â¨đ¤âHoe, but make it Fashionâ -Tyrađ¤â¨ She/Her | 25 | Black/WOC | bisexual Marvel fangirl but I hop into fandoms Iâm not apart of Aroused, angry, and sometimes sad
On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."
As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.
As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.
May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.
hey, could we PULEEAASEEEEE have some more Laswell and reader with this shitty boyfriend who cut the breaks of their car??? I LOVE IT SM
Part two of this post
Laswell first learns about you through her wife.
The way she gestures as she talks, wide and delighted, describing a âdarling young girlâ from the Saturday crafting class who canât cut a straight line to save her life but somehow coaxes silk peonies into looking real.
Sweet, clever, shy with compliments, bark-laugh when something truly lands. Younger by two decades and still, somehow, a peer.
âYouâd like her,â her wife says, eyes warm. âShe has that dry little humor you pretend you donât enjoy.â
Laswell doesnât pretend. She does enjoy it. She files your name away and pictures paint under fingernails, the quick flash of pride people get when they make something with their hands.
The first time she meets you is on a Wednesday. You arrive with rain in your hair and the careful smile of someone raised to be polite in other peopleâs houses. You say hello like youâre easing into cold water. You say thank you as if the word has sharp edges. You apologize for your shoes even though you took them off at the door without being asked.
Laswell watches. Itâs a habit and a profession and a curse; the way other people hear melody, she hears cadence. How you keep your hands visible while you speak. How you stand a fraction out of armâs reach from everyone. How you flinch, not at a shout or a bang, but at the harmless click of the ice maker, a domestic percussion that has never startled anyone else in this kitchen.
Thereâs a faint mark near your elbow you donât seem to know youâre hiding with the sleeve tug. When her wife asks after it, you offer the sort of excuse that has cut its teeth on repetition. Doorframe. Your laugh is light and brittle. Laswell doesnât smile. She doesnât accuse. She puts the kettle on, because tea is triage and time-buying in the same breath.
You donât tell them about a boyfriend. Not that night, but she learns anyway, because there are other tells.
The way you check your phone face-down, thumb hovering, then think better of it and slide the device into your bag like it might bite you. The way your eyes track the front window as if something in the street could decide to climb inside. The way your shoulders never quite descend from your ears.
On the second visit, you talk about work, your landlord, the neighborâs dog. You never say âwe.â You never say âhe.â Missus Laswell distracts you with ribbon and floral tape, keeps your hands busy so your mind can catch a breath.
When you forget yourself and laugh- a real laugh, sudden and bright- it startles Laswell enough that she looks up from her laptop. She commits the sound to memory like intel: proof of life.
By the third visit, the mark near your elbow has bloomed yellow. Thereâs a new shadow at your collarbone, a fingertip oval half lost under fabric. You move like all your joints ache. You apologize twice for bumping the table when you didnât.
Laswell can find a warlord in a cave in a jungle with a satellite pass and an hourâs notice. She can pull a dirty phone from an alias and a burner from a hiss of metadata. She can ghost a convoy across three borders without leaving dust.
She cannot, by policy and law and the kind of oversight that reads her keystrokes, run your boyfriendâs name through the systems she lives in.
And so she doesnât. She is not reckless with her oaths. She is not a hammer for every nail her life presents.
But she is not helpless, either.
âSpare keyâs in the clay pot by the back steps,â she says casually one evening, as if she is talking about the weather. âIf you ever need the dryer when weâre out.â Her wife picks up the cue without looking and says, âOr if you lock yourself out. Happens to me constantly.â
You nod too quickly, grateful and embarrassed, as if accepting kindness is an imposition.
Laswell shows you the alarm panel like sheâs bragging about the renovation. She enters the code slow enough you can memorize it without meaning to. âIf it ever chirps at you for no reason,â she says, âpress this.â
On your fifth, she pretends she canât find her phone and borrows yours to call the landline. âSo youâve got our number saved,â she says when she hands it back, as if that was the point all along.
Later, her wife tucks a slim, unregistered handset into your crafting tin and closes the lid. âIn case the power goes out and you need to call about your wreath,â she jokes. Everyone laughs. It sounds almost normal.
