#unburdened series
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Unburdened: Part 10
The thick corded logs that had been stacked and held together by bindings and sealant had stood out against the dense forest behind the back half of the wrap-around porch, and the soft sandy beach and clear water that lapped at the edge.
There was a sitting area outside of the cabin’s main door, set in perfect sight of the beach and the water’s edge with a circular bistro table set between two Adirondack chairs draped with blankets and two cream-coloured pillows. In addition to the bistro set and chairs, the had been an outdoor patio heater that stood a safe distance from the walls of the cabin.
There was a sign above the door of the cabin that was greeting you and Bucky before you had walked inside, the black cursive set against white stained wood was typical and ordinary yet it seemed to pull the whole aesthetic of the exterior of the cabin together.
It was an added detail that made this whole place feel homey and comforting as if this was welcoming you with every detail into a haven that transcended any anxieties you may have had.
“Welcome home,” Bucky had stepped inside before you, the muscles in his broad and strong back flexing momentarily as if he was gauging any potential threats or risks, “for a week anyway.”
“This is perfect.” You followed behind him, signing against his shoulders so he could feel your message, and had only let your hands fall when you had to stabilize yourself to kick off your shoes.
As you had set them to the side and took a look at the cabin from the front door, you were pleasantly surprised at the comfortable space that had been carried well from the front to the back. To the left of you was a mudroom that was only visible from the glass set into the wooden door that had given you a look at the hooks made for coats, and the metal rack set on a tray to catch water or mud.
To your right had been another sitting area to the right of a stone encased fireplace, the two armchairs were made of inky black leather and had paired patterned blankets, that were also a match for the blankets on the porch. There was a single stand between the armchairs that had two coasters sitting on the finished top, and on the coasters sat two long-stemmed wine glasses.
Directly across from the fireplace was a sectional that was made of the same dark leather the armchairs were made of, and in front of the sectional was an oak coffee table with wooden legs that were carved to look like heads of animals that continued from the top of the legs to the feet.
Sitting on the surface of the coffee table was a tray divided into three sections, and in each section was a single item, with the middle being a remote for the television. The other two sections had been empty, but you imagined they could be used to hold drinks if wanted.
“This is nice,” your fingers moved with your message as you studied the surroundings and the breathtaking homeyness of the cabin, “I love it.”
“Are you hungry?” Bucky had called from behind you, stealing your attention from the living room of the cabin. “I can make you something to eat.”
As you had turned on your heel to look at him, you had gotten a good chance to study the kitchen he was standing in and the details that had matched the aesthetic of the cabin. Where Bucky was standing, you could surmise that the stove was behind him, likely natural gas powering the stove, and the fridge was off to the left.
The stainless steel appliances run throughout the kitchen with even the smaller appliances matching. There was a breakfast bar built into the island, a set of four barstools tucked under the edge. A bowl of fruit had been sitting in the middle of the island, directly below the simple yet dainty chandelier lights that had hung over the kitchen.
“I’m going to look around.” You signed while already shuffling out of the kitchen, headed toward the stairs that would take you up to the top level of the cabin.
“There are two bedrooms down here and two up top,” Bucky had called after you, stalling you before you could take the second step, “you can have whatever bedroom you want, doll. I’m going to make something for you to eat.”
You had looked back at Bucky, swept your eyes over him as he stood with his back at the stove, his hands pressed against his hips. He had appeared to be a little off, perhaps a little uncomfortable in the space though no worse for the ear.
His eyes were still as bright as ever, though there were some bags under his eyes that had been a testament to the sleepless nights he was still afflicted by. His hair was growing longer since his last cut and you could see a curl to his hair that was reminiscent of his hair in the ‘40s.
The longer you looked at him the easier you could make out the slight grey to his scruff that was a sign of him aging naturally without the aid of cryogenic freezing. He was beautiful; he always was beautiful.
You pressed your fingers against your bottom lip and extended your hand in a physical sign of thanks, then you turned and continued up the stairs to the second level of the cabin.
Once you had taken off the last step and had come to the top level, you had rest your hands against the railing and swept your eyes around the immediate area, looking and analyzing the small hallway that had extended from the staircase to the left and the right, leading to the two bedrooms, one of which was the master.
You first walked to the left, your feet dragging aimlessly as you shuffled down the hall. You had stopped by the first door and peeked inside the room to see a bathroom with a shower/bathtub combination with sleek brass fixtures that were made to appear vintage.
The shower/tub was against the far wall with a small window that allowed natural light to come into the bathroom, and a basic toilet and standing sink nearby. The bathroom was light in colour, grey or maybe an off blue, and was decorated only in pictures taken from around the cabin.
You had left the bathroom when there wasn’t much else to see and continued down the hall to the bedroom at the end. As you grabbed the handle and started to turn, you hesitated and listened to the sound of Bucky rummaging in the kitchen and the clanging of a metal pan or pot on the stove.
He was nervous, maybe even more so than you first thought, and his scent was reflective of that. It was still as comforting as ever, with the notes of nature and his vibranium arm combining to create a density that was addictive and equally comforting.
His scent was pure alpha, without the toxic aggressiveness that others seemed to radiate.
Bucky made you feel safe, he made you feel wanted and protected.
“It’ll be done in fifteen minutes!” He called up to you, still rummaging around the kitchen, the smell of cooking spices and vegetables was stirring the hunger that you had largely ignored.
Fifteen minutes would have given you enough time to explore both rooms, and you had made haste with opening the door to the first bedroom, slipping inside.
Like the rest of the cabin, the floors were made of hardwood that complimented the colours of the wooden walls and had been illuminated by a large window to give natural sunlight. There were blinds tied to the side, dark blue and thick white stitching along the hems.
The room was decorated simply, with a sleigh bed that was made with a patterned blanket that stretched from one end to the next and hung over the edge. Two fluffed pillows had rested against the mattress with only a peek at the duvet below the comforter. There was a wardrobe to the right of the bed, and a closet to the left, both of which had doors opened to show their lack of contents.
There was minimal artwork in the bedroom, only some of which had captured the ethereal beauty of the surrounding views and others that had been a look at NYC a few hours away.
With one bedroom down and another to go, you had left the bedroom you were in after closing the door softly behind you. You’d made your way across the hall to the other bedroom and had first taken note of the fireplace that was a sister to the one downstairs. The stone encasing the fireplace had almost mirrored the one downstairs entirely, with only a few differences in the colours of stone chosen.
Unlike the bedroom you were just in, this bedroom was much larger than the other with both an ensuite and a walk-in closet that was waiting to be used. The colours were largely the same and had been as inviting as the rest of the house, with the exception of there also being a private patio that you could out onto.
The bed was a four-poster made of deep, rich wood that stood out against the light-coloured walls, and unlike the previous bed had seemed to be a king or California king.
The supports of the bed were thick and heavy, with fine detailing carved into the posts that had continued the imagery of wildlife that had been started downstairs on the coffee table. The images were detailed enough to nearly jump out at you with surrealism.
As you approached the bed and rest your hand upon the bedding, the comforter was patterned in green, red, brown and white stripes that had been broken by the image of black bears spread systematically against the brown stripes, and elk against the green. The comforter was soft to the touch and the bed looked inviting and cozy, the kind of place and materials that made you want to nest in the depths.
From where you were standing, you could see the ensuite with the same aged and vintage style fixtures attached to the deep soaker tub and the double vanity sinks. There was stylized minimalism that had been spread throughout the bathroom and the bedroom, relying more on the surrounding nature to wow you than the designs implemented in the cabin.
“Y/N,” Bucky had called from the middle of the stairs, his voice and scent carried toward you, “come eat, omega. It’s done.”
You removed your hand from the bed and returned it to your side, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty around you before you slowly turned and left the room to join Bucky.
Soft hues of red, and orange and flecks of pink run across the sky like a wide banner that touched the lake’s surface and illuminated the clear water. The sound of some nature bedding down for the night had been matched with creatures that were becoming awake to spend the night in the cover of darkness.
It was the clutch of sleep for some and the openness of night for others that had aided the idea and feeling of peace in the late hour.
It had stretched to you and Bucky as well, the two of you settling into the cabin and basking in the glow of the sun as it set and cast its beautiful spread of colour against the skyline. It was peaceful and quiet, the moment that the two of you had taken to the front porch after unpacking and getting to know the surroundings that would be yours for the next week.
You’d spent the hours since you’d arrived, eating, unpacking and exploring the surrounding area before you’d both returned and ate again. After dinner, Bucky asked what you wanted to do offering suggestions like playing a board game or watching television.
All you could think of wanting to do was sit outside and enjoy the setting sun. All you had wanted to occupy your time with was the setting sun and the Adirondack chairs on the porch, the soft blankets that were provided and a cup of tea.
“It’s beautiful out there.” Your sign language was slow and languid, no rush necessary.
“It’s quiet,” Bucky replied as he sat next to you, some tension still lingering in his shoulders and chest, his eyes almost hazy in thought, “I’ve been here before.”
“Have you?” You questioned with the subtle movements of your fingers as you silently asked. “When?”
“In a dream,” he was quiet, speaking in a husky whisper, “one of the best dreams I’ve ever had.”
“You deserve good dreams, Bucky. You deserve so much in this world.” You turned your head and looked at him, your eyes sweeping over his face while he studied the edge of the water, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
“Do I?” It was as if he was asking himself as if he was doubting his worth. “Do I deserve the world?”
“Yes.” You reached over toward him, mouthing your answer and using one hand to communicate. “You do.”
“And if I don’t want the world?” He finally looked at you, finally settled his warm gaze upon your face in a manner of appreciation that should have been placated onto a piece of artwork. “What if my world is…someone…”
“I know what’s going to happen here,” you had silently sighed, the back of your head resting against the right side of your chair, “I know I’m going to leave here a different omega.”
“We don’t have to do this.” Bucky had resigned himself to self-doubt, misconstruing your words. “Y/N, sweetheart…your heat is going to set off my rut and I don’t think I have the ability to stop myself.”
“I don’t want you to stop yourself. I don’t want you to hold back, I knew what would happen if we came here together. I knew that we would end up mating, but I also know that there’s no one else in the world I would rather be with.” You had turned to face him, your fingers moving at a pace that was set by your brain as your mutism had required you to speak with your hands.
“You want to be my omega?” Bucky had still doubted himself, it was there in his mind just as boldly as it was there on the tip of his tongue. “You want to be my mate?”
“I want to be your everything.” You reiterated your feelings, your wants and desires. “You are a good man; a good alpha. You’re my hero Bucky and I don’t mean that lightly.”
“Omega-“
“I’m adopted,” you relayed your message as you faced him, your mouth moving in time with your fingers as you communicated with ASL, “not many parents want a broken omega. Not many parents are willing to adopt an omega who’s damaged, who can’t speak and can only make small sounds.”
“You’re not broken, you’re perfect-“
“The Barton’s adopted me, their first choice was an omega who couldn’t speak and who very likely would never speak. They gave me a family, a brother who I adore and love endlessly. They gave me a chance to thrive and become an omega who’s worth something.” You spoke of your family with only the highest regards, knowing that they had saved you when your biological parents didn’t want you nor had any others.
“You are my hero, Bucky. You will always be my hero.” You leaned over to Bucky and pressed your hands against his chest, palms flush with his body. “I will always want you, I will always need you.”
“You want to be my mate?” Bucky asked, airily. “You want me to be your alpha?”
“Yes.” You signed with assuredness. “You are the only one I want. When we leave here, I hope I have the honour of bearing your mark.”
Bucky grasped your hand and turned it over before he lift your palm to his lips and kissed your flesh softly. He had let his lips linger before he touched the inside of your wrist with his nose, breathing you in and scenting you all the same.
An answer came softly and tenderly, spoken against your flesh. “I’ll be a good alpha for you, I promise.”
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What Are We (1 of 4)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, possessive!Simon, touching (lots of it), kissing, romantic tension
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series
Simon wants an answer. And if you're going to reject him, you better look him in the eye when you say that you don't want him.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist
You’re not looking in front of you. You’re not even glancing at your feet.
Your gaze is attached to the precarious stack of files in your hands, too focused on keeping them balanced and together to notice anything or anyone else around you.
Which is why you don’t see Simon until it’s too late.
His hand on your upper arm is a vice, and there is no escape from him. With a quick jerk, you’re rudely pulled in the opposite direction, and promptly shoved into a coat closet of an office. Some of the papers in your arms go flying, and you desperately reach for them, irritation burning in the back of your throat.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, after snagging the last wayward piece of paper.
Simon stands quiet in front of the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. Even now, when you’re annoyed with him, you can’t help but to rake your gaze over his muscled form, taking in every morsal. It’s a crime not to do so.
“What’s wrong with me?” mocks Simon slowly. ��What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Your eyebrows immediately rise toward your hairline in surprise. Then, just as quickly, your mind catches up to the situation. You know exactly what Simon is up to. He’s done this before, cornered you in a such a way as this as a means to break you, to make you bend until you completely break for him.
“No,” you state, shaking your head. “We’re not doing this. I know what you’re up to, Simon.” You press the stack of papers against your chest, crossing your arms over them protectively, one finger pointed in his direction in accusation.
Simon takes one unhurried step away from the door, and that singular move is entirely too close for comfort. “You don’t have the right to pull me aside whenever you want,” you continue. “To be domineering and push—” Simon takes another step and you nearly drop the stack of papers.
“Back off,” you bite, not entirely believing your own strength in the delivery.
“I deserve an answer.” Simon’s voice is not exactly a growl, but his timbre roots you to the spot.
“About what?” you stammer, already confused and unsure of where Simon is taking this.
“About what we are.”
“What?” Your voice breaks on the end, going a bit high.
“We’ve been on each other the last few months. Or did you forget?”
No. You haven’t. How could you? Just yesterday, you were a submissive puddle beneath him, allowing him everything.
Simon arches a single eyebrow and you immediately comply without thought. “Why would you ask me that?”
Your question is a cop-out. You know this. Simon knows it.
When Simon closes in, you do not move or reprimand him for doing so. He takes another step, this time into your space, and you are blocked from leaving this cramped enclosure.
“Did you think I’d forget, love?” croons Simon, and the sweetness of it is enough to flame the slumbering heat within you into a small fire. “That I didn’t hear you.” Simon leans in. “That I missed what you murmured while I was buried deep inside you?”
You swallow, salvia sticking in your throat as you clearly recall the sighed words of pleasure that dripped almost inaudibly from your lips.
I love you.
It was a mistake. A slip up.
Your voice is strained. Defeated. You’re not escaping from this. There is nowhere for you to run. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit it.”
You glance away from Simon, hugging the papers close to your chest. “You’re mistaken.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his chest heave and his shoulders straighten. You turn toward the nearby desk, wanting to unburden the load in your arms. The moment the papers hit the desk, Simon grabs the lower half of your face, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Simon!”
He pins you against the desk, hands braced on the edge, his balaclava covered face inches away from yours.
“If you’re going to lie to me. If you’re going to reject me. You better look me in the eye when you do it.” You stare him down. Unmoving. “Don’t deny yourself,” he murmurs, one hand lightly squeezing your upper thigh.
Simon’s mouth, though covered by the balaclava, is dangerously close to yours. You feel his warm breath against your face as it filters through the fabric. It’s light, almost imperceptible. But it is there, and it makes you wanton, to close the distance.
“Why do you care so much?” you reply softly. “I thought you didn’t want more.”
Simon closes the distance even more, resting his forehead against your own. “Do you want me to recount all the ways that isn’t true?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
Simon presses his hips against you, showing you just how cruel he can be. “Then don’t play games.” From your face, Simon relocates his hand to the back of your neck. “Give me an answer. What are we?”
What are we?
As if you know. As if you’ve given the idea any life. But you have, haven’t you? You’ve imagined more than just simple meetings. And it isn’t like you and Simon get what you need out of your system and move on. There is always after. There is always before. There is always the comfort and the gentleness between all the rough, sharp edges.
What are we?
You give him the answer he’s seeking because maybe—just maybe—it’s what he desires too.
“I’m yours,” you breathe, and Simon’s sigh of relief is like a blooming flower. “I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” repeats Simon, his mouth coming down on yours through the balaclava.
You don’t even care. This closeness is a balm to your soul. The teether you’re seeking.
Simon’s hands drop to your hips, lift you from the ground, and place you firmly on the edge of the desk. He slides between your legs, and your arms drape around his neck in anticipation of what comes next.
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Delicate
Luke Castellan x Reader
Summary: "Is it chill that you're in my head? / Cause I know that it’s delicate"
Warnings: Angst, death, major series spoilers for people who haven't finished the books
Word Count: 2.1k
Masterlist
Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep / Are you ever dreaming of me?
Luke could admit to himself he wanted his best friend. He had for a long time. In fact everyone could see it, except for her. She seemed blissfully unaware of any feelings Luke had to the point that it made him nervous she was doing it on purpose. But if he couldn’t have her, he’d take the next best thing of being her friend. As long as she was in his life.
It was supposed to be bonfire night but Luke and Y/M had snuck off to the beach. They lay next to each other, staring up at the stars. Well, she was looking up at the stars, Luke was looking at her. They talked for hours about nothing until she finally dozed off.
Given the strict rules about curfew, Luke hardly ever got to see his best friend’s peaceful expression as she slept. Her face relaxed, unburdened by the perils of being a demigod. And as the two oldest at camp, they had a lot of perils.
Luke reached out, stroking her hair. That elicited a content sigh from her and he wondered if she was aware it was him. He wondered if she thought about or dreamed about him nearly as much as he did her. He had an ever present fantasy of absolutely sweeping her off her feet in a moment of glory. One of his favorites was after he won capture the flag, he’d march right up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and just kiss her.
But of course that would never happen so he kept it stashed in the back of his mind.
He let her sleep for a few more minutes before he finally woke her up. “Hey, you gotta get up or the harpies will get us,” he laughed softly, shaking her awake.
She groaned but opened her eyes nonetheless.
Sometimes when I look into your eyes / I pretend you're mine all the damn time
Her eyes. Luke could probably get lost in them forever. He didn’t even need to watch the stars. He’d much rather watch the reflection of them in her eyes.
Unfortunately, the moment was ruined by one of the Athena boys. “Oh, hey Luke. Um, I just came to find Y/N. Chiron said late curfew starts in five minutes.”
“Really?” she asked, sitting up. “How long was I asleep?”
Luke felt his face get hot. He actually had no idea, he had completely lost track of time while watching her. “Uh not long. I just didn’t want to wake you,” he tried to play it off smoothly.
She gave him a soft smile, her hand finding his knee. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to waste your night.”
“No, no, no,” he quickly corrected. “You’re never a waste of time.”
“So um,” the Athena boy cut in awkwardly. “You want me to walk you to your cabin, Y/N? It’s right across from mine.”
Luke felt a surge of possessiveness. This guy clearly liked her. But before she could answer, Luke did it for her. “We’ll head over in a few minutes but thanks,” he tried to dismiss him.
The boy looked discouraged but tried to play it off. “Oh- uh ok.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Y/N offered, feeling bad for him. He immediately brightened with a smile before retreating back to his cabin.
Luke hated that she always seemed to leave the door open for other guys. They had had numerous conversations about the boys that liked her so he knew she wasn’t doing it on purpose. She just felt bad outright rejecting them so her sugar coating often came across as a signal to try harder. He just wished he could make it clear to them she was taken. Of course, she wasn’t his (yet).
Once Luke was sure he was out of earshot, he brought the topic up again. “He likes you.”
“No he doesn’t,” she immediately dismissed.
“Yes he does, and you trying to make him feel better about rejecting him doesn’t make it any better.”
“I didn’t reject him, you did.”
“Because I know you don’t like him.”
“Who says I don’t like him?” she shrugged.
Luke’s heart stopped. He had been playing defense so well for so long now that it hadn’t even occurred to him that she could like someone else. “What?”
She just shrugged again. “Who’s to say I don’t like him? You chased him away before I could get a word in.”
“D-do you like him?” Luke’s heart was pounding in his chest.
“No, but I’m just saying-”
“Gods, Y/N!” Luke interrupted in relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”
A satisfied look crossed over her face. “Why is that scary?”
He sent her a playful glare. “You know.”
“Tell me,” she pressed.
Is it cool that I said all that? / Is it chill that you're in my head?
Luke’s heart was pounding in his chest. She had basically already confirmed she was into him but the fear still lingered in his chest. He just had to say the words and he’d have his fantasy. She’d be his.
“I like you, Y/N. I have for a long time. I was just always scared you’d… I don’t know, reject me. Or think I was being stupid. But I like you.” Luke looked at her nervously, unsure of what she’d say. His heart was still pounding even when she leaned over and kissed him. As she tried to pull away for air, Luke’s hands found their way to her face, keeping her close. “I’m not done yet,” he mumbled against her lips, eliciting a giggle.
Long night with your hands up in my hair / Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs
That night Luke really didn’t want to leave her but Y/N wasn’t willing to break the rules just yet. He had spent the entire walk back to the cabins trying to convince her to sneak into the Hermes cabin. “Please, I swear no one will snitch on you.”
She laughed, intertwining her fingers into his. “Well what about my siblings when they see I’m not in bed? What will the children think?” By now they reached Cabin 7.
“The children can think whatever they want,” Luke smiled, pressing a kiss to her lips. It was late but several campers were still awake. Word of the couple would spread like wildfire and by the morning, even Chiron would know about the new couple.
But spending every night separately wouldn’t last for long. Y/N normally spent the evenings in the Hermes cabin where they had somehow managed to smuggle many forbidden things in. Like video games and junk food. And every night when the conch blew, signaling that curfew was soon, Luke begged her to stay. “Come on, no one will tell. Will you?” he asked his siblings.
That received a resounding “No!” swearing they’d keep our secret. She looked around the room, her resolve crumbling after weeks of this. “Fine,” she agreed. So many cheers erupted you’d think she just agreed to marry him. “But!” she waited for them to quiet down, “I’m still a counselor and I have to make sure everyone else is in bed.” Luke pouted but let her go nonetheless, promising to drag her back to Cabin 11 if she didn’t come back.
So after putting all the younger kids to bed, Y/N snuck back to Cabin 11. She found it dark but made her way to Luke’s bed. As she reached it, Luke could recognize the outline of her created by the moonlight. “Finally, I was just about to come break down your door.”
“Ha ha,” she laughed sarcastically. “Scoot over,” Luke obliged, sliding against the wall to create room. She slipped under the covers, settling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly, his face buried in her hair.
“‘M glad you’re staying,” he mumbled. “Feel like it’s easier to fall asleep when you’re with me.” He didn’t say it out loud but he liked having the assurance that she was safe in his arms as they slept.
“Me too,” she mused, her eyes already closed. “But I’ll say you kidnapped me if we get caught.”
“Okay,” Luke chucked. “You can blame me.”
My reputation's never been worse, so / You must like me for me
But those nights were gone now. Luke made his choice but so did she.
“Isn’t it messed up how the gods neglect their kids?” Luke asked as casually as possible, staring out at sea, his fingers tracing the dock.
“Yeah,” she mused. “Can you imagine being an omnipotent, immortal being but you can’t even take the time to tell your kid they belong to you? I mean, Apollo’s been pretty good about it but the others…?”
The pressure in Luke’s chest lessened as she more or less agreed with him. “Or how they treat us as disposable puppets? Like pawns?” He watched her face carefully as she considered it.
“What do you mean?”
Here we go. Luke began chipping at any remaining loyalty she had to the gods. “Well think about it. Thalia? Her godly parents could have saved her. Every demigod who died? Their parent could have saved them. My quest was a joke. All Hermes wanted me to do was repeat one of Heracles’ labors.”
She looked deep in thought. “I guess but why are you asking me about this?”
He took a deep breath before lacing his fingers in hers. “I’ve been uh… talking to someone.” She didn’t say anything but her furrowed brow urged him to continue. “I’ve been told that things don’t have to be the way they are. We don’t have to wait around until we’re killed. The Titan Lord could restore-”
“Shut up right now!” her frightened voice cut him off. She pulled her legs out of the water, shifting her sitting position to face him directly. “Luke! What- how- why are you doing this? So what if you can’t rely on the gods? You certainly can’t trust Kronos anymore.”
He gently grasped her hands. “Y/N, he promised every demigod that joins him immortality and safety. We wouldn’t have to cower in a summer camp with children who most likely won’t make it to their 18th birthdays. Please, come with me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.” That broke his heart. “Luke, I love you. I really do. But I can’t let you go down this path.”
Through his internal struggle with Kronos, Luke could see Y/N staring at him, pain in her eyes. He gripped Annabeth’s knife tightly, saying a silent goodbye to everyone he loved and a curse to Kronos. “I love you,” he tried to say to her but it came out strained. The blade sunk into his only vulnerable spot under his arm—his Achilles heel.
“No!” he heard her yell. But he was already on the ground, beginning to lose consciousness at the fatal blow. But Y/N was kneeling over him, tears leaving tracks on her dirty face. “No, no, no,” she mumbled. “Why, Luke?” she practically screamed in frustration.
He reached up, wiping her tears and some dirt from her face. “Do you still love me? After everything I did?”
“Of course I love you!” she cried. “I never stopped.”
Despite the pain, he was smiling. “I love you too. I’ll see you in Elysium.”
She nodded, trying to smile too but the sobs were clawing their way of her throat. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Not too soon,” he insisted. “I love you, Y/N.”
Masterlist
#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#pjo x reader#the lighting thief#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#x reader#Spotify
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Ghosts’ Larry Rickard Explains Why They Chose the Captain’s First Name
Photo: Monumental,Guido Mandozzi
It couldn’t be a joke. That was one rule laid down by the Ghosts creators when it came to choosing a first name for Willbond’s character. Until series five, the WWII ghost had been known only as The Captain – a mystery seized upon by fans of the show.
“It was the question we got asked more than anything. His name,” actor and writer Larry Rickard tells Den of Geek. “Once we got to series three, you could see that we were deliberately cutting away and deliberately avoiding it. We were fuelling the fire because we knew at some point we’d tell them.”
In “Carpe Diem”, the episode written by Rickard and Ben Willbond that finally reveals The Captain’s death story, they did tell us. After years of guessing, clue-spotting and debate, Ghosts revealed that The Captain’s first name is James. At the same time, we also learned that James’ colleague Lieutenant Havers’ first name was Anthony.
The ordinariness of those two names, says Rickard, is the point.
“The only thing we were really clear about is that we didn’t want one of those names that only exists in tellyland. It shouldn’t be ‘Cormoran’ or ‘Endeavour’. They should just be some men’s names and they’re important to them. The point was that they were everyday.”
Choosing first names for The Captain and Havers was a long process not unlike naming a baby, Rickard agrees. “It almost comes down to looking at the faces of the characters and saying, what’s right?”
“We talked for ages. For a long time I kept thinking ‘Duncan and James’, and then I was like ah no! That would have turned it into a gag and been awful!” Inescapably in the minds of a certain generation, Duncan James is a member of noughties boyband Blue. “Maybe with Anthony I was thinking of Anthony Costa!” Rickard says in mock horror, referencing another member of the band.
Lieutenant Havers wasn’t just The Captain’s second in command while stationed at Button House; he was also the man James loved. Because homosexuality was criminalised in England during James’ lifetime, he was forced to hide his feelings for Anthony from society, and to some extent even from himself.
In “Carpe Diem”, the ghosts (mistakenly) prepare for the last day of their afterlives, prompting The Captain to finally tell his story. Though not explicit about his sexual identity, the others understand and accept what he tells them – and led by Lady Button, all agree that he’s a brave man.
Getting the balance right of what The Captain does and doesn’t say was key to the episode. “It wasn’t just a personal choice of his to go ‘I’m going to remain in the closet’,” explains Rickard. “There wasn’t an option there to explore the things that either of them felt. That couldn’t be done back then – there are so many stories which have come out since the War about the dangers of doing that.
