pie looked and smelled so yummy when his mommy was making it. The little boy extended his small hands and took the plate carefully, taking a big bite and moaning in approval at the taste of it. He chewed up his dessert calmly and giggled as Silver Star leaned towards Jack's touch while the cowboy rubbed her face gently.

"She likes you daddy!" Wyatt said sweetly and stared at Whiskey, who tried organizing his thoughts in order to know the right thing to say and above all, trying to hide the nervousness. One could think it was actually quite funny to see senior Agent Whiskey acting that way, but a conversation with his son was much more important than any high profile meeting he could ever have with Champ or another member of the agency. He cleared his throat softly

"Wyatt, daddy wants to talk to you… Mommy and I are very sorry about the things grandma said, she had no right to say those mean things. Some people are so sad and bitter they can't handle seeing other people like you, your beautiful mama and me happy, and unfortunately grandma is one of these people, do you understand?"

Wyatt nodded softly and wouldn't break eye contact with his daddy, he was tiny yes, but so smart and attentive, and the cowboy's heart weighed heavily with pride at how similar his son was to his beautiful sugar.

"So… what grandma said isn't true, I love you and your beautiful mama so much, my boy. You and her are my world, I will always love and cherish you both, daddy had another family, yeah. We, uh-" his voice broke as Jack was still getting used to talking about them so frequently, they spent so long it his memory it was kind of odd to mention them so often, especially to his son, who was only a child, but showed great emotional intelligence, just by the way he placed his tiny little hand on top of his daddy, in a silent way to reassure him and tell him to go on.

"Well, we, uh.. I mean, I had a family, a long time ago, way before I met your beautiful mama, I was married to another girl, she was also beautiful and kind, and we had a little boy too, but he was still very tiny and he lived in her belly, like one day you lived in your Mama's belly…"

"What happened, daddy?" Wyatt couldn't hold back his curiosity and wanted to know more about it.

"Well, they went to live in heaven and daddy was all alone for a very long time. Until one day I met your mom, my sugar and my life changed for good. Your mommy was and she still is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and for the first time in years I had a reason to smile, to feel happy, but the fact that my first family had to go live in heaven still scared me a lot, and when I found out your mommy was carrying you in her belly" Jack brushed his thumb over his son's cheek in a gentle caress "... I was terrified that one day you and mommy would be gone too, so I made her go away, but I regret this every single day because there's nothing in the world that I love more than you and her, and I will never be away from the two of you, ever again. I promise you, my son, we will always be a family. All I'm trying to say is that no matter what grandma says, I love you and your mommy and I hope one day you can forgive me for what happened"

Jack looked down, trying to hide the annoying, insisting tears that ran down his cheek. He sniffed and wiped his face, being surprised by how fast Wyatt climbed up his lap and hugged him.

"I love you daddy" he said not understanding why his dad had tears in his eyes, but he knew that whenever he cried, his mommy would always hold him, so he figured it would work out with his daddy too.

Whiskey wrapped his arms around his son's small frame, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back gently, that cowboy knew he didn't deserve that much love, forgiveness and affection from his son and you, he'd been too bad for the two of you, but he was going to get down on his knees every single day and thank the Lord for being so blessed like he was.

He kept his son in a tight embrace, not many words were needed, just the two of them, the big cowboy and the little one, in each other's company silently proving nothing could come between their bond.

It took them a few minutes to calm down their emotions and finally be able to talk about other things, just as if nothing had happened, Wyatt finished his dessert and told his dad about his fun afternoon with Silver Star. Jack listened to it intently, as if it was the most interesting piece of information in the world, and well, to him it was, because he loved his son and he was fascinated by him on a daily basis, still being a little shocked at how a child could be so smart and precious like he was. Only when Jack patted his pocket, was that he remembered one thing he needed to discuss with his son.

"Wyatt, I know you love your mommy as much as I love her, right? So I need your help to do something really nice for her, but it gotta be a cowboy secret okay? So you can't tell mommy"

And Wyatt was sold at that moment; he loved his mommy and he loved doing nice things for his mommy and above all, he was so excited to be a part of a cowboy secret, which meant only his daddy and him could know what it was, after all, Wyatt was already a cowboy and he liked it. He nodded eagerly and Jack laughed, getting the small box out of his pocket and opened it, showing his son the gorgeous engagement ring he had bought

"I need your cowboy help to make mommy a surprise so I can give her this, alright?!"

____

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goodqueenaly · 2 months

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How do you think Melisandre will react when she discovers that Stannis isn't actually Azor Ahai reborn? What about the Queen's Men?

Perhaps the better question to ask - although it might amount to about the same thing - is what Melisandre and the Queen’s men (not to mention Selyse herself, and Shireen) will do as TWOW opens - namely, in light of both the bombshell news (or purported news) from the pink letter that Stannis is (again, supposedly) dead, as well as the assassination of Jon. If, as Ramsay’s letter to Jon so bluntly asserted, Ramsay had slain Stannis after seven days of battle, then the hopes of both Melisandre and the Queen’s men might seem, perhaps to use an apt turn of phrase, snuffed out: Stannis obviously could not be the hero chosen by R’hllor to save the world if he was already dead, and at the hands of so mundane and temporal an enemy as Roose Bolton’s bastard son. That Stannis isn’t in fact dead, as I very much believe is the case, does not really matter; so far as anyone at the Wall knows, the would-be apocalyptic champion of the Lord of Light is currently lying dead in the snows around Winterfell.

Melisandre, in her sole chapter, had already faced the trouble of vague portentous guidance on Stannis as Azor Ahai. More to the point, Melisandre had also already received at least some indication via her fiery visions that the identity of Azor Ahai was indisputably linked to Jon Snow. Consequently, I think she may realize or believe she now understands, as TWOW opens, that she had been focusing on the wrong person as Azor Ahai. Stannis was clearly not “the Lord’s chosen, the warrior of fire”, as she put it to Davos, since the apocalypse was still nigh; clearly, what R’hllor was trying to tell her was that the person to look for was Jon. Now, the fact that Jon had also recently been killed may not seem as big a stumbling block to Melisandre as it might objectively, in terms of the identity of a universal savior; Melisandre may not have ever brought anyone back from the dead (so far as we know), but as Thoros and Moqorro demonstrate, the ability of R’hllor’s priests (and presumably priestesses) to defy even death in the name of their god is a substantial power indeed. I have a feeling Melisandre is going to move quickly to return Jon to the land of the living via her fire magic (with the unconscious bonus, perhaps, of having Jon’s “soul” still be preserved in his wolf in the interim).

As far as the queen’s men go, the death of Stannis may seem more like a political tragedy than a cosmic one. The true devotion of the queen’s men to R’hllor is a mixed bag: some truly converts to the new religion (like young Devan Seaworth), some devoted only for the cruelty the exercise of that religion allows (like Clayton Suggs), and some converts only in name (like the late Alester Florent). However, whether or not any given pro-Stannis aristocrat at the Wall feels a sense of cosmological devastation at the news of Stannis’ (supposed) death, all of them would know that their political prospects were now far from certain. In the patriarchal, misogynistic world of Westerosi politics generally, a preteen girl might have a very hard time asserting herself as queen in her own right; as a result, the queen’s men at the Wall might be pretty uncertain about what to do without the strong male warrior-king figure of Stannis behind whom they could rally.

And of course, that’s without the immediate problems at the Wall overtaking them all as well. Jon’s assassination was the acme of a chaotic day at the Wall: not only had Jon dropped his bombshell news regarding the letter from Ramsay, his planned march on Winterfell, and the planned mission to Hardhome, but Ser Patrek had taken the opportunity to challenge Wun Wun the giant to seize Val - which ended about as much as anyone might have expected. With Jon murdered out in the open, the Wall is going to be, to put it bluntly, a mess: anti-Jon conspirators with his blood quite literally still on their hands, pro-Jon brothers potentially retaliating against those conspirators, queen’s men rushing about to rescue and/or avenge Ser Patrek from Wun Wun, free folk realizing that their pseudo-leader at the Wall is now dead. Any questions of Stannis’ death, and the apparent failure of him to be Azor Ahai, may be subsumed in something like a miniature civil war breaking out at the Wall, and them being caught in it.

#asoiaf meta #speculation #TWOW #melisandre

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miscellaneoussmp · 9 months

Text

Did Bad and Bagi interactions inspire this? Yes. Do I expect this to be anywhere close to Canon? Nope. Anyway, here's the story of The Grim Reaper meeting a set of twins (cw/tw: blood/violence/death mentions, general Cellbit fuckery):

In war, a lot of horrible things happen. That's just how it is. People die, and it's a tragedy, as it always is. Bad always finds himself on the battlefields. His duty to the world beyond demands it of him. Reaping the souls of those who have unfortunately passed on during battle is as simple as it's always been. It's just more time-consuming than usual. Bad can't find the energy to mourn every single soul he takes. He mourns for souls he's yet to take, instead.

Bad likes to believe he's seen everything in this world. He's just as old as it, if not even older. This world shouldn't hold many surprises. As always, he's proven wrong. In the woods not incredibly far from a main battlefield, Bad finds two people. They look young, really young. One sits next a body that is ripped to shreds, and the other sits further from the body. The one closer to the body wipes blood from his mouth as he looks up at Bad. His brown hair was held out of his face with a set of goggles. The one farther is chewing on what looks to be stale bread. She looks between the other and Bad, through her ash blonde hair. They look like siblings, twins maybe. These two are the types of souls that Bad mourns. He can feel they're destined for greatness, yet they're stuck here.

The young duo looks absolutely terrified as Bad approaches them, two sets of wide bright blue eyes stare at him. The one next to the body stands, holding his knife in a shakey white knuckle grip. The one farther grabs a sword in an equally shakey grip. Bad points to the body, and he tries his best to explain that he's just here for the soul. The young brunette nods before turning to his companion, his sister Bad assumes, and translates. Bad recognizes the language as Portuguese, but he doesn't have any hope in understanding what was actually said. Both lower their weapons, the closer sits back down, and both look in amazement as Bad tears the soul from the body. Simple as that. He jokes about soul, luckily, being left in tact. Neither one of the younger two laugh.

Bad stays after his job is complete. He's curious about siblings. He's still guessing at that fact. He wants to know more about the young soldiers. He wants to know more about the young souls he's mourning for. Bad asks about their names. The demon wants to know what names he needs to plead cases for in front of Death, herself. The brunette looks to his sister, a guess still, before turning back to Bad shaking his head. Neither has a name. Bad didn't have one for a while either, so he doesn't push. Next, he asks about their ages. How young are they truly? They can't be much older than eighteen. Bad hates the answer he receives. Quinze, the blonde, speaks finally, her voice shakes. Fifteen, the brunette translates in unsure tone. Was Bad ever that young? He can't remember. Finally, he asks if they're actually siblings. There wasn't any hesitation, both nod.

Bad is taken a back when they question him in return. He really shouldn't have been. They ask–the brother mostly asks, but the sister speaks, as well, in their native tongue–about his name. He shares with them his name and a few nicknames he's gotten over the years. There's a hint of recognition in their expressions with a few of his names. After a few more questions, some of which Bad doesn't answer, he offers the siblings non-stale bread. The brunette doesn't take it, instead licking his lips that are still covered in blood. Bad gets it. He really does. The blonde cautiously takes it with her hands still shaking as she does so. She examines the bread for any tampering. Bad gets that, too. He really does.