“We wanted to tell his personal story but also try to ensure that there was a level at which you understood why they couldn’t be open, that even in this moment where he’s finally telling the other ghosts his story, he never comes out and says it overtly because that would be too much for him as a character from that time.
“He says enough for them to know, and enough for him to feel unburdened but it’s in the fact that they’re using their first names which militarily they would never have done, and in the literal passing of the baton”.
The baton is a bonus reveal when fans learned that The Captain’s military stick wasn’t a memento of his career, but of Havers. As James suffers a fatal heart attack during a VE day celebration at Button House, Anthony rushes to his side and the stick passes from one to the other as they share a moment of tragic understanding.
“From really early on, we had the idea that anything you’re holding [when you die] stays with you. So it wasn’t just your clothes you were wearing, we had the stuff with Thomas’ letter reappearing in his pocket and so on. And the assumption being that it was something The Captain couldn’t put down, it felt so nice to be able to say it was something he didn’t want to put down.”
Rickard lists “Carpe Diem”, co-written with Ben Willbond, among his series five highlights. He’s pleased with the end result, praises Willbond’s performance, and loved being on set to see Button House dressed for the 1940s. He’s particularly pleased that a checklist of moments they wanted to land with the audience all managed to be included. “Normally something’s fallen by the wayside just because of the way TV’s made, it’s always imperfect or it’s slightly rushed, but it feels like it’s all there.”
Rickard and Willbond also knew by this point in the show’s lifetime, that they could trust Ghosts fans to pick up on small details. “Nothing is missed,” he says. “Early on, you’re always thinking, is that going to get across? But once we got to series five, there are little tiny things within corners of shots and you know that’s going to be spotted. Particularly in that very short exchange between Havers and the Captain. We worried less about the minutiae of it because you go, that’s going to be rewound and rewatched, nothing will be missed.”
The team were also grateful they’d resisted the temptation to tell The Captain’s story sooner. “We’d talked about it every series since series two, whether or not now was the time, but because he’s such a hard and starchy character in a lot of ways you needed the time to understand his softer side I think before you had that final honest beat from him.”
“What a ridiculously normal name to have so much weight put on it for five years,” laughs Rickard fondly. “Good old James.”
From Den of Geek
#bbc ghosts#bless you larry for doing all these den of geek interviews#I wonder if they just did one marathon session with him#inside ghosts was kind of disappointing this week#I guess Ben just wants to let the episode speak for itself and you're like yes but I would like to hear you talk about every detail#trust me we will be interested#long post#I really thought they loved the joke of nearly saying the Captain’s name so much that they'd never reveal it#so it's so lovely that they were like no this is not a joke name; he's a real man with an ordinary name#and we are going to tell you that in the most devastatingly romantic way#I am eating my words and they are delicious with that spread on top#also 'that's going to be rewound and rewatched' = 'I know you people are loopy so here is content specifically for you'#bbc ghosts spoilers
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Bulletproof (9/10)
Part Summary: Leaning in, her lips hover just inches from yours, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours. “Tell me,” she urges softly, “that I'm not the only one drowning in this.” Instead of telling her, you show her.
Chapter word count: 3.9k+ | Tags: Smut (18+ only), Resolved Sexual Tension, F*cking finally | Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader
Author's Note: The plot here has gone out the window. Enjoy!
Next Part | Series Masterlist
-
It’s late when Wanda returns to the makeshift home you’ve shared together for the past week. The floorboards groan a bit under her feet, even though each of her steps are light and calculated. Before she even gets to the bedroom, she hears your snores. It's soft, but there's a certain comfort in knowing you're just a room away. As she stops by the door, she smiles, thinking about how these small moments mean everything to her.
At the Avengers compound, things were, well, fancy. High-tech rooms, polished floors, and everything she needed, just a button click away. But it always felt more like she was at work, clocking in and out, than actually living there. It was all so... neat. Too neat.
But this place—it's different. The mismatched chairs, the odd draft from that one window that doesn't shut quite right, and that weird stain on the living room rug they can't seem to get rid of. It's messy, but it feels real. It feels like home.
And of course, there’s the other fact that she knows you’re here, waiting for her to come home.
Wanda eases into the bedroom with a soft tread, careful not to disturb what she believes is your deep sleep. There's a tired, yet hopeful glint in her eyes. She'd been out, and she did meet with Steve like she told you, but he wasn’t expecting her eventual return this morning. He scolded her—along with her accomplice, Vision—for disappearing without a word, but he eventually understood how much Wanda cared about your safety to abandon her duty and break the protocol. While he didn't revoke her suspension, he did lengthen it. This extension, ironically, freed her from the confines of the compound, allowing her to remain by your side without any official obligations holding her back.
She has news, potentially game-changing information, and she's eager to share it with you. But seeing your slumbering form, now's not the time.
She delicately sits on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes and preparing for rest. Gazing at you, she's taken in by your soft snoring, the slight frown that occasionally appears on your brow, and the tranquility of your face—unburdened by the recent revelations of your past. She can't help but trace the curve of your cheek with her fingers, no longer unable to control herself from touching you.
Noticing the covers that have slid down, she carefully pulls them up, ensuring they sit snugly around your shoulders. She leans in, hesitating for just a split second, before softly pressing her lips to your forehead.
“I miss you,” she murmurs. “Every moment, every day. I wish you could remember me. All of me.”
With those heartfelt pleas, Wanda sinks down beside you, hoping that perhaps, in dreams, you might find fragments of who you used to be, of what she meant to you.
-
…and in dreams, you do find a semblance of it.
The sound emanates from Wanda, who is deeply entrenched in another dream. It’s evident from her restless movements and the soft moans escaping her lips that it's intense, and again, not entirely innocent. The sensations she’s feeling in her dream seem to ripple out, wrapping around you too—even in sleep.
A pulsating energy begins to stir you from your own slumber. Your senses heighten, and on the brink of intense sensations, you claw your way to consciousness.
Your eyes fly open, pupils dilating rapidly in the dim light. Cold sweat dampens your forehead, and your chest rises and falls at an erratic pace. The vivid images of you and Wanda, intimate and passionate, flood your mind, refusing to fade. You swallow hard, trying to push away the remnants of the dream, the warmth it evoked, and the very real longing it has stirred within you.
Pulling the sheets tighter around your body, you try to regulate your breathing. You turn to Wanda, her cheeks stained with a deep blush, her lips slightly parted. Taking a deep breath, you gently nudge her, whispering her name. She blinks, her deep-set eyes clouded with remnants of her dream, and it takes her a moment to focus on you.
Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven. “I... I'm sorry,” she mutters under her breath, recognizing what’s happening again.
“So this happens often?” you ask, deliberately choosing your words, attempting to steady your racing heart and the electric buzz between your legs.
She wavers, taking a moment to collect herself before nodding slowly. You notice her squeezing her thighs together, and you try to pull your attention away from that.
Wanda takes a deep, shaky breath. “We were supposed to talk about it, you know? About what's happening, about what we're feeling... about how much we mean to each other. But then the attack happened, and…”
The silence that follows her confession is thick, but not uncomfortable. It feels like the stillness before the dawn, an in-between moment, pregnant with possibilities.
“How do you feel about me?” you finally ask. Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can make out her silhouette and the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she attempts to steady her breathing.
Gathering her courage, she finally looks up at you, her eyes a storm of emotions. “I like you. No, it's deeper than that. I yearn for you. But it feels... inappropriate, wrong even, to act on those feelings when you don't remember any of it. It feels like I'm taking advantage of you.
“You're not you. I mean, you're you, but... it doesn't feel right to be close to you, knowing that to you, I'm just a stranger.”
Instinctively, you move closer to her, lifting her chin gently with your fingers, urging her eyes to meet yours.
“You're no stranger to me,” you whisper to her.
It’s true. You may not remember the minor details about Wanda, but you do remember the essentials. You know she cares for you, that she’s spent months protecting you and watching over you. You know she would have let you live a simple, ordinary life if not for the resurgence of your powers and the looming threats accompanying them. You know she’d put your best interests before her own; she's proven that in the short time since you two were reintroduced.
You attempt to pull your fingers away but Wanda ensnares them, guiding you to cradle her cheek. Your breath hitches as you sense the goosebumps forming along the slope of her neck. Almost magnetically, your fingers drift over her skin, feeling her erratic pulse.
Wanda's eyes, a deep pool of want, lock onto yours. “Do you feel that?” she murmurs, her voice tinged with both trepidation and longing.
Without waiting for your reply, she closes the distance, her fingers lightly grazing your jawline. Her touch sends shivers down your spine. Leaning in, her lips hover just inches from yours, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours.
“Tell me,” she urges softly, “That I'm not the only one drowning in this.”
Instead of telling her, you show her.
With the lightest of touches, you draw her closer, letting your lips brush against hers in a whisper-soft kiss. Your hands find their way to her waist, pulling her close, while her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. Wanda releases a breath against your lips, and you seize the opportunity, letting your tongue probe past her luscious lips. Her soft moan vibrates against your mouth, urging you to pull her closer, your hand pressing gently yet insistently against her cheek.
Wanda's fingers begin to dance down your collarbone, her lips momentarily leaving yours to trail featherlight kisses along the column of your neck. Each kiss sends rousing jolts down your spine, your skin burning wherever her lips touch.
When Wanda's hands reach the hem of your sleep shirt, she breaks away from your neck, her eyes seeking permission in yours. “Can I...?” she asks, her fingers playing tentatively with the edge of the fabric.
You nod, suddenly breathless. “Yes.”
With that affirmation, she carefully lifts the shirt over your head, her eyes darkening to a point that there’s no longer any green in them.
It’s just pure, concentrated desire that pools there.
Her gaze flits across every inch of your now-exposed upper body, taking in every detail as though it's the first time she's seen you this way. She herself hesitates for only a moment before she slips out of her own shirt, revealing her own sculpted figure. There's a vulnerability in the way she bares herself, as if trusting you with a part of her she doesn't show many.
Your eyes skim over every detail that you can study, the heat in your groin intensifying at each discovery that they find. And then Wanda’s hands travel lower, reaching the waistband of your shorts. She hesitates for a moment, her fingers fumbling slightly with the material. The blush on her cheeks deepens, realizing she's almost crossed another boundary without asking.
“Is this...?” she trails off, glancing up at you in embarrassment.
Your heart warms to her thoughtfulness, but your mounting impatience soon overshadows your gratitude for it. “Wanda,” you murmur, leaning in to capture her earlobe gently between your teeth before whispering, “You can take off anything... or everything, if you wish.”
Wanda doesn’t waste any time after that.
Her fingers are nimble yet tremble slightly, their expedition deliberate and slow, as they trace along the waistband of your shorts, then dip beneath it, teasing the edge of your underwear. Her cool fingertips hit your skin, sending shivers down your spine as she slowly pulls the last piece of your clothing down your hips. Wanda's gaze is fixated, pupils impossibly dilating more when she notes the evidence of your want, a damp trail that marks the fabric. It clings momentarily before she manages to pull it free, the sight making her bite her lower lip. Her fingers trace the curve of your hips, the softness of your inner thighs.
“Y/N...” She looks up from where she's crouched by your feet, her eyes searching yours for permission, for guidance, for a map of where to go next.
Your entire body tingles with anticipation; every single touch, every single glance from her, sends a shock wave straight to your core.
“Wanda,” you find yourself begging, “Please... touch me.”
She raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Touch you? Like this?” The pads of her thumb trace patterns over your thighs, never reaching the place you ache for most, but close enough to make you squirm with desperation.
Your frustration mounts, a whimper escaping your lips, “No, deeper... there.” The confession makes your cheeks burn, but your pride is swallowed by the overwhelming need for her.
Wanda chuckles darkly, her hot breath fanning over your sensitized skin. “Say it,” she murmurs, fingers hovering, tantalizingly close but not quite there. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
You gasp, arching towards her, trying to close the distance, but she's swift, holding you just out of reach. “Wanda, please... I… I need your mouth. Please, please.”
There’s a pause, a moment where the world seems to stand still, and then her lips descend. The touch is light at first, teasing, testing, but then it deepens, becoming more insistent. The sensation of her mouth on you is unlike anything else—it's exhilarating, all-consuming. Your fingers tangle in her hair, guiding her, urging her on.
Wanda relishes in the power she holds, drawing out every moan, every shiver, and every gasp. She's just as lost in the moment, just as consumed by the fire that rages between you two. She can’t help but berate herself for delaying this, for going so long without having you this way, for being so stupid thinking for the longest time that you don’t want her the way she wants you.
You taste better than any dream she’s had of you. She’s growing addicted with every swipe of her tongue; she wants more. She wants everything. And if possible she wants it all the time.
The feeling of her mouth against you, combined with her own need evident in the way she's grinding down on the bed, makes your head spin. “Wanda…” you gasp, voice thick with want, “Fuck, you're so good at this.” The crass words roll off your tongue, unfiltered, raw, and honest. Every pull, every tease, has you on edge, gasping, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life.
For a fleeting second, you wonder how many others have known her touch before you. Jealousy flares within, but it's quickly consumed by a wave of throbbing want as she intensifies her ministrations.
Her muffled groan against you sends another jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and the movement of her hips against the bed is testament to her own growing need. But she doesn’t let up, even when you try to pull away, worried about how powerful the building pressure inside you is becoming.
Wanda only pulls back for a moment, to look up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Give it to me,” she breathes, voice dripping with want. “I want to taste you. Every drop. I want you to mark me, to make me yours.”
That’s all it takes. A final lap of her tongue pushes you over the edge. And as you come undone under her touch, under her mouth, you call out her name, a broken chant of pleasure and surrender. Wanda drinks you in, savoring the taste, the feel of you, the very essence of your pleasure. Her own arousal remains unattended, but she doesn't seem to mind, lost as she is in the act of giving, in the heady satisfaction of having brought you to such heights.
“Come here,” you murmur. Your fingers brush through her hair, guiding her back up to your eye level. There's a stunned pause as you take in the vision before you. Your aftermath paints her lips and chin, making her look sinfully debauched, a marked contrast to the innocent glint still residing in her eyes.
Without a second thought, you pull her into a searing kiss. It's a gentle, tender exploration, which is surprising considering how explicit their previous actions were. You trace your tongue over her chin, cleaning the remnants of your release. The combined taste of yourself on her skin elicits another soft moan from your lips, a sound echoed by Wanda.
Pulling back slightly, Wanda's eyes meet yours. They hold a depth of emotion, gratitude, reverence, and an untamed desire. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice sweet and ironically innocent, her eyelashes casting feathery shadows against her flushed cheeks.
Your cheeks warm at her words, a blush spreading down to your heaving chest. “Wanda,” you laugh faintly, “It's me who should be thanking you.”
But she merely offers a soft, radiant smile, laying her head in the crook of your neck. She nestles her face under your chin, her breath tickling your skin. The beat of your heart thuds loudly in your chest, a rhythm that lulls her into quietude.
You allow her to rest for a few minutes, simply content at holding her like this. But soon, you feel her wetness dripping against your thighs, sparking a fervor within you, and you're consumed with the urge to give her the same heady pleasure she'd gifted you with, to mark her as irrevocably as she's marked you.
Shifting subtly, you maneuver yourself from beneath Wanda, reversing your positions. With a gentle but determined push, she's beneath you, her hair splayed out against the pillow, eyes shimmering with anticipation. You lean in, allowing the heat of your breath to tease the shell of her ear. “My turn now,” you whisper.
Wanda's hands, previously resting idly by her sides, now grip the sheets, awaiting your next move.
Your hands roam over her body, tracing every crease, every inch of skin that you've longed to touch. Wanda arches into your exploration, her moans growing louder with each teasing caress. You lean down, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, allowing your tongue to dip back into her mouth, tasting remnants of yourself.
Moving from her lips, you leave a trail of soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and to the swell of her breasts. Your hands deftly unclasp her bra, releasing her to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire her, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, her dusky, hardened nipples. Leaning down, you take one of them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, earning a sharp gasp from her.
As you lavish attention on her breasts, one hand slides down her body, ghosting across the subtle swell of her stomach and then slipping between her thighs. The slickness that meets your fingers stirs your own desires again, and you can't help but murmur, “God, Wanda, you're so fucking wet. All for me?”
Her face flushes, but her voice is husky when she responds, “Only for you. Always for you.”
It’s all the confirmation you need.
You hurriedly hook your fingers under the edge of her soaked underwear, tugging it down and discarding it to the side. Her hips buck into your touch, seeking more, and you give it to her, slipping two fingers inside her. The sensation of her tightness, her warmth, makes you groan aloud. “So fucking tight,” you whisper in her ear, feeling her clench around you as you thrust in and out.
Her breath hitches, eyes glazed with lust as she moans, “Don't stop, Y/N. Please. I need more. I need you.”
Your fingers skillfully dance across her sensitive skin, exploring every inch and fold. Using a gentle circling motion, you focus on her most responsive spot, feeling her reactions and adjusting accordingly. You set a steady tempo, plunging deeper while keeping a rhythmic pace. All the while, your lips remain locked with hers, drowning out her escalating moans. As the pressure builds, her voice rises with each stroke, “Right there! Oh, fuck!”
You can feel her nearing her peak, her body coiling with tension. “Come for me, Wanda,” you utter the command in a low voice. You capture her lips once again, muffling her cries as she tumbles over the edge, her climax washing over her. You ride her through it, prolonging her pleasure until she's left a trembling, sated mess beneath you.
But you're not finished. Not by a long shot.
Wanda's eyes flutter open, slightly glazed from her recent orgasm, assuming that you'd simply come up to cuddle. But she's taken by surprise as you begin your descent, tracing your fingertips lightly over the soft skin of her abdomen, drawing goosebumps in their wake.
She takes in a sharp breath as you gently spread her legs wider, baring her entirely to your gaze. The sight before you is tantalizing—her glistening arousal, her puffed up lips, her clit beckoning, and the trimmed patch of hair that adds to her allure. She’s so beautiful. You can't resist; your mouth practically aches to taste her.
“Y/N,” Wanda breathes.
You glance up at her, locking eyes as you lower your mouth to her, the tip of your tongue barely brushing against her. The taste that greets you is both citrusy and slightly salty, and it has you instantly craving for more. Each lap makes you realize just how addicting she is, her unique flavor imprinted on your tongue, driving you to explore further, deeper. Wanda’s hips jerk reflexively, chasing more contact. Teasingly, you draw slow circles around her clit, drinking in every whimper and moan that spills from her lips.
You spread her open further, revealing every part of her to your ravenous gaze. The darker, tighter entrance catches your attention, and without hesitation, you press a gentle kiss there, relishing the gasp it elicits from her. With a smirk, you drag your tongue from that entrance all the way up to her clenching pussy, letting it flutter against her entrance and then up to the underside of her engorged clit.
“Fuck, Y/N!” she groans, her hands flying to clutch at the sheets, her body undulating with pleasure.
You can't help but chuckle at her response, but the sound is muffled by her wetness, by the intoxicating taste of her arousal. You're consumed by it, by her, and the sounds she's making. “You taste so fucking good,” you murmur wetly against her.
Her thighs tremble around your head, her breathing ragged. “Please,” she whines, dragging the word out, “Don't stop. I need... I need to come.”
You revel in the music of her pleas, the increasingly incoherent babble as you push her closer and closer to the edge. As you slide three fingers inside her, you can feel just how wet she is, how ready. The rhythmic squelch of your fingers moving within her is mesmerizing, and her body responds in kind, tightening impossibly around them, begging for more.
Looking up, you're met with the tantalizing view of Wanda, head thrown back, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. That sight alone could bring you to your knees if you weren’t there already.
“I’m so, so close, please, Y/N…”
You wrap your lips around her clit, sucking gently, the vibrations from your moans against her causing her to buck her hips. Each movement, each stroke of your fingers and flick of your tongue, is designed to bring her closer to the precipice.
“Wanda,” you hum against her, sending vibrations straight through her, “Let go. Come for me.”
And then, she breaks.
With a guttural cry, her body convulses, pleasure rolling through her in waves. You don’t stop, not until she’s gently pushing at your head, her body too sensitive to take any more. You start to pull your fingers away, but Wanda catches them, drawing them into her mouth and cleaning them with her tongue. After a moment, you slide closer, capturing her lips in a lingering, tender kiss.
“That was...” she starts, but words seem to fail her.
You simply smile, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I know,” you whisper, pulling the covers over both of you, trapping the heat between your bodies.
“Are you okay?” you ask. As the afterglow starts to fade, you remember the purple bruises you’ve left all over her breasts. “Was I too rough? I can... I can try to heal those marks if you want.”
Wanda shifts to look at them, her fingers ghosting over each one. “They'll be reminders,” she says with a small smirk, not sounding too bothered.
“I just want you to be comfortable, that's all.”
“And I am,” she assures, snuggling closer to you, letting her eyes drift shut. “Very much so.”
A few minutes pass with only just the faint, slow sound of breathing. You try to shake off a sudden insecurity that edges into your thoughts, but before you know it, her name escapes your lips.
“Wanda?”
She lets out a sleepy, “Hmm?”
“Was this... Was I... everything you expected?” you ask.
There's a brief pause, and then she shifts slightly, looking up at you, her eyes a little clearer despite her drowsiness. A smile forms on her lips, full of warmth and adoration. “Yes,” she whispers back, “And so much more.”
It's uncertain if you'll ever get your memories back. But this new one and the ones you'll make with Wanda make it less daunting to face a future without a past.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x you#wanda x you#wanda maximoff#unbetad#my writing#my fic#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen#wanda maximoff fanfiction#captain america civil war#the avengers
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Healing Hues | Jeon Wonwoo
Pairing: Actor!Wonwoo x Professor!Reader (ft. Ex!Joshua)
Genre: Slowburn, angst, fluff, friendship
Synopsis: Exhausted by the monotony of his life as a celebrity, Wonwoo makes a pivotal decision to return to his childhood hometown and embark on a heartwarming project: building a small library named 'Healing Hues.' Little does he know, this journey will lead to a series of unexpected and transformative events.
Author Note: reader is she (don't hate me and my writing preferences:( please) i would love to receive a request. Send me an interesting plot!
Jeon Wonwoo knew deep down that his decision had been impulsive. Packing his belongings and embarking on the drive to Changwon, all on the heels of securing a two-week vacation leave, was hardly a meticulously planned expedition. But sometimes, life calls for a dash of spontaneity. His destination? None other than his father's villa nestled in the heart of his hometown, Uichang-Gu. The key to this haven of cherished memories was handed over by his father himself, a tacit approval of his quest for respite.
Seoul, the city that famously never slept, had held him captive for too long. It had embraced him, and in return, he had embraced its fast-paced, modern rhythm. But as he cast his gaze upon the bustling streets and the neon glow of the city one last time before his departure, he felt an inexplicable yearning for the simplicity of days gone by. It was a yearning that whispered to his soul, beckoning him to escape the whirlwind and find solace in the embrace of his roots.
The decision to seek refuge in Mujeom-ri, the place where his childhood dreams had been nurtured, was driven by this unshakable yearning. The memories were etched in his mind with vivid strokes, a testament to the beauty and tranquility of that place. Mujeom-ri had been his sanctuary, a place where his spirit could roam free, unburdened by the demands of the modern world. It was a slice of heaven on Earth.
Wonwoo had visited his hometown a few times before his family decided to make the permanent move to Seoul. Those visits had been a lifeline, a chance to escape the chaos and rediscover himself in the simplicity of country life. The six-hour drive from Seoul to Mujeom-ri was hardly a hindrance; it was a journey to a world where the forsythia lined the roads, their golden blooms lighting up the night like a string of stars. It was the charming countryside, the antidote to the urban hustle and bustle.
The clock struck midnight as he finally arrived in Mujeom-ri. He hadn't bothered changing out of the outfit from his last promotional event, a testament to the whirlwind of his recent schedule. Stepping into the villa, he was greeted by a scene of warmth and familiarity. The passage of time hadn't been unkind to this place; it had been meticulously cared for by the people his father had entrusted with its upkeep. These twin villas had once been his family's sanctuary, the backdrop to his childhood adventures, before they were transformed into welcoming havens for guests.
Before surrendering to the allure of sleep, Wonwoo made it a point to notify his father of his safe arrival. The weary traveler then retreated to his bedroom, a sense of nostalgia and excitement mingling within him. He was back in Mujeom-ri, his cherished childhood haven, ready to embrace the memories and tranquility it promised. As he lay in bed, the whispers of the past and the promise of new adventures danced in his dreams, setting the stage for an unforgettable journey of rediscovery.
A heavy sigh of relief escaped from his lips, a cathartic release of tension as he lay down. He closed his eyes, a weary smile tugging at his lips as he surrendered to the embrace of slumber. Tomorrow held the promise of wonderful things, and he was eager to seize them. His plan was simple: to get himself a bike and embark on an enjoyable ride through Dong-eup, leaving behind the bustling life he had known in Seoul. The city's relentless pace had worn him down, but here in Mujeom-ri, his hometown, he hoped to rediscover the simple joys he had left behind.
As he shifted in his bed, on the verge of drifting into dreams, a sudden thud shattered the tranquility of the night, jolting him awake. His body tensed, and his heart raced as he scanned the room with a growing sense of unease. Anxiety crept into his thoughts, and he couldn't ignore the feeling of menace that hung in the air like a dark cloud.
"Who are you?" he inquired with a quiver in his voice, his eyes wide with panic. But there was no response, just an eerie silence that deepened his unease. Without hesitation, he rose from his bed and cautiously made his way out of the room, guided only by the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Another thud echoed, this time from outside the house, urging him to hasten toward the source of the sound. The night seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation, as if the universe itself conspired to create an atmosphere of suspense and mystery.
Flinging open the door, he was greeted by an unexpected sight—a woman gracefully jumping down from a two-meter-high fence. His gasp mingled with her startled exclamation as they found themselves face to face in the moonlit night. The dim light failed to reveal her features clearly, and his glasses did little to aid his vision. Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids, further obscuring the woman's identity. All he could muster was a question about her sudden arrival, his voice trembling with curiosity and concern.
"I live next door," the woman explained, pointing to the smaller cottage adjacent to his own. Her voice was as soft as a whisper in the night, and her explanation illuminated the reason behind her unconventional entrance. "The gate was locked, and I thought the housekeeper had something to do with it."
Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt; it had been he who had locked the gate, an oversight driven by his fatigue. He nodded in understanding, concern etched on his face as he inquired about her well-being, knowing that her descent from the fence must have been quite a fall. Assured of her safety, he retreated back into his bedroom, ready to bury his thoughts in slumber once more.
*
Wonwoo had never been a morning person. Back when he shared a house with Kim Mingyu, his bandmate, they were notorious for missing their alarms, only rousing from their slumber when their manager intervened. Waking up early was an arduous task for Wonwoo, a self-proclaimed night owl. His brain seemed to function at half-speed in the morning sun. Unless there was a morning schedule requiring his presence, he typically awoke in the afternoon, cherishing his days off and contemplating his erratic sleep patterns.
However, today was different. He found himself stirred from his sleep by the unmistakable crowing of roosters, heralding the arrival of a new day. Wonwoo couldn't recall the last time he had woken up with a smile on his face.
As he embarked on his day, he began by making his bed, a simple task that had become a comforting habit from his time living with Mingyu. Unpacking his belongings, he realized the need to stock up on essentials for his two-week stay. He took note of the absence of a nearby gym, a realization that left him pondering the necessity of one in the villas. The thought of driving nearly an hour to the nearest gym was less than appealing. In his mind, he made a mental note to suggest the idea of installing a home gym to his father.