The Grim Reaper takes his leave after the siblings fall asleep, it was hours of a futile struggle to stay awake. He knows they sleep light and fearful. Bad mourns for their souls before he ever needs to reap them. The demon curses whoever or whatever has forced these nameless teens to fight. He mourns for the day he'll take their souls. At least they'll know peace then.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets one of the young souls he mourned for, once again. He took the name Cellbit, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Cellbit is a investigator now, and his face holds a relaxed smile. He thanks Bad for being kind to him all those years ago. He doesn't mention his sister.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets the other young soul he mourned for, once again. She took the name Bagi, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Bagi is a pacifist now, and her bright eyes are full of curiosity and determination. She thanks him for being kind to her now. She doesn't mention her brother.

#qsmp #qsmp lore #qsmp fanfiction (sorta)#qsmp drabble #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp cellbit #qsmp bagi #theyre siblings your honor #no theme this time around just hit shuffle on one of my playlist #this is a bit longer than a drabble huh?#i hope yall like i had a lot of fun with it

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kanthonyficrecs · 14 days

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Collection: Marriage of Convenience AUs

A Red Thread of Convenience by ronandhermy Rating: T Status: Complete Summary: At the age of eighteen Kate Sharma, after sending a desperate letter to her father’s homeland, receives aid in the form of a letter from Lady Danbury who has arranged a match for the young woman. With only a letter, a promise and hope, Kate takes her mother and sister and sails to England where she is to marry Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

All the world’s a stage by PenguinofProse Rating: E Status: Complete Summary: In which Anthony Bridgerton realises he has made a mistake or two, and has to face the consequences. How will he handle being obliged to marry Miss Kate Sharma?

i could be your heron blue sky (wrap me in celadon and gold) by Krewlak Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: Shortly after Maahesh Sharma dies, Kathyani Sharma makes a most advantageous match with James Harris, the second Earl of Malmesbury - a lifelong bachelor nearly two decades older than her. In exchange for the financial security of her mother and her sister, all the Earl requires is an heir. Unfortunately, when the promised heir is six, tragedy strikes. With the death of the head of her household, yet again, Kate is left with a choice in order to save her family. A choice that happens to appear in the form of the ninth Viscount Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton - capital R rake & the most eligible bachelor of the 1814 season.

Matters of Engagement by andromedas_perseus Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: After the Sheffield dinner, Kate takes matters into her own hands. An AU where Kate agrees to end Edwina and Anthony’s engagement, secures her family’s future, and falls in love along the way.

Mistaken Identity by PenguinofProse Rating: E Status: Complete Summary: Infamous Count Bridgerton has a plan to kidnap the Crown Princess, but it all goes horribly wrong.

Stung By Love by StrawberryPajamas94 Rating: T Status: Complete Summary: Kate Sharma had been stung by bees several times in her life, but never did she expect a simple sting to result in this.

The Honeymoon by dalovelover Rating: M Status: Complete Summary: When a bee sting forces Lord Anthony Bridgerton and Miss Kate Sharma into marriage, both of their lives are sent down an alternate path. Before the wedding, Anthony made it clear that their union will not be about love. As they embark on their honeymoon, how will their relationship shift as they become more and more intimate, emotionally and physically - no matter how much they try to convince themselves that they can restrict their marriage to nothing but friendship and sex?

The Husband Who Loved Me by scintilla10 Rating: T Status: Complete Summary: When the Sharmas first came to England, Kate Sharma had vowed to do anything in her power to help her family. Which was how she found herself standing in front of a crowd of strangers, about to marry the most irritating man in London.

The Mayfair Mangler by Mx Kate B (katelai) Rating: E Status: Complete Summary: Because the London authorities are doing nothing, Kate puts on her detective hat in order to solve a local crime. She does not anticipate running into the rakish Viscount Bridgerton while on the hunt and is further vexed when he insists upon joining her.

The Return by dalovelover Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: When Lord Anthony Bridgerton and the new Lady Kate Bridgerton (nee Sharma) return to London from their honeymoon, their new life together begins under the watchful eye of the ton. Despite attempting to keep their relationship free of emotion, Anthony finds himself falling in love with his wife, but too afraid to do anything about it.

The Vampire Who Loved Me by Mx Kate B (katelai) Rating: E Status: Complete Summary: This is a story about Kate who is sent to England against her will, separated from her family, and forced into an arranged marriage. She has so little for herself, so she takes what she can. She makes up worlds in her head and one particular fantasy is about the brooding Viscount Bridgerton. Years later she has the chance to meet him and there is instant chemistry.

Waking Up Slowly by INTPSlytherin_reylove97 Rating: M Status: Complete Summary: Arranged marriages were archaic, unnecessary in the light of the marriage mart. However when Anthony Bridgerton is thrust into the role of Viscount and patriarch of his family, he must make decisions to ensure the stability of their future. An arranged marriage for his brother, Benedict, appears the best way to ensure this. Thankfully, Lord Sheffield is more than willing to reach an agreement.

you might have some bruises (and a few scars) by Moomin_94 Rating: M Status: Complete Summary: Anthony is a handsome farmer in need of a mother for his younger siblings and no time for courting

#masterlist #collection #marriage of convenience

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mrsnancywheeler · 3 months

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Ok I’m back with the songs 🫡

I can’t remember if anyone else has mentioned this, but finnick/sweet girl are very much giving this is me trying by miss blondie herself

——————

I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting” “And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that”

This reminded me a lot about their recent argument at the end of chapter 6, where sweet girl called him a liar and accused him of purposely playing mind games with her :(

——————

“And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town”

THIS MIGHT JUST BE FINNICKS ENTIRE INNER MONOLOGUE AFTER THEY BROKE UP #IDK !! OR !! HIS THOUGHTS DURING READER’S GAMES! How he has to keep up appearances and his playboy persona to make sure his sweet girl gets sponsors, but he’s actually feeling so much grief and stress.

——————

Another song they remind me of is Wasteland, Baby! But specifically:

“I’m in love, I'm in love with you. And I love too, that love soon might end. Be known in its aching”

Just reminded me about how they’re meant to go through tragedy :((

——————

BONUS SONGS!

we can't be friends (wait for your love) by Ariana Grande’s SCREAMS young!reader going through the breakup with Finnick :((

——————

“We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again. Wait for your love”

Just her initial reaction to the breakup and how she still loves him :((

——————

“I don't like how you paint me, yet I'm still here hanging”

“Me and my truth, we sit in silence. Baby girl, it's just me and you. ‘Cause I don't wanna argue, but I don't wanna bite my tongue, yeah, I think I'd rather die. You got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good” This reminds me of when Finnick was saying all those things he didn’t mean about his sweet girl, and although she’s hurt by it she still loves him (and deep down she knows he doesn’t mean it!)

——————

And Comfort Crowd by Conan Gray is so them coded like PLEASE mainly about how reader keeps rejecting any comfort because she doesn’t feel like she deserves it + how she was afraid to voice that she wants said comfort during her hijacking

——————

“Wellin' up in tears as I lay upon your belly. Telling you, ‘I’m fine I don't really need nobody,’ But you say through a sigh that I said that lie already”

Need I say more.

——————

“And even if I cry all over your body. You don't really mind. Say you like your shirt soggy.”

This could go for both Finnick and Reader! About how they both feel guilty for receiving comfort from the other person (Finnick bc he wants to give comfort too, and Reader bc she feels like she doesn't deserve it)

——————

I hope this isn’t too long hehe but these were my #thoughts. I’m a yapper at heart <3 lmk what you think!!

BUT SIDENOTE I SAW HADESTOWN FOR THE FIRST TIME LAST NIGHT W JORDAN FISHER AND !! His performance was fr giving me finnick vibes bc he was really giving that obsessed yearner vibe IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT LOL but it was so good!!

-🦅

buckle up folks because I love a lot to say 🫡❤️

this is me trying is so them, like very heavily

they're both really at their core such sunshiney people who've been so broken down and used by the world that they've really been dulled. and reader is always quick to bite back, especially when she's scared or frustrated or doesn't want to reveal her emotions, she doesn't have a complete grasp on reality yet, she's scared of being left behind, scared that finnick will die, scared of being alone and frustrated that he broke his promise to her so she lashes out.

110% to both of those, like he's so broken up, aching for her, in pain, blaming himself for everything, but he has to be what's expected of him. some drinks, laughing, flirting, smiling, when all he wants to do his curl up in bed crying as he holds into some remant of hers that he held onto all this time.

in the context of the most recent chapter "I just wanted you to know that this is me trying" is so very much both of them for different reasons

finnick says the things he does and does what he does because he wants to help her get better, to be delicate with her, keep her safe, keep her protected from the dangers of the time and her mental state. he's trying his hardest even if he doesn't always handle it in ways that bode well.

reader is trying to be herself again, she just wants to be treated normally regardless of how that affects her. once she's her she'll be less paranoid, more trusting, she's trying so hard to replicate that so she can get there and feels like he's not letting her. that her attempts are being shut down.

they are the tragic lovers, so in love, so obsessed, and constantly fated for hurt after hurt. all I'm saying is to watch moulin rouge and think of them because it's so finnick and his sweet girl in another life.

LITERALLY THOUGH if she could've she would've followed him around like a lost puppy dog, it would have fed into the narrative about her, but she's so desperately in love that she would have waited so patiently. in a way she did, but if he'd told her he was breaking up with her for other girls she was so young and so already achingly in love with him that she would have kept trailing around waiting for him to come baxk

(side note, finnick is really the love sick puppy, but reader reminds me of a stray cat who picks someone to love, always waits to be fed by them. given a little bit of attention and now will be attached for the long run. I thought googles description was really funny because it's just so her "With time and patience, a stray cat may trust you and want pets consistently. If you have grown close to a stray cat, it may feel upset or distressed if you suddenly leave it." so yeah she's a stray cat who finally got some love before being suddenly stranded again)

ANYWAYS yes, the way he talks about her and paints the portrait of their relationship is so hurtful. she totally cries about it consistently because to her he's perfect, and although she largely wants to believe what he said when they broke up and trust he still loves her, a part of her can't help but feel so stupid for letting herself be lead on by someone who's been said to be a playboy anyway. it makes her so insecure, so much more guarded, but she doesn't hate him, no she could never. she's in love with him. no matter what he says or does she's long placed her roots and won't tear them up.

that's literally the most them interaction to have never ever interacted, some of her tears have welled up, she's choking on pushed down sobs, and insisting that she's okay even though Finnick can read her like a book. he's softly scolding her for lying while she continues to try and insist until she's completely broken down into sobs.

reader could have the roughest day ever and still insist that she's fine, comfort finnick, love on him, hold him, and he spends the time hating that he's enjoying the loving when she's so obviously lying, masking everything. it's such a paradox. meanwhile she feels terrible for aching comfort because of things she does, she wants to suffer, but the lure of giving into finnick's arms is too much sometimes. especially knowing that he loves her so much and so well. she just has to let herself take what she needs even if she hates herself or it later.

ofc this isn't too long pookie, I love hearing y'all's thoughts no matter how long, yap to me endlessly pookie, I'm a yapper too. ❤️

YAY EXCITING I would love to see Jordan Fisher as Orpheus, he's so talented. I'd die, and yes it's just so Finnick 😭💕

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #the lakes #finnick odair #the river #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #🦅 anon

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sashascripta · 1 year

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A cup of coffee (Luke x male!reader)

This is a request for @thewheat-thins69, hope you enjoy!