Wonwoo decided to embrace the morning with a run, clad in his workout attire. A bit of cardio seemed like a good idea to invigorate his senses. After lacing up his running shoes, he embarked on a journey through the village that had nurtured his childhood. Memories blossomed like flowers in his mind as he inhaled deeply, savoring the sights of his hometown. Passing by his old elementary school, he couldn't help but notice the renovations that had taken place over the years. Yet, a single red-painted swing held a sweet memory of his childhood crush and the innocent moments they had shared. A fond chuckle escaped him as he reminisced about those bygone days, wondering where that childhood crush might be now. He encountered an older woman he remembered from his youth, an auntie who used to sell fish in the local market. She stood out with her distinctive presence, her husband and son working as fishermen in another district. The memories of her warm smile flooded back, reminding him of the simpler times.
Wonwoo greeted the woman, and to his surprise, she remembered him and even mentioned his father's name. Her kind offer of breakfast was met with a polite decline, as he wished to continue his exploration of the village. She assured him that her daughter would deliver food later and extended an invitation to her home should he need anything. His stroll led him to the field where he had spent countless hours playing football with his friends. Memories of his cheerful and outgoing childhood self surfaced, leaving him pondering how he had changed over the years.
"Jeon Wonwoo?" a familiar voice called out, breaking him from his reverie.
He turned to find Park Giyong, one of his closest childhood friends from elementary and junior high school, standing before him. Even though they had stayed in touch during his visits to his hometown, it had been nearly five years since they had last met. The loss of contact had been due to Wonwoo misplacing his smartphone, and their reunions were usually in Seoul, where Giyong was pursuing his medical degree at Seoul University. However, since Giyong had returned to Mujeom-ri to establish his own clinic, they had drifted apart. Wonwoo's morning jog suddenly became more enjoyable with Giyong's company.
After an hour of reminiscing about old times, Wonwoo returned to his villa. He planned to enjoy a cup of instant coffee he had purchased from a convenience store earlier and dive into one of the several books he had brought along. As he prepared to settle in for his reading session, a woman entered the lawn, holding a pack of food containers.
"My mother sent me to bring you this," she said, referring to the promised meal.
An overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over Wonwoo at the kindness he had already encountered. He thanked the woman and introduced himself. She confessed that she recognized him from their shared school days and even mentioned that she enjoyed watching his dramas. Sometimes, Wonwoo forgot that he was a celebrity.
He learned that her name was Yeonju and expressed his gratitude once again. Out of friendliness, he invited her to join him for breakfast, but she declined, explaining that she had already eaten and had to work as an elementary school teacher at his former school. Wonwoo bid her farewell, promising to return the empty containers to her mother's house later.
Wonwoo's gaze fixated on the smaller cottage next door, memories of the previous night replaying vividly in his mind. "I locked her outside. I haven't formally apologized," he mused, a weight of regret settling in his chest. His attention shifted to the sumptuous spread before him. Should he share?
A flurry of uncertainties raced through his thoughts. "What if she's already eaten? What if this isn't to her taste?" The questions echoed, filling the room with their unresolved tension.
Summoning a resolute breath, he spoke aloud, a determined whisper, "Just try it, Jeon Wonwoo." The words hung in the air, a silent promise to himself. He rose from his seat, each step towards the neighboring door measured and deliberate.
With a hesitant hand, he knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet air. The weight of his actions settled on his shoulders, a mixture of apprehension and hope coursing through his veins. The seconds that followed seemed to stretch into eternity, a suspended moment of anticipation.
The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a woman with disheveled hair and sleep-heavy eyes. Wonwoo could only catch a glimpse of her sleepy visage. He cleared his throat, his voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep.
"Um, good morning," he began, his words stumbling slightly. "I was wondering if you'd like to have breakfast together? I thought it might be a nice way to make up for last night."
She blinked, struggling to process his words through the fog of sleep. After a moment, she seemed to register his request, and she nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
With that agreement, she gently closed the door, leaving Wonwoo in quiet anticipation. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, she emerged, transformed. Her hair was now neatly combed, and her attire, though simple, exuded a fresh and lively air.
Wonwoo couldn't help but admire the remarkable change, his own gratitude and admiration evident in the softness of his gaze. They exchanged a tentative smile, a shared understanding of this simple yet profoundly meaningful gesture. Together, they headed towards the table, the air tinged with a newfound sense of camaraderie.
"A grandmother I know sent this, and I thought it would be good to share with a neighbor," he explained, a gentle warmth in his voice, as they both settled into their seats.
"I'm Wonwoo, Jeon Wonwoo," he offered with a friendly smile, extending his hand in introduction.
"Kang Y/n," she replied, her voice a soft whisper, reciprocating the gesture with a polite bow.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," Wonwoo insisted, graciously inviting Y/n to feel at ease.
As they sat across from each other, a delicate dance of courtesy and curiosity filled the air. Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, captivated by the grace with which she approached her meal. Her movements were deliberate yet unhurried, each bite savored with a quiet appreciation. When she looked up, her perceptive eyes met Wonwoo's, a gentle curiosity in her expression as if she could sense the depth of his observation.
"Is there something on my face?" she asked, her voice carrying a touch of amusement. Her fingers delicately patted her cheeks, checking for any stray crumbs.
Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle softly, touched by her awareness. "No, nothing at all," he reassured, a warm smile gracing his lips.
"Actually, I was the one who locked the gate last night," Wonwoo confessed as he raised his spoon and dived into his meal.
A faint blush dusted Y/n's cheeks. "Ah, I'm sorry for last night. I lost track of time in library. I must have interrupted your sleep," she said, a hint of regret in her voice.
Wonwoo quickly shook his head. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't know that someone was occupying the house next door," he explained, his tone earnest.
Y/n hummed in understanding, nodding her head. "I was informed that the owner's son would be joining in a few days. It must be you," she said with a warm smile, reaching for her food.
"It must have been difficult for you... umm... jumping over the fence," Wonwoo added gently, referring to what he had witnessed the night before. Y/n's reaction was immediate, a surprised laugh escaping her lips, only to be followed by a fit of coughing.
Wonwoo, a bit flustered, hurriedly rose and went inside to fetch water. As he stood in his kitchen, he realized he hadn't installed tap water yet. He grabbed the grocery bag he had bought earlier, relieved to find several bottles of mineral water.
Returning to the table, he offered one to Y/n. "Here," he said, his concern evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have had this ready."
Y/n accepted the water with gratitude, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and appreciation. "Thank you, Wonwoo. You really didn't have to do this."
He smiled, a genuine warmth in his gaze. "It's no trouble at all. I want you to feel comfortable here."
As they settled back into their meal, the atmosphere around them seemed to soften. The initial awkwardness had given way to a shared understanding.
"How long are you going to stay?" Wonwoo wondered aloud, realizing he hadn't given much thought to the duration of his hiatus. He had informed his agency that this would be his longest break since his military service, but how long, exactly? A month? Maybe more?
"I don't know yet, maybe a month or two? How about you? How long have you been staying here?" Wonwoo inquired, genuinely interested in learning more about his newfound companion.
"This is my third week. Maybe two more. I couldn't leave my work for that long," Y/n explained, her laughter dancing lightly in the air. It was clear she was a dedicated professional.
"What do you do?" he inquired, his words punctuated by a bite of food. Wonwoo was aware that talking with one's mouth full wasn't the best habit, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.
"I teach at a university in Seoul," she replied, a hint of hesitation in her voice.
Wonwoo's eyes widened in surprise. "You're a professor?" He asked, admiration lacing his voice. Y/n nodded with a humble smile, the kind that spoke volumes about her character. She wasn't the type to boast about her impressive profession.
"How about you? What do you do?"
As Y/n's question hung in the air, it caused a palpable pause in the conversation. Wonwoo's gaze turned thoughtful, realizing that she hadn't recognized him. This revelation stirred a distinct sense of intrigue within him. After all, he was a familiar face on screens, effortlessly slipping into roles as villains, businessmen, and detectives. Encounters with people who were oblivious to his public persona were indeed rare, and this anomaly struck him as decidedly captivating.
"I..." Wonwoo began, his voice carrying a touch of uncertainty, as though he were carefully navigating unfamiliar territory. "I work in the entertainment industry. Specifically, in the movie industry," he explained, choosing brevity over embellishment. Y/n acknowledged his response with a nod, not pressing for further details.
Yet, this moment of revelation only fueled Wonwoo's curiosity further. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to engage with someone who approached him without the weight of his public image. This unexpected encounter held the promise of unfolding in ways he hadn't anticipated, adding an unexpected layer of depth to their burgeoning connection.
*
Wonwoo's steady breaths puffed out in white clouds as he slowed to a halt, his jog complete. His phone, nestled snugly in his pocket, hummed with urgency. With a quirked brow, he plucked it out, revealing a call from his ever-busy manager. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes at the thought of what could warrant such a sudden update.
"Hello," he greeted warmly, his voice a soothing balm over the line.
His manager wasted no time, diving into the updates. Wonwoo leaned against a nearby tree, listening intently. It was heartening to hear that the actor's career was still making waves in the industry. But as the conversation swayed, Wonwoo took a moment to share a personal triumph.
"I've been reconnecting with old friends from my hometown," he informed, a touch of nostalgia coloring his words. "It's been a wonderful experience."
Then, a request surfaced in his mind, something he'd been mulling over for a while. "I was thinking... could we make a formal announcement about my hiatus? I have a project in mind—a little library for the kids in the village. It would mean a lot to me."
His manager's voice buzzed with activity. "I'll get in touch with PR. They're swamped, you know how it is. By the way, did you hear about Hong Jisoo? Married and divorced, all in secret. The whole industry's in a frenzy."
Wonwoo nodded, his expression thoughtful. He knew Hong Jisoo, though they'd never shared a scene. Their paths often crossed at award ceremonies, a testament to the longevity of their careers. Marriage, especially early on, wasn't uncommon in their world. Divorce, however, bore its own weight of sorrow.
"Alright, no rush on my end," Wonwoo assured, his tone empathetic. "Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Take care, hyung!"
As the call ended, Wonwoo's gaze swept across the tranquil scenery, the village he held dear. His name danced on the breeze, a familiar voice that turned his head. There stood Giyong, clad in a tracksuit, an image of comfort and familiarity. A genuine smile graced Wonwoo's lips, warmth and respect radiating in his eyes as they met the gaze of the Mr. Doctor.
"Good to see you," Wonwoo greeted, extending a hand in greeting. The stories and connections of their shared hometown were threads that bound them, making this meeting all the more special.
"Have you ever met the woman next door to mine?" Wonwoo inquired, his curiosity piqued after their discussion about the government library miles away from the village.
Giyong's brow arched in thought. "She's still around? I crossed paths with her weeks ago, but I assumed she'd moved on by now," he explained, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Seems like she keeps to herself."
Wonwoo nodded in understanding, absorbing Giyong's words. The quiet presence of the neighbor next door suddenly held a touch more intrigue.
"About the library, come by my office after lunch. I'll be happy to accompany you for a visit," Giyong offered, his voice warm and supportive.
As the clock hand swept towards 1 pm, Wonwoo stood before the mirror, giving himself a final once-over. Today was a day of plans and purpose. First, a visit to Giyong's office, where they'd discuss the logistics of the library project. Then, an observation trip to the existing library, an essential step in crafting a space that truly catered to the village's children. Giyong had also hinted at a discussion with the village head, emphasizing the seriousness of Wonwoo's endeavor. The thought of his father's potential support buoyed his determination.
Stepping outside, Wonwoo's gaze naturally fell upon Y/n's door. He hadn't seen her today. The memory of their last encounter flashed in his mind—it was yesterday night, her returning with a stack of books in hand. Could it be, he wondered, that she was involved with the local library as well?
Wonwoo stepped into Giyong's office, only to find himself in a professional medical clinic, complete with a pharmacy and a bustling staff. The revelation that Giyong was not just a doctor, but a savvy businessman as well, caught him off guard. Giyong's explanation about his alternating shifts, to accommodate his childhood best friend, resonated with a deep sense of friendship and dedication. Wonwoo could only chuckle at the revelation as they made their way towards the library.
"It's quite a distance from the school, isn't it?" Wonwoo observed, prompting a nod from Giyong. Memories of the old library near the fish market resurfaced, a cherished place from his past that had unfortunately met its end due to land ownership issues.
Inside the library, they were greeted warmly by the staff, their mission for children's books met with helpful suggestions.
"These books are mostly classics, a bit on the older side," Giyong explained, brows furrowed in concentration as he assessed the collection. Wonwoo nodded in understanding, selecting one of the books that had once transported him to childhood adventures. A warm smile tugged at his lips, memories flooding back.
"We'll need to invest in a good number of popular and newer books. How many are we talking? At least fifty, I'd say!" Giyong exclaimed, his own mental tally underway. He went on to inform Wonwoo about the escalating costs of children's books, a reality that hadn't escaped their notice.
As they delved deeper into their discussion, Wonwoo's gaze wandered through the aisles. There, seated serenely amidst the books with a laptop before her, was Y/n. His smile widened as he approached, the recognition lighting up her features.
"So, you're here every day," Wonwoo remarked, causing her to startle slightly. She offered a somewhat awkward smile before closing her book, her attention now fully on him.
"I've been here since morning. I lost track of time and nearly skipped lunch, so thanks for the reminder," Y/n explained, your tone gracious.
Taking a seat beside Y/n, Wonwoo's eyes flitted between the pages of the book and the contents of her laptop. "What are you working on?" he asked, genuine interest in his tone.
"Just reading a book and working on a paper. It was a pleasant surprise to find this book here," She shared. Wonwoo's eyes fell upon the title, Library Classification History, a wry amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is it related to what you teach?" he inquired, intrigued.
Y/n nodded. "I teach Library and Information Science," she revealed.
Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, marveling at the serendipity of it all. He, wanting to establish a library, had met her—a specialist in the very field. It was a coincidence too perfect to be ignored.
"In fact," he began, a glint of excitement in his eyes, "I'm planning to create a small library on the first floor of my place."
Y/n's interest was piqued, and shenodded in encouragement, eager to hear more about his vision. Wonwoo called Giyong who is still drawned by the book. He friendly introduced Giyoung to Y/n and vice versa.
"Indeed, she's a professor. She teaches library science," Wonwoo informed Giyong, watching as the revelation left the man visibly taken aback.
"What a twist of fate," Giyong mused, a sentiment that Wonwoo readily echoed. The synchronicity of their meeting with you, a professor in the very field they were diving into, seemed almost too perfectly timed.
As Wonwoo went on to explain the vision of creating a small library for the village's children, his words carried a blend of earnestness and passion. It was a plan woven with care, a promise to provide the young minds in the village with a sanctuary of knowledge and imagination.
"I can still recall how much Wonwoo adored reading as a child. It's no wonder he feels so strongly about ensuring kids today have the same access to books," Giyong reflected, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. He spoke of moments from their shared past, of glimpses caught of a young Wonwoo engrossed in books in class or within the hallowed halls of a library.
Meanwhile, Y/n sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of the proposition hanging in the air. She considered the potential impact of her brief stay in this time, wondering if it could lend a helping hand in bringing this dream to fruition—a small library, a beacon of knowledge for the children of the village.
"What can I do to assist?" Her inquiry broke the thoughtful silence, drawing a radiant smile across Wonwoo's face. It was a question that held the promise of collaboration, a joining of hands to shape a future of enriched minds and shared stories.
*
The days had been a whirlwind for Wonwoo, Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi. Wonwoo's strategic move to enlist Youngmi's help as an elementary teacher had paid off, granting them invaluable insights into the needs of their young audience. With Giyong and Youngmi juggling their own demanding schedules, the lion's share of the preparations fell upon Wonwoo and Y/n. Wonwoo, his sleeves rolled up, threw himself into the renovation project, determined to transform the first floor into a space worthy of being called a small library. Meanwhile, Y/n delved into research, meticulously curating a collection that would captivate and educate young minds.
As the day waned, Youngmi's departure marked the beginning of a quiet evening. With her mother's thoughtful gesture, the duo received a comforting late-night snack and a steaming cup of green tea. After bidding Youngmi farewell, the room settled into a hushed intimacy, the soft glow of a nearby lamp casting gentle shadows.
"Let's take a moment to rest," Wonwoo suggested, carefully placing his paint-splattered equipment aside. On the other side of the room, Y/n set down the tablet that had commanded her attention since morning. She stretched languidly, every movement exuding a feline grace. Approaching Wonwoo, she joined him, both eager to indulge in the late-night sustenance.
The atmosphere was one of contented exhaustion, the weight of their efforts easing as they shared this quiet interlude. Wonwoo's chuckle mingled with the soothing rhythm of their breaths, a testament to the camaraderie that had grown between them.
In this stolen moment of respite, the small library project seemed to take on a new glow of promise. It was more than just a renovation or a collection of books; it was a labor of love, a beacon of learning, and a testament to the power of community.
"Have you thought about the name?" Y/n's voice, though gentle, held a touch of curiosity, breaking the tranquil stillness that had settled around them.
Wonwoo considered her question, his gaze momentarily drifting towards the space they had poured their hearts into. "I have a name in mind, but I'd like to discuss it with everyone first," he explained, a warm smile gracing his lips as he turned to meet her eyes. The prospect of naming their collective creation felt like a pivotal moment, a decision that would forever define its essence.
"Would you mind sharing it?" Y/n inquired, her interest piqued.
Wonwoo's gaze held a contemplative glint, as if weighing the significance of the choice. Finally, he spoke, "Healing Hues."
Y/n's smile bloomed, her eyes bright with approval. "I like it. Being here feels like a kind of healing," she remarked, her voice carrying a soft sincerity that resonated with the quietude of their surroundings. Her sentiment hung in the air, a testament to the comfort their small library promised to offer.
Wonwoo nodded in agreement, a sense of gratification settling within him. "I spent a long time contemplating the paint colors. I wanted them to embody the essence of the name. I believe they do," he shared, pride and certainty lacing his words. The choice of soothing blue and vibrant yellow felt like an apt representation of the healing they aspired to bring.
"They complement each other beautifully. You've done a remarkable job," Y/n praised, her admiration evident. Her words were a balm to Wonwoo's dedicated efforts, validating the careful thought he'd invested in every detail.
Wonwoo's smile widened, a mixture of gratitude and pride lighting up his features. "Thank you, Y/n. Your contribution has been invaluable. Your help means the world to me," he expressed, his words carrying a depth of appreciation for the partnership they'd formed in this endeavor.
"Why Healing Hues, though?" Y/n's curiosity shimmered in her eyes as she asked about the chosen name, her intrigue giving voice to the question that hung in the quiet space.
Wonwoo, seated beside her in the cozy corner of the library, considered her question. He let out a casual shrug, as if the answer was simple, though layered with personal significance. "It might sound a bit cliché," he began, his voice carrying the weight of genuine sentiment, "but when I arrived here, I was coming from a place of utter exhaustion. This place became a source of healing for me. Reconnecting with everyone from my childhood, meeting you, and realizing the dream of creating a small library—it all coalesced into a sense of healing. For the first time in a long while, the colors of my life felt harmonious and whole."
Wonwoo's explanation was delivered with a calmness that belied the depth of feeling behind his words. In his eyes, there was a hint of reminiscence, a fleeting recollection of the hectic days and the monotony that had once defined his existence just a week ago. But now, those memories seemed to have faded, replaced by the vibrant hues of happiness and purpose that colored his days in his hometown.
The library around them seemed to bask in the warmth of Wonwoo's words, as if it too understood the significance of the name chosen. The air was charged with a sense of quiet contentment, the space itself bearing witness to the transformation that had taken root within its walls.
Y/n listened, the weight of Wonwoo's words settling in her heart. It was a name that now held a profound meaning, one that she knew would resonate not just with them, but with anyone who stepped through the doors of Healing Hues. In that moment, she felt the power of names, how they could encapsulate the essence of something greater, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for being a part of this journey.
*
The morning sun streamed through the windows, painting the room with a warm glow. Giyong's cheerful voice roused Wonwoo from his slumber, a gentle nudge to action amidst the promise of a busy day ahead. Wonwoo blinked away the remnants of sleep, realizing he'd drifted off on the couch after a night of painting the entire room.
As he stirred, a comforting weight pressed against his shoulder, reminding him of Y/n, who had fallen asleep beside him, equally exhausted from their efforts. Her peaceful slumber painted a serene picture against the backdrop of their fledgling library.
Giyong entered the room, accompanied by a few helpers carrying stalls that would soon hold the carefully curated collection of books. Wonwoo, still rousing himself fully, turned his attention to Y/n, gently shaking her to rouse her from her rest. "Morning already," he whispered, a fond smile gracing his lips as she shifted to a more comfortable position, her head no longer resting on his shoulder.
The arrival of the stalls had happened faster than expected, a pleasant surprise for the duo. Giyong explained that the specific table they had been looking for was still in production, prompting him to order a similar one. He couldn't hide his relief that the color matched seamlessly with the rest of the room.
With the stalls in place, Giyong spoke of the imminent soft opening, his eyes briefly landing on Y/n, the dedicated curator of their book collection, who still asleep. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that each selection met Wonwoo's approval, carefully crafting a library that would captivate and educate young readers. The initial collection included 25 children's books, a blend of encyclopedias and stories, alongside 15 books tailored for older readers. Y/n had finalized the order late into the night, her commitment unwavering.
Giyong couldn't help but tease, "She's worked even harder than you, I'd say," his tone light and teasing. Wonwoo simply nodded in agreement, a smile playing on his lips. He was too drained from their collective efforts to engage in playful banter. The room buzzed with an air of anticipation, each piece falling into place, culminating in the realization that their dream of Healing Hues was on the verge of becoming a reality.
"Let's have a quick meeting after this to discuss the soft opening agenda," Wonwoo proposed, excusing himself to the second floor for a moment of reprieve and rejuvenation.
As he returned, the scent of seafood pancake wafted through the air, a tempting invitation from Youngmi's breakfast. He couldn't resist asking, "Can I have some of this?" before indulging in the morning meal.
He found Giyong and Youngmi settled on the couch, waiting for him. However, Y/n was conspicuously absent. Concern pricked at Wonwoo's senses, and he inquired, "Where's Y/n?"
Youngmi promptly explained, "She's outside, taking a phone call," before they delved into the meeting.
They decided on a soft opening with a beach vacation theme, a concept that promised both relaxation and exploration for their guests. Youngmi suggested a personality test to recommend books, a touch that added a personal connection to the experience. When Y/n eventually joined the meeting, she readily agreed with the proposals and offered her assistance.
Yet, even as discussions flowed, Wonwoo's gaze kept returning to Y/n. He sensed a shift in her demeanor, an unspoken weight that seemed to settle upon her since that phone call. It troubled him, an unspoken concern nagging at the edges of his thoughts.
"Y/n, could you take care of the food?" Giyong suggested, drawing Y/n's attention. The idea was met with unanimous agreement, and the meeting concluded swiftly as Giyong and Youngmi headed off to work.
Left alone, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When Y/n made a quiet exit, he moved to stop her. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry, his eyes searching for answers in her gaze.
Y/n's response was measured, her voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. "Nothing. Just tired."
Wonwoo, respecting her need for space, didn't press further. He gently reminded her of their evening meeting with the others, watching as she nodded and made her way home in haste.
As Wonwoo watched Y/n depart, a gnawing worry settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that something weighed heavily on her mind. Her usually serene demeanor had been replaced by a quiet reserve, leaving him with a sense of unease.
He recalled the phone call that had preceded this shift in Y/n's demeanor. The suddenness of her withdrawal from the meeting, coupled with her distant expression, left him with a growing concern. What could have transpired in that conversation to cast such a shadow over her typically composed demeanor?
Wonwoo knew Y/n to be a private person, but this was different. This was a shift in her usual disposition, a veil drawn over the window to her thoughts and emotions. It left him feeling powerless, aching to reach out and offer comfort, yet hesitant to intrude on what might be a deeply personal matter.
The bond they had formed through their shared project and the days spent working together had fostered a sense of camaraderie. He cared for Y/n's well-being, not just as a collaborator, but as a friend. Her sudden change in behavior tugged at his heart, leaving him torn between respecting her privacy and wanting to be there for her.
As the day unfolded, Wonwoo found his thoughts frequently returning to Y/n. He couldn't shake the worry that lingered, a subtle undercurrent to the day's activities. He hoped that their evening meeting would provide an opportunity for Y/n to open up, if she felt inclined to do so.
*
Wonwoo's heart dropped at the sight that met his eyes. Y/n stood before him, her once vibrant complexion now drained of color, cold sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked as though she could barely stand. Before he could utter a word, she collapsed to the floor, her strength failing her.
"You're burning," Wonwoo murmured, a mix of concern and panic surging through him. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone, dialing Giyong's number in a frantic hurry. He relayed Y/n's condition, the urgency in his voice apparent. Giyong, on the other end, instructed him to bring Y/n to his clinic immediately.
With great care, Wonwoo lifted Y/n into his arms. He carried her to his car, the urgency of the situation propelling him forward. The drive to Giyong's clinic felt like an eternity, every passing second amplifying his worry.
Giyong was already at the clinic, preparing to leave for the night. He quickly assessed Y/n's condition, confirming that she was indeed suffering from exhaustion and dehydration, which had led to her dangerously high temperature and overall burnout.
"Is she going to be okay?" Wonwoo's voice trembled with concern, his eyes locked onto Y/n, who lay on the examination table.
Giyong met Wonwoo's gaze, offering a reassuring but solemn explanation of her condition. "She'll need to stay here for IV treatment. She should be able to go home tomorrow morning. You did the right thing checking on her when you did. Her condition could have worsened if left unattended."
Wonwoo nodded, a mixture of relief and lingering worry washing over him. He knew that they had caught this just in time, but the sight of Y/n in such a vulnerable state was a stark reminder of the importance of taking care of oneself.
After Giyong reassured him that Y/n was in capable hands, Wonwoo left the clinic, the weight of worry still clinging to him. He returned to the house, his steps heavy with concern. As he approached Y/n's door, he remembered the urgency of the situation earlier and realized it was still unlocked. He extended a hand, preparing to secure it, when a sound from within caught his attention.
A faint ringing echoed in the quiet of the house, originating from Y/n's phone. His mind raced back to that morning, to the phone call that seemed to have brought about such a drastic change in her condition. Could this call be the cause of her sudden illness? Wonwoo wondered, a knot of unease forming in his chest.
Unable to ignore the persistent ringing, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The scene that greeted him weighed heavily on his heart. Y/n's phone lay on the coffee table in front of the couch, its screen displaying the caller ID: 'Jisoo,' accompanied by a white love emoji. Wonwoo's brows furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Was Jisoo someone significant in Y/n's life? The thought passed fleetingly through Wonwoo's mind, leaving him uncertain about how to proceed.
He opted not to answer the call, feeling that it wasn't his place to do so. As the call ended, he couldn't help but notice the numerous missed calls from the same number. A quick glance at the screen revealed several unread messages, evidence of Jisoo's persistent attempts to reach Y/n.
Wonwoo hesitated, unsure of what to make of this new piece of information. It was clear that Jisoo held some importance in Y/n's life, but the nature of their relationship remained a mystery.
The phone screen illuminated with a cascade of messages from Jisoo, each one more forceful and accusatory than the last. Wonwoo's heart quickened its pace, startled by the sudden intensity of the conversation he inadvertently stumbled upon between Y/n and this person named Jisoo. The tone of the messages sent a shiver down Wonwoo's spine, a mixture of concern and unease prickling at his senses. What could possibly be transpiring to elicit such a charged exchange?
Another call punctuated the quiet, a shrill ring that signaled a persistent urgency. Wonwoo's determination solidified. He couldn't bear the thought of Y/n being embroiled in this apparent turmoil alone. With a steady resolve, he accepted the call, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that awaited on the other end of the line.
"Where are you? We need to talk!" Jisoo's voice crackled through the phone, urgency dripping from every syllable. Wonwoo's disapproval of this person, whoever he was, surged with each passing second. He couldn't fathom how anyone could address Y/n with such forcefulness.
"Answer me! My career is on the edge! Don't you dare to run away!" Jisoo's words thundered through the line, carrying an undercurrent of frustration and desperation. Wonwoo closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath to brace himself against the torrent of anger. The waves of intensity emanating from the conversation were almost suffocating..
Wonwoo held his ground, his voice steady and composed, determined to navigate this unfamiliar territory with a clear head. When Jisoo demanded to know who he was, Wonwoo responded with a calm assurance that hinted at his resolve. The seconds that followed held a tangible tension, as if the air itself was bracing for what would come next. Jisoo's reply carried a blend of both curiosity and suspicion, a clear indication that he was deeply invested in the situation.
The back-and-forth continued, with Jisoo pressing for more information. "Who's this? Why is a man picking up Y/n's phone? Who are you?" Each question was laced with a growing intensity, revealing the gravity of the situation that had prompted Jisoo's concern.
Wonwoo weighed his words carefully, opting to disclose only what was necessary. "I'm her neighbor," he stated evenly, offering a concise explanation. He didn't want to overstep boundaries or divulge more than was appropriate, respecting Y/n's privacy while still conveying the urgency of the situation.
There was a discernible shift in Jisoo's tone, the frustration that had been simmering now mingling with a genuine concern. "Just tell her to call me once she checks her phone." The edge of urgency in Jisoo's voice was impossible to ignore, revealing a complex mix of emotions that hinted at the depth of his connection with Y/n.
As the call ended, Wonwoo couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in his chest. He was now entangled in a situation he didn't fully understand, but his priority was clear: ensuring Y/n's well-being. He resolved to be there for her, to offer support in whatever way she needed, even if it meant delving into the complexities of her personal life. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but he was determined to face whatever came their way.
*
"Sorry, I caused you inconvenience," Y/n mumbled softly as they both settled into the car. Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, his warm laughter filling the space between them. With a gentle hand, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. "Is it okay if I take you somewhere before we head home?" Wonwoo asked, motioning for Y/n to fasten her seat belt.
Y/n nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "But can we grab something to eat first?" Her request was met with an immediate nod of agreement from Wonwoo.
After a brief stop to satisfy their hunger, they continued their drive, heading toward a destination known only to Wonwoo. Y/n leaned back in her seat, allowing herself to be enveloped by the soothing motion of the car. The gentle warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
Wonwoo stole a glance at her, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached to adjust the controls, smoothly retracting the roof of the car. The world outside stretched before them, an expansive canvas of beauty and serenity. Y/n's laughter danced through the air, a testament to her genuine delight at the unexpected surprise. Wonwoo found himself captivated, not only by the breathtaking view but also by the vibrancy that seemed to radiate from Y/n in this moment, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the night before.
As they continued their journey, Y/n's curiosity got the better of her. "Where are we going?" she inquired, her eyes filled with wonder and anticipation. She was open to whatever adventure awaited, as long as it offered a spectacle for her eyes to behold.
Wonwoo pointed towards the expanse of ocean that stretched out in the distance. "We're going to the beach," he revealed, a spark of excitement mirrored in Y/n's eyes.
"It's been a long time since the last time I went to the beach," Y/n confessed, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
As the car glided along the road, Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, watching her eyes light up with the prospect of the beach. Her excitement was palpable, and it filled him with a quiet sense of contentment. He was grateful for the opportunity to share this moment with her, to witness her rediscovering the simple joys of life.
The wind tousled their hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the soothing sounds of the sea. Wonwoo's own spirits were lifted by the sight of Y/n's animated expressions. Her presence beside him was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the beauty that could be found in the world, even in the midst of uncertainty.
The car came to a gentle stop, and they both stepped out onto the warm sand. Y/n kicked off her shoes, letting the grains sift between her toes. Wonwoo followed suit, relishing the sensation of the soft sand beneath his feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to their surroundings.
Wonwoo watched Y/n with a mixture of fondness and admiration. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her features softened by a serene smile. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a respite from the chaos of the outside world.
As the sun painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Wonwoo couldn't shake the subtle turmoil churning within him. He watched Y/n, her presence a calming force against the backdrop of the serene beach. It was in moments like these that he found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn't quite put into words.
Confusion tugged at the edges of Wonwoo's thoughts. He was no stranger to the intricacies of human emotions, but this felt different. It was a gentle tug, a quiet whisper of something unspoken. He wrestled with the unfamiliarity of it all, grappling with the realization that his feelings for Y/n went beyond mere friendship or neighborly concern.
He stole another glance at Y/n, her silhouette etched against the fading daylight. She seemed to belong to this tranquil moment, a part of the natural beauty that surrounded them. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them here, to this beach, at this precise moment in time.
Wonwoo stood at the edge of the shore, the briny scent of the sea filling his senses, each breath a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. His gaze, tender yet uncertain, lingered on Y/n. There was a delicate warmth that surged within him, a revelation that both unsettled and strangely comforted him.
Turning to her, he began, his voice a soft melody tinged with vulnerability, "Y/n, there's something I need to tell you."
Y/n, her eyes pools reflecting the twilight's fading embrace, met his gaze with a gentleness that seemed to bridge the expanse between their souls. A profound understanding flowed in the silent exchange, words unnecessary yet the connection profound.
Steady, yet carrying the weight of his heart, Wonwoo continued, "Last night, while you were at the clinic, a call came through on your phone. The caller was named Jisoo. The messages and the call log... they held an air of urgency."
Y/n's eyes widened slightly, her mind processing the revelation. A fleeting worry etched across her features as she retrieved her phone from Wonwoo's outstretched hand. With furrowed brows, she scrolled through the messages and call history, each line a testament to a history she had kept veiled.
"He's... someone from my past," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the echoes of reluctance and resignation. "We were once close, but things changed. Something bad happened, and he need someone to bear the weight of blame."
Wonwoo nodded, a profound understanding washing over him. He could feel the tapestry of emotions woven into Y/n's being, the intricate threads of their shared history. Reaching out, he rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, an unspoken promise of solidarity.
"You don't have to face this alone," he reassured, sincerity filling the air between them. "Whatever path you choose, I stand by your side."
Y/n met his gaze, a shimmer of gratitude and relief dancing in her eyes. Her hand found its place atop his, an unspoken affirmation of trust and the blossoming bond that held them together.
And as the day surrendered to the night, they stood, two souls joined in a quiet understanding, their hearts harmonizing with the ceaseless rhythm of the waves. The horizon blazed with the last embers of sunlight, casting a warm, golden hue over the sands. Together, Wonwoo and Y/n embraced the uncertain future, fortified by the strength they found in each other's presence.
*
Wonwoo and Y/n returned home well past sunset. Giyong and Youngmi were patiently waiting, meticulously preparing containers for the snacks destined for tomorrow's soft opening. As Giyong rose from his seat to accept the grocery box from Y/n, concern laced his voice as he inquired about her well-being. "You weren't at clinic when I arrived this morning," he expressed, worry etched in his features.
Y/n responded with a warm smile, touched by the genuine care from everyone. Giyong, in turn, informed her of the arrival of the books, eager to see them find their place on the shelves. Youngmi, however, interjected, playfully scolding his use of the term 'decorated' when it came to books, emphasizing their purpose beyond mere ornamentation.
Suddenly, Giyong's tone shifted, a note of unexpected seriousness entering his voice. "By the way, can we talk after this? I have something to say," he asked Y/n, catching her off guard. It was a rare occurrence for Giyong to seek a private conversation with her. Meanwhile, Wonwoo observed the exchange, his gaze flicking between the two of them. He held back the urge to pry into Giyong's intentions, his lips pressed into a tight line.
In the midst of it all, a question lingered, unspoken yet palpable: Wasn't Wonwoo the only one harboring feelings for Y/n?
As the evening unfolded, the room gradually emptied, leaving only Wonwoo and Youngmi in its quiet embrace. The air held a certain tension, a subtle undercurrent of unspoken thoughts.
Youngmi, perceptive as ever, cleared her throat gently before speaking. "Wonwoo, can we talk for a moment?" Her voice was gentle, inviting, yet tinged with a hint of concern.
Wonwoo nodded, his gaze shifting from the empty chairs to Youngmi. He could sense the weight of the conversation to come, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation settling in his chest. "Of course, Youngmi. What's on your mind?" he asked, his tone steady.
She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words with care. "It's about you and Y/n," she began, her eyes meeting his with a searching intensity. "I've noticed... there seems to be something more between you two. Am I right?"
Wonwoo's heart skipped a beat, the question hanging in the air. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, the truth too important to evade. "Yes, Youngmi," he admitted, his voice measured. "I've developed feelings for Y/n. But I also value our friendship and want what's best for her."
Youngmi's expression softened, understanding and empathy in her eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Wonwoo. It's not an easy situation for any of you."
He nodded, gratitude for her understanding washing over him. "I just want her to be happy," he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of his sincerity.
Youngmi's reassuring touch on Wonwoo's arm provided a steadying anchor in the midst of swirling emotions. Her gaze held a mixture of understanding and kindness, a testament to the depth of their friendship.
"I want to assure you, Wonwoo, that Giyong's concern for Y/n is solely rooted in care for her well-being," Youngmi began, her voice warm and sincere. "He's like a brother to her, and he only wants to see her happy and healthy. There's no hidden agenda, I promise."
Wonwoo's tense shoulders eased slightly, the weight of uncertainty gradually lifting. He appreciated Youngmi's candidness, a lifeline of clarity in a sea of conflicting emotions. "Thank you, Youngmi," he said, his voice touched with gratitude. "I just want what's best for Y/n, and it's reassuring to know Giyong's intentions are genuine."
Youngmi nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared concern for their friend. "We all do, Wonwoo."
A pang of empathy washed over Youngmi as she considered Y/n's journey, her eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and concern. "It breaks my heart to think of what Y/n might have been through, to end up here in this village," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "There must be something that pushed her to leave her previous life behind."
Wonwoo nodded, his own heart heavy with the weight of Y/n's untold story. "I've wondered about that too," he confessed, his gaze distant as he thought of the mysteries shrouding Y/n's past. "She carries a strength that's been forged through adversity, that much is clear."
Youngmi offered a gentle smile, her eyes softening with compassion. "Yes, she does. Yet she carries herself with such grace."
Silence settled between them, a shared understanding of the resilience that defined Y/n's spirit. In that moment, a renewed sense of respect and admiration for their friend blossomed, mingling with the determination to stand by her side, no matter what the future held.
As Y/n and Giyong entered the room, a subtle chill seemed to cling to the air, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering. Youngmi, ever perceptive, decided to break the tension with her effervescent spirit. She greeted them with a wide smile, injecting the room with her characteristic warmth and a light-hearted joke.
"Ah, here comes the dynamic duo, back from their secret mission!" she exclaimed playfully, her laughter dancing through the room.
Y/n's lips curled into a small smile, grateful for Youngmi's attempt to lighten the mood. Giyong, too, cracked a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. The atmosphere slowly began to thaw, replaced by a more comfortable ease.
They set to work organizing the books, arranging them according to the data Y/n had meticulously prepared days prior. Each book found its place on the shelves, a testament to their collective effort and attention to detail.
With the task completed, they gathered together, a sense of accomplishment settling over them. Cans of beer in hand, they raised a toast to their hard work and the promise of a successful soft opening.
The clinking of cans echoed in the room, a chorus of celebration and camaraderie. As they settled into their seats, the coldness that had lingered earlier was replaced by a shared sense of contentment and accomplishment.
As the evening wore on, the cheerful ambiance grew even warmer, fueled by the camaraderie and the liberating influence of the beer. Youngmi's laughter became more carefree, her words flowing with a certain unfiltered honesty.
"You know," she began, her words slightly slurred but her eyes bright, "all my friends are out there, happily married and posting pictures of their babies. And here I am, still single and living my best life!" She let out a peal of laughter, the sound filling the room.
Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged amused glances, touched by Youngmi's candidness. They listened intently, realizing that Youngmi was about to share something deeply personal.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," she continued, her voice lowering slightly. "People have been trying to push me into marriage for years. 'Settle down, find a nice man,' they say. But you know what I dream of?" Her eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and nostalgia. "Continuing my studies abroad, exploring the world, and writing about it!"
Her words hung in the air, a declaration of a dream deferred but not forgotten. There was a poignant sincerity in her voice, a testament to the strength of her convictions.
"And you three..." Youngmi turned to Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong, her gaze softening. "Meeting you, it's been a blessing. You've shown me that there's more to life than following the expected path. I'm grateful for each of you."
Her heartfelt confession settled over them, the room filled with a profound sense of connection. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged smiles, touched by Youngmi's vulnerability and the depth of their friendship.
Giyong's gaze turned reflective, the warm light of the room casting shadows on his face as he spoke. "You know, there was a time when nobody believed I could make it. Even my own parents were skeptical when I chose to study medicine. They thought it was too ambitious, too difficult."
He paused, his eyes distant, as if revisiting those moments of doubt and determination. "But I was determined to prove them wrong. I worked tirelessly, pushing through every obstacle and doubt that came my way."
A quiet sense of pride tinged his voice, a testament to the resilience that had carried him through those challenging years. "And now, I can say that it's paid off. I'm doing what I love, and I can make a difference in people's lives."
Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened in rapt attention, deeply moved by Giyong's story of perseverance. They could feel the weight of his journey, the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.
"You've achieved so much, Giyong," Wonwoo acknowledged, his voice filled with admiration. "Your dedication and hard work are truly inspiring."
Giyong smiled, a mix of gratitude and contentment lighting up his features. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It hasn't been easy, but every step of the way was worth it."
Giyong's words held a resonance that echoed in the room, a testament to the trials he had faced and overcome. "I've been fortunate in many ways," he continued, his voice steady. "I worked hard in my studies, and with time, I found my footing financially. My career has been a source of fulfillment and purpose."
There was a quiet pride in Giyong's demeanor, a sense of satisfaction in his accomplishments. Yet, a shadow of a deeper truth lingered in his eyes.
"But you know, even with all that, there's this unspoken pressure from society," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the window as if seeking answers in the night sky. "They see success and immediately think it's time to settle down, to get married. As if that's the only measure of a fulfilling life."
Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened intently, their hearts heavy with the weight of societal expectations and the complexities that Giyong grappled with.
"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Giyong mused, a hint of frustration in his voice. "To have your worth measured by whether or not you have a spouse. But I've always believed that there's more to life than that, more to define our happiness and fulfillment."
His words hung in the air, a call for a broader perspective on what it meant to lead a meaningful life. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi nodded in agreement, a shared understanding of the intricacies of societal norms and personal aspirations.
"Wonwoo, do you have anything to say?"
Wonwoo's voice carried a weight of vulnerability as he opened up about his own struggles. "You know, being in the public eye all the time... it's not as glamorous as it might seem," he confessed, his eyes fixed on a distant point. "There's almost no privacy. Every move is scrutinized, every word analyzed. And sometimes, baseless rumors just take on a life of their own."
He sighed, a mixture of resignation and frustration in his tone. "It's a constant contradiction to who I am. I love acting, I love the craft, but the celebrity part... it's not something I enjoy. It's like I have to give up so much just to do what I love."
Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi listened with empathy, their hearts going out to Wonwoo. They could sense the weight of the expectations that rested on his shoulders, the toll it took on his sense of self.
"I just hope that someday, society can change," Wonwoo continued, his gaze turning back to them. "Stop pushing people into these boxes, these roles that they think we should fit into. There's so much more to a person than what meets the eye."
His words hung in the air, a plea for a world where individual passions and dreams could be pursued without the burden of societal expectations.
In the midst of the gentle hum of conversation, Youngmi's words tumbled out with a certain unfiltered honesty. "I'm really curious about you, Y/n. We've known each other for almost two weeks, but all I know is your name and your job," she babbled, the warmth of the alcohol giving her words a candid edge. Giyong, ever vigilant, attempted to intervene, but Y/n gave him a reassuring nod, signaling that it was alright.
A soft smile graced Y/n's lips, a glimmer of resilience shining through as she began to speak. Her voice held a steady cadence, each word carefully chosen to convey the weight of her experience. Wonwoo, his eyes locked onto hers, became a steady anchor of support, his gaze a pool of unwavering affirmation, absorbing every nuance of her story.
"I was diagnosed to have severe depression when i decided to run away from my life."
As she continued, Y/n's voice wove a tapestry of pain, courage, and the strength it took to overcome. The room seemed to hold its breath, honoring the depth of her vulnerability.
"I was divorced on my third anniversary. My husband... My ex, I loved him, but he cheated on me and wanted to separate," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the weight of a painful memory. In her eyes, shadows of hurt flickered, a testament to the depth of her past pain. Though tears threatened to spill, she held them back, determined to share her truth.
"I was pregnant for 8 weeks," Y/n revealed, her voice tinged with both sorrow and strength. The weight of her words hung in the air, a somber melody weaving through the room. "I suffered a miscarriage on my way here."
As Y/n spoke, the room seemed to hold its breath, the gravity of her experience palpable. Each word was a testament to the pain she had endured, a fragment of her journey that she bravely shared. The vulnerability in her voice echoed through the room, drawing her friends closer in shared empathy.
Her revelation painted a vivid picture of desperation and heartache. "I rushed to the nearest clinic," she continued, her voice steady despite the emotions churning within her, "desperate to save my child, but it was already too late."
Her revelation hung in the air, the unspoken pain of her loss lingering like a bittersweet melody
"Now, my ex has been terrorizing me," Y/n continued, her voice strained but resolute. Her words hung in the air, a testament to the ongoing struggle she faced. "He believes I'm the one who exposed our relationship to the public, even though it was a secret. He's a popular actor, living his life under the relentless glare of the spotlight."
As Y/n spoke, the weight of her truth settled over the room. Her voice carried the burden of the harassment she endured, painting a vivid picture of the torment she faced. The atmosphere held a mixture of sympathy and anger, a shared determination to stand by her side.
Her voice caught, a lump forming in her throat as she released the emotions that had been bottled up for weeks. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, the unspoken pain of her reality laid bare. "Trust me," she choked out, her words a rallying cry, "being married, having fame, even a stable job... none of it guarantees a life free from obstacles. Life keeps shaping us."
The room fell into a hushed stillness, the weight of Y/n's revelation settling over them like a heavy shroud. Youngmi's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart aching for her friend. With a tender determination, she rose from her seat and approached Y/n, enveloping her in a warm, supportive embrace. It was a gesture of solidarity, a silent promise that she wasn't alone in this.
Giyong and Wonwoo exchanged solemn glances, a fire smoldering within them. Y/n's story had unearthed a deep well of empathy, but also a simmering anger towards the man who had caused her such pain. They shared a mutual understanding, a shared resolve to stand by Y/n's side and offer whatever support she needed.
In the midst of the heavy atmosphere, Y/n found comfort in Youngmi's arms. The embrace was a lifeline, a tangible reminder that she was surrounded by friends who cared deeply for her. Tears flowed freely now, a release of pent-up emotions that had been held in for too long.
As the night wore on, they remained together, their bonds strengthened by the shared vulnerability of the moment. They knew that from this point forward, they would face whatever challenges came their way as a united front, ready to protect and uplift one another.
*
As Wonwoo stirred from his slumber, he found the room oddly empty, a sense of quiet unease settling over him. The muffled sound of a car trunk closing outside drew his attention, and he hastened to investigate. There, he discovered Y/n, busily loading her belongings into the car. Confusion knitted his brows. What was happening?
"Hey, where are you going?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, stepping closer to her.
Y/n sighed, her movements deliberate yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "I have to go back," she replied, gently pushing Wonwoo aside as she secured the last of her belongings.
Wonwoo couldn't suppress his worry. "Is it because of what happened last night?" he ventured, his gaze searching hers. He couldn't help but marvel at her strength and grace, even in the face of such adversity.
Y/n halted, her hand coming up to rub her face, weariness etched in every line. "My husband, no, my ex... He threatened to reveal my identity if I didn't meet him for lunch today. He plans to create a scene at my office," she confessed, her voice finally breaking.
In an instant, Wonwoo enveloped her in a warm embrace, providing a comforting sanctuary amidst the turmoil. "Is that true?" he inquired, his voice gentle. Y/n's nod against his chest confirmed her heartbreaking reality.
As he held her, Wonwoo grappled with a decision. Should he leave for the soft opening? The internal debate was short-lived; his concern for Y/n's well-being took precedence. He knew she couldn't bear a six-hour drive in her current state.
"I'll drive you," Wonwoo declared, resolved to prioritize her over the event.
Y/n's brow furrowed in protest. "No! You can't miss the soft opening this afternoon. Giyong and Youngmi need you," she insisted.
Wonwoo shook his head, his tone unwavering. "They'll understand. But you need me right now. I don't think you should be driving in your condition," he reasoned, gently cradling her trembling hands, a tangible display of her vulnerability.
"I'll explain everything to everyone and wait for me, okay?" Wonwoo reassured, before turning to head back inside, determined to support Y/n through whatever challenges lay ahead.
Wonwoo stepped outside, his fresh clothes clinging to his tall frame as he gracefully slid into the driver's seat. He motioned for Y/n to fasten her seat belt, a gentle reminder of their safety before embarking on their journey.
As Y/n settled into her seat, a wave of guilt washed over her. She couldn't help but feel responsible for the recent events that had unfolded. "How's everybody reacting?" she asked, her voice laced with remorse. "I'm so sorry."
Wonwoo turned to face her, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. With a reassuring smile, he replied, "No, it's fine. Everyone understands. They reached out to the local library for assistance, and they were more than happy to help." His words carried a sense of relief, a weight lifted off their shoulders.
Turning his head towards her, Wonwoo's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. "Didn't I tell you that I'll always be on your side?" he asked softly, his touch providing comfort and reassurance. With a gentle motion, he rubbed her knuckles, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of his unwavering support.
As the miles passed beneath them, Y/n couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest. The warmth of Wonwoo's hand in hers, the reassuring rub of his thumb, it all felt too intimate, too knowing. He knew her, inside and out, and that vulnerability made her skin prickle with self-consciousness.
She stole a quick glance at him, finding his gaze fixed on the road ahead, a serene expression on his face. He seemed entirely at ease, oblivious to the storm churning within her
As the road stretched on, Y/n pondered how to convey her feelings without causing discomfort. She subtly shifted her hand, disentangling her fingers from Wonwoo's, letting her palm rest on her own thigh. It was a small, deliberate movement, a signal that she needed some space.
Wonwoo glanced at her, his brow furrowing in mild concern. Sensing her withdrawal, he eased off on the affectionate gestures, giving her the room she silently asked for.
The air in the car seemed to shift, a delicate balance of understanding settling between them. Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest, grateful for Wonwoo's sensitivity to her unspoken cues.
A lump formed in Y/n's throat, and she cleared it, willing herself to find the right words. "Wonwoo, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me. But you know so much about me, and I... I feel embarrassed, like you see all my flaws and insecurities."
The confession hung in the air, a fragile admission of her own discomfort. She couldn't bear the thought of him knowing every vulnerable part of her, laid bare for him to see.
Wonwoo met her gaze, his eyes soft with understanding. He nodded gently, his smile a beacon of reassurance. "Y/n, I want you to know that I would never want you to feel uncomfortable or exposed. I care about you deeply, and I respect your boundaries."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, moved by his considerate response. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just... it's hard, you know? Being so open."
He nodded again, his gaze unwavering. "I understand, Y/n. Vulnerability can be a difficult thing to navigate, especially when you care about someone. Please know that I'm here for you, in whatever way you need me to be."
The drive to Seoul stretched on, the minutes feeling like hours in the confined space of the car. Wonwoo's gaze flickered towards Y/n's phone, which she cradled in her palm. He couldn't help but notice the persistent call from Jisoo's contact flashing on the screen. Y/n shot him an apologetic look before reluctantly answering.
She took a steadying breath, swiping to answer the call. "Hello," she greeted, her voice gentle yet firm. "I'm on my way from Changwon. Can you just wait?"
The voice on the other end crackled with impatience and agitation. Y/n's ex-husband seemed unwilling to grant her request, his demands echoing through the phone. Wonwoo, attuned to the conversation, could hear the frustration in Y/n's voice, though she remained composed.
"Don't you dare try to go to my office, you're crazy," she asserted, her tone unwavering. The words held a quiet strength, a boundary firmly set.
Wonwoo's grip on the steering wheel tightened instinctively. He could feel the weight of the situation, the underlying tension in the car growing palpable.
The passing scenery outside seemed to blur, the city lights of Seoul a distant promise of respite. Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, concern etched into his features. He wished he could shield her from the discomfort, but all he could do was keep his focus on the road, providing a steady anchor in the midst of the storm.
As the call finally came to an end, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to Wonwoo, a mixture of frustration and weariness in her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Wonwoo."
He offered a reassuring smile, his voice gentle. "You don't need to apologize."
As they approached the Seoul University area, Wonwoo navigated the car through the familiar streets, glancing at Y/n for directions. She directed him with a calm confidence, her focus on their destination.
"So, we're heading to Seoul University, right?" Wonwoo asked, double-checking to ensure they were on the right track.
Y/n nodded, her gaze fixed ahead. "Yes, that's correct. It's just up ahead."
As they pulled up near the café, a gentle sense of anticipation hung in the air. Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her expression grateful. "Thank you for getting me here, Wonwoo. I really appreciate it."
He met her gaze with a reassuring smile. "Of course, Y/n. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."
As Y/n prepared to step out of the car, Wonwoo hesitated for a moment. "Would you like me to come with you?" he offered, genuine concern in his voice.
Y/n considered the offer, touched by his willingness to support her. However, she ultimately declined with a kind smile. "Thank you, Wonwoo, but I think I'll be okay. I'll catch up with you soon."
With that, she exited the car, leaving Wonwoo to wait inside. He watched her disappear into the café, a mixture of admiration and concern welling within him.
As he sat alone in the car, lost in his thoughts, he saw a figure approaching. It was Hong Jisoo, a fellow actor under the same agency. Wonwoo's mind raced, connecting the dots between the information he had from his manager and the story Y/n had shared the previous night.
The gravity of the situation settled heavily on Wonwoo's shoulders. He couldn't help but feel a surge of anger towards Jisoo, not just for the chaos he had caused for their agency, but for the pain he had inflicted upon Y/n.
He knew that if Y/n chose to reveal the truth about their relationship, it could mean serious consequences for Jisoo. And in Wonwoo's eyes, he would fully deserve the backlash.
The minutes stretched on as Wonwoo sat alone in the car, the tension in the air palpable. His mind raced, thoughts swirling with a mix of concern for Y/n and a growing disdain for Hong Jisoo. The gravity of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, a weight he couldn't easily shake.
He couldn't help but replay the details he had gathered from his manager and the fragments of Y/n's story from the night before. It was a puzzle he was desperate to piece together, a mosaic of pain and betrayal that painted a devastating picture.
Wonwoo's empathy for Y/n ran deep. He couldn't fathom the pain she must have endured, the scars that lingered beneath the surface. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to shield her from any further harm.
As he sat in the car, the cafe's windows reflecting the bustle of the university area, he couldn't shake the sense of injustice that gnawed at him. Hong Jisoo's actions were not only a betrayal of trust but a stain on their shared profession. The chaos he had caused for their agency was not easily forgiven.
Yet, Wonwoo also understood the delicate dance of fame and reputation. Exposing the truth could be a double-edged sword, a decision that required careful consideration. Y/n held the power to unveil the reality of their past, a truth that could potentially change everything.
As the minutes passed, he found himself hoping for Y/n's strength and resilience to guide her through the encounter. He knew she was more than capable of handling the situation, but the support he yearned to offer her was bound by the confines of the car.
Finally, the door of the cafe swung open, and Y/n emerged. Her posture held a quiet determination, and Wonwoo's heart swelled with admiration. She approached the car with a composed grace, slipping into the passenger seat beside him.