Luke pulled out his old roller-skates and eyed them, in a weird amalgamation of disdain and wonder. Rushed to his mind were memories of gliding down the pavement in his teen years, returning home from school, eager to see his dad. His teenage years were the very definition of a mixed bag. It was filled with dreams, hope and energy, the efforts of his wonderful parents, but then tragedy worked its cruel hands in the affair.

He shook off those memories, focusing instead on the wonder. On you. He was absolutely enraptured by you. You were the only person who could bring a cup of Weston's egregious coffee and only receive in turn a mild reproach.

You had started off as friends but Luke couldn't deny his ever-growing feelings for you. Once, as a joke, Lorelai proposed the two of you spent so much time together, you acted like a married couple. You both turned away from each other. He anticipated rejection or puzzlement on your face, you didn't know what to expect on his. When Lorelai noticed both of your forlorn yet hopeful expressions, she went: "Oh my god. Did I just inadvertently play matchmaker or ruin yet another friendship?"

"It's fine," Luke remembered brushing off in his cliched way. "I-I don't know if (Y/N)'s acquainted with your exasperating sense of humour, Lorelai. It probably caught him off guard."

Lorelai had shot an annoyed look Luke's way. "Hello? (Y/N) works at the inn. We spend many evenings laughing at your expense, appreciating my wonderful, perky, very welcome sense of humour."

She'd turned to you in the middle. "That wasn't even my best work," she reminded you, only to notice how out-of-it you seemed. And by out-of-it, out of the friendly dynamic the three of you shared. Your attention was fixed on Luke, and he seemed to you the only person in the room.

In the way she quickly walked and talked, Lorelai also abruptly took the hint. "I should get going. Rory's home from Yale and claimed to have brought with her a pizza the size of our kitchen table. I didn't think we ever needed that thing but now it seems to have finally found its calling-okay, bye bye." She had stumbled out the door, awkwardly chuckling.

"Luke, I–"

"(Y/N)"

You spoke at the same time, emitting a chuckle that finally cut the tension in the air. "You first," you coaxed.

Luke looked caught off guard instead and swallowed nervously. "So, I-uh, I don't know what to say exactly. I'd be lying if I said I never thought about this, never thought about us. Or that I hadn't thought about this exact moment in my head either, but we're friends and I never wanted to ruin that. I know the move to Stars Hollow wasn't easy for you, and I can't blame you. This place would repel Walt Disney, for god's sake. But I-I can, very awkwardly, say that things here haven't been the same since I met you."

"Luke," you said.

"Wait," Luke interrupted, "before I lose my resolve. Would you like to go out sometime? I mean, can I take you out sometime? On a date."

You smiled, a wave of comfort running through you, at what you wished to transpire but never imagined would so perfectly unfold. However, when you saw Luke's nervous, pleading expression, you wanted to make this moment easier on you. "So long as it's at Weston's!" you teased, provoking another laugh from the both of you.

Now Luke was wistfully rolling back and forth his roller-skates on his apartment ground, thinking about the moment when everything fell in place. God, he neither thought he'd have to recruit Lorelai Gilmore as his wingwoman, nor be so pleased she was there that second.

He set off for the rink Taylor recently opened to compete with that of Woodbridge. He tried not to think about Taylor at that second, lest his mind fill with annoyance instead.

When he got to the rink, he looked round, only to discover how crowded it was. "Luke!" he heard a cheerful young girl's voice. It was Lane who skated up to him. "Come on in. We have a bet on which job Taylor hired Kirk for, and the largest sum is on concession stand!"

Luke resisted the inclination to roll his eyes at what Stars Hollow considered gambling but then spotted you walking in and absentmindedly patted Lane's shoulder. "You go ahead, I'll-uh, catch up." Confused, Lane agreed and skated off.

Luke met you close to the entrance. "Hey," you said with a smile that made his knees weak. You both lingered on the way to greet each other until you ended up in a bear hug. Luke's arms felt so strong and safe, like nothing, not even your pesky worries or doubts, could plague you at that moment.

"I have my skates right here," said Luke. "My feet grew exponentially when I was a kid, we had to buy new ones every few years. Then when I was 18, we seemed to hit a plateau, so I finally fit in these, still." He stopped. "And now I realised I spent the last twenty seconds talking bout shoes, I'm sorry."

You smiled. "No, don't be. I was going to rent but then Lorelai told me Taylor found three different loopholes to hike these prices up and bought a pair of these bad boys. If all goes well, perhaps I'll get to use them again." Luke grinned warmly, which immediately eased your worries. You realised the implication behind your last phrase meant that you were dreaming of a second date and proper future with Luke, but didn't want to be so presumptuous to assume Luke was on the same page. But his smile conveyed an understanding that you actually reassured him, rather than frighten him away.

"So how bout we take a few rounds? If you want a coffee or something, we can stop at the cafe. Or I can take you to Weston's. They do make a pie there which makes me stop thinking about how much butter they use in the crust," Luke rambled once again. When he started talking to you, he felt the need to both confide in you as much as he could in those few breaths and add the necessary provisions to his words, in case you got the wrong idea. He didn't want to ruin anything before you properly explored it.

You laughed, wondering if Luke would ever recognise how endearing he was in his nervousness. You were so sick of men who compensated for their insecurity with brazenness and ego, that Luke was a breath of fresh air. You could tease him and he wouldn't crack. He'd just smile and banter back. He could keep up with you and that felt so reassuring. Everything about him felt secure.

You both entered the rink and skated close to the edge, because everyone was gathered near the middle, in a huddle. You heard Babette argue with Taylor: "You're crazy! Why would you put Kirk in charge of guarding the door?"

You smiled. Stars Hollow was a unique place, that's for sure. But it was also so peaceful yet full of excitement. And it was a community, so people all helped each other and were there for each other, in a way they didn't bother to match in the city.

You only half-paid attention when Taylor pushed that Kirk was the only one who could spot and stop a Litchfield spy, attempting to copy the design and layout of their rink, to beat it as the best in Connecticut.

Luke noticed your faraway look and said, "To have Taylor's problems." Humour was the way you bonded as friends so he assumed it would carry on in your relationship too.

You laughed politely, only partly in the loop on Luke and Taylor's incessant rivalry. When someone bumped into you and went on in a fashion inconceivable with the camaraderie of the town, Luke grabbed onto you with more haste than was necessary. "You okay?" he asked. His gruff voice had the surprising ability to both calm and ground you. "Why don't we get out of here?" He immediately blushed at the implication and quickly went back on his words: "I mean out of the rink, get you a coffee or something!"

You realised it was getting a bit rowdier, what with Kirk entering the circle and attempting to proclaim his winnings for having bet on himself. "It's rigged now, Kirk, you ruined everything!" Patty protested.

You and Luke walked back to the diner, silently enjoying each other's company. "Ah shoot," he said as you both ambled in. "I know you prefer the coffee at Weston's and I brought you here. Am I a cheap date or what?"

"I don't go to Weston's for the coffee. Yours is far superior."

"Really? Well, I thought everyone enjoyed their whipped cream disasters they call 'specialty,' but that may just be Lorelai and Rory."

You smiled. "There's a time and place for that, but daily, I prefer Luke-Luke's!" You stumbled on your words as well. Luke smiled, turning to pour your coffee and omit the glee on his face.

After you nursed your cup for a bit, Luke suggested you go upstairs and watch a movie, only to, midway on the staircase, remember he didn't own a television. Before he opened the door, he told you this, expecting you to want to return downstairs, but you diverted his expectations.

"No, let's stay. You'll make tea and you keep the good tea up here," you said. Luke hadn't dated a friend before, but he so enjoyed the different awkwardness that came with it. Gone was the embarrassment of having to share with a virtual stranger the intimacy of a couple, on a one-on-one date. What unfortunately lingered was the fear of saying the wrong thing and making it worse. But what was entirely new was knowing the person so well that you could predict what the wrong thing was to say. It is different, though. We're friends and we know each other, and I keep thinking I can't say the wrong thing. But I inevitably do, Luke's mind debated with itself.

He opened the door to the apartment and put the kettle on, while you made yourself comfortable on the sofa, rearranging the cushions the way you knew you liked it at home. You took a sip out of the diner-large cup and sighed in pleasure. Luke made coffee like no one else in Connecticut.

Luke watched you and smiled to himself. He brought his tea and you both finally fell back into comfortable banter and conversation. Neither of you were as nervous as you were when the date began, but the anticipation and slight wariness of saying the right thing remained.

You set your cup down on the coffee table and leaned into Luke slightly. He adjusted you so you were rested on his chest. I'm cuddling with Luke, you thought. I'm cuddling with Luke. You ignored the excitement in your chest and leaned in further.

#luke danes x reader #luke danes x male reader #luke x male reader #gilmore girls #luke danes

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tuiyla · 1 year

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when first watching yellowjackets i was expecting jackie to be on the receiving end of some sort of cool twist. she ends up actually becoming antler queen, she’s still alive in the present day and is actually the one who sent the postcards, whatever. but the way she actually went made so much more sense tbh. they fought, they were both too stubborn to go talk to one another after. what happened afterwards so easily could have been prevented. on any other night out there in the woods jackie would have made it through the night and probably made amends w shauna eventually. neither her nor shauna had any idea it was going to snow 😭 i’m honestly so glad they went that route instead of something else because i think it makes shauna’s character and her relationship w jackie so much more devastating.

I couldn't wait to learn more about Jackie's fate but I always hoped it would end up being... banal, almost. But that's exactly why it feels fresh and novel because it's not some noble sacrifice or grandiose moment and like you I think it makes way more sense.

Because, if you're Shauna, how do you get over that? Even before we consider what later seasons will explore regarding other things that happened in the wilderness. And that's just it because if you're Shauna you don't get over that. You're forever haunted by a stupid argument that deffo did have stakes even outside of typical teen drama because don't get me wrong, that convo was raw as fuck and they threw very real things at each other. But, at the end of the day, even the stakes of that argument paled in comparison to their brutal situation. Because you can't act like you would at home, deciding to stay mad at your best friend even though you're stranded and it's Northern Ontario and Jackie doesn't even have the basic survival skills like making fire. And so she freezes even though she didn't have to, even though there was shelter right there. But nature doesn't give a fuck that the girlies are fighting or that both are too proud to resolve this conflict that same evening. That's the harsh reality of the Yellowjackets and of course Jackie would be the first to go this way. The first to die simply because they refused to adapt to that harsh reality.

I'm obsessed with how Jackie represents their old life, both while in the wilderness and of course 25 years later. Jackie is their team captain but she can't hold them together when she's out of her element. Everyone else finds their Thing but Jackie just can't exist in this new world. Looked at another way, she also represents the good side of what they left behind. I was surprised to see how many people wrote Jackie off as the stereotypical Queen Bee and mean girl when she isn't that archetype at all for me. Maybe a bit, yeah, by nature of being the popular girl and team captain but I'm used to the Santana Lopezes of the world (jk there's only one Her) so Jackie was just a normal teenage girl to me. That's the beauty and tragedy of it, because she is the normal teen girl who refuses to let go of real world norms and give in to nature. She's annoying when that manifests in not doing the chores and getting her hands dirty, sure, but she's pretty much the only sane one when the madness starts and she clings to these societal norms. (Natalie is the other sane one but that's another discussion.)