Their gazes met, and without a word, he could sense the weight of the encounter. He offered her a small, supportive smile, a silent assurance that he was there for her.
The ride back from Seoul University was filled with a quiet yet palpable sense of support. As they merged onto familiar streets, Wonwoo broke the silence, his voice warm and gentle. "Y/n, where would you like to go now?"
Y/n's gaze shifted to the passing scenery outside, contemplative. "Home, please. I just want to be there right now."
Wonwoo nodded, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the route to Y/n's residence. The drive was a comfortable one, the air between them carrying a sense of shared understanding.
As they arrived, Y/n turned to Wonwoo with a small, sincere smile. "Would you like to come inside, Wonwoo? It's been a while since I've been able to host anyone."
He met her gaze with a soft smile of his own. "I'd love to, Y/n. Thank you for the invitation."
The house greeted them with a familiar warmth, the familiar scent of home enveloping them. Y/n offered a brief apology for not being able to prepare anything, her genuine hospitality shining through.
"It's not a problem at all, Y/n," Wonwoo reassured her. "I'm just glad to be here with you."
They settled into a comfortable rhythm, the atmosphere relaxed and easy. As they sat in the living room, Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and determination.
"The meeting earlier," Wonwoo began gently, "how did it go?"
Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "It was complicated but we dealed to come with a legal agreement, really. We both agreed that if it ever comes out that I wasn't the one who revealed Jisoo's status, he'll stop bothering me."
Wonwoo nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "That's a significant step, Y/n. I'm glad you were able to find some resolution."
Y/n's eyes met his, a spark of gratitude shining through. "Thank you, Wonwoo. Your support means more to me than I can express."
They sat in companionable silence, the weight of the day slowly lifting. As evening settled in, the air around them seemed to fill with a sense of hope and possibility. Y/n sat on the comfortable living room couch, her eyes fixed on Wonwoo, a mix of curiosity and warmth in her gaze. The atmosphere in the room was cozy, the soft light casting a gentle glow around them.
"Can I ask you something, Wonwoo?" she ventured, her voice soft but steady.
He turned towards her, his expression open and inviting. "Of course, Y/n. You can ask me anything."
She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I've been wondering... why have you been so kind and affectionate towards me lately? I mean, driving all the way from Changwon and being there for me. It means a lot, but I'm just trying to understand the reason behind it."
Wonwoo met her gaze with sincerity, his eyes warm and earnest. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.
"It's been a while since I felt like I could truly enjoy my life and my time," he began, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. "Meeting you, Giyong, and Youngmi again... it's been a reminder of the good things life has to offer. And with you, Y/n, there's something more."
Y/n's gaze held his, her curiosity deepening. "Something more?"
Wonwoo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes. Being around you, there's a sense of protectiveness that awakens in me. I want to be there for you, to support you in any way I can."
He took a breath, his gaze steady on Y/n's. "I've come to realize that it's more than just friendship, Y/n. I have feelings for you, romantically."
Y/n's heart seemed to flutter in her chest, surprised yet warmed by his honesty. She met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.
"I understand if it's difficult for you, Y/n," he continued, his voice gentle. "I know it hasn't been long for you, and I'm willing to wait. You deserve to take your time and open your heart when you're ready. I believe you're worth fighting for."
His words hung in the air, a quiet declaration of his feelings and his unwavering support. Y/n felt a rush of emotion wash over her, touched by his sincerity and the depth of his care.
"Thank you, Wonwoo," she finally said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Your honesty means a lot to me, and I truly appreciate your patience and understanding."
As they sat in the comfortable living room, the weight of their conversation seemed to settle around them. It was a pivotal moment, a shared understanding of the feelings that had blossomed between them. Together, they faced the uncertainty of what lay ahead, their bond strengthened by their shared vulnerability. They were ready to navigate the path forward, hand in hand, knowing that their connection was worth every step.
*
The room was cast in a hushed, early morning light, painting everything in a gentle, golden hue. Wonwoo's breaths gradually steadied as the remnants of his vivid dream began to recede. He gazed around the room, the unfamiliar surroundings of his father's villa causing a wave of disorientation to wash over him. It was as if he had been temporarily transported to another world, only to be abruptly pulled back to reality.
As Wonwoo sat there in the quiet villa, the weight of his realization settled heavily on his shoulders. The vividness of the dream still clung to him, like an echo of a life he had briefly lived. The laughter, the shared moments, the warmth of their connections—all of it felt so achingly real, yet he knew it was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
A sense of yearning mingled with a quiet ache of loss, as if he had glimpsed a reality that was just out of reach. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, trying to grasp onto the fading threads of the dream. It was like trying to hold onto mist, slipping through his fingers, leaving him with a bittersweet ache.
The room around him seemed to close in, the walls of the villa pressing in on him. He longed to return to the moments he had experienced in that dream, to be with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n once more. But the cruel truth was that those moments were never real, just fragments of a slumbering mind.
His body felt weary and spent, the strain of the long drive from Seoul to his childhood hometown settling in his bones. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, attempting to shake off the lingering traces of the dream. Those moments with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n seemed to cling to him, the emotions and sensations feeling almost too tangible, too real.
As another thud resonated through the villa, Wonwoo's senses sharpened, his heart quickening with a surge of adrenaline. He moved with purpose, descending the stairs in swift strides. The urgency in his steps betrayed the underlying anxiety that still pulsed through him.
When he entered the kitchen, the sight of Y/n greeted him like a beacon of solace. She sat there, a picture of quiet comfort, munching on chips with a bucket of ice cream at her side. Her presence was a grounding force, a reassuring reminder that he was indeed back in reality.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, a hint of confusion softening the edges of her gaze. "Did I wake you up?"
Wonwoo's response was immediate and visceral. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's not that. I had a dream... I thought you were just a dream."
Y/n's laughter was a melodic, comforting sound. She reached out, her hand gentle as she patted his head, a soothing gesture that seemed to anchor him. "Well, I'm very much real, Wonwoo."
A sigh of relief escaped him, and he found himself leaning into her touch, seeking the solace she offered. Her scent, familiar and warm, enveloped him, dispelling the lingering traces of the dream that still clung to his senses.
She eased back, concern etched in the soft lines of her features. "Are you okay, Wonwoo?"
He met her gaze with a grateful smile, the depth of his appreciation mirrored in his eyes. "I am now, thanks to you."
Y/n extended a gentle invitation, patting the seat beside her, her eyes warm with affection. "Come join me." She nodded towards her chips and ice cream, a snack combination that had become a cherished indulgence since they learned about the little one growing inside her.
Wonwoo's heart swelled with a delicate mixture of tenderness and wonder. He moved to her side, their bodies settling in close companionship. The simplicity of sharing a snack held a profound significance, a quiet acknowledgement of the new journey they were about to embark on together.
As they sat in the tranquil villa, a sense of calm settled around them like a comforting embrace. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of shared intimacy. The promise of a new chapter in their lives hung in the air, a palpable presence that filled the room.
Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment. The dream, though fleeting, had left an indelible mark on him, blurring the boundaries between reality and imagination. Yet, here and now, with Y/n beside him, everything felt undeniably real. It was a tangible affirmation of the love, hope, and the promise of a bright future that lay ahead.
Their fingers brushed lightly as they reached for the snacks, a subtle connection that spoke volumes. Each gesture, each shared glance, was a silent promise to face the uncertainties of the future hand in hand. They were ready, together, to navigate the uncharted waters of parenthood, knowing that their bond was the anchor that would guide them through.
In the quietude of the villa, time seemed to suspend, leaving them in a precious bubble of shared anticipation. Every heartbeat echoed with the promise of new beginnings, of a love that would grow and evolve with each passing day.
As the day unfolded around them, Wonwoo and Y/n sat there, cherishing the moment. Their hearts beat in sync, a harmonious rhythm that set the tone for the journey that awaited them. They were ready to face the world, armed with the strength of their love and the unwavering promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.
*
Celebrated Actor Jeon Wonwoo Announces Joyous Pregnancy News with Non-Celebrity Wife
Three Years After Tying the Knot, the Couple Embarks on a New Chapter
---
Date: September 23, 20xx
Seoul, South Korea – In a heartwarming revelation, renowned actor Jeon Wonwoo, known for his exceptional talent and versatile roles, has shared the delightful news of his wife's pregnancy. The celebrated couple, who exchanged vows three years ago in a private ceremony, are now eagerly anticipating the arrival of their bundle of joy.
Jeon Wonwoo, recognized for his outstanding contributions to the entertainment industry, has captivated audiences with his memorable performances in a range of films and television dramas. His marriage to a non-celebrity three years ago was met with warm wishes and heartfelt support from fans and colleagues alike.
The actor's announcement of his wife's pregnancy comes as a source of great joy for both the couple and their admirers. This new chapter in their lives is met with much anticipation and excitement.
Friends and colleagues from the entertainment industry have extended their warmest congratulations to the soon-to-be parents. The news has also been met with an outpouring of love and well-wishes from fans worldwide, showcasing the deep affection and support they hold for the esteemed actor.
Jeon Wonwoo, known for his humility and dedication to his craft, has always kept his personal life private, focusing instead on delivering compelling performances that have garnered critical acclaim. This announcement is a rare glimpse into the actor's cherished moments, allowing fans to share in his happiness.
As the actor and his wife embark on this new journey together, their fans eagerly await the arrival of their little one, sending heartfelt wishes for health, happiness, and endless blessings.
The couple's journey into parenthood promises to be filled with love, support, and cherished memories. With the world watching, Jeon Wonwoo and his wife step into this exciting new chapter, ready to embrace the adventures of parenthood with open hearts.
The End.
#densworld🌼#seventeen imagines#seventeen angst#seventeen fanfic#seventeen fanfiction#seventeen scenarios#seventeen series#seventeen drabbles#seventeen fluff#seventeen headcanons#seventeen#jeon wonwoo#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo series#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo#wonwoo fic#wonwoo oneshot#wonwoo recs
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a new kind of romance, finale
part 8 | new years
🥟 | dumplings
Kara was not having a good time.
Sure, she loved her job. Yes, she adored her staff. Absolutely, she found her role as editor-in-chief worthwhile and world-saving in its own way.
But today was a holiday and her staff was absent and her role as editor-in-chief was only kind of worthwhile given they’d gone to print three days earlier.
Today was a day meant to be surrounded by friends, new beginnings, and maybe the slightest tinge of a hangover nursed by a staggering stack of Danvers world-famous pancakes.
It was a day to slip into cozy sweats; an evening unburdened by Supergirl duties or an upcoming deadline; a series of uninterrupted hours where she could collapse onto her couch, bask in the blue glow of her television after consuming far too much post-brunch take-out, and, if she played her cards right, idly massaging the too-tight calves of her very best friend who was stretched out across her lap.
The tips of her fingers crawled between her glasses and face and pressed with a heavy sigh against her eyes because today was not one of those days. Kara wondered if she’d ever have one of those days again.
Not the blue glow or take-out or cozy sweats: those were always within reach. It was the best friend she wasn’t quite sure about.
Because things were kind of different now. Things were weird and awkward, and Kara didn’t know if it was her or them. Either way, she was one supersuit short of feeling brave enough to do anything about it.
So she was at work. On a holiday.
“You know,” came a voice that nearly sent Kara flying into the next floor, “when Alex told me you were skipping New Year's brunch, I almost didn't believe her.”
“Lena,” Kara choked. She looked up and locked eyes with a very soft, very pretty, very smirking Lena Luthor and felt a rush of weird and awkward all over again. “I didn't, uh, hi.”
“Must be important work,” Lena replied, nodding toward the glasses propped on Kara's nose. They'd been a gift earlier that summer: improved and Lena-Luthor-approved to cut out even more noise and distraction than her last pair.
“Just… just wanted to focus,” Kara replied.
“On next month’s issue?”
“Never too early to get ahead,” Kara offered lamely.
“Well, is it too early for lunch?” Lena asked, lifting a plastic bag overflowing with take-out containers.
“I thought that was my job,” Kara said, eyeing the strained bag and feeling her stomach betray her with an oversized growl.
“Sometimes even heroes need saving,” Lena chuckled, setting the bag onto Kara’s overflowing desk. “And I’m very good at giving.”
The tease, the flick of an eyebrow, and the confident smirk would have normally sent Kara’s cheeks on fire and stumbling for words and trying very hard to keep strictly platonic, best-friend thoughts at the forefront of her mind, but today was not one of those days.
“Mhm,” Kara said with a labored smile and a strained chuckle and a fiddle with her glasses.
Because today was awkward and weird-feeling just like every day since cuddles didn’t feel like something just best friends did.
Lena, ever astute and thoughtful and considerate, noticed the wave of discomfort radiating from Kara, and for that Kara winced even more.
“Are… are we ok?” Lena asked, fingers playing with the edge of her sleeves. It was the exact opposite of the teasing confidence spoken moments earlier; this came out shy and hesitant.
“Sure,” Kara replied automatically in a way that sounded forced, sounded fake, sounded like a lie. Because it was. It was, and Lena knew it.
“Ok,” she nodded back, and that made it feel worse. Because Kara knew that Lena knew. “Well, I just wanted to drop this off-”
“Stay,” Kara rushed. “Uhm, please? Please stay?”
What followed wasn’t the most awkward lunch Kara had ever had, but it sure was close. Conversation lagged and Kara, lost in the labyrinth of thoughts and doubts and concerns that had played on repeat for no less than two weeks rattled around louder and louder and -
Kara blinked, realizing she’d missed whatever Lena just said. And Lena noticed but, with generous tact, looked down and quietly poked at her food and gosh this was going terribly.
“I’m sorry,” Kara said unprompted. “I’ve been distracted and… and it’s not fair to you. You skipped brunch and brought all of this delicious food and I’ve been terrible company and a bad f-friend,” she said, her throat choking around the last word.
And then a smile flashed across her best friend’s face. It was tiny and wistful. “You could never be, darling.”
And it made Kara’s stomach flutter and twist. It made it flutter and twist, and Kara clung to the tiny thread for dear life and jumped.
“Do you, uh… do you want one?”
“You’re offering me a potsticker?” Lena asked, the faintest tone of disbelief at the chopsticks floating in front of her with a perfectly pan-fried dumpling pinched between them.
Kara nodded, her outstretched, chopstick-holding hand shaking in a very unhero-like way.
And she only barely managed to snatch it, her chopsticks, and the floating potsticker back in time when Lena’s hand rose to meet the literal best pillow of food on the entire planet.
“You can’t use your hands,” Kara said - yelled - and then silently begged the earth to split open and swallow her whole.
“I… I can’t?” Lena asked, hand flinching back in surprise.
“We… there uhm, there aren’t any napkins,” Kara explained like a lying four-year-old.
Because there absolutely were napkins.
In plain sight.
Directly next to Kara’s half-eaten egg roll.
Before Lena could challenge the blatantly bizarre lie with her confused scowl and keen, impossibly brilliant, and scientifically perfect observation skills, Kara blindly rambled ahead while her elbow did the inelegant task of plopping across the desk onto the stack of said napkins.
“And these are, uh, greasy? Greasy,” Kara continued, sliding her elbow with the subtlety of a firework to the edge of her desk and, just as subtly, knocking the napkins to the floor.
“Greasy,” Lena parroted, eyes distracted by Kara’s elbow’s antics.
“I-in a good way,” Kara clarified. The moment was only briefly interrupted by the squeak of her chair rolling to the left.
To cover the stack of napkins.
The napkins which were definitely there.
“I wouldn’t offer one if they were bad, but since we don’t have napkins then,” Kara explained, “then you’d need to- to…uhm.”
“To what?” Lena pressed.
“To… wipe them on your shirt?” Kara finished feeling mortified and like the most incapable alien on the planet.
Which was why, when Lena’s head tilted to the side and her gaze fell to where the napkins were most definitely scattered around on the ground then darted back to Kara’s and sparkled in that special way, Kara felt her heart swell and her stomach flutter just a little bit more.
“Well,” Lena began, leaning forward with the focus of a predator, “we can’t have that.”
And Kara, the weakest, most inept prey in a five hundred-mile radius swallowed against the parchment that had become her throat, shook her head weakly, and kept the freefall going.
And it might have been something.
Could have been something.
Was nearly something.
Lena was hovering forward.
Lips parted.
Eyes locked on Kara’s.
Which was exactly when Kara’s big giant nerves took over and sent her chopsticks splintering and the potsticker slipping out of her grasp with all the grace of Flubber before zipping across the office to land with an unceremonious splat against the glass partition.
All of which turned that ‘near something’ into one giant ‘swing and miss'.
But before Kara could articulate her feelings as ‘mortified’ and ‘crestfallen’ and ‘like a giant himbo’, Lena burst out into the kind of bright laughter that made her dimples show and smile beam and Kara wonder if how they were was enough.
Because this could be fine.
They could be fine.
So distracted was Kara that she didn’t notice Lena swipe the last, un-splatted potsticker from Kara’s plate, and she definitely didn’t process when Lena, ever so casually, asked Kara for a napkin to wipe her fingers off, and she was lightyears from self-awareness when she automatically snatched one from the floor.
That’s how lunch continued and ended: with Lena smiling her special smile and Kara lost in a sort of daze, inhaling the spread of options Lena brought.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” Lena said when the final remnants of lo mein were polished off. “Can’t have Cat Grant accusing me of derailing her Editor-in-Chief.”
“Oh, ok,” Kara said, rising to join Lena and crashing back to earth while simultaneously knocking her knee against the desk and sending a stack of proofs sliding like Niagra Falls to the floor.
“No, no, I’ve got this,” Kara said, waving Lena away. She clambered around the desk and intercepted her with a bashful grin and outstretched arms. They wrapped comfortably around Lena like they always did, and it made her feel all tiny sorts of warm and happy.
This could be fine.
“Thanks for lunch,” she muttered into the side of Lena’s head.
“What are friends for?” Lena said, hands falling to Kara’s upper arms and disarming Kara with a practiced smile.
Kara nodded, her own smile feeling tight and confused.
It faltered only slightly when the door clicked shut and she crouched to pick up the disheveled proofs.
This could be fine.
Kara could be totally normal and cool and collected, and Lena could be her usual pretty and perfect and kind and thoughtful self. And everything could be great and par for the course and completely and totally…
Normal.
Kara rolled back onto her heels and pondered that thought: normal. She pondered and pondered some more. A whole minute passed while the idea braised in her brain, and it kind of didn’t sit right.
It didn’t sit right one bit.
And then the most obvious thing on the whole giant existence of everything occurred - no, re-occurred: Kara didn’t want normal. She definitely didn’t want to go back to normal. She wanted the opposite of normal. In fact, she didn’t want normal for another second of her whole entire life.
Unless that not-normal was Lena hating her guts for the rest of eternity. That was not a not-normal Kara had the stomach for, but before she could let that worry petrify her from action, she jumped to her feet and clambered toward the stairwell.
It took only a second; a perfectly timed second that synchronized with the elevator doors opening and Kara’s very best friend appearing in the ground floor lobby.
“Kara,” Lena said, jumping at what was probably a borderline crazed expression on Kara’s face when two muscular arms spread across the elevator’s threshold, blocking Lena’s exit. “Wha-”
“Mistletoe magic,” Kara stammered inelegantly.
“Mistletoe-?” Lena began, her surprise turning to a flash of hurt.
“With you,” Kara clarified. “I wanted… I wanted mistletoe magic with you.”
“With… me?” Lena asked slowly, cautiously - nervously.
“I wanted… I wanted you - want you. I didn’t mean to, you know,” Kara clarified poorly, “but then I got so nervous. And then Andrea was there and, and I just… I thought you didn’t want it. And maybe you don’t which is - that’s fine, but I can’t stop thinking that maybe you do? Because I do. I really do and, and when you… with the frosting? And the dress? You were just so, so… Rao. And you’re so so brilliant and kind and my best friend-”
“Me too.”
“- and I don’t want to ruin any… any…thing,” Kara trailed off, the tiny echo of Lena’s confession rattling in her ears. “What?”
Then something even louder started rattling in Kara’s ears because her rambling had gone on long enough to trigger the lift’s alarm.
Then came a tug against Kara’s shirt.
Then Kara felt herself being pulled into the lift.
Then she felt the warmth breath against her cheek.
“I wanted mistletoe magic with you, too.”
“R-really?” Kara asked, her eyes darting down to Lena’s perfectly painted lips.
“Really.”
“Like…” Kara continued, glancing back up to double check Lena’s eyes were serious. “Like real-”
They were. They were dead serious. And Kara registered it only a millisecond before Lena’s lips cut off what was definitely going to be another babble-fest. Lena’s lips cut her off and all of her thoughts and words disappeared and instead every sense was engulfed by soft, warm, gentle and - oh wowsers.
“Like really, really,” Lena whispered before the elevator lurched upward and before Kara could register the sparks of gold magic and green leaves flickering above them and before recapturing Kara’s mouth and setting fire to Kara’s core.
// sixty-three floors later //
“So, you liked the dress?” Lena asked.
- - - - - - -
ko-fi and other ao3 reads
#happy new year!#posted late because no one told me about the petri dish of disease swimming in my nephew's drool when he babied all over me#new romances#finale#supercorp#supercorp ficlet#kara danvers#lena luthor
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Push the Sky Away - Part Three
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark)
Chapter warnings: Mild angst. Smut.
Word count: ~6.7k
Summary: Aemond writes a letter and makes a thousand mile journey. Series masterlist.
Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
Lorra,
Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart. Please don’t be alarmed -– I don’t expect your favour -– but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.
I do not wish for a betrothal -– nor will I -– unless it is to you. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, it has always been you.
With love, Aemond
Aemond casts his eye over the ink as it dries on the parchment, a hot wave of embarrassment flowing through his body and flushing his cheeks. He has never spoken so plainly with regard to his feelings before, though he has never had such strong feelings to express until now. He quickly rolls it up, before he has the opportunity to change his mind and cast it into the fireplace, sealing it with wax and ordering for it to be sent by raven to Winterfell straight away.
The days pass without word from Lorra. Each of Aemond’s visits to the ravens’ tower end in disappointment when he finds no reply from her. Barely contained rage causes him to clench his hands into fists, stalking away from the maester every time he is told that nothing has arrived.
He wonders if his letter arrived in Winterfell before she did, if perhaps the lack of her response is due to her not yet having had a chance to read it. He ponders on whether he had chosen his words carefully enough, if he could have made his feelings clearer. Will she return to him, or grace him with a letter of her own? As the days bleed into a week, and then another week after that, Aemond’s frustrations simmer to despondency as the sad realisation dawns upon him that Lorra has no intent of writing back to him.
“Your mother asked that I give you time, and I feel that we have waited long enough.”
Otto’s voice rouses Aemond’s attention from the flickering flames of the hearth that he has been staring into, lost in thought, and he turns his head watching as his grandsire settles into the seat across from him.
“It has only been a fortnight since Lorra left King’s Landing,” Aemond replies quietly, returning his focus back to the fire.
“Yes, and almost half a year that you have wasted on a failed courtship,” Otto shoots back, his tone sharp. “Time is not on our side, Aemond. You must marry before the King passes, to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. I intend to write to Lord Baratheon to–”
“I do not want a Baratheon girl!” Aemond hisses, head snapping towards Otto, eye wide and nostrils flared in anger.
Otto sighs in frustration, shifting in his chair. “What you want is of little consequence. You will take your dragon, once I have dispatched a raven, and you will fly to Storm’s End.”
Aemond draws in a breath as the realisation of what he should have done two weeks ago dawns upon him. He gives a slight nod, his eye meeting the weary gaze of his grandsire.
“Yes, I will take Vhagar. But I will fly North to Winterfell.”
“That is reckless.”
“I can win back the favour of the Starks. Without recklessness I would not be the rider of the world’s largest dragon.”
“An impulsive act that cost you dearly.”
“Yes, my impulsivity may have lost me my eye, but I shall not allow my own inaction to lose me the woman I love.”
Aemond rises from his seat, walking towards the door. In his mind the matter is closed.
“And what if you fail?” Otto calls after him.
He stops momentarily, bowing his head as he considers Otto’s words, then turns to look at him over his shoulder. “If I fail then I will accept whoever you choose for me to wed.”
The journey North the following morning is one of the longest that Aemond has ever taken on dragonback. Even wrapped up in riding leathers, he can feel the bite of the cold at his flesh as he leaves behind the temperate climate of the Crownlands, his body shivering as his gloved hands grip tightly to the reins of Vhagar’s saddle.
Usually Aemond leans into the ebb and flow of the weightlessness that he feels while in flight, but all sensations are dulled by the racing of his heart. No journey feels like it is long enough for him to prepare what he intends to say when he eventually faces Lorra. Will she be prepared to see him, or will she simply turn him away? The idea of the latter causes dread to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.
He glides in a slow circle above the fortress of Winterfell, scoping out where best to land his mount. There is no way he can land close to its walls due to Vhagar’s size. It is insult enough to the Starks to arrive uninvited, without the claws of his dragon causing their walls to crumble.
Satisfied that he knows the layout of the land, Aemond brings Vhagar to land on a grassy embankment on the southern facade of the castle, dismounting and making the rest of the journey on foot.
It is early evening as he approaches, and he is met at the gates by several members of Winterfell’s garrison, their man-at-arms demanding he state his business. Unsurprisingly, there are no Starks present to greet him, but his dragon has doubtless been spotted and alerted them to this arrival.
“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. I request an audience with Lady Lorra Stark,” he states simply.
He is escorted to the Great Hall, disappointed at the absence of Lorra as he enters. Her father, Rickon, is seated alone, his gaze stern as he looks upon the Targaryen Prince. Rickon does not stand to greet him, the informality taking him aback as the garrison bustle out of the hall, leaving just the two of them.
“I hope you will forgive the lack of formal greeting,” Rickon says gruffly, “the raven carrying news of your arrival must have been waylaid.”
Aemond swallows thickly, clasping his hands behind his back. He had not expected a warm reception from House Stark, however, this appears to be outright hostility.
“My visit is unplanned, my Lord, and I apologise for the intrusion. I will speak plainly, I have travelled to Winterfell with the intention of resuming my betrothal to your daughter. I had hoped to speak with her.”
Rickon scoffs, his eyebrows raising slightly. “If I could, I would send you back the way you came. However, it is not my intention for the people of the North to fall foul of the Crown, so I am obliged to offer you the hospitality of our House. You will dine with us this evening and leave upon the morrow.”
Aemond’s heart sinks, fearing he has failed before being given the opportunity to redeem himself, and he has not even laid his eye upon Lorra yet, let alone been allowed to speak to her.
He is shown to his bedchamber, changing out of his riding clothes into more appropriate attire for dinner.
As he enters the dining hall, he freezes, feeling his throat run dry as he spots Lorra seated at the table. In their time apart he had forgotten just how beautiful she is and the sight of her is enough to steal away all the air from his lungs.
“Come, sit, eat,” her mother, Gilliane, beckons from her seat beside Lorra.
Cregan and Rickon flank one side of the table, while Lorra and Gilliane are sat at the other, leaving the only available spaces at either end of it, either next to her mother and father, or Lorra and her brother. Aemond opts for the latter of the seating arrangements, hoping it will give him an opportunity to speak to her.
“I hope the food is to your liking. We were unaware we were to have a Royal visitor, otherwise we would have prepared something befitting a Prince.” Gilliane tells him with a tight smile.
Once again, Aemond is reminded of his intrusion, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forces himself to look at her, keeping his tone polite.
“It is a fine spread, my Lady, you have my thanks.”
He lowers his voice, inclining his head towards Lorra. “The food is of little importance to me, I wished only to see you.”
“And now you have,” she replies simply without looking at him.
Her response is like a dagger to Aemond’s chest, he recoils slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. There are a thousand things he wishes to say to her, but not in the company of her family, and so the rest of the meal passes in slow, uncomfortable silence.