When Jackie dies, it's much more powerful than any twist could have been. Much more powerful than her living or becoming a driving force in the cult stuff. It's simple. It's nature, it's death. It's the first fall of snow and it's the death of the old world order. It's infuriatingly evitable. But, at the same time, it had to happen because of what it symbolizes. Yeah the girls, any of the girls actually could have just realized that Jackie sleeping outside was stupid af and that nature doesn't care about the girlies fighting it will kill anyone who's unprepared. And Jackie was the embodiment of being unprepared. But that's the rawness and sickness and brilliance of it, that no one did go out for Jackie. And Jackie didn't go in because she still lived in New Jersey and for that, she had to die. For Shauna, her last convo with Jackie will never not be that. The fact that she so easily could have saved Jackie will never not hang over her. She lives in the shell of Jackie Taylor's life and refuses to not do that because Jackie will never not be a part of her - or rather, idk if Shauna will ever view herself as not a part of Jackie.

I'm just obsessed with girls who haunt the narrative, ask anyone who's heard me go on about Twin Peaks or Life Is Strange (Before the Storm). Jackie is such a cool character and her and Shauna's bond so messed up and so delicious. I'm just rambling about all these random thoughts I have om Yellowjackets but basically YES I love how this show just makes so much sense thematically and that should really be a given in storytelling but damn does it feel good to actually have it.

#this is not cohesive but i feel like i don't have to be about this show #i just think it's neat #something i can just enjoy but it also makes me THINK #with the things they do and not with what they don't ya know #and that's good #anon #yellowjackets #yellowjackets asks #people who don't stan jackie don't get it #jackie taylor #shauna shipman

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 1 year

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To Maintain The Lie

Series: Rational Thinking Part Four

Summary: What does one call themselves when they are neither hero nor villain? Is there a word for those merciful lies told in order to champion truth? Where is the line between necessity and morality? You're not the hero in this story and you're not the villain. You're just the surgeon who stops a heart to prevent more pain. What a shame it is that life just isn't fair. || Kol x reader || Here lies my Masterlist ||

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, angst, language, some gore. I can't exactly call any of this fluff but these two are so in love it kinda makes me sick.

A/N: This part got so long that I had to split it in half. Expect a few pov changes as I try to widen the scope on this fic. (Or maybe I'm just showing off. Who knows?) Now, let's start the show.

🔪STORY BEGINS BELOW 🔪

Whoever first claimed that they were too young to die was an arrogant, entitled, narcissistic asshole. For you see, such a statement implied that life - or more accurately - death was somehow bound, or at least could be, by a human sense of restraint or equity. It alleged that there was such a thing as an age below which the universe simply could or should not tolerate a human being's loss of life.

But Jeremy Gilbert knew the truth. There was no such thing as fair. Equity was nothing more than a fantasy that humanity had invented to make themselves feel better because people die every day and the universe doesn’t give a damn how young they are. Some claim that tragedies and pain happen for a reason - that there’s a reward in the end for those who endure - but Jeremy didn’t believe that. No, he’d been suffering his whole damn life and every reward he thought he’d received had been mercilessly ripped away from him and if there was a reason for it, then it was not one he could see. Though, perhaps his true reward was nothing quite so grand as one would hope. Perhaps his only solace would be an escape from living with the crushing weight of loss. For now, it seemed, Jeremy Gilbert would die as he had lived - suffering.

So whoever it was that had first claimed themselves too young to die - that person was an arrogant, entitled, narcissistic asshole, he decided. Because he was dying - alone in the darkness and the dirt - and he was only seventeen.

There was nothing fair in that.'

"Damon, stop!" Elena's voice cried out from somewhere in the distance. The sound wasn't too far behind him - it was uncomfortably close.

Jeremy Gilbert ground his teeth, dragging his broken body across the forest floor. Blood seeped from a gash in his arm. It was deep - the kind that would require stitches, but he couldn't afford to worry about that right now. For the moment, he needed to focus on surviving.

Y/N had warned him. She'd warned him, and he hadn't listened.

Jeremy bit his lip to keep himself from screaming as he shoved himself upward with all his might. His back slammed into a tree, and the boy gasped as a flash of pain shot through him. It mellowed out a moment later, joining the ambient agony he'd henceforth acquired. Adrenaline was dulling the worst of it which wasn't exactly encouraging. He didn't even want to consider how much pain he would be in if he survived this.

"I can't, Elena!" Damon's voice retaliated. "I've spent far too long engineering our mutual destruction already. Jeremy's Hunter's Mark puts us all in danger - puts you in danger!"

“Jeremy’s my brother, Damon!” Elena argued. “Don’t you understand? He would never hurt me!”

Wouldn’t he? Jeremy wasn’t so sure anymore, not after hearing what Elena had done to his best friend and she’d done that while she was human. His sister was a vampire now. She had changed since the accident and not for the better. Jeremy could see it, even if he didn’t want to. If Elena lost control, if she did something bad - hurt someone, killed someone - if she couldn’t control it, then was it not his responsibility to protect people from her? Even if that meant putting her down?

But no. No, it wasn’t. Since when had it ever been his responsibility to hurt anyone, regardless of what they’d done? Jeremy was a damn teenager for crying out loud! He wasn’t a soldier - he was a kid!

A-and killing Elena? That wasn’t him! Jeremey loved his sister. He loved her! Yet, those thoughts had sounded so reasonable and far too close to his own, blending so seamlessly he hardly noticed.

“No, Elena! It’s you who doesn’t understand,” Damon snapped. “I saw that kid draw a stake on the only real friend he’s ever had! Jeremy was ready to kill her and he didn’t even notice! How much longer before that’s you?”

Maybe Damon was right…

What was this hunter’s mark doing to him?

Jeremy's sister said something else, but his enhanced hearing wasn't strong enough yet to catch it. Besides, his senses seemed to be fading in and out of focus at the moment, so he didn't bother with straining to hear, opting to draw his semi-auto from his waistband instead. He still had some fight left in him.

“We’ll find another way, Elena. You can’t take the cure if you’re dead.” The elder Salvatore's words filtered through the trees. "I'm doing what has to be done."

"NO!"

So this was how he was going to die. Was it a bad thing that he hoped this time would be permanent? Surely he'd served his sentence by now, hadn't he?

When Damon stalked out from between the trees in front of him, Jeremy knew his time was up. Sure, he had regrets - hell, he had more than he could count. Sure, he was supposedly too young to die, but when had that ever mattered in this godforsaken town? Sure, he knew he didn't deserve this fate, though for better or worse, this was the one he'd chosen.

No, Jeremy Gilbert didn't want to die, but he had come to terms with his fate long before this moment. After all, he'd died and come back a few times already. (He wasn't sure whether that made him lucky or not.) He'd been living on borrowed time for a long while and he wasn't even sure if he'd really been alive for any of it. If now was his time to go, then he'd go out with a fight and smile when it was finally over.

Whether Damon was right or not, Jeremy Gilbert was not about to go quietly into that good night. No, that boy had suffered far too much to make his death easy on whatever forces of nature demanded that he die before graduating high school. So, he thanked the Lord in heaven for the extra lives he'd been given - 'cause most other people only get the one - and he raised that gun in his hand to point at Damon's black, black heart.

"You're hesitating," The vampire noted.

"There's only one bullet left," Jeremy replied, voice as dry as a desert as he stared that monster down unblinkingly.

"Good to know." Damon huffed a laugh. "Well, this is it, Baby Gilbert. No hard feelings?"

"Nah, I've got a few… dick."

Damon smirked. The cold, unhallowed blackness of the night around them filled his cold, dead eyes, spilling over like bleeding cracks down his cheeks. Jeremy's own eyes narrowed and the breath that left his lips, undoubtedly his last, turned to mist in the chilling evening air. His vision from exhaustion swam and his hand with three broken fingers shook because that gun was heavier than he'd thought it was going to be just a few months ago. In spite of his failing body, he did his best to aim as his finger tightened on the trigger.

The boy's soon-to-be murderer hissed and staggered back, but didn't drop dead. Jeremy had missed the monster's heart. That was alright, he supposed. After all, he was only a junior in high school - not a marksman, not a soldier, not even an adult - just a kid whose story was ending before it ever should have had to begin.

Jeremy lowered the gun and closed his eyes as Damon rushed forward.

Yet death, it would seem, was not quite ready to take him.

A breeze passed in front of his face and a growl ripped from Damon's throat. Jeremy opened his eyes. There in front of him stood Y/N, arms grappled around Damon's. It was a wrestler's hold she had him in, some random part of his dying brain noted. (The Olympic sort of wrestling, not the WW-E kind because he absolutely needed to know that in his last moments.) Damon’s face contorted into a grimace and he hissed, shoving the girl harshly. Y/N ground her teeth, digging her feet into the soil beneath them, and pushed back with a shout, refusing to lose. But Damon was older, and thus significantly stronger than she was. Her feet slid back inch by inch, but it wasn’t enough.

Damon’s low growl morphed into a scream of pain and he reeled back. Jeremy’s stubbornly useless vision cleared just enough for him to see the smoke that curled off the elder Salvatore’s arms.

“Oh, look. Tiny Sherlock’s here to save the day.” He backed off a couple of steps and took to prowling back and forth like a leopard searching for a chink in the armor of its prey. "Crazy how you always show up where you're least wanted."

Mist left the mouth of Jeremy's best friend in small puffs, her entire body was tensed in anticipation and Jeremy couldn't help but wonder who'd taught her how to fight.

"What can I say?" The girl huffed, flicking a few loose strands of hair out of her face. "It's a talent."

Damon's footing shifted slightly to the right and Y/N adjusted her own to match, keeping herself between Jeremy and his intended murderer. The lips of the raven-haired vampire curled.

“Still can’t win a fight without cheating, I see,” He snarled bitterly.

On her arms, he now noticed, the girl wore a pair of sleek black gloves that extended up a ways past her elbows. She adjusted them carefully, staring the other vampire down as she did so and Jeremy’s addled brain finally made the connection. Vervain.

“Last I checked, there’s no such thing as cheating when a life is at stake. You taught me that, Damon.” Her voice was as icy and sharp as a winter storm. There were raging winds howling in the night behind her eyes. “Then again, I suppose that only applies when it’s Elena you’re saving. Anyone else be damned, right?”

“I like to think it only applies once you’ve proven yourself.” Damon smirked. “Take off those gloves, why don’cha? I’m curious. Let’s see if you can beat me in a fair fight.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head. “You must really think I’m dumb, huh?”

“Nah, I just think you’re a coward,” He retorted.

“You’re wrong.” Y/N’s body shifted into a stance that was clearly defensive - an odd tactic for a person whose motto was “the best defense is a swift and decisive offense” - but usually it was only herself she was protecting. Now, she had to worry about Jeremy too and he couldn’t do a thing to help her. It wasn't often that the boy would admit to being useless but his body was seriously broken.

“Then prove it,” Damon challenged.

The girl just shook her head, eyes narrowing. Her expression was one of furious hail and tempestuous wind and her tone was made of frozen spears. “I have nothing to prove to the likes of you - ignorant, arrogant, faithlessly paranoid, pathologically manipulative, inconsequential scrap of agoraphobic slime. ”

The expression that dawns across a person’s face when they realize they no longer hold any power over another, is somewhat hard to describe. It begins as something close to surprise, then morphs into indignation, before settling on cold hatred.

Damon's black eyes narrowed. "You should have stayed dead."

"Funny," Y/N, hummed. "Did your dad say the same thing?"

He snarled in rage and leaped forward, sweeping his leg out to bring Y/N crashing down on her back. Then, he whirled to make a grab for Jeremy. All he would need was a millisecond - a quick snap of the neck and it was done. But Y/N wasn't going to let that happen. Her arm shot out and grasped Jeremy by the ankle, yanking hard. He cried out in pain as twigs and roots and who knows what else, shredded his back as she dragged his body behind hers and rolled onto her side. Damon reached toward her, but her foot lashed out and she landed a kick to the outstretched hand. Jeremy's enhanced senses discerned the telltale snap of breaking bone. The raven-haired vampire stumbled back, cursing and Y/N was up on her feet again in a second. Parrying his clumsy left hook, Y/N sent her knee flying into his stomach which knocked the wind out of him and gave her the opening she needed to get her hands around his throat.

A strangled sound escaped him, a mix of pain and breathlessness, as she pushed him back, vervain gloves burning his skin. He tried to rip her hands off him but only succeeded in torching his own as well. Throwing his weight backward sent both opponents to the ground and gave him a shot to roll out of her grip. Unfortunately, this was a move the girl was quite familiar with and she knew just how to counter it. She shifted her weight as they fell, curling her knees in. When Damon's back hit the dirt, her knees landed on his diaphragm. He lost most - if not all - of his remaining air and when he, in a daze, tried to move his arm, Y/N threw one leg out to the side to step on it.

Jeremy was vaguely reminded of Black Widow.

Damon sputtered and coughed on the ground for a few seconds before falling silent but the girl didn't release him until his foot stopped twitching. Then she got up and raced over to the Gilbert boy, effortlessly lifting him off the ground in a fireman's carry.

"Day-um, Jerry-Berry!" The girl huffed, grinning at him. "What are you doing goin' around with all this beef? You're supposed to be a stick!"

Jeremy just raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well - fighting for your life on a daily basis tends to do that to you." He was too tired to be witty.

She snorted. "Touche."

The boy closed his eyes and let his head roll back. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but uh - what the hell are you doing here?" He asked.

"No time to explain!" She answered brightly. "Hold on tight!"

Trees and plants were whizzing by in an instant, and Jeremy tried to ignore how his stomach dropped. He'd always liked roller coasters, but somehow the sensation was different when he was experiencing excruciating pain - the kind that's white-hot and threatens to make one throw up. He hissed as his best friend came to a sudden stop.

She cursed.

"He's back up," She said, turning around to watch the trees. "I was hoping to run you all the way, but we're not gonna make it. Can you stand?"

"I dunno... Maybe?" He shook his head. "Wait, what are you talking about? Where are we running to?" He demanded, hissing when the girl set him on his feet.

"No time. Do you think you can run?"

Jeremy's lips pressed into a thin line, annoyed. "Depends on where I'm going," He insisted.

"Away from here!" Came her non-answer. He sent her a flat look and she frowned. "Come on, Jer. Don't you trust me?"

He wanted to say yes - immediately and without a doubt, yes. But how could he? Vampirism changed people. He hardly even recognized his own sister some days and he was beginning to wonder if the friend he'd thought he'd lost in Denver was the same girl who'd come back. She was trying to be the same, but her efforts felt to him like a snake trying to fit into a skin it had outgrown. There was this energy - wild and whimsical - that seeped between the edges now and it reminded him far too much of the person she now ran with. Jeremy wanted to trust her.

But Kol Mikaelson?

Never again.

"I don't know why you're helping me," He said with a sigh. He was so tired of this - running circles around trust and always being betrayed. To his surprise, the girl didn't get upset. She just nodded.

"I'm helping because I like you alive… dumbass." Her voice was thin but it held a flicker of humor and warmth. "There's a car parked out on the road just beyond those trees." She pointed. "It's that Dodge Hellcat I always said I was gonna buy - can't miss it. I'll buy you as much time to get there as I can. Don't stop, and whatever you do, don't look back. Okay?"

He hesitated just a moment but nodded. "Okay."

"What are you waiting for? GO!"

So he did. Jeremy ran as fast as his damaged legs could carry him, squinting through the tears in his eyes as the pain rose to a fever pitch. He ground his jaw against it, but he didn't stop, nor did he look back - even when he heard his best friend scream.

He burst through the trees after what felt like an eternity. Glancing up and down the street, he found the car Y/N had told him to look for. It was silver, just like she always said it would be. He limped towards it, his heart threatening to give out. Jeremy collapsed about five feet away, agony burning through every cell in his body but he refused to give up. He crawled the rest of the way, grasped the door handle with bloodied fingers, and flung himself into the passenger's seat.

Every muscle in his body trembled as he forced himself to relax, groaning.

"This is insane," He breathed, tipping his head back against the headrest.

"Oh, it's about to get even better."

That all too familiar voice sent ice shooting through his veins. Jeremy slowly turned his head to see none other than Kol Mikaelson, smirking in the driver's seat. Their eyes met for a moment and both refused to blink. Kol’s mouth stretched into a grin while Jeremy’s own twisted into a grimace. Ten heartbeats. His hand flew to the door but Jeremy was met with the telltale click of the door’s lock before he could touch it. The human groaned.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

***

"Start the car, start the car, start the car!" You barreled out of the trees and raced for your beloved vehicle. Your boyfriend had been right - you should have brought the Jeep. "Start the f-ing car, Kol!"

You dove through the door's open window and into the backseat just as the engine roared to life.

"Freaking FLOOR IT!" You ordered, unceremoniously shoving yourself upright. Kol floored it. Rubber burned and tires squealed but somehow zero to sixty in 3.4 seconds didn't seem fast enough with a determinedly homicidal vampire chasing you.

"This feels like a bad idea!" Jeremy cried over the roar of the open windows. He'd never admit it but mingled with the terror in his voice, there was also exhilaration.

"Come off it, Jer," You said, smirking. "You know you've always wanted to go this fast." You patted his hand which clung to the armrest for dear life and leaned down. "Now, where did I put that thing?"

"Don't tell me you lost it, love," Kol teasingly complained from up-front. "Those things are dangerous, you know. Just think of what would happen if everyone were as irresposible with them as you are."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, shut up you. Jeremy, don't agree with him." Your friend snorted and winced. Scrabbling around under the seat, your hand found cold metal and supple leather. "Found it."

You grabbed the gun and sat up, ducking your head back out the window and twisting to aim at the streak of black that burst onto the road. Muggy summer wind whipped through your hair as the car accelerated to dangerous speeds down an unlit small-town road, though you would trust the boy at the wheel with more than just your life.

Despite your vehicle's considerable speed of two hundred and three miles per hour, the black streak raced after you, slowly but surely gaining. You opened fire, trying to keep your aim steady, but the country road was less than standard.

"Could you hit any more potholes?" You complained, reaching into the front seat. Kol pushed a new magazine into your palm and you quickly reloaded.

"I don't know," He replied. "Are you aiming for the wretch's heart or his knees?"

You snorted. "More like his face."

"Admirable." He smirked. "Let him get a little closer."

"What?!" Both you and Jeremy demanded at the same time. You whirled around, eyes wide. Kol glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

"Trust me," He said.

Trust. You could give him that.

You stopped firing. "And… that's the last of the ammo," You lied, speaking just loud enough for Damon to hear. He seemed to take that as encouragement.

"Get your pretty little head back in here, please," Kol said pleasantly. You raised a brow but retreated back into the Hellcat. Twisting around, you had a decent view of the raven-haired vampire as he pushed closer and closer to the car's bumper.

"He's getting pretty close," You warned.

"Not yet, love," Came the response from the front seat.

You sent him a flat look. "You're being just so comforting right now."

"Isn't it wonderful?"

You made a non-committal noise and checked the rear window again.

"You guys argue like an old married couple." Pain morphed Jeremy's laugh into something that sounded more like a wheeze. You weren't quite sure how he could laugh when his life was at stake, but you took a little solace from it.

"Aww, thanks."

"Don't thank him," Kol scoffed. "He just called you old."

"If I'm old, what does that make you?"

He just grinned. "Classic."

You smacked his shoulder and checked your flank again.

"You know, I never thought my life would be reduced to Death Cab lyrics," You observed, somewhat wryly, hands wrapped like a vice around the gun.

Under Kol's compulsion, Damon wouldn't give up the chase until Jeremy was either dead or outside the state of Virginia. It was odd. You had been the architect of this clever ploy, yet it would seem you hadn't fully anticipated how nerve-wracking your role within it would be.

Thus, the state line really did feel like the Berlin wall.

You just hoped you could reach it in time.

"Is now really the best time to be quizzing me on song lyrics?" Kol wondered, expertly rounding a bend at a speed no human could manage.

You shrugged. "Good a time as any."

He huffed a laugh and you suppressed a smile. It warmed you up inside to have someone who not only understood but who loved you for your nine-track mind.

"Crooked Teeth," He answered, somewhat smug.

"Ah, he does pay attention," You mused distractedly. Behind you, that black streak drew within twenty feet. "Remind me, what are we waiting for exactly?"

"The opportune moment," Kol replied.

"So like, right now?"

"Nope."

Fifteen feet and closing.

"Now?"

"Wait."

Ten feet and closing.

"Kol - I love you - but you're really starting to worry me!" You said, watching Damon inch ever nearer.

"Patience, my flower." He purred, calm as a quiet grove after rain.

Five feet.

"Sweetheart, he is literally riding our coattail!" You exclaimed, eyes wide.

Kol smirked. "Perfect." He glanced back at you. "Give Jeremy a hug, will you?"

Your eyes flew wide.

In that instant, a spark in your brain - that terrible blessing you'd been cursed with - flared to life. Calculations raced through your head, outpacing Newton's laws in the milliseconds before the impact.

Kol slammed on the breaks and time slowed.

(Solve the problem. Solve the problem. Solve the problem.)

4,000 pounds of carbon-fiber and steel traveling at 203 miles an hour - approximately 300 feet or 91 meters per second. That makes for a momentum of 364,000 pounds.

(Fascinating but irrelevant. Get back on track.)

A Dodge Hellcat's stopping distance equates to 107 feet at sixty miles an hour which becomes 368 feet at top speed, decelerating the vehicle in approximately 1.7 seconds.

(You're running out of time. Think faster. Think faster.)

364,000 pounds of force brought to a standstill in 1.7 seconds results in a negative g-force of 5.48 exerted on the body.

(But what does that do? You have to act. Solve the problem.)

Three individuals in the vehicle. One vulnerable to breakage. Instant death - possible, but unlikely. Prioritize potential injuries - whiplash, concussion, internal hemorrhaging, ocular and auditory trauma, acute systemic failure, and aneurysm.

(Time to react. What are you going to do?)

Conclusion: Mind the head.