When they retire for the evening, Aemond seizes his opportunity to talk with Lorra alone as she walks back towards her quarters.
“Wait,” he calls after her, striding ahead of her and standing in front of her to block her way. “Did you get my letter?”
Lorra sighs. The expression upon her face as she looks up at Aemond makes his heart ache. She looks tired and sad, and the guilt he feels at knowing he is the cause seems as though it may swallow him whole.
“I did. Pretty words, though they are empty and expressed far too late.”
Aemond’s stomach drops into free fall. His fingers twitch uselessly at his sides, eager to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, to comfort her. Though she is standing before him, it feels as though a chasm stretches between them, she has never felt more far away.
“Is it too late?” He asks quietly.
“You are leaving tomorrow.”
“Give me one week. A week is all I ask to win back your affection, to prove to you I am a man worth marrying.”
“I gave you six months!” She cries frustratedly. “I am not prepared to waste anymore of my time on a man who does not know how to love. I have no interest in a match that is purely political.”
“Nor do I, not anymore, and I will prove it to you. One week, please.”
Lorra bows her head, toying with her fingers for a moment as she thinks, before looking back up at him. “I shall give you three days.”
She steps around Aemond, walking away and leaving him alone in the castle corridor.
As hard as he tries, sleep will not take Aemond that night. It is not the chill of the Northern air that robs him of rest, as he had anticipated, the hot springs upon which Winterfell is built keep the castle surprisingly warm. He is exhausted from the long journey, and yet his mind will not quiet long enough to allow sleep to take him.
He has just three days to prove to Lorra that he is worthy of her. His station alone is not enough, a royal title is of obvious no concern to the Starks. Aemond has spent his entire life believing that duty alone is sufficient, that love in a marriage is a fanciful, unnecessary component. Lorra has challenged all of that – for her, it is a requirement – and it terrifies him, not the change in mindset itself, but how readily he is willing to accept it.
Aemond drifts off eventually, awakening to the metallic clash of blades outside his window. He rises slowly, groggy with fatigue and walks towards the sound, watching quietly as Lorra and Cregan spar together in the early morning light of the training yard below.
He smiles softly as he looks upon her, noting how quick she is. She is steady with her blade, yet light upon her feet. Though they had trained side by side many times at the Red Keep, he was always too preoccupied with the movement of his own sword and opponent to appreciate her skills fully. Immense guilt washes over him as he remembers how poorly he had treated her the first time she had asked to spar with him.
Now he has the opportunity to remedy that. Aemond dresses quickly, making his way out into the courtyard.
Cregan and Lorra come to a stop at his approach, eyeing him carefully as they lower their weapons.
Aemond gives a polite nod to the elder Stark, before turning his attention to Lorra. “My Lady, would you care to train?”
“I already am,” she says cooly, earning an amused smirk from her brother.
“With me,” he adds, straightening to disguise his discomfort.
“You wish to spar with me? I thought such things were beneath you.”
“I was misguided, allow me to correct the error of my ways.”
Lorra looks questioningly at Cregan, who gives an easy shrug. “Blades are over there,” he nods towards an assortment of weapons propped against the stone wall of the yard as he walks away.
Aemond snatches up a sword, walking back towards Lorra as she takes up a fighting stance. As he takes in the fire that blazes in her bright blue eyes he wonders if perhaps he has made a grievous error in judgement. Challenging the woman he has wronged to a fight would give her ample opportunity to exorcise her vexation, and he half expects her to simply run him through with her blade.
“I am not a child,” Lorra breathes heavily, the flat of her sword pushing back against Aemond’s as she blocks his attack. “You will not appease me with a disingenuous attempt at feigning interest in me.”
“A thousand mile journey is far from disingenuous,” he retorts, side stepping as she swipes at him. “You took the time to get to know me, and I have the genuine desire to do the same for you, though the time I have puts me at a disadvantage.”
Lorra scoffs, dodging as Aemond strikes forward, meeting the resistance of her blade once more.
“You fight well,” he tells her, stepping closer, his chest heaving with exertion. “Visenya Targaryen was said to be a fearsome warrior queen, I dare say even she would be impressed. A trait I would be proud for my wife to possess.”
She blinks rapidly, lowering her gaze and her sword as she steps back, light pink dusting the pale skin of her cheeks. “Flattery will not work upon me.”
Aemond finds boldness in Lorra’s sudden coyness, dropping his sword hand to his side, he closes the gap between them, crooking the finger of his free hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Are you certain of that?”
He smirks when she says nothing, and pulls away to place his sword against the wall.
“Come with me,” he tells her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him towards the gates of Winterfell.
“Where are we going?” She asks with wide eyes as her steps hurry to keep up with his lengthy strides.
“To do something I should have done months ago,” he replies, never slowing his pace.
They pass through the gates and around to the south facade, icy wind nips at their skin and Aemond regrets his impulsive decision for a moment, wishing he had given them both the opportunity to don a coat before heading out, but he supposes in a moment it will not matter, not with the warmth of what he is to show her.
Vhagar is exactly where he had left her when he first landed, though she is now curled up in a sleeping position, the vast expanse of her having squashed the long grass around her completely flat.
Lorra slows, hesitating as the hulking frame of the dragon comes into view and Aemond looks back at her, his grasp slipping from her arm to her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Do not be afraid,” he reassures her, “when you are with me, Vhagar is no danger to you.”
Lorra shakes her head, though she does not pull her hand from his, a gesture that causes Aemond’s heart to soar.
“I am not afraid. I just do not understand the meaning of this.”
“I mean to introduce you, something I ought to have done in the first place, but I foolishly refused. Vhagar is the most important thing in the world to me…well, she was, now I find that someone else occupies that place in both my heart and mind.”
Lorra’s face softens, her big, blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she looks between Aemond and the sleeping dragon.
“Come,” Aemond beckons her forward as he resumes walking. “She is most docile when she is sleeping.”
The air turns humid from the heat that radiates from the great, slumbering beast as they approach her, and Aemond rubs a hand across the hardened heat of her scales, earning a gentle rumble from the dragon which gently quakes the ground upon which they stand.
“Does she not get cold? I cannot imagine the North is a suitable climate for such a creature,” Lorra says, staring up in wonder at Vhagar.
“She is fire itself,” Aemond explains softly, “she is not fond of the cold, but she is able to keep herself warm. Here–”
Aemond takes Lorra’s hand, feeling it tremble beneath his own as he presses it gently against the dragon’s scales, encouraging her to stroke them.
Lorra giggles, continuing to run her hand across them, even after he has pulled his away. “She is not as soft as I expected her to feel.”
“Hmm,” Aemond agrees, watching with a faint smile. “She is old and battle hardened.”
“What will you feed her while she is here?”
He grins, a faint chuckle escaping him at her question. Heat spreads rapidly through his chest at the care that Lorra shows for Vhagar, enquiring after her comfort and wellbeing.
“She is large enough to feed herself, too big even to house within the Dragon Pit of King’s Landing. I have never had to feed her, she fends for herself well enough. I daresay whatever sheep happened to be roaming here have met their end at her appetite.”
“My father gave me a direwolf pup when I was a child,” Lorra tells him, as she continues her absentminded stroking. “When he was old enough to fend for himself, I released him into the forest. It did not seem fair to keep such a creature cooped up in the confines of a castle. Direwolves are not like dragons, they cannot be controlled.”
“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They obey because they choose to. My bond with Vhagar is the only reason she listens to me.”
Lorra turns, her eyes meeting his. “Is there anyone that you are bonded with strongly enough that you will listen to them?”
“No,” he whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against the tip of hers, “at least not until now.”
She blushes, turning her face away. “We should be getting back, but thank you for this, truly. I shall not forget it.”
Though Lorra had declined to kiss him, Aemond’s hope feels restored as he sits beside her at the supper table that evening, stirring his spoon through a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.
“We should go hunting tomorrow,” Lorra says to him with a bright smile.
“Making the Prince earn his keep?” Cregan asks with a chuckle.
“If luck is on our side, we may be able to serve Aemond’s favourite for supper, he is fond of roasted venison.”
Aemond sips his wine to hide the smile that tugs at his lips that she has remembered such a detail about him.
“Do you hunt?” Cregan asks Aemond, raising an eyebrow.
“I have never needed to,” he responds simply, doing his best to ignore the feeling of shame that washes over him as Lorra’s brother regards him with narrowed eyes.
“You will need more than luck if you hope to fell a deer between the two of then,” Cregan scoffs, returning his attention to his stew.
“We do not have to go, if you do not wish to,” Lorra tells him apologetically.
“No, I want to,” Aemond insists. “Even if we are fruitless in our endeavours, the time spent with you will not be wasted.”
She grins at him. A dazzling, brilliant expression that lights up her entire face, and makes Aemond’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realises just how much he has missed the sight of it.
Aemond walks Lorra back to her chambers later that evening, stopping as they reach the door.
“Well, I suppose we both ought to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, if we are to go hunting,” she tells him.
“It is still early,” he reminds her, “and I have only three days. It would be foolish to cut the first of them short.”
She raises her brows in surprise at this. “What are you suggesting?”
“I thought perhaps you would permit me to come inside so that we can talk for a while? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”
Lorra chews her lip in uncertainty as she considers his offer, before nodding. “Very well.”
Aemond looks around as he walks through Lorra’s chambers, he has never been somewhere that is so personal or intimate to her, and is eager to learn what he can of her from the space. The rooms are decorated with soft furnishings in greys and pale blues, the colours of her house, with ornately carved wolves’ heads and figures upon the shelves that house her books and personal effects. It is clear she is proud of her Stark heritage, just as he is of his Targaryen ancestry.
He casts his eye over her bookshelves, until his attention is drawn to the parchment upon her writing desk. He recognises it as the letter he had sent to her, picking it up as he reads the familiar words he’d written weeks before.
“You kept it…” he utters softly.
“I did,” Lorra confesses, seating herself on the edge of the bed.
Aemond allows the note to flutter back down upon the desk, turning to face her. “Can I ask, what had you planned to do?”
She sighs, fingertips plucking anxiously at the cotton of the bedspread. “Truthfully, I do not know. I wrote back to you countless times, but tore all of my letters up before I sent them. They were filled with hateful, angry words, which I know I would have regretted.”
Aemond nods, though it pains him to know she could ever think such things of him. “And how do you feel about me now?”
“You have made a good effort to redeem yourself, though I would be lying if your rejection of me back in King’s Landing does not still hurt. I am ashamed to admit that I wept most of the journey back to Winterfell. I had not expected you to come all this way just for me, but I am glad you did.”
Cautiously, Aemond steps towards her and, seeing no sign of protestation from Lorra, sits himself beside her on the bed. “It pains me to know you believe your feelings are unrequited. I should never have let you go.”
“Then why did you?”
Aemond presses his lips into a tight line, a wave of unease washing over him. His first instinct is to pull away, to tell her he does not wish to speak of it, yet he knows if he is to have any hope of winning her back he needs to speak openly.
“When I was a child, I watched my father break my mother’s heart more times than I care to count. The irony of it is that theirs was not a marriage borne of love, yet he managed to hurt her just the same. I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be placed in such a situation, that when the time came I would do my duty, and matters of the heart would not interfere. Then you came along, and you changed my perception of everything that I believed to be true.”
“That is not a bad thing,” Lorra says softly.
“No it is not. But I have lived my life keeping a comfortable distance from others, I always have. I was content in my loneliness, or at least I thought I was. It is disarming to have someone enter your life and feel that you are willing to risk the comfort found in solitude just to keep them at your side. I have never longed for anyone, and yet when you are not near me I find myself looking for you. I did not know what to do with that.”
“And do you now?”
“I am willing to learn.”
Softly, Lorra cups Aemond’s face in her hands. His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palms.
“Will you let me in fully?” She whispers. “Let me see all of you?”
He feels her fingertips creep up his left cheek, gently tapping at the leather of his eyepatch, and lurches backwards, heart pounding.
“It would frighten you.”
“I do not scare easily,” she reassures him, placing her hands back upon his face. This time he does not pull away, though he sits rigid as he allows her to lift the patch away from his head, keeping his seeing eye downcast as he holds his breath, fearing her reaction.
Her touch is featherlight as she traces the scar that runs the length of his face, and when he dares to look back up there is warmth in her gaze, where he had anticipated disgust.
“You are beautiful,” she murmurs.
Shock paralyses him momentarily as she leans in, pressing her lips to his, but he is quick to recover. His fingers thread themselves into the silken ebony of her hair as he kisses her fiercely. The soft plushness of her lips feel every bit as divine as they had the first time, his cock stirring in his breeches as their mouths part enough for his tongue to brush against hers.
Lorra presses her forehead to his when they finally break for air, both breathing heavily.
“We really ought to sleep,” she tells him quietly, “tomorrow is an early start.”
“Oh…yes, of course,” he utters, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he rises, preparing to return to his own room.
She grips his arm, stopping him. “No, stay, please.”
Aemond’s pulse races at the suggestion, yet he nods all the same. Stripping down to their undergarments, they lay snuggled together beneath the blankets. It is an odd sensation to hold someone; she lays with her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Aemond has never done this with anyone before, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her flesh against his, her warmth is comforting. Pressing his nose into her hair, his nostrils fill with the familiar scent of rosemary and lavender. Sleep comes much easier to him that night.
As she had promised, Lorra ensures they awaken early the next morning to ready themselves for a day in the forest. They each take a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, though Aemond is uncertain of how much use he will be with his. His disfigurement leaves him at a disadvantage when it comes to the use of ranged weapons.
“I am assuming you can ride a horse?” She asks, as she leads Aemond to the castle’s stables.
“I am not as proficient as I am on dragonback,” he admits, “but yes, I can ride.”
“I have had the stable hand saddle Cregan’s steed for you,” she tells him, stroking a gloved hand over the velvety snout of a large, black horse. “He is more even tempered than any of our other geldings and less likely to throw you off.”
She winks at Aemond as she walks towards her own mount, and he watches with a smirk as she climbs into the saddle of a strikingly white mare.
“Her name is Nymeria,” she tells him proudly. “Cregan’s is named Rhoyne.”
The ride through the forest is peaceful, their horses trotting at a leisurely pace, side by side, beneath a blanket of deep green fir trees so thick that Aemond almost cannot see the sky above them.
“Your Baratheon girl must not be pleased that you are here,” Lorra says eventually, glancing over at Aemond with a demure smile.
“I have no Baratheon girl,” Aemond tells her.
“Oh?”
Aemond tightens his hold on the reins of his horse, his posture stiffening slightly. “It is…regrettable, what you overheard between my grandsire and I. The truth of the matter is that he had intended to send me to Storm’s End to petition Lord Baratheon for the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. I refused.”
Lorra laughs softly. “He cannot have taken that well.”
“He was not pleased, no. I came here instead, on the promise that I would secure an alliance with House Stark.”
She says nothing, averting her gaze towards the trees, and they continue to ride in silence. Aemond glances at her every so often, hoping to catch her eye, but to his disappointment she is always on the lookout for game, or is at least pretending to be. The quiet hangs heavy between them, the only sounds are the gentle hoofbeats of their mounts and the distant chirping of birds.
“I know it is not ideal,” he tells her, no longer able to bear her silence, “to have this obligation hanging over us, but it is my duty. But I need you to know, I am not choosing you out of duty. To have you in my arms as I did last night was no easy thing for me, and it is not something I take lightly.”
“I know,” she says softly.
“Do you think that joining our Houses is even possible? Your father and brother do not seem fond of me.”
“Lords of the North are not quite so tyrannical over their daughters as they are in the South. My father and brother are wary of you because they are aware you have hurt me. But my father will respect my decision and pose no opposition to an alliance with your House, if I choose to marry you.”
“So, you accept?”
Lorra laughs, rolling her eyes. “I said if.”
They lapse back into a more comfortable silence, though there are no deer to be found. Aemond can feel his teeth begin to chatter, despite how warmly he is dressed, he has not acclimated to the chill of the air of the North. It nips at his skin, feeling as though it seeps into the very bones of him.
“I think Cregan had the right of it,” Lorra sighs, “we are to have no luck today. I expect our chatter has likely frightened off any deer we might have hoped to see.”
“Do you wish to turn back?” Aemond asks hopefully.
“You are cold. Fortunately, we are close to one of my favourite places to warm up.”
Aemond’s curiosity is piqued, and despite the cold that stiffens his joints, he continues to ride alongside her, until the trees clear, revealing an opening in the side of the rock face.
Lorra dismounts from Nymeria, securing her reins to a nearby fir tree, and Aemond does the same for Rhoyne.
“In here,” Lorra gestures towards the rock face.
Aemond’s brow furrows, but he follows her in regardless, immediately enveloped in warmth and darkness alike, the furs and leathers he is wrapped up in suddenly feeling much too hot. He picks his steps carefully, walking slowly behind her until light from an opening above them beams daylight down upon a steaming pool of vibrant blue water, nestled within a basin among the craggy stone.
“Hot springs,” Lorra tells him happily, unfastening her cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground. “It is the best defense against the cold while out on a ride.”
She begins to undress and Aemond freezes, his first instinct being to look away, but he finds that as more of her flesh is revealed to him he cannot keep his eye from her. Desire flickers hotly in his lower belly as he looks upon the swell of her breasts, the inwards dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips as she peels her clothes away from her body, dropping them to the floor, before stepping into the water.
He is taken aback by just how brazen she is, unashamed as she turns, once submerged up to her thighs, and looks at him with a grin.
“Are you going to join me, or just stand there gawping?”
Aemond’s eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come to him.
Lorra giggles. “Shall I turn away?”
He clears his throat, shaking his head. “N–no…”
His breaths come shakily as he disrobes, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible. Once fully bare, he steps into the water, his lack of modesty almost forgotten with the sigh of relief that leaves him as the heat of the water soothes the ache of the cold in his joints.
“You forgot this,” Lorra tells him, stepping towards him and reaching for his eyepatch.
“Wait.” He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “I need to know…if you have not decided if you wish to marry me, then why are you doing this? Sleeping in the same bed with me, bathing together. If this is all a game to you, then I can go no further.”
Lorra lowers her gaze, pursing her lips. “I do want to marry you, my feelings have not changed. But I cannot accept that you have changed on words alone. I need to see that you desire me as a husband desires their wife, I need to know it is real.”
Aemond pulls away his eyepatch, discarding it to the side with the rest of his clothing, and pulls her to him by her waist. He inhales sharply as he feels the softness of her dampened skin meet his. “Is this real enough for you?”
The ends of his long, silvery hair are beginning to form loose waves due to the humidity, and her fingers reach up to stroke through them.
“Do you think you could grow to love me?” She whispers.
Aemond’s thumbs trace lazy circles against her sides as he gazes down at her, carefully considering his words. “I am not certain I know what love is. I think of you often, I crave your presence when you are not there. I feel a sensation akin to physical pain when you are sad, and your happiness serves to elevate my own. Perhaps that is love? And if it is, then I believe that I already do.”
Lorra smiles, her blue eyes shining as she looks up at him. Her hands press gently against Aemond’s chest, pushing him back to sit on a ledge, submerged in the hot spring, where the water rises to just above his navel. She sits astride him, the brush of her thighs and womanhood against him making him painfully hard. His breath hitches, as he clings to her waist like a lifeline.
Her fingers caress his jaw gently, and she kisses him softly, their lips meeting slowly and tenderly in an unhurried gesture of affection.
“I would marry you tomorrow, if I could,” he utters against her lips, “wed you beneath the heart tree in your godswood, in the tradition of the Old Gods.”
“Really?” She sighs as Aemond presses his lips to her throat, his hands sliding from her waist to travel up her torso and palm roughly at her breasts.
“If you wish it, once we are married we can return to Winterfell and do just that.”
“Mmm…I would like that.” She tilts her head back as Aemond lowers his mouth to her chest, capturing a hardened peak between his lips and suckling gently.
Aemond has never desired anyone like this before, though he has never cared for anyone in the way that he cares for Lorra. He craves her touch, the need for her making him feel as though he teeters on the very edge of madness.
He removes his mouth from her breast, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as she begins to roll her hips against his, and his lips capture hers once more, gripping her hips to urge on her movements against him.
If he had known she would feel this exquisite, he would have barred the doors of the Red Keep and forbade her from ever stepping foot outside of it.
He pulls away, breathless as he stares up at her. “I want to marry you in the tradition of Old Valyria too. Once Aegon is King, and our ancestral seat is returned to us, we will travel to Dragonstone and do just that.”
“What does that involve?” She asks huskily.
“We shall wear the traditional robes of Old Valyria, red and white, and you will have a beautiful headdress.”
He pauses, eye fixated upon her as she raises up slightly on her knees, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she grasps the length of him, positioning him at her entrance. His stones tighten, mind going utterly blank, rendering him speechless, as the tight heat of her sinks down upon him, his fingertips push into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise.
She stills once seated fully upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Keep going,” she urges, “tell me more.”
“We will use dragon glass–ah, fuck!” He screws his eye shut, hips bucking up to meet hers as she moves against him.
“Use dragon glass to what?” She asks teasingly, her pace never faltering.
Aemond swallows thickly, the pressure building at the base of his spine almost too much to bear. “To…to slice against our palms...the blood that spills is collected in a cup which we will drink from.”
Lorra whimpers softly in pleasure, the rise and fall of her hips becoming more urgent, causing the water to lap in gentle ripples against their bodies. Aemond snarls at the increase in pace, pressing the flat of his palm tightly against her lower back, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.
“Is that all?”
“No…” Aemond’s voice is strained, struggling to get the words out against the haze of pleasure that overwhelms him. “We will use the same dragon glass to cut our lips, the resulting kiss in addition to the combined blood we have consumed serving to bind us together forever.”
“If that is your wish…”
“Yes…bind yourself to me…”
Lorra gasps, her arms tightening around him as he feels her insides spasm around him in quick, successive pulses, her body trembling against his. He continues to thrust up into her, until the pressure within him gives way, causing his cock to pulsate as he holds her to him, spilling inside of her.
They remain as one, wrapped around each other in the steam of the hot spring as they each struggle for breath, slowly recovering.
Aemond strokes Lorra’s hair away from her face, running his fingers through it as he takes in her blissful, relaxed expression. In this very moment, he has never been more certain that this is love, and to experience what he has just felt makes him feel foolish for having pushed it away for so long. There is no doubt in his mind that there is no one else in the world for him, only her.
“So, will you?” He asks gently, continuing to stroke her hair. “Bind yourself to me?”
She gazes at him softly, a lazy smile upon her lips. “You have barely used two of your three days yet. I am sure there is lots more convincing you could do until they are up.”
Aemond smirks, tugging her against him in a tight embrace. That is an arrangement that he is more than happy to satisfy.
#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#prince aemond targaryen#pro aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#aemond smut#aemond angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fic#hotd#hotd smut#hotd angst#house of the dragon#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fic#aemond x ofc#aemond x oc#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#the one eyed prince#aemond one eye
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thinking about hill house, “no live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed by some to dream,” and the way this became the foundation of every mike flanagan series since. these characters exist under conditions of grief in all its forms. that’s their reality. grief for the dead, grief for the living, grief for themselves, for the dreams laid to rest, the hopes never realized… in hill house, every sibling dreams of something better. they dream of a life — or a death — in which they are unburdened. the shape of this wish is different for each of them, but the wish itself is omnipresent. as kids it manifested in each variation of the red room, something they could “live” in. as adults it manifested as the ghosts they choose to ignore, the ghosts that heal them once they’re seen.
then you have bly manor, where the dream remains the same but the angle and approach are new. hannah dreams just so she can be seen in death. she dreams of the life she could have had with owen, of the love that life left unfulfilled so she plays it out as a ghost. and this tethers her to the physical realm until her ghost, her wish, is acknowledged. rebecca regrets. rebecca is an outlier. she regrets the nature of her death and the life that was stolen from her, but in her death she dreams for those she can push away from her own fate. dani and jamie dream of a life in which they are together, unharmed, and they get to revel in this for a while, and it’s good and it’s peaceful until fate rears its head. but the wish was seen, and so the regret doesn’t exist. hill house says “you have to live / there is no without, i am not gone.” and bly manor says “here is how to live again, even though our roads will meet at the same place.”
and then in the midnight club, this theme persists. and it persists. these kids all exist with the knowledge that they soon won’t. so they dream, they tell stories every night and live out their hopes, put pieces of themselves into the world just so that these pieces can stick around after they’re gone. hill house says “a ghost is a wish / we are all stories in the end,” and the midnight club responds with “a story never dies.” and that’s just how these shows are now. hill house laid the foundations, and every show of mike’s now stands on them. these narratives all haunt each other. if one character starts a thought, a character in a different story will finish it. if one character can’t remain within a dream, a character in another story will live and die in it. the dreams are always different, the grief is always different, but the foundations are the same and the end result is, too: live — choose love and live until your soul is taken. despite, despite, despite.
nobody can exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality, so they dream instead,
#hill house#bly manor#the midnight club#i never watched midnight mass im sorry#mike flanagan#the haunting of hill house#the haunting of bly manor
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Alone / Chapter 2
Part eight of the Sassy series.
Simon Riley/female reader
4.4k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, panic attacks, angst, PTSD, trauma, blood and torture, hospitals, emotional hurt/comfort, medical stuff, coparenting, relationship issues, reader is going through it, soft dad Simon Riley.
You’re living in a nightmare.
Blood has a distinct smell. To many, it’s the pungent minerality that turns their senses but to you, it’s the tang of the metal that makes your lip quiver. It’s the saltlick iron that makes you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and breathe through your nose slowly, an effort to try to prevent the tossing of your stomach.
Here, the scent is everywhere. On the walls. On your face. On your clothes. There was a puddle of it, beneath your knees. It’s a combination of yours and nameless others, their blood one of the only things left of them in the world, seeping into the fabric of your jeans, staining the concrete blocks of-
“Mrs. Riley?” Your doctor, your therapist, looks at you expectantly over the rim of her glasses, and you huff. “Where were you just now?” You try not to scowl. Be honest. You’re supposed to be honest.
“The room.”
“Where you were being held?” You nod. You force your fingers flat against your thighs, beating back the urge to scratch your nails against your skin. “And what were you thinking, about the room?”
“I was remembering what all the blood smelled like. What it tasted like.” To her credit, your shrink doesn’t flinch. She holds your gaze steady, until you are the one looking away, glancing over her shoulder at the clock that always seems to move too slow.
You’ve tried this once, already. Tried to get her to crack, to push you off. Tried to get her to cower, or recommend you speak to someone else. She’s stronger than you originally thought, you’ll her give her that, but you supposed it didn’t hurt that she’s been having twice weekly sessions with Simon when he’s not away on an op for over two years now, and you’re well aware your dog and pony show are nothing compared to whatever he’s been telling her.
Simon Riley, the closed off ghost who wouldn’t even show you his face when he got you pregnant, turned father of the year who bent over backwards for his wife, now goes to therapy, and meditates when he’s out on ops.
“Do you remember how you felt, when you were in that room?” Oh, for fucks sake. You nod, lips pressed into a line. “Can you tell me?”
“Worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“Theo. And Simon.”
“Not for yourself?” You shrug. Your lungs hurt, like they’re being constricted, and you look down to your shoes.
“Can we talk about something else?” You say it to your laces, not to her, but you know she hears it when her pen clicks and the scratch of the tip scrawls across her pad.
“How is co-parenting going?” Your head snaps up, and you smother the glare that pulls at the edges of your face.
“It’s fine.”
“You and Simon are communicating alright?” Jesus christ.
“Mostly.” You shrug and don’t elaborate. She nods at your silence, an indication she wants you to keep going. You grit your teeth. “Sometimes, he calls, or texts and I don’t answer him. Or I don’t answer him in a timely manner.” Your fingers make air quotes around the timely manner bit.
“Why is that?”
“It’s… hard to explain.”