You threw your arms up just in time to catch Jeremy's head as physics made an admirable effort to huck the entirety of the car's interior through the windshield. The grinding of gears and the screaming of tires on asphalt met your ears as inertia attempted to bifurcate the front seat using your body - a rather unpleasant experience, though you would take the physical pain of a few broken ribs over the anguish of losing your best friend any day. Smoke obscured your vision and the scent of burning rubber assaulted your nose, but you pushed through it, opening your eyes.

"And he sticks the landing!" Kol announced, glib as ever. "Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen."

"Kol-" You groaned, pushing yourself up to rest an elbow on his seat. "-you hurt my baby."

That car was your second love and whosoever was responsible would be intensely sorrowful should you find so much as a scratch in her paint.

"Eh, she's fine." He waved a hand dismissively. "Though, you may need to clean her up a bit because et voila!" The boy gestured behind the vehicle and you twisted around, squinting at the tarmac.

Damon's undead corpse, now quite prone, rested about fifty feet behind the car. Road rash would be a very tame description of his injuries seeing as about half his body was missing and most of his insides were splayed across the thoroughfare. He must have collided with the back of the car and flipped over the roof before being ground up by the wheels like rotten tomatoes in a blender. There was quite a lot of blood.

You turned back, grinning.

"Well, that's one problem taken care of!"

***

"You guys are insane," Jeremy groaned, rubbing his eyes. They hurt and he worried they might fall out of his head after that impact. On the bright side, he wasn't dead.

Y/N had tried to protect him, so that was something.

"You're just now figuring that out?" In the driver's seat, Kol tossed his head back, laughing. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the hyena laugh this time. It was warmer, more sincere. Jeremy just rolled his eyes, stretching out his aching neck.

"You good, Jer?" Y/N asked from the back seat. She reached up to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

A sharp pain burned in his chest as he shrugged. "I'm fine, I think. No thanks to your boyfriend here." Breathing hurt.

“Oh, bloody hell, mate!" It was Kol's turn to roll his eyes. "How many times do I need to say I’m not going to kill you?” He questioned, smirking amusedly.

“At least a hundred times after you stop trying,” Jeremy said. Though it pained him to speak, like something sharp writhing around in his chest, he expected that would fade. It wasn't like they'd been in a serious crash and as long as the injury wasn't critical or something that would require a cast, then the healing his Hunter's Mark provided would take care of it, he figured as the car began moving again - in less of a hurry this time.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, the stabbing pain did not recede. If anything, it worsened. Discomfort built in his chest, thick and hot.

As if he could sense it coming, Kol passed him a handful of tissues. Jeremy took them, albeit a little confused. Seconds later, a fit of rasping, retching, burning coughs tore through him. The boy doubled over, hacking into the tissues for longer than he wanted to think about. When his lungs finally calmed, Jeremy’s throat felt disturbingly wet.

The vehicle was silent for three heartbeats.

"Jeremy?" Y/N's voice was very soft - filled with something more than worry.

“That…” Kol spoke up. “That did not sound good.”

Jeremy looked up only to be met with a sight he would have otherwise thought impossible. The original vampire’s eyes were wide and his mouth pressed into a thin line - his hand lingered in the air, half outstretched. Kol looked concerned - actually, genuinely concerned. He pointed to Jeremy’s hands.

“And that’s definitely not good.”

Jeremy looked down. The wadded-up tissues were stained red, red, red. Yeah, that wasn’t the best sign. Jeremy felt dizzy. Breathing really hurt. His eyes felt heavy and everything smelled like pennies.

"What's going on?" Y/N demanded. "Kol, what can you see? Why is he coughing up blood? "

Damn it. Was he dying again?

Wow, his thoughts were really loud. More words were invading his ears but he only caught a few.

"-chest doesn’t seem to be caving… Did Damon hit your back?” Kol was asking. Sound was blurry.

“I, uh -” He thought about that. Thinking was hard and he was really tired. “He pushed me into a rock.”

Kol nodded, frown deepening. He glanced backward, meeting Y/N's eyes with a grim expression. "Can you hear it too?"

"I-I don't know," Y/N stammered, uncharacteristically unsure. "I mean, I hear something, but I don't know-"

"Yes, you do," Kol interrupted. "You know better than I, but I can't be sure unless you tell me. I know you would love to think you're just making it up, but if we can both hear it..." He trailed off.

The girl nodded, lips pressed into a line - eyes rimmed with red. "Yeah," She whispered. "I can hear it."

Kol nodded and turned back, his face a mask of calm. There was no snide smirk or predatory gleam. It was oddly comforting.

“Alright there, mate. Don’t panic - but from what I can hear, it sounds like something has punctured your lungs, possibly a rib. I could make sure, but I’d have to touch your back.”

The hunter sent him a very flat look. He might have been dizzy and critically injured, but he wasn't stupid.

“You literally tried to Chewbacca my arms a few hours ago,” Jeremy wheezed. He wanted to take a deep breath but his lungs felt smaller than they should be. “Hands off.”

Kol rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath. “I panicked, alright?”

Jeremy raised a brow. “You pani-”

He was cut off by another vicious round of choked coughs. Blood spewed liberally from his lips this time and his chest felt hot and tight. Jeremy felt weak, weaker than he’d ever felt and he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, bloody hell. That’s definitely a punctured lung.” Kol laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, pulling him back to reality. "Hey, Jeremy? Stay with me, alright?"

There was so much blood on the tissues and his hands. Some faint voice in the back of his mind told him he should be unconscious by now. The Mark was probably the only thing keeping him alive. He felt light-headed.

“I-I don’t want your help,” Jeremy spat past the blood in his mouth. “I’ll heal.”

The original shook his head. “Not from this. Not on your own.” He cursed quietly and threw the car into gear, flooring the accelerator.

"What can we do?" Y/N asked, voice thin - one hairsbreadth away from snapping. "Kol, what can I do? Just tell me what to do!"

"Nothing, darling. Don't do anything."

"I can't just sit here!" She protested. "If I give him my blood, that'll help right?"

“Under normal circumstances, I'd say yes; however, considering his Hunter's Mark, I fear his body might reject it - that could just make things worse," The original explained. His expression grew ever darker, like the summer sky as it prepared to unleash a tornado.

Y/N cursed and Jeremy's vision grew dark. His eyes threatened to close. He was so tired.

Kol shook him a little, sending pain soaring through his system and snapping him back to attention. He was fading - Jeremy was fading fast. “Hey, listen to me, alright? We’re going to get you to a hospital. You’re going to be alright, mate. Just stay awake. Just keep those eyes open and you’ll be fine - Y/N, keep him awake. Do not let him fall unconscious.”

Jeremy scowled, fighting against a tide of pain and exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. “What do you care?” He demanded.

“Are you kidding?” Kol flashed him a wry smile. “Y/N would have my head if I let you die.”

"Got that right." His best friend chuckled from the back seat and through the haze, Jeremy felt her fingers tangle with his. "You're gonna be okay, Jerrie-berry," She whispered. "I promise."

***

You'd always hated hospitals.

Now, perhaps that animosity could have been chalked-up to the slightly disturbing notion that was your current existence - seeing as the only room in such an establishment you could rightfully belong in now was the morgue. (A rather unpleasant thought, any way you slice it.) However, you'd never really been fazed by the whole "undead" thing. You didn't really think of yourself as dead - merely experiencing alternative states of mortality. So, none of that really upset you.

It was the dishonesty of the whole thing, you decided. Yes, that was it.

A hospital was merely one gigantic lie.

The walls and floor were far too white for a place steeped so thickly with blood and death. Instruments, people, floors, walls, and ceilings were barren, scrubbed within an inch of their lives. In an institution that idolized wellness and health, the halls were much too stark and silent, empty of all life save for the souls who were paid to be there. Even the guest accommodations were deceitful. Chairs sporting upholstery that looked like it should have been soft on frames that should have been somewhat comfortable, all came up disappointingly short.

The feeble whimpers of the sick and dying - hundreds of them - thrummed in your ears. Doctors that proffered the hope of extended life - of more time - fragile conjunctures they couldn't guarantee. Eyes that smiled with mouths that grimaced beneath masks.

It was all a lie.

Your hands clenched into fists.

"Hey, hey…" Kol's soft voice was there at your ear in a millisecond. His right hand covered yours, squeezing comfortingly while his other combed expertly through your hair. "Don't get upset. It's alright, he's doing just fine. No need to get worked up, darling. You're alright."

You'd ranted to him about this before. A deep-rooted hatred for hypocrites and self-righteous insincerity was something you shared, though not quite in all the same ways. He'd found your distaste for hospitals funny then - not here though, not now.

You nodded - a hollow gesture just like this hollow pantheon of medicine. Telling yourself that he would be fine felt like a lie. Not that Kol would ever lie to you, not intentionally. He was generally the more optimistic one, though.

It wasn't a lie itself that you hated. (After all, some lies are necessary; like the one you found yourself tangled in.) Rather, it was the concept of pointless lies that you abhorred. Deceit without true purpose irked you. Why couldn't people just say what they meant - what they knew to be true? Kol was only trying to make you feel better and you understood that, but you didn't want empty comfort.

You didn't want to feel peaceful now - happy, hopeful - if you were just going to be sad later.

What was the point in feeling good now, if you were only going to feel sad later?

Kol had told you what despair was. You didn't want to feel that again.

But that wasn't up to you. Fate's cruel strings lay in the hands of those doctors in the room before you, carving up your best friend in an attempt to save his life.

From where you sat, nestled firmly in Kol's lap, you could hear the doctors working on Jeremy. The prognosis wasn't good. Yet, the boy in whose arms you rested still offered you hope.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can stay here with you," He murmured, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. It took all the strength you had to nod again, trying to hold it together, but the rest of your body betrayed you. Your trembling hands constricted, nails digging into his skin. Kol just held you tighter. "I know, I know. I'm pathetic, but all the free food around here is getting to me, love," He tried to joke.

Curiously, you found yourself wroth with him all of a sudden. Why couldn't he just ignore it? Why couldn't he just focus? Keeping the hunger in check really wasn't that hard. Why did he struggle so badly?

Why did he want to leave you when you needed him most? Why did everyone always leave you?

"Darling, please say something."

You hadn't said a word since the doors to the operating room closed. That was three hours ago. So what?

You looked up at him, eyes empty.

"Are you leaving me too?" You wondered. Your tone wasn't aggressive or snide, though for anyone else it would have been.

Kol's chocolate eyes traded worry for anguish, but the pain in them wasn't for himself. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours - warm and soft but absent of the usual fluid heat his kisses sent dripping down your spine. Inside, you just felt cold.

"No, Y/N," The boy promised. "I'm not leaving you. Not now - not ever." He drew you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He swayed back and forth slightly - no one had ever held you with such care. "Though I may not always be by your side every moment of every day, I will be here when you need me. I'm not going to leave you and neither will Jeremy."

"Don't pretend to care about him," You sighed bitterly.

"Oh, I don't." Kol hummed. "But you do and the last thing I want is to see you hurting. That's how it is when you love someone."

You huffed. "Sounds annoying."

"Not when it's you."

"That's nice."

He shrugged. "You could use a little nice."