“Are you uncomfortable with the communication?”
“No!” you rush out. “No, no of course not… I want him to see Theo as much as possible. I just feel, mixed up. So, when I see him, or hear from him, it makes those mixed-up feelings feel… more intense. More mixed up.”
“Can you name a few of those feelings?” You close your eyes and picture Simon’s face. You see him holding Theo’s hand in the supermarket or pushing him on the swing set in the park. You see him in bed beside you, before, eyes soft and full of love, his smile beautiful and easy on his lips. Unburdened.
“Sadness.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Sadness and anger, confusion. Guilt.” The pen scribbles on paper when you pause, and you glance up at the clock. Bingo. “Looks like we’re out of time.” You supply, smiling at her cheerily when she narrows her eyes, and then writes something down before giving you a nod.
The man says your name.
Not Sassy. Not Sass.
Your real name, before he tuts in your face, like you’ve let him down.
“Yer da ‘d be real disappointed in ye.” Saliva builds in the back of your throat.
“Don’t talk about my father.” You hiss and he outright laughs.
“Still fightin’ even when broken.” His fingers fold over the wound in your arm, pressing into the open, infected flesh, digging against it with his fingernails and the pain burns, it scrapes across your skin like a million little knives. “Maybe ye’re not so worthless after all, eh?” You launch the spit into his eye, grim satisfaction creeping over you when he staggers back in surprise, rage brewing across his face before he’s gripping you by the collarbone and thrusting you backwards, tipping the metal chair until you’re slamming into the ground, your head bouncing on blood slick concrete like a child’s ball.
“Stupid bitch.” His leg draws backwards until he’s firing the toe of his boot into your stomach, kicking you once, twice before you’re gasping for air, pain blooming across your abdomen as he batters you.
You close your eyes, and think of Theo. You think of Simon, of the two of them together. At home, safe. You pull the string of a memory until it comes to the forefront of your mind, Theo’s first words, his first steps. His second birthday party, when Johnny bought him that obnoxious drum set, and Simon bent you over the couch after Theo went to bed. The day you got married, your first wedding anniversary, the hotel room in Florence. You slip into these memories like they’re real and try to block out the smell of the blood and the pain in your body, try to drown in the shadows of your old self, your past, while you lose everything to the present, over and over again.
The little house is quiet when you get home in the afternoon.
At first it doesn’t bother you. Theo is with his dad for the night, already been picked up from school and probably taken to the park, his favorite Friday activity. Si will probably get him pizza, because he spoils him endlessly, and he’ll let him fall asleep while they cuddle on the couch and watch some awful kid’s show. You can see it, in your mind, the image of Theo in the crook of Simon’s elbow where he still fits, his little arm stretched across his dad’s ribs, Simon with his feet on the coffee table.
It rips your heart apart. The swell of emotion is strong enough that tears pool in your eyes, dripping down over your cheeks while you curl up into a ball on your own couch, blanket tucked up under your chin. You did this. You are a nightmare. You did this to yourself. You press your palm to your lips and scream into it, smothering the sound as best you can, your throat turning raw with each breath.
Your body shakes with sobs until you’re exhausted and your eyes slip shut, tears still webbed in your lashes, while the sun shines through your living room window.
Your phone jolts you awake a few hours later, your hands scrambling to find where you’ve lost it in the couch, the realization that it’s going to be Theo breaking through the heavy weight of your misery. Must be close to bedtime. When you slide open the facetime call, he’s grinning at you, little dab of red sauce on his chin.
“Mum!” he shouts, glee coloring the word and you smile back at him easily, hastily rubbing your face to erase the evidence of your state. “Dad got ‘izza!”
“I see that.” A big thumb drifts in front of the camera to wipe the glob of red away and Theo giggles.
“Say goodnight.” Simon says in the background and Theo pauses, little eyebrows creased in confusion before he recovers and looks back to the phone.
“Goodnight mum. Luh you.”
“Love you too bug. Have fun with dad.” The phone shifts, darkness covering the camera for a second before it’s righted, and Simon’s face fills the frame. Your stomach clenches.
“His mates from school are all gonna be at the fields tomorrow morning. I told him I’d take him, if it's alright with you.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Thanks.” You can see him studying you through the screen.
“Everything alright?” his tone shifts, takes on something softer, something sweeter, something that feels like a memory, and your chest tightens.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
“If you need-“
“I’m fine.” You snap. He sighs.
“Alright then. Goodnight, Sass.”
“Night.”
“There she is, see?” Simon points, and Theo frowns when he sees you, lower lip tugging downward, his face confused before he looks back to his dad, burying his face in his chest with a cry.
“Hey bug. Come here.” You hold your arms out to him, but he just cries into Simon, the scared wailing splitting you open and pouring concrete into your lungs, so it feels like you’ve got an entire building sitting on your chest. “It’s okay baby.” You call, hands still waiting, voice edging on desperate. You want your baby. You want to hold him, to feel him in your arms and know he’s okay, that he’s here, that Simon’s here, and you’re here and there is no danger, nothing to fear. Simon steps closer to you, his emotions raw across his face, and Theo screams in his arms, legs kicking ferociously.
“It’s mum, Theo. Stop. Look.” Simon tries but it’s no use. You know Theo is terrified of you, your battered and bruised face, the wires and tubes that are connected to your chest and the IV that’s stuck in the back of your hand. Your brain buzzes, a low droning noise between your ears making your head spin and you call Theos’ name with a croak.
“NO!” Theo shrieks, he screams it at the top of his lungs and Simon looks lost as you stare wordlessly, hands reaching out into the void, begging to hold your son that doesn’t even recognize you.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the tears drop down onto the arm that’s folded across your abdomen.
The door slides open, and Johnny appears, pulling Theo from Simon’s arms, patting his back softly and giving you a sympathetic look.
“C’mon lad, let’s go get a lolly, yeah? Give mum and dad some time.” Theo hugs his uncle around his neck, and heaves little sobs into his skin while Johnny shushes him and carries him back out the door.
“I-“ you choke on whatever it was you were going to say, the buzzing in your head so, so loud that it drowns out your thoughts, covers up your feelings until you’re pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.
Knuckles tap against the glass, Johnny’s face appearing in the window.
“I’ll be right back.” Simon assures you, leaving his foot in the door while he talks to Johnny, their voices fuzzy, and suddenly, the world is tilting and all you can smell is blood.
The buzzing in your head is ferocious, a searing sharpness that feels like a lobotomy, your mind screaming inside your head. The stitches in your skin burn, and you swear you can feel each cell trying to pull closed, the sticky edges of your wounds slowly seaming back together, sealing shut everything inside of you, trapping the buzzing away within your own body so you’ll never be able to pull it out.
You need to go home. You have to get out of here. You can’t stay here. You have to get home. Where everything is safe. Where there is no danger.
You fidget with your central line, trying to unclick, unscrew it until you’re just tugging on it as hard as you can without making a sound, pain throbbing into the hole that’s been created for the port as you start to pull the sticky pads off your lower rib cage. The noises in the room are going berserk, bells and whistles chiming and beeping while the buzzing in your head gets louder and louder, and your fingers dig into your IV, trying to rip it from your skin before Simon is grabbing your hand.
“I have to get out of here.” You tell him. He’ll understand. You know he will.
“Bloody hell Sass, stop.” Your fingers are still scratching away, trying to crawl towards the IV, the last thing tethering you to this place, keeping you from your family, and you push against the pressure holding you still. The buzzing in your head is screaming now, louder than Simon’s voice, louder than the frantic beeping of the machines that have lost their leads.
“Let me go! I ha- have to go. I have to get out.” Simon tries to grab your other hand but you’re too quick, nimble and lithe like you always have been, and you latch onto the needle in your skin, ripping it free, blood trickling down your arm and dripping across your thin hospital gown. Heavy hands grab your shoulders and press you back against the bed.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” His elbow pins your collarbone down while his hand comes up to cradle your face. “Everything’s alright.” What? No, it isn’t. It’s not alright. This is certainly not alright. Can’t he hear that noise? You shake your head vehemently and he tries to hold you steady.
“No. N-no, no, Simon. I have to go. Please, we have to go.” The door swings open and a man in blue scrubs with a badge walks through, a nurse at his side, capped syringe in her hand. Your stomach roils. “Simon.” You plead as you eye them, their slow steps bringing them closer and closer to you, and you shift on the bed, up against your husband, trying to bury yourself in his body, hide from whatever the people in scrubs are going to do. “Simon, we have to go home. Please, we need to get home.”
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He strokes the hair away from your face, and you realize he’s got tears in his eyes, his gaze heavy and sad, and your own eyes widen in fear when you feel a new set of hands on your body.
“Get off me!” you scream, thrashing in the bed, Simon trying to talk to you, trying to calm you while the man in scrubs pins your arms down.
“Don’t hold her like that.” He snarls, and the foreign hands on your body adjust, letting your forearms go loose while the pinch of a needle punctures your skin. “It’s alright, I promise.” Simon’s voice breaks. “I’m here, Sass. I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re safe, I swear.” The needle pulls free of your arm and the world shifts, bright light blowing out the edges of your vision until your eyes are slipping closed, Simon’s face the last thing you see before everything goes dark.
It's three in the morning. The dark and stormy nightmares that keep you under in your sleep have finally slipped away, and you’re staring at your bedroom ceiling while your brain turns a mile a minute until you’re reaching for your phone.
Your thumb hovers over Simon’s contact for too long, way too long while you think about what it might be like to hear his voice before you’re scrolling to the next name and clicking the digits.
The phone rings and you try not the count it, try not to think about what you’re doing and the line clicks open to a bleary, sleepy Scotsman saying hello.
When you don’t say anything back, you can hear him sitting up.
“Sassafras?” Johnny tries, and you blow out a breath.
“It’s me.”
“Ya okay?” No.
“Yeah.” He sighs, and then starts to tell you about his day, his family, what he’s been doing in his off time. It’s not the first time you’ve called him in the middle of the night, and probably won’t be the last, and he knows it. He fills your head with mindless details, funny stories about his latest op and the 141, other things he thinks you’ll want to hear. You never talk, just listen, and he does a good job of distracting you from whatever it is that’s going on in your head until you’re chuckling on the other end of the line, spirit just a hair lighter than it was when you called.
“Thanks, Johnny.” You murmur into the phone.
“Anytime. One more thing-“
“Yeah?”
“Call your husband next time, yeah?” Prick.
“Bye, Soap.”
“Bye Sassy. Love ya. Kiss the wee lad for me.”
“I will.”
At ten in the morning, the doorbell rings. Even though he has a key, he won’t use it, just waits patiently for you to open the door, not wanting to encroach on your boundaries.
Theo runs straight at your legs when you open it, and you scoop him up in a big hug until he’s complaining, insisting you put him down and let him show you the picture that’s clutched in his hand, something he drew last night.
“That’s you!” he points to a sloppy stick figure that’s holding hands with a little stick figure, a bigger stick figure on its other side. “an’ that’s me and that’s dad!” His eyebrows raise and you rub his head affectionately.
“Good job, you’re a real artist!”
“Put it on fridge?” As soon as you nod your approval he takes off, running towards the kitchen, leaving you and Simon in the living room, the straps of his backpack fisted in his dad’s hand.
“Johnny called me this morning.” You draw a quick breath before letting it out slowly. Traitorous bastard. “If you want me to take him for the rest of the day so you can get some rest-“
“I’m fine. Thanks, though.” Simon sets the backpack down, and you hear the click and clack of the alphabet magnets against the stainless steel.
“You can… call me, too. If you want. If you need… someone to talk to.” You expect to rebuff him immediately, to snap at him, to tell him you don’t need to talk to anyone, let alone him. You want to. You want to keep taking it out on him, keep dumping it on him, over and over until there’s so much of it between the two of you that he’ll never find his way back. Why would he want to? After everything you’ve put him through? You’re broken. Useless.
“Why?” you blurt, and it surprises you. Looks like it surprises him too.
“You’re my wife, Sass. I love you.” Your skin feels hot and your heart thumps loudly in your ears. “Your trauma, the torture, what happened after… nothin’ is ever gonna change that.” You scoff, anger flickering in your veins, the heat of your irritation warming you from the inside out.
“You can’t mean that. Not after… everything that’s happened.” He studies you for a long moment, eyes pinning you where you shift your weight uneasily, until he’s raising the back of his hand, holding it upright to display the ring. The ring, that he refuses to take off. The ring, that he still wears, even after you tossed your own at his head. The ring, that has your call sign and his last name initialed on the inside.
“I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” He whispers it, and you swallow the lump in the back of your throat.
“Mum!” Theo yells, and you turn away, shoulders tight under your ears, fingers clenched together. “Mum, can we ‘ave popcorn?” Theo shouts again and you give him a tight-lipped smile when you reach the kitchen, your enthusiastic four-year-old trying to push a chair in front of the pantry.
“Popcorn?”
“Daddy said you might wanna watch a movie.” Theo pauses, eyes flicking between you, and his father, who you can just feel at your back, before he nods decisively, like he’s already determined that will be his next activity. “Moana?” He shrugs a little, face hopeful and you ruffle his hair.
“Sure, baby. We can watch Moana.” Your heart pangs when you realize that Simon probably told Theo you’d want a movie because he was thinking about how you didn’t sleep, how you might be too tired to go to the park or do something more involved. He’s still taking care of you, after everything. Still wears the ring, still calls you his wife, still tells you he loves you, he-
“Can daddy stay?” The room suddenly feels devoid of oxygen.
“I’m sure dad has things he’s got to do tod-“
“I don’t.” He cuts you off and you smother the glare that threatens to pull across your face. You look down at Theo, who’s so excited, so blissfully pleased at the idea, head shifting as he looks back and forth between the two of you and you crumble a little bit, unable to take his happiness away from him. You destroyed his family, why can’t you let him have this? Guilt sears across your skin, the pressure of it so intense that you’re nodding your agreement before you even realize it.
“Okay then.” Theo shouts with excitement and sprints to the couch.
“I can go, if you’re not comfortable.” Simon offers when he’s out of earshot and you shake your head.
“No, it’s fine. Makes him happy.”
“Mum! Make popcorn!” Theo calls to where the two of you still stand, an awkward distance apart in the kitchen.
“What did you forget?”
“Pwease?”
“Thank you, much better.” Your crinkle the thin plastic of the popcorn bag into the trash, the noise similar to the static that’s now playing in your head, before you clear your throat. “Want to uh, go get him settled? And then I’ll be in. In a minute.” Simon doesn’t respond, just disappears from the kitchen, and you focus on the minute countdown on the microwave while you take deep, long breaths, a desperate attempt to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible, until it beeps and you’re pulling the door open to dump the popped kernels doused in butter into a bowl.
You’re tracing the wood grain pattern in the living room floor between your feet when you distantly hear a voice, calling you over and over. It feels far away, impossibly far away, like you’re at the bottom of the ocean or you’re on another planet.
“Hey, mum.” Simon’s voice draws you out of the depths sharply, and he strokes a gentle fingertip down your arm, over the pockmarked scar beneath your shoulder. The touch startles you, your head snapping up to see Theo standing in front of the coffee table in a red cape, construction paper mask, and Simon sitting delicately on the couch next to you. “Someone’s trying to show you something.” He inclines his head to the excited little boy, and you blink before shaking your head, trying to clear the fog that’s settled in your brain.
When it doesn’t, you shake your head again, and then look to Simon hopelessly. He reads you instantly, ushering Theo upstairs, enticing him with blocks and promises of story time later.
Blood. The scent of blood fills your nostrils, so strong that you think it might be dripping from your face, washing over your tongue, filling your mouth, filling the whole house.
Not real. It’s not real. You’re not there, you’re here. There is no danger.
Large palms cover yours, and then you’re looking up at Simon, his eyes soft, sympathetic, and you know he knows. You know he can see, what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.
He can see it all, because he’s been here before, too. He’s survived, he’s fought, he’s lived.
But he’s never been… this. He’s never been a nightmare. Never been useless. Never been this broken like this, dirty and pathetic like this, weak like this.
Simon was strong. He fought. You failed. You couldn’t even get back to him. Couldn’t get back to your baby, your family.
You feel his touch again and you choke on a gasp.
You can’t let him touch you, he’ll know. He’ll see it. He’ll feel it.
“D-don’t.” you hiss, forcing a hand forward to hold him at bay.
“Shhh. It’s just me, Sass. I’ve got you.”
“No, n-no.” He can’t know. “No, I… I need” You stand, stumbling forward, catching yourself on the coffee table before straightening, Simon’s confused gaze tracking your every step while you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “I need to lay down.”
When you cross into the living room, Simon’s sitting on the couch, Theo already snuggled up into his side, both watching the television intently. Theo looks so happy, his eyes light and joy filled, body weightless with love and the knowledge that he’s with his family.
His family, that you broke. That you destroyed. That you took from him.
Simon’s thighs are spread wide, their width in his jeans momentarily distracting you before you’re cataloguing his face, his lips, his eyes, the line of his nose, all things you used to know better than yourself, things you used to be able to trace in the dark. Your stomach flips, and the walls of your house look like they’re shaking, the buzzing noise in the back of your head roaring to life, drowning out the sound of Moana singing to sea.
“Mum?” Theo calls, hand out for the popcorn, and you deposit the bowl on the table before you’re backing away.
“I have to go fix something, in the kitchen really quick.” You explain to him, and he shrugs, eyes fixing back on the movie, fingers mindlessly bringing pieces of popcorn to his mouth.
Theo doesn’t notice when you take the stairs instead of turning into the kitchen, but you know Simon does, and you’re not surprised when he’s rapping his knuckles against your locked bedroom door, where you’re sitting with you back against the wood, hands pressed to your head, trying to control your breathing. He knocks again, but there’s only silence to answer him, and it stretches on for miles.
“Sass?” you hear him shift, feel his weight press against the door and at first you think he’s trying to come through but then you realize, he’s sitting against the other side, just like you.
His fingers slide underneath where there’s a gap between the floor and the door, just wide enough for a few fingers, just enough for you to see the glint of his ring.
Without thinking, your own fingers cover his.
Neither of you speak.
#sassy series#simon x sass#peaches writes#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x female reader#ghost cod#ghost x reader#cod fanfic#cod mwii#cod mw2
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Unburdened: Part 11
A/N: slight smut in the second half
Soft textured blankets lined the bed, purposefully draped across the mattress to create a dense layer of cushion and warmth. The chosen blankets had been enhanced with soft and light grazing of essential oils and scents that would help ease the formative symptoms of a powerful heat cycle that would set in likely in the early hours of the morning.
Bucky was almost certain to a fault that by the time you woke up, you would be in the beginning thicket of the cycle that would bring both of you together as mates.
He was almost certain, and in his certainty, had come a compulsion to make and create a safe place for you and himself to be together. He intended to create it as a surprise, he had wanted to make you a nest as a sign of good faith that he could be the kind of alpha you needed and deserved. He desired to do everything he could to provide for you as a good alpha should.
He had done what he could, used what materials had been here and what he had brought with him to create this nest. He used your favourite blanket on the base, the first layer of comfort for you to indulge yourself with before he added the next layers. Bucky had found softer pillows in the storage room of the small basement, and after dusting them off and cleaning them, he replaced the firmer ones. He had draped soft and airy cotton sheets above the bed to create the feeling of a cove that you could have crawled into, almost like it was a den. With the roof structured and the walls crafted with the same kind of sheets he had used for the roof, Bucky had found and strung warm fairy lights above the bed to illuminate the cove in a delicate glow.
When he was done, when he finally perfected the nest he had made for you, he departed the bedroom to find you. You had made your desire to go outside and explore the immediate surroundings known, and Bucky had only allowed you to leave when you promised headily that you would stay close and not be long. It was just enough time for Bucky to create the nest and prepare it for you.
“Y/N,” he called your name after stepping outside and taking the few steps down the porch to the front of the cabin, “are you around?”
He heard movement from the right of the cabin, and he could detect the surging growth of your scent as you drew closer. He knew you were approaching your heat, he knew his suspicion and approximation of when it would arrive was right. You would be in the throes of your heat by tomorrow morning, and the start of the cycle would bring you and Bucky together as a mated pair.
“I’m here.” You stepped through the tree line, your fingers moving close to your chest in reply to his question.
Upon seeing you Bucky had physically relaxed and let out the breath he was holding in, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. He had let out a breath of air in a huff watching you carefully as you made your way toward him before you had stopped a foot away. You were facing him head-on, your hands covered in soft gloves and an oversized toque on your head to stave off the chill this morning that had settled over the area.
You had stolen his jacket from the hook just inside the door, wrapping yourself in the thick flannel and fleece that had brought you comfort in more ways than just warmth. You had been scenting his jacket as if it was himself, Bucky could detect the mix of yours and his as it clung to the patterned fabric. His scent was surrounding you. It was clinging to your flesh and it was woven into your hair that was freely hanging down, even beneath the toque. Bucky had found himself incredibly pleased by the idea of his scent coating and covering you like a blanket, draped and integrated into your clothes and hair. It was innate, the way his entire body seemed to preen at the idea of you being his so wholly and completely.
It was instinctual to be pleased by you and his scent becoming one kind of life force. It was instinctual and so was the soft purr that had been building in his chest and throat, the sound simultaneously soft and powerful.
The sound of his purr had caught you off guard. It had made you falter, rendering you unable to do much of anything but blink and breathe as you tried to process what had just happened. He could see you, he could see the wheels in your head turning as you rendered and registered the sound that left his lips, and only after a moment had you been pulled from the daze you were in.
“You purred.” You signed to Bucky, a wide and breathtaking grin forming on your face. “You purred! That’s amazing!”
You had bound toward him, closing what little distance there was, and snaked your arms around his shoulders. You hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek with an excitement that was as addictive as it was influential. Your happiness for Bucky and his soft purring had heightened his happiness for you in a cycle that seemed to repeat itself.
You were happy that he was happy, and it was the most powerful jolt to his entire being as an alpha. That marker of your happiness due to his happiness was incredibly telling about the two of you as a whole.
“You’re cold.” He muttered into your ear, slipping his arms around your waist to steady you and give you a boost of body heat. “You should come inside.”
“My heart,” you pulled back to be able to sign your reply to him, “is coming quick. I get colder-“
“-Before you get hotter.” Bucky had continued for you, stating what he had known to be a fact. “We should go in.”
“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers grazed his chest, continuing your sign language as you described the area around you. “Everything here is so…peaceful.”
“It’s relaxing.” Bucky cupped your cheek, slowly brushing his thumb back and forth against your chilled cheeks. “Are you hungry? You should eat, you need to stock up on your energy.”
“I am a little.” You mouthed and signed simultaneously, working in tangency to communicate. “And in desperate need of hot chocolate. Want some?”
“You should let me make it for you.” Bucky dropped his hand to the small of your back, astutely directing you back toward the cabin’s entrance.
He held the door open for you, letting you pass and then locking the door behind you both. He subtly studied you while you took your boots off and set them aside, and then removed Bucky’s flannel jacket. You hung it on the hook with nimble fingers, and then you looked back at him with a smile on your face.
“Hot chocolate,” Bucky’s lips twitched and were quickly pulled into a half-smile, “with little marshmallows?”
“And cinnamon.” You squeaked after signing, one of the few sounds you could make that Bucky had interpreted as the closest thing to a chirp.
“Wanna help?” he motioned you toward the kitchen with the tilt of his head, letting you pass again.
You had moved past him with such fluidity, such natural ease in the space, it made Bucky think of the dream he had of you and your future. The kind of domestic bliss he never thought he could have had, and here was the beginning of it. It was laid out before him, the foundations of the endearing life he wanted.
Bucky felt it as if it was the beginning of the winding tale, he felt as though he was standing above the written pages of a book studying and searching the pages of his own story.
You were here, and this place would be your future home.
You were with Bucky, and he would be the best damn alpha he could be for you.
Bucky knew he would be a good alpha, he knew he would be a good father and a good mate. He had felt it deep within himself, the promise and the internal vow he made to be everything you needed.
He owed it to himself, and he owed it to you.
“I love it here.” Your fingers moved seamlessly, conveying your message to Bucky while you were busying yourself with steaming milk.
“It’s quiet, it’s perfect.” Bucky stood close to you, watching you with nothing less than pure devotion.
In the coming hours, you would be affected by the thick and potent force of your heat, and your heat would set off his rut.
In the few hours that would come and go between now and the start of your heat, you and Bucky would spend the night talking. You would conform to one another and relax, preparing for the upcoming storm.
Moments had passed, minutes turned to hours and the sun had already begun to set.
After hot chocolate and food, Bucky and you had returned to the living room where you settled yourselves upon the couch.
The rest of the late afternoon and evening was spent in constant contact. You had shifted your position a few times from where you first started when you were sitting next to Bucky before you had settled yourself in his lap and rested your head against his shoulder.
You would ultimately end up draped across the couch with your head resting on his lap, sighing airily when he stroked your hair and purred softly.
“Bucky,” you tapped your fingers against his thigh, your yawns becoming far more frequent, “can we go to bed?”
“Yes, baby,” Bucky muttered softly, his voice bringing you comfort and security. “I made you a nest.”
“You made me a nest?” You sat up and questioned him, your fingers fluttering as you signed your message to him.
“I hope you like it.” He had remained nervous, running his fingers through his hair. “I tried-“
You had bound like a deer from the couch, unexpectedly running up the stairs with a vigour that had surprised him. Bucky himself had been languidly rising to his feet to follow after you, listening to the soft little sounds that you could make, the squeaks that had presented themselves as chirps.
When he had come upon you in the bedroom, Bucky had stood back in order to observe you at the moment that had transcended itself. He didn’t quite find himself as elated with the nest as he had hoped when he first started making it, however, now that he had seen you in the room it had all changed.
Bucky was quick to learn from your scent and the soft squeaks that rolled from your tongue that you hadn’t just appreciated the nest, but you loved it. He could feel your emotional shifts, he could recognize the spike in your scent that was an indication of how pleased you were about it all. There was no doubt that Bucky had done good, that he had made something you appreciated.
“Thank you, Bucky.” You had turned toward him giving him a physical confirmation of your appreciation for what he had done, for taking the initiative and creating something you had fond comfort in.
“Is it good?” Bucky had spoken and signed simultaneously, knowing that his voice as your future alpha was as comforting as it was invigorating.
“It’s perfect.” You had slowly stepped toward him, your fingers fluttering as you formed your message and communicated silently. “You are a good man.”
When you had stepped toward him you rest your hand upon his chest, your palm flush against him to feel his heartbeat against you. Your eyes met his, the freeing exchange of desire, deeply rooted care reflecting back and forth between you two was just another reiteration that you two were good together.
You two were made for each other.
“Come with me.” You moved your lips to the silent words, mouthing your message while signing. “Come sit with me.”
You grabbed his vibranium hand to lead him to the nest he created. You had led him to the bed to push him to the mattress while you had stood before him. He couldn’t have looked away even if he was taking his last breath, he would have had to look at you.
“You are a good alpha,” your message was delivered with your fingers moving delicately close to his chest, “you are everything I’ve ever needed.”
You stepped between his legs, your hands meeting his shoulders before you raised your right hand and stroked his hair at the nape of his neck. Bucky had leaned forward and rested his head against you, inhaling and exhaling slowly to fill his lungs with every note of your scent. He had filled himself with you as you stroked his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp in slow circles.
“I promise,” Bucky turned his head to place a slew of soft kisses against your stomach and all that he could reach without moving, “I am going to keep you safe. I’m going to take care of you how you need. I’m going to be a good alpha, I’m going to give us the life we both deserve.”
Bucky had woken before you did to the feel of heat radiating through his plain cotton shirt and the dampness of the top blanket that was quickly becoming a vessel for the first symptoms of your heat. He didn’t dare wake you up before he rolled over and checked the time and pulled himself from bed to get you water.
He had moved as quietly as possible, taking one slow step at a time until he had gotten to the lower level of the cabin. As he touched the bottom, he cast a look over his shoulder waiting to hear any sign of you waking up. With reassurance that you were still sleeping, Bucky had shuffled to the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a few of the still-sealed bottles of water, tucking them under his arm. When he had closed the fridge again and turned back to face the staircase, he had heard the sound of you waking up to be hit with your heat. The sound of rustling and the creak of the floor as you got off the bed had been what spurred Bucky to head back.
He had taken the steps two at a time until he had come to the landing, and then he had stopped. He could catch the twisted spikes of your heat and the sudden shift from light and airy to intoxicating and mouth-watering. It was your heat and the change it had on your scent that had afflicted Bucky with the powerful punch of his cycle. It had landed straight in his gut, the jab of an omega in heat that he had recognized as his.
His hindbrain, and likely yours as well, were driving you to not just be together but to give in to the other completely.
Bucky’s long strides took him straight into the bedroom where he had seen the discarded blankets and had been hit with the powerful jolt of your heat. It had slammed into him with the force of a brick wall, the contrasting shift was impossible to ignore and Bucky had no sooner thrown the bottles of water to the bed when you had stumbled out of the bathroom.
“Please…” you mouthed the words, hands tugging on one of his shirts you had borrowed. “Bucky. Hurts.”
“I’m here.” He stepped toward you, meeting you halfway and catching you when you stumbled into his arms. “Let’s get you to bed and then I’ll help you.”
He led you back to the mattress and laid you down, his hands running up and down your waist and hips feeling you quake beneath his touch. His fingertips, both flesh and metal, had dipped and curled against your flesh to bring you temporary relief, even though you would be needing more soon.
“Bucky please…” you pleaded again, barely getting the message across due to your shaking fingers. “Please-!”
Bucky had cooed softly, getting on the bed before you with one leg on either side of yours. He had hovered above you, studying you as you clenched your jaw with need and desire, your body flooded with all-powerful heat. Bucky had reached out toward you, resting one hand against your barely clothed left breast while the other hand grabbed and twisted the material of his shirt that you had borrowed.
“I’m going to take care of you.” He promised you, tugging the shirt up your belly to the bottom of your breasts. “I’m going to make you feel good.”
He had dropped his head and placed soft open-mouthed kisses on your flesh, trailing his lips and sequential heat from his flesh lower to your hips and pelvis. His actions were soft, they were rooted with desire and gentility as he tasted your skin and the reactive scent that lingered. There was no rush for him, no need to dive in immediately, not when he wanted to make this experience pleasant for you.
He could feel the draw of your heat on his own body, kickstarting the primordial and preternatural shift from an alpha who was watching his omega settle into her heat, to an alpha who was directly thrown into a rut because of his omegas heat.
And still, despite the rut that was going to start taking control of him, Bucky was not going to rush this moment for you.
“Tongue,” your hand resting against his head, one-handedly communicating with him, “I need to feel your tongue.”
“I know it hurts, I know what you need.” He muttered against the inside of your thighs, using his tongue to help clean and taste the slick that had been pouring from your puffy pussy lips. It was as if he was tasting honey pure and unfiltered upon his tongue, the way that your slick juices that were steadily being produced as a drive to make him sink into your cunt was unhindered.
“Bucky!” You tapped his head, signing his name with one hand as desperation had become you. “Please!”
He ran his hands up and around your thighs before cupping the back of your legs to pull you closer to himself. He had brushed his lips against the inside of your thighs, occasionally nipping at your flesh while his fingers dusted over your puffy pussy lips. He felt you squirming, he felt your desire and although he couldn’t hear the sound of your pleasure, he knew you had felt it. He had felt every surge and pulse between you two, every emotion meeting the other until it was a delirious mess that hovered like fog.
“I need to be sure, it’s not too late to change your mind,” Bucky questioned you again, he wanted the confirmation that would bring him a reiterated assurance that you wanted him as your mate.
“Yes,” you nodded your head, your sign language a stark reminder that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you, “I want this and is want you.”
“I’ll be everything you need,” Bucky mumbled against your thighs, creating and verbalizing a vow before he had even attempted to put his lips on your dripping pussy. “I’ll give you everything you want. I’ll be good for you.”
You brushed your hand down his hair, stealing his attention from his task. You locked eyes with him and smiled through the haze, casting him an irrevocable look of pure unadulterated affection and desire It was your promise in a way. It was your curated vow that you too, old care for Bucky as he had cared for you.
“I love you.” He mumbled against the inside of your thigh, unafraid to let the words fall from his tongue. “I love you, Y/N.”
It was the pivotal moment the two of you had been expecting, when Bucky’s tongue had met your soaked flesh and your hand gripped his hair.
It was what both of you wanted; what you’d both needed.
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FORGET ME NOTS (Chapter Two)
FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader
SUMMARY settling into The Autumn Court is scary and intimidating especially when a certain fire-blooded male takes a liking to you.
CONTENT WARNINGS vague descriptions of smut, mentions of abuse, Beron (yeah, yall, he's mentioned), Ianthe (cough, cough), vulnerable convos, flashbacks to calanmai, pregnancy, sad Eris :(
AUTHORS NOTE I know this is much shorter than the first chapter, but when I say I struggled to write this chapter, I mean I STRUGGLED. Anywho, I apologize if you guys feel like the pacing of this chapter is kind of fast, I was trying to get a lot of information in all at once so we could move on to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy ;)
SERIES MASTERLIST
As dawn broke over the Autumn Court, the first rays of sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of my chamber, casting a warm glow that promised a new day. Despite the beauty it heralded, my heart was heavy with secrets I carried, especially now, facing the prospect of daily walks with Eris—a constant reminder of the brother he did not know he shared with me in such a profound way.
I found Eris waiting in the courtyard, his posture relaxed against the cool morning air that whispered through the turning leaves. His presence was both a comfort and a curse, wrapped in the guise of courtly duty.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice carrying that ever-present hint of mischief that seemed less charming today, more a wall I needed to scale or perhaps fortify.
I mustered a smile, tight-lipped and brief. “Eris.”
He seemed to notice my cool demeanor, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement—or was it challenge? “Shall we begin?”
The gardens of the Autumn Court were undoubtedly beautiful, but I walked beside Eris with a stiffness in my shoulders, an invisible armor against the potential wounds of getting too close. Every step was a reminder of the line I walked, balancing between necessity and fear.
“It’s beautiful here,” I commented, a safe observation as we passed a sprawling bed of flowers, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted turmoil within me.
“It is,” he responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the path ahead. “The court has its ways of ensnaring you with beauty, all the while hiding its thorns.”
I couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “Sounds familiar,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
Eris caught the words, though, and his smile deepened. “Indeed. But sometimes, we find that even thorns have their purpose.”
We walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of court birds. I felt his gaze on me several times, curious or calculating, I couldn’t tell.
“About last night—” I began, but Eris raised a hand, halting my words.
“Today, let’s set aside the past and dealings of courts for now. Let’s walk, talk, and be unburdened, at least for a moment.”
Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the temporary ceasefire.
Our path took us deeper into the garden, where the foliage grew thicker and the outside noises fell away. Here, the air was cooler, the shadows deeper, and the sense of seclusion more pronounced. Eris seemed more at ease in this part of the garden, his steps unhurried, his eyes occasionally catching the light in a way that softened the usual sharpness.
"This is one of my favorite parts of the garden," he shared, his voice almost contemplative. "There's a peace here that's hard to find elsewhere in the court."
I looked around, taking in the dense greenery that enveloped us, the serene quiet. "It's like a different world," I admitted.
"Yes," he agreed, his gaze lingering on a particularly dense cluster of trees. "A world apart, where one can forget, if only for a moment, the burdens waiting beyond those trees."
As we walked, the conversation slowly shifted from the impersonal — comments on the weather and the garden — to more personal territory. Eris spoke of his childhood in the court, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that painted a picture of a boy who had run through these very paths, wild and unburdened.
I listened, the stories painting a picture of a different Eris, one who had existed before the weight of the court had fully settled upon his shoulders. It was in these stories that I found myself drawn in, my guard lowering just a notch as I began to see the man beneath the prince.
Our walk led us to a secluded spot with a bench overlooking a tranquil pond, a favorite retreat of Eris’s by his own admission. "I come here to think," he said as we sat. "Today, I wanted to share it."
Something in his tone, a rare note of sincerity, made me glance at him. "Thank you," I said quietly, the weight of my secrets making the words heavier than intended.
"Everyone needs a sanctuary," he replied, his voice low, almost reflective. "Perhaps, for now, this can be ours."
As we sat together, the morning light softening around us, a part of me wanted to believe in the sanctuary he offered. But the secrets I held tightened like a noose around my thoughts, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.
For now, this truce would have to do—a brief respite in a garden of hidden thorns.
In the quiet embrace of the garden, Eris and I sat together on a weathered stone bench, enveloped by a tranquil stillness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The morning sun had just begun its ascent, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant landscape around us. The delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant melody of chirping birds.
For what felt like an eternity, we remained ensconced in a shared silence, each lost in our own thoughts amidst the serene beauty of our surroundings. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us, a silent barrier that seemed to grow with each passing moment.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, I could no longer bear the oppressive weight of my thoughts in silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves seemed to mock my inner turmoil, urging me to break free from the suffocating grip of my fears.
Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, I mustered the courage to speak. "Eris?" The sound of my voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away on the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.
At the sound of his name, Eris stirred from his contemplative reverie, his eyes slowly opening to meet mine. There was a fleeting moment of recognition in his gaze, as if he had been expecting this interruption all along.
He regarded me with a cool detachment, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze. It was as though he were silently urging me to articulate the thoughts that had weighed so heavily upon my mind.
Summoning all of my courage, I pressed on, knowing that his patience was not limitless. "I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier now, though the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air.
For a moment, there was silence between us once more, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, with a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Eris inclined his head, granting me permission to unburden myself of the secrets that had long weighed upon my soul.
(Calanmai, Fifteen Weeks Ago)
The night of Calanmai unfolded like a grand spectacle, a symphony of sights and sounds that swept through the Spring Court like wildfire. In the heart of the courtyard, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of tradition and temptation, drawn inexorably towards a destiny I could not yet fathom.
As the festivities reached their crescendo, a hush fell over the gathered throng, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. All eyes turned to the dais at the center of the courtyard, where Lucien Vanserra, with his mane of fiery hair and eyes that glinted like shards of emerald, stood poised to perform the Rite—the ancient ritual that ensured the flow of natural magic within the Spring Court.
I watched from the edge of the crowd, my heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the drums that echoed through the night. Beside me, Ianthe, with her golden locks and beguiling smile, whispered honeyed words in Lucien's ear, her intentions veiled behind a facade of innocence and charm.
But I knew the truth—the truth that lurked beneath the surface, like a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting to strike. And so, with a courage born of desperation and defiance, I stepped forward, offering myself as a sacrifice to protect Lucien from the machinations of those who sought to use him as a pawn in their deadly game.
Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his gaze searching mine for the truth hidden beneath the surface. And in that moment, I saw the flicker of gratitude and something deeper—a spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.
Together, we slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the forest that bordered the Spring Court. In the darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above, we found solace in each other's arms, our bodies moving in a dance of desperation and desire.
With hesitant hands, Lucien reached out to me, his touch tentative yet determined. There was a solemnity in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice we were both willing to make in the name of saving the Spring Court from impending doom. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were navigating uncharted waters, unsure of what lay ahead.
As he undressed me, his fingers trailed feather-light over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. There was a raw intensity to our connection, a primal need that pulsed beneath the surface, driving us forward even as we teetered on the edge of uncertainty.
Our kisses were slow and languid, each one a silent plea for understanding, for absolution. And as our bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, I felt a sense of surrender wash over me, a letting go of the fears and doubts that had plagued me for so long.
With each touch, each caress, we explored the depths of each other's souls, seeking solace in the midst of chaos. And as he spilled his essence inside me, there was a sense of release, a letting go of the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon us.
In the aftermath, we lay entwined beneath the moonlit sky, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the night. There was a peace in that moment, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged around us. And as we lay there, lost in each other's arms, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us—for the Spring Court, for our people.
But such thoughts were for another time, another place. In that moment, there was only us, two souls bound together by circumstance and necessity, seeking solace in the midst of turmoil.
"What is it, little fox?" Eris's voice, gentle yet tinged with curiosity, pierced the tranquil stillness of the autumnal garden, drawing me from the depths of my reverie. The morning sun, a soft orb of golden light, filtered through the crimson leaves of the ancient oak tree under which we sat, casting a warm glow over the secluded corner of the courtyard.
Eris reclined on the stone bench with an air of effortless grace, his features masked in an enigmatic veil of indifference. His gaze, like liquid mercury, bore into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, as if he could discern the turmoil that churned within me with unsettling ease.
For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my confession heavy upon my tongue, like stones in a riverbed. The memory of Lucien, his absence a haunting specter in my heart, mingled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary we had found amidst the autumnal splendor.
Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf me, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me inexorably towards Eris, compelling me to lay bare the truth that simmered beneath the surface.
"I—" I began, my voice trembling like the leaves that danced in the breeze, the words caught in the tangled undergrowth of my uncertainty. With a trembling hand, I reached for my tiny bump, a silent testament to the life growing within me, the fragile thread that bound me to a future fraught with peril.
"Eris… I'm scared," I confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the crisp autumn air, a fragile offering of vulnerability laid bare before him. Tears welled in my eyes, their crystalline trails reflecting the kaleidoscope of emotions that churned within me, a tempest threatening to tear me asunder.
It was a truth I had not yet found the courage to share, the truth about my unborn child, about Lucien, about the tangled web of emotions that threatened to ensnare me in their grasp. And yet, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, as if the act of vocalizing my fears had lifted a burden I had long carried in silence.
“I know,” Eris continued after a moment, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. “When my mother would give birth, my father would have meetings with his counsel and continue about court like nothing important was happening, too caught up in his ambition to even consider loving her. He would leave her to suffer alone, to be in pain, awful pain, alone, while she brought his children into this world,” he took a breath, watching the branches of the great tree sway before looking back to the fountain sitting before us, water streaming softly and glinting in the light of the sun.
“So, once I was old enough to see how wrong it was, I joined her in the birthing rooms. I didn’t care how many times a nurse advised me against it, how much I was beaten afterwords by my father. It wasn’t about any of that. It was about her, it was about not being alone in a time of need, to not be consumed by darkness without a twinkle of light. My mother deserved better. Still does,” Eris sighs, resting his warm hand atop mine on the bench, giving it a small squeeze. “I can not promise profection, I can not promise relief, and I can not promise life, but I can promise that you will not walk in the darkness alone, that I will be right there, by your side as you scream and claw and cry until your babe joins this world. Just as I did for my mother.”
As he spoke, his warm hand found mine on the bench, offering a reassuring squeeze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "I can't promise perfection," he continued, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I can't promise relief, or even life itself. But I can promise that you won't walk through the darkness alone. I'll be there, by your side, every step of the way."
As the last words of our shared confessions lingered in the air, the atmosphere seemed to soften, infused with a sense of understanding and acceptance. The ancient oak tree above us rustled gently, its branches swaying in a silent dance with the breeze, as if nature itself bore witness to the fragile bond we had formed in this secluded corner of the autumnal garden.
In that moment of quiet introspection, my gaze fell upon a delicate forget-me-not that had nestled itself amidst the fallen leaves at the base of the oak tree. Its petals, a soft shade of blue tinged with hues of violet, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, a beacon of fragility and resilience amidst the earthy backdrop of the garden.
A sense of recognition washed over me as I regarded the flower, its presence a poignant reminder of the vulnerability we had both shared in this fleeting moment of connection. Like the delicate bloom that dared to flourish amidst the harsh realities of autumn, we too had found strength in our shared vulnerability, forging a bond that transcended the barriers of fear and uncertainty.
With a gentle smile, I reached out to pluck the forget-me-not from its resting place, cradling it in the palm of my hand as a symbol of the bond we had forged amidst the chaos of our intertwined destinies. And as I turned to meet Eris's gaze, I knew that in this fleeting moment of shared vulnerability, we had found not only solace but hope, blooming like the delicate forget-me-not that dared to thrive amidst the changing seasons of our lives.
TAGLIST
@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta
#fanfic#x reader#angst#acomaf#acotar#acourtofthornsandroses#acowar#acosf#tamlin#tamcien#tamlin acotar#acotar au#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#lucien x reader#elain x lucien#pro lucien#acotar art#acotar fanart#lucien vandaddy#eris masterlist#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader#eris vandaddy#eris x oc#lucien#lady of autumn#beron vanserra#pregnant
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someone ask gege what he thinks gojo's character arc is. quickly. cause what did this fight even accomplish ... ??? i'm literally so baffled. the entire point of gojo is that he is the strongest, that his birth changed the jujutsu world forever, shifted the earth's axis, that anyone and everyone depends on him and his strength to fix all of their problems. that he is completely alone. unreachable. and how does his character arc conclude? ahh yes someone else is just stronger than him and he's second best. that's it. he dies like that. that's how his character arc concludes. we don't get to see him beaten down for once in his life (or the second time i suppose), we don't get to see him ask for help because of it, we don't get to see him unburden himself of the weight of the world he has taken upon his shoulders to share it with the rest, we don't get to see him overcome the loneliness he's been forced into by being the strongest sorcerer alive. we don't get to see him come down to earth from the high heavens the jujutsu world has placed him in, no. we don't get to see him lose his Limitless and Six Eyes to become a normal human being therefore we don't get to see the answer to the brilliant question of "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?" No. the answer is just, someone else was stronger than him. that's all there is to it. we don't get to see him win because he is the strongest and he has never once won in this entire series. wow. amazing writing for your third protagonist gege. bravo.
#can you tell how fcking frustrated i am with gege's character writing? can you?#on top of that gojo doesn't ever even get to tell megumi that he was the one that killed his father. that toji didn't abandon him.#we dont get to see him with yuuji with yuuta with hakari with maki with toge and panda no reaction to nobara no nothing. this is just it.#jjk 236#jjk leaks#jjk spoilers#jjk#gojo#bakma bana
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If that’s okay for you if I may request
Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those
Title: You are you
Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.
Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.
Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!
Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.
But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.
It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.
As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.
But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.
For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.
As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.
Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.
As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.
"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.
"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."
Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.
"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."
A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.
Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.
So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.
Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.
One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.
As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.
You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.
But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.
"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"
Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."
Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.
"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."
But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.
"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."
You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.
"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.
Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"
You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.
Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?
The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.
And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.
With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.
"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"
Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.
You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.
And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.
As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.
With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.
As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.
With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.
And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.
But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.
But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.
You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.
But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.
As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.
He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.
But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.
Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.
"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.
"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."
But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.
Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.
As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.
"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."
Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.
Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.
"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"
Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.
But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.
"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.
For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.
Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.
As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?
"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.
Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."
And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.
Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.
Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?
Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.
"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."
Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.
"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."
Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.
"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."
Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.
"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."
Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.
And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.
Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.
The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.
But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.
With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.
Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.
Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.
But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.
"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.
The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.
Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.
"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."
Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."
Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.
Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."
As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.
"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."
There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.
But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.
For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.
"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.
Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."
But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."
Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.
"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."
Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.
Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.
But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.
Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.
Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.
As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.
"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."
You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."
Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.
"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."
You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.
Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.
You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."
Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.
"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."
You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."
Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.
But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.
The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."
You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."
Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.
You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."
Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.
But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."
Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."
You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.
With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."
Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.
Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.
The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.
Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.
Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.
As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.
"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."
You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.
Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.
And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.
He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.
Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.
And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.
"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."
Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.
You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.
Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.
At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.
And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.
As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.
The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.
And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.
But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.
With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.
Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.
But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.
And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.
Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.
But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.
With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.
Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.
And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.
But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.
With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.
Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.
And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.
With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.
"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."
You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.
You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"
Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"
You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."
But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"
You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.
Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."
You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"
But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."
You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."
Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."
Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"
You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."
Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."
You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.
Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."
You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."
Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."
You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."
But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."
You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"
Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."
You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.
Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”
Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.
But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."
You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.
Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.
Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.
"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.
You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.
"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."
You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.
"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."
Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.
Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.
"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."
You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."
#colonel brandon#alan rickman#marianne dashwood#sense and sensibility#colonel brandon x reader#alan rickman x reader#oc
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[image description: A naked woman stands facing away from us, right hand on hip, with jet black hair, pale skin and a carnation-colored tattoo over her sacrum that reads ‘REBEL’. She has a long curved triangular earring and pale pink lips. Text reads, “53, Patrice Angel ~ The Small God of Lower Back Tattoos”]
Very few people realize that she’s a god, even though she speaks most often to the inebriated and the exhausted, in bolts of sudden cosmic inspiration that lead to an eternity of ink. Her works are ineffable and swift, and yet they would still deny her divinity, all because they’ve listened when other people spoke cruelly about bodies that should never have concerned them. Her works are dismissed as “trashy” and “tasteless,” and still she carries on, because she brings something more precious than pearls, more essential than prayer:
Like every small god of tattooing, she brings ownership. She brings connection.
To have a body is a strange thing. It isn’t something chosen; it’s more something assigned, with only limited customization options. Gender is malleable. Height is not. Hair color is malleable, as Polly and Tesla will gladly demonstrate. Weight is less so than people want to admit it is. Skin color and eye color can be changed, but only temporarily, and there are costs, both socially and physically, for pushing those changes too long or too far. The body is a burden, but it can become a gift, a partner, even a friend.
And for many, part of that friendship is customization.
Patrice offers yet another way to mark the physical form as owned and beloved. Painting the walls of the temple, as it were. And when people dismiss her works as “tramp stamps” or “ass antlers” or whatever other dismissive phrase has popped into their heads, she only laughs. She knows what she means to people.
She means pain and she means pleasure. She means a moment of drunken inspiration that lasts a lifetime, and she means remembering that you were young once, wild and free and unburdened by the fear of censure. She means meaning, and sometimes meaning is the greatest miracle of all.
And all too often, she means a bad tattoo, chosen from a book of plagiarized flash and paid for in sweaty singles left over from the bar crawl, but people shouldn’t hold that against her, or against the people who carry the marks of their time in her dominion branded on their flesh.
She isn’t just for a night. She’s for a lifetime.
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Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely appreciate you, whether or not you rock a lower back tattoo.
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WE WERE HAPPY | max verstappen
A BONUS PART OF BROKEN GLASS AND HONEY SERIES.
CAN ALSO BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT.
PAIRINGS: ex!max verstappen x fem!reader, slight daniel ricciardo x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.1k
SUMMARY: max reminisces the past while still hoping there will be a future with you.
WARNINGS: breakup, allusions to a hidden relationship, feelings of hurt and regret. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 16+]
AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. i’m saying sorry in advance for hurting y’all lmao enjoy the first bonus part of the series!
DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.
Judgement.
The very thing Max had to endure from his waking day to his resting night.
Society had this insatiable hunger for every detail of his life. It was as if he was living in a fishbowl, constantly under the microscope of public opinion. And while some people were fine handling the judgment and the unsolicited advice, he didn’t want to handle them.
Love, to him, was something pure, something tender that deserved to be nurtured in privacy and solitude. He wanted to protect its fragile beauty from the harsh winds of judgment that inevitably blew his way. There was something incredibly sacred about love when it was shielded from prying eyes. When it was allowed to blossom in the quiet corners of life, away from the constant scrutiny of the world. It felt like a precious secret, something that only you and he held dear, and that was what he wanted to protect.
He knew that for something to be protected, it needed a shield.
And that was what he did—a shield. He created one just for you.
He had seen just what would happen when relationships became public knowledge. Every moment was always dissected, analyzed, and twisted to fit the warped narratives society loved to create. Suddenly, the private joys would become a subject of gossip, and the heartfelt moments would be displayed as entertainment for the masses.
He refused to let his love life become another spectacle for the world to feast upon. He refused to subject you to the constant barrage of opinions and criticisms. It wasn't about being deceitful or hiding what you had with him. No, it was about preserving the peace he had found and ensuring that the love flourished away from the harsh glare of public scrutiny.
He was trying to protect his peace. But above all, he was trying to protect your peace.
He wanted the love you shared to be pure, unadulterated by outside influences, and unburdened by the expectations imposed upon him. He wanted it to be a sanctuary, a haven where he could truly be himself without the need to conform to societal norms.
So, he continued to keep your relationship hidden from the public eye, not out of shame, but out of a deep desire to protect the delicate balance you and him had created.
He believed in the happiness within the sanctuary he had built with you, away from the prying eyes of the outside world. Because, for him, that was where his peace and yours truly resided.
It was funny how his mind wandered back to the memories he held dear, even when those memories were filled with bittersweet reminders of what once was. He found himself revisiting the past, reliving moments when happiness was a constant companion, but now, it felt like a distant dream.
You were happy.
He used to secretly walk along the streets with you, back when the porch lights were shining bright and he would wear some ridiculous outfit that was far from his usual style just to keep people away from knowing who he was.
The world felt so much brighter with you. He missed the way your laughter would fill a room and all the things you did before he eventually had somewhere to be. He missed how your touch could heal the deepest wounds within his soul back when he still had all your nights.
And you were happy.
He missed the love you shared, the knowing glances, the silent understanding of each other's hearts.
He could recall a good while back, when he snuck into your apartment. You threw your arms around his neck back when he still deserved it.
You were happy.
Back when it was good, it was good.
No one could touch the way you both laughed in the dark, talking about your family business you were going to inherit someday.
And you were happy.
You used to watch the sun go down on the boats in the water with him. That was sort of how he felt right now. At least now he knew that going down with you was far better than feeling down without you.
But the worst thing of all, far worse than being without you, was seeing you with Daniel.
He hated the voices in his head telling him you were better with Daniel. But as much as he wanted to get away from them, they didn't give him choices because he also knew there was a truth in what those voices said. And that truth was what his tears were for.
'Cause you were happy.
But not with him.
There was a time when he had it all. Love wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling his days with laughter and his heart with contentment. You were both so incredibly happy. He had found his soulmate, his partner in crime, and together you painted a beautiful picture of love.
You shared dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Your love was this incredible force, propelling each other forward, pushing both of you to become the best versions of yourselves. Every smile, every touch, every stolen moment seemed like a chapter from a fairytale.
But then, he made a terrible mistake. He let his fears and insecurities overwhelm him, clouding his judgment and poisoning his relationship with you. He pushed away the very person who had given him so much joy. He let his own demons sabotage the happiness you had built together.
He wondered if he should tell you what happened back in his home race week.
He was staying at his family home before the race weekend started. Sat on the couch with his family and his phone in his hand, he showed your face to his family.
They had asked him where you were but he could only shrug.
He finally introduced you to his family.
But only with pictures because you weren’t there.
Words could not describe what he felt when he saw you with Daniel. God knew how much he wanted to pull you away from him that moment but all he could do was freeze on his spot and look away.
That should've been him by your side.
But the truth was, he messed up. He let the fear of losing what he had due to public judgment consume him, and in doing so, he lost it all. The regret and guilt he was carrying weighed heavy on his heart, reminding him of what he had and what he foolishly let slip away.
All he needed now was a second chance.
And he swore to never lose you again.
You might be with Daniel now, but he wasn't giving up.
One thing was sure, he wasn't going down without a fight.
He wanted you to be the one he would marry someday.
And you would be happy.
SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx
FORMULA ONE TAGLIST: @dreamingofautopia @lpab @matildrry
are you team max or team daniel? vote here. also, message me or comment down below if you want to be added to my taglist! specify if you want to be added to my main (slytherheign) taglist where i’ll tag you in everything i publish in the future or just the formula one taglist.
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen angst#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fan fiction#f1#formula one#formula 1#f1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula one x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo x you#max verstappen x female reader#daniel ricciardo x female reader#formula one imagine#daniel ricciardo x y/n#broken glass and honey: the series#rheignwrites: angst avenue#we were happy#taylor swift#spotify
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