"Who are you and what have you done with Kol Mikaelson?" A smirk tugged at your lips, though you didn't quite permit it. Your mouth had always run faster than your head anyway so there was no real need to end that tradition.

He laughed and you felt that boy's teeth nip a little at your ear. "Oh, now that was uncalled for."

You hummed, but couldn't find it within yourself to keep teasing. Kol pressed another kiss to your hair and the two of you just sat quietly for a moment.

"How do you know he's gonna make it?" You asked, pursing your lips to keep them from trembling.

Kol shook his head softly. "I don't," He admitted. He took a deep breath and continued, sounding pensive. "That's the problem with the world today, I think. Everyone, everywhere… as a people, you've all lost faith." The boy tugged at a lock of your hair, twirling it around and around his finger. "And in that loss, you know longer know what you can trust."

"Trust?" You scoffed. "Trust who? Those doctors in there? My only friend's lungs are impaled on his ribcage. What can they really do besides make sure he dies a little less dead?"

That sweet boy pulled away from you, just enough to look into your eyes as he lifted your chin with his finger.

"Trust Jeremy, Y/N - trust your friend. Trust that he loves you, despite his faults and misgivings, and trust that he's fighting for life at this very moment."

Your words came out quite broken and you knew you must be crying. "And if that's not enough?"

"Then trust me," He said. "Trust that I'll protect you when things go wrong - from fate and from yourself."

You nodded and this time, it wasn't so empty.

"Alright," You said, curling up in his lap a little more. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

"I know you can," He said. You turned your gaze toward the doors of the operating room once more.

"He can never find out what we did." Your voice was spider silk - thinner than a hair, yet pound for pound stronger than steel. Kol nodded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"And he never will."

***

Niklaus Mikaelson was, by no means, an expert in all things magical. (No, that title fell to his little brother - a terrifying thought, truly. Maddening that fact was, every time he permitted himself to dwell on it for any length of time.) However, he supposed that his status as an original vampire - hybrid actually, to be more precise, but that was irrelevant at the moment - ought to make him the local authority on the subject of compulsion, or more prudently, the compulsion of other vampires.

Damon Salvatore, on the other hand, was an unsavory lad in the purest definition of the locution. Strong-willed, and pig-headed, he reminded Klaus somewhat of a coyote - that is, if a coyote could be driven by spite. Thus the possibility seemed extremely remote that one such as Damon Salvatore would take well to compulsion. Any action taken by him, if not of his own willful volition, even if he weren't aware of it, would be made obvious to others by his subconscious mind in an attempt to spite whoever had compelled him. In other words, the man was just too damn stubborn for mind control to work properly.

"So?" The irritating Bennet witch demanded as Klaus strolled leisurely from the cramped and filthy confines of the Salvatore's basement. Honestly, he was no clean freak, but he had heard of this brilliant invention called a mop. "What's the verdict?"

"I'm afraid I have to diagnose your friend with a terminal case of stupidity," The hybrid said, smirking amusedly. His eyes flicked briefly around the room, scanning for any sign of a trap. He found none, but that only served to heighten his suspicion. Legend hadn't deemed him a paranoid genius for nothing.

The young girl didn't seem to find his jest humorous. Her eyes narrowed, glowering at him the same way her ancestors used to.

"Has he been compelled or not?" She pressed, teeth grinding.

All pretenses of mirth dropped from Klaus' face. "As best I can tell, no," He answered grimly. "I'm afraid his actions… unexpected and jarring as they may be, are entirely his own."

"What?" The doppelganger gasped. "That-that can't be right! Kol - your brother must have compelled him. I'm sure of it!"

The hybrid's eyes flicked in her direction. Behind her - silent and stoic as a mountain with impeccable hair - stood the younger Salvatore brother. Regrettable it was, Klaus thought, that he'd resigned to being so boring. Stefan's expression decided to take a respite from brooding long enough to avow contemplation.

"Your accusations - while just and reasonable - don't particularly matter, love," Klaus said with a slight shrug. "He hasn't been compelled, or if he has, then he's under the most complex and thorough compulsion I've ever encountered."

"But how do you know it wasn't your brother who did it?" Asked a particularly delightful blonde, standing in the furthest corner of the room from him. He had to wonder if she did that on purpose.

"Well, to put it quite simply, Caroline -" He couldn't help but smile when he spoke to her. "- I know my brother's handywork, and this is not it. Comparing the two would be like comparing a sledgehammer to a feather pillow, love. Kol is far too sloppy for this to be his doing."

That last statement in particular wasn't entirely true. Yes, his brother could be careless, but when given proper incentive, he could be every bit as wily and conniving as the woman that created them - if not doubly so. He could outwit the furtive predator he was so often compared to in legend. There was a reason that boy was cited as the worst of the worst - the wildest of the Mikaelson clan. There was a reason Klaus had sooner chosen to ambush and incapacitate his brother rather than risk outright conflict with him. It was intellect that made his brother so deeply formidable; a vast intellect behind a careless facade and he wielded it like a surgeon's instrument. Given any time to think - a second, a heartbeat - Kol would always win.

He only had one true weakness, one Klaus had so often employed. Kol was a whimsical being - easily and often distracted by every fleeting impulse. Tasks or threats to be handled needed to be clear-cut and direct, clearly defined, and very, very real in order for Kol to handle them. Had Klaus and his family been born in the current century, his little brother would be the kind of boy who puts off writing an essay or studying for a test until the night before it's due. The type to do the homework as the professor is collecting it and still get an A.

So it wasn't that Kol couldn't have compelled Damon - he was most certainly capable of the methodical complexity required - it just didn't seem like his style.

What was infinitely more likely, and infinitely more troubling, Klaus thought, was the possibility that Kol had quite simply convinced Damon of the danger one very young hunter posed to the ever-precious Miss. Gilbert. Wily Fox was an apt moniker, indeed; even as a child, the former witch had always been so... gifted with persuasion. If not for Rebekah's loud and loyal heart, the hybrid was positive Kol would have turned their little sister against him eventually.

Thus, if Damon Salvatore was a coyote - a lone, fickle scavenger - then Klaus doubted his brother would have to work hard to sway his judgment. There was something honest about him, something raw, vicious, and candid, that belied his devious ways; it was something Klaus himself could never seem to match. Trepidation is an excellent motivator and Kol certainly had a knack for ghost stories; yet, his stories in particular had long since possessed quite the kicker.

They were always, always true.

As a boy, Klaus remembered, Kol had once told villagers around the bonfire of a wraith he'd seen, wandering the woods roundabout the falls. No one believed him then either. On the following morn, that little dark-haired runt of a boy brought home the monster's corpse.

(So, truthfully, Klaus knew he should be on his brother's side this time. However, doing so would conflict with his purposes and the hybrid had never been one to deny himself anything. Especially not something he'd been pursuing for a millennium.)

Damon's actions spoke more to paranoia than undue influence. Paranoia was something Klaus knew intimately. Paranoia cannot be abated.

A dishearteningly sober voice tore the hybrid from his spiraling reverie.

"Call him," Stefan said. Klaus lifted a brow. Had he not given his conclusion? Were they not done here?

"Pardon?"

"Call him," The stern teenager repeated. "Call your brother and demand he tell you the truth."

Klaus narrowed his eyes and began to pace, hands clasped behind his back - it helped him think.

The other blonde in the room - Rebekah had been henceforth preoccupied with sculpting her nails - hummed. A not-quite-pleasant tone that drew close to amusement with a veiled dose of ire. "Yes, please call him, Nik. Because we all know how demanding things of Kol tends to be a spectacularly pleasant experience."

The hybrid grimaced. She had a point there.

"How do you know he won't just lie?" Bonnie asked, hostility more than prevalent in her tone.

"He won't," Klaus conceded, almost to himself.

"How do you know?" Elena pressed.

Within a blink, he had that pesky doppelganger by the throat, lifting her into the air. "You impugn my word?" He asked pleasantly.

She didn't struggle. The girl just glared. "Routinely."

A smirk tugged at his lips and he let her go, returning to his pacing. She coughed and staggered but her pride demanded that she remain upright. That one was becoming more and more like dear Katarina every day. Across the room, Rebekah sighed, flopping onto a sofa the same way she did everything - dramatically. She shaded her eyes with her arm as though she had an agonizing headache, though such pains were physically impossible for the undead to contract.

"Kol never lies once called out on the act," She declared with finality. "He's been that way since we were children. For all his scheming, the maniac's a bloody awful liar." Klaus huffed a laugh. That bit was true. "Just call him, Nik. I want to get this over with."

Klaus flashed her a scathing look, but she was - as per bloody usual - unfortunately right. He pulled out his phone and dialed Kol's number. He just hoped his little brother remembered how to operate the device. He probably would - Kol remembered everything.

The phone rang once.

"Put it on speaker," Caroline said, crossing her arms as each of his enemies drew a step closer. He sighed but did as requested.

The phone rang twice and then three times. Only halfway through the fourth ring did the Wily Fox pick up.

"Well, well, well..." His little brother drawled, blithe and cavalier as always. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come barking up the wrong tree. Looks like I've lost a bet." He laughed and it was the cold, empty laugh he'd picked up since touring Africa.

Klaus pointedly ignored the dog pun and instead put on a fake smile. "Well, you know how it is. One does what one must when one's doppelganger comes groveling to one's knees, alarmed by her boyfriend's spontaneously homicidal behavior, and… well, whenever I think of manslaughter I think of you, Kol."

"Really?" The voice on the phone gibed. "That's funny because - and I swear it's like magic - but you open your mouth, and my mind drifts to fratricide... and daggers."

Another jab which Klaus ignored.

"You seem to have made a mess, little brother," He said.

"Have I? Oh, dear... that must be inconvenient." Klaus could practically hear him grinning. "Say, how is - oh, what's his name? - Damien, was it? Has one of Elena's worshipers managed to scrape his intestines back together or are they permanently smeared into the asphalt?"

Out of sheer curiosity, Klaus spared Elena a glance. She looked positively murderous.

"I'm afraid he's going to be just fine."

"That's a shame." Kol hummed.

"It is," He agreed. "However, it so happens that Salvatore's intestines are not the mess I'm referring to."

The boy gasped, mockingly. "No shit?"

"No," Klaus said, voice clipped. "I'll make this simple for you, Kol. Did you or did you not compel Damon Salvatore to hunt and/or kill Jeremy Gilbert?"

That cold, hyena laugh came again. There was something distinctly raw to it this time, something harsh and strained yet oddly broken; like a wounded animal rather than a rabid one. When he spoke, however, there was nothing in his words save for wrath.

"You would love that wouldn't you?" Kol spat. "Yet another problem you can solve with a dagger - quick and tidy. You're such a hypocrite! You and Elijah!" His voice quieted and warped into something acidic disguised as honey and song. "And even you, my little sister." The blonde on the couch froze and the color drained from her face. There was fear in her eyes as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Hello, Rebekah!" Kol practically sang. "I could hear your fingernails drumming, you do that when you're nervous."

"And why exactly would I be intimidated by you?" Bekah did an excellent impression of boredom but her wide, shaken eyes met Klaus' own in search of reassurance.

"Oh, sweetheart. Don't think for a second that I don't know what you did in nineteen-fourteen." From carefree and playful to downright vicious, his tone turned on a dime. "You ratted on me, Bex."

Rebekah shot to her feet, fists clenched. "So what, Kol? You're going to take away my only chance at happiness because I told on you?"

"No," Kol snapped. "I am going to save your life because I love you! This cure you think you understand is not your chance at happiness. After all these years, can't you see it? Have you not figured it out? The three of you keep lying to yourselves whilst punishing me for facing the truth.

"WE ARE ALL OF US TRAPPED, REBEKAH! This existence our mother bound us to is a trap and we cannot get out! WE ARE NEVER GETTING OUT! You and Nik can scream and cry and rattle the bars all you wish but none of us are ever going to escape lest we meet a very permanent end."

"You don't know that!" Their sister cried, tears beginning to verge in her eyes.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't! Silas isn't even real!"

"Bloody hell, Rebekah! Why won't you see it? WHY WON'T ANY OF YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?!" There was desperation in that question and Klaus could only pretend he hadn't heard it.

"BECAUSE YOU'RE WRONG!" Rebekah was weeping now. "You're wrong and you're just angry with yourself because we have a chance at getting back what we lost and you're too scared to take it!"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" Kol seethed, voice thick with more pain than any of them could say. "I've searched a thousand years for such a miracle while you did nothing but mourn your own loss. Don't you dare call me a coward for facing the truth! We died, Bex. We died and we're staying dead. Silas or no - this 'cure' is not the answer."

A tense silence hung in the air and Klaus had to break it. He had to because if he didn't then he would admit that his little brother was right.

"You didn't answer the question, Kol," He said cooly, his tone a warning.

"You don't believe me." His little brother gave a bitter, miserable laugh. "Can't say I hoped you would. Well, in that case, I don't suppose I can express just how much it thrills me to report that this particular mess won't be so easily locked away in a casket. I merely tried to convince Damon to examine his priorities - it's not my fault he's been gunning for an excuse to kill the kid."

Elena, trembling with a lover's fury, lost her patience. "YOU LIAR!" She screamed. "You horrid filthy liar!"

"Are those the best insults you've got, love? I'm afraid I've known nuns who've called me worse," Kol jeered. He was back to sounding listless. In the corner, Caroline opened her mouth as if to question, but thought better of it. Klaus smirked at her and shrugged, nodding. She seemed vaguely disturbed by that knowledge.

Elena, in a startling show of nerve, stormed over to where Klaus stood and snatched the phone from his hands. "Tell me where my brother is, you son of a bitch," She growled.

The boy on the other end hissed. "Oh, no I'm afraid I can't do that. Telling you would defeat the whole 'Get-Jeremy-the-Hell-Out-of-Dodge' plan which would be going spectacularly had your boyfriend not broken half of the kid's ribs."

Elena paled. "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

"Are you deaf?" Kol sneered. "As I said, the only person with intentions to cause your brother harm is Damon. I intend to cure him... as soon as he wakes up. Then I'll be more than glad to bring him right back home - that is, if he ever wants to see any of you again. Now, this has all been a thoroughly unpleasant and pointless experience, so if that's all then I'll be hanging up now. Thanks for nothing, brother." There was a short pause and Klaus could have a sword he heard someone speaking on the other end - a girl. Kol's voice returned for one short statement. "Oh, and Stefan? Y/N says hi."

Then he hung up.

***

Kol got off the phone and sighed, shoulders hunched as though they carried the burden of Atlas. He turned to you, but didn't meet your gaze. His eyes were rimmed with red. You didn't know what to say. You were still so new to the whole feelings thing and you didn't want to mess it up, but you couldn't just abandon him either.

Jeremy was alright now. He was stable and healing quicker than should be possible. He'd been in and out of consciousness for the past few hours since, sleeping in the second bedroom of the hotel you were currently hiding out in. He was fine now and you could think.

Even when you were so wrapped up in your own head - hardly able to think through everything you were feeling - Kol had been there. He had stayed with you at the hospital through it all and he had struggled to do so; curbing his appetite pained him, you knew, but he'd stayed anyway. He had stayed because you needed him and you were okay now, but he wasn't. The least you could do was return the favor.

"Are you alright?" You asked. It was pathetic but you didn't know what else to do. "That sounded… heavy."

Kol bit his lip, trying so hard to smile for you. He didn't want to burden you with his internal struggle when you already had one of your own. But he had been the one to explain to you what love really was. What your cruel mother had led you to believe for so many years was wrong.

Love is not about solving problems. Love is not defined by whether or not one party can "fix" the other. Love didn't mean perfection. It wasn't like that at all.

Love is more like sharing an umbrella. It wasn't necessarily about being shielded from the rain and it didn't matter why one person didn't have an umbrella of their own. What mattered was that the other party was willing to share.

Love is like buying an ice cream cone for someone who's upset. Because sure, it doesn't fix the problem, but perhaps it could warm their heart for a moment. And it didn't matter if the wrong flavor was chosen because the simple existence of that ice cream cone is enough to prove that someone else cares.

Love is like helping someone learn to skate. Picking them back up every time they fall even if that means being pulled down with them sometimes. It means taking a moment to lay on the floor and laugh with them while other people - sometimes many, many other people, who always manage to seem so graceful - move on and around and past you. What matters is working together with that person to stand up and keep going, even if it's only to fall right back down mere seconds later.

Love is like taking a person to Niagara Falls, even though you'd already been. Love is doing things for someone even when they don't ask. Love is like a person jumping into a puddle of mud because a taxi just came by and splashed some all over you. Love is like hate-watching a movie with someone just to listen to them rant about it.

Love wasn't about feeling happy all the time. Sometimes it was just about being sad at the same time.

Love was what you had with Kol.

So when he flashed that strained smile and said - "I'm fine." - you just shook your head.

"No, you're not."

He laughed, bitter and broken. Then he raced across the room and threw his arms around you and you caught him. He didn't fall apart though, because this wasn't the first time and he was used to this same old story even though he should never have needed to be.

"They don't listen," He hissed painfully, face buried in your neck.

Well… you knew what that was like.

"No." You shook your head. "They don't."

"They would rather cling to their delusions than just trust me."

"People don't trust the things they'd rather fear," You said, combing your fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry fate forged you this way."

That boy clung to you tighter, grasping handfuls of your shirt. "I suppose that makes us kindred souls, you and I," He muttered. There was acceptance in his voice now. "Made to be hated. Given claws and teeth and punished for them."

You turned your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Well, if that's the case, then I'm glad I became who I am."

"Why?" He asked.

"So you wouldn't always be alone," You decided. "I'm grateful to everything that made me, if all of it was what led me to you."

Kol sighed and shook his head. "Darling, I'm not worth everything that happened to you."

"Yes, you are." Your tone didn't leave room for any further protests on his part, so the two of you simply held each other for a while. He'd been right in what he'd said before. It wasn't annoying - not when it was him.

Once he could breathe a little easier, Kol slid his hands to your thighs and hoisted you up, prompting you to hook your legs around his waist. He walked over to the hotel couch and laid you down, quickly positioning himself over you. Gazing down at you, he just smiled and pushed a lock of hair out of your face. Kol leaned down and met your lips. It was a slow, meaningful kiss and you smiled into it as he let himself unwind, melting against you with a sweetness he showed no one else. Then he stilled. When he pulled away, there was something odd in his eyes. You thought it looked a little bit like dread but there was more to it. He opened his mouth, blinking rapidly and you caught sight of an acute pain that you’d never seen in him before.

“Kol?” You frowned.

“I’ve doomed you,” He said quietly, almost to himself. “Bloody hell, darling… I-I’ve just killed you.”

His words left you speechless. Guilt wasn’t an emotion you associated with him.

“What are you-”

“It’s Klaus, don’t you understand?” Kol moved off of you and stood, tearing his hands through his hair. “We took the cure from him. Darling, my brother is never going to stop hunting me for what we’ve done and now I’ve just implicated you!”

You blinked, raising a brow. “Pretty sure I was implicated from day one…”

“No! No, you weren’t. Only to Elena’s little cult, not to my siblings.” His gestures grew wilder as he paced, hands shaking, breathing erratic. “You were there, but you were nothing. You weren’t important-”

“Ouch.”

“No, don’t you see, love? To them, you-you were just an accessory.”

“I remember Rebekah being very aware that t’was I who stole the twig of destiny,” You pointed out.

“But you stole it for me,” He maintained. “She didn’t know who you are, what you’re capable of. Neither did my brother but now, with all of them working together…” His voice trailed off and he stopped pacing. His eyes met yours dejectedly, waiting for you to put it together.

You nodded, pursing your lips. “Now, Mystic Squad Goals is gonna tattle on me,” You finished. He was right. You’d had a way out before, but that was gone now. “I’m just as guilty as you are.”

Kol sighed and shook his head. Shame rolled off him in waves. “I’m such an idiot.” He cursed quietly. “This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. If I had just taken a moment to think, this never would have happened. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.”

His head shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sorry.” You shrugged. Something inside you crumpled, yet you managed to smile. “Life on the run doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, there’s still a lot of stuff I think I wanna see. A-and we can go anywhere, right?” Your laugh wasn’t entirely real but it wasn’t completely fake either. Kol moved to sit beside you with a sigh.

"Darling, you understand what this means, don’t you?” Kol asked softly, looking at you through the corner of his eyes. You bit down on your lip, nodding though your eyes stung. “If Jeremy chooses to go back…” He hesitated.

“I’ll never see him again,” You whispered.

He touched your arm, ever so gently. “And you’re ready for that?” He asked. “To say goodbye?”

You wiped your eyes and sniffed. This wasn’t the paralyzing pain you’d felt a few days before. It hurt, yes. But with that pain came the realization that you’d known this was coming. You’d always known, even before vampires came back to Mystic Falls. You’d known that life is a bittersweet thing. Childhood friendships are great but they’re just that. People grow up and grow apart because friends… well, friends aren’t really meant to last forever. They come and go. They live their lives, move away, fall in love, and have a family - or maybe they don’t. Maybe they get in a car crash and die early, or maybe they spend their life traveling with their dog. Point is, they leave and most people don’t know which goodbye will be their last.

You would miss Jeremy, of course. But you could live on without him. Just so long as you knew he’d be okay.

Because goodbye doesn't mean the end - not completely - and goodbye can't erase all the happiness that came before it; though, isn't it a miracle that any of it happened at all? Goodbye just means leaving and leaving, you’d discovered, isn’t always a bad thing. Leaving means moving on - finding something new.

“You know, I think I am?” You smiled faintly. “I wasn’t before, because he wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to fail him. But we’re doing something good, I think, and he’ll be better off.” Huffing a laugh, you took Kol’s hand and met his eyes, looking at the boy you had left your old life for.

“So, no. I’m not sorry, Kol.” You decided. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat as long as I get to stay with you.”

The smile that broke out across that boy’s lips could have outshone the sun as he pulled your hand to his mouth and left a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“How did I get so lucky?” He wondered. You bit your lip against a cheezy grin and looked at the floor, feeling your cheeks warm. You still couldn’t help it. After all, Kol was the first person to describe your presence as lucky.

“Save that for when your brother decides not to impale you on a tree,” You said nudging his arm.

“Ah! That would be the miracle, wouldn’t it?” He said. You hummed in response, nodding. A beat passed between the two of you in silence. Then, you remembered.

“Hey, we gotta hide the Kill-Me-Stick.”

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