And still you do not say his name.
Laswell hears it first from her wife, in a kitchen whisper that is both apology and fury. A sighting. A pickup truck that idles outside your apartment too long. A man who comes into the craft store and doesnât buy anything, who stands too close to the display of cutting mats while you ring up a strangerâs paint set with hands that tremble. Laswellâs wife tells her without telling her, because there are lines theyâve agreed to keep even between themselves. The lines hum in the room like a high-voltage wire.
Laswell looks at the calendar. She looks at the door. She looks at the key you still havenât used.
Privacy laws, she thinks, grinding the heel of her palm briefly to her eye. Civil liability. Due process. All the reasons she respects the system and all the reasons it makes her sick. She imagines trying to explain to an inspector why she queried a name in a database meant for other wars. The inspector would be right. The inspector would be cruel. Both can be true.
So she works the problem the way you work a knot too tight to pull: not with force, but with patience and pressure applied in the right places.
She memorizes your route to work, then casually changes her own so she passes the same streets on those mornings. She does not tail; she orbits. She notes the cameras that actually function and the ones that donât. She prints a list of local resources and folds it into a recipe book you like to borrow. She adds two extra blankets to the guest room and pretends itâs because the nights are getting colder.
When you finally say âboyfriend,â it drops into the room like shrapnel. You donât make eye contact. You tell the story as if it happened to someone who looks like you. He worries, he checks, he just gets angry sometimes, itâs not- You stop. You start again. He loves me. He didnât mean it. Heâs sorry.
Laswell doesnât flinch. She nods like a metronome, steady and present, and asks the only questions that matter: Are you safe right now? Do you have somewhere else to be tonight? Do you want me to call anyone? Her wife reaches across the table and covers your hand with hers.
Later, alone in her office, Laswell sits in the dark and stares at the screen she will not misuse. She flexes her fingers against the urge to type. She can find a warlord in a cave in a jungle. She canât look into a shithead across town. The constraint tastes like iron.
When the knock finally comes months later, rain hammering the siding, and you stumble through with cold water and panic clinging to you like a second skin, voice shredding on the words, âHe cut the brakes in my car- â, only then does Laswell finally, finally, let out a breath she didnât realize sheâd been holding.
Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz are at her table. Coffee cups half full. Files ignored. Every head already turned toward the foyer, the atmosphere dropping ten degrees as the words cut the brakes settle into the grain of the house.
Relief slides through Laswell like heat. She can find a warlord in a cave; she canât run a domestic query without setting off alarms. But what good are dogs of war if she canât point them at a problem and say bite?
Thankfully theyâre well trained, though, so in one glance from her, they snap to attention, ready to do so.
Welp. Google's AI horseshit has arrived. And I'm not complying. They can pry my ID out of my cold dead hands. I will simply go elsewhere. Remember folks, DO NOT GIVE THEM YOUR IDs. Do not comply. Resist, fight it, use other browsers or sources beyond youtube and google controlled services. Call them. Email them. Make noise. Fight back.
I've been using Google as my main mail service since 2006, and every single account or service I've ever signed up for was made with that address. For a long time I thought it'd be impossible to divorce myself from Google.
It took less than 5 minutes to switch to a ProtonMail account, less than 2 hours to download and/or offload every byte of data from my Google account, and less than 3 days to change every single account or service I've ever signed up for to the new address.
As of today, the only single one I have that's still tied to it is YouTube. It's the only thing I'd lose access to if I deleted my Google acount entirely.
They really, really want you to believe that it's a hassle to switch to a different email system. But it's not. Most websites and/or services allow you to change the email address associated with it.
I've been using Google for almost 2 decades and it only took a few days to move everything. It's not a painful sacrifice; it's an easy change that, frankly, has absolutely been worth it.
You can and should switch to a free, encrypted Proton email account. You also get all of the below perks. For free. There is no trick. It is paid for by the people with paying plans. I am one of them. The (completely functional) free tier is there to entice you into getting a paid account with even more perks. (It worked on me.) But there's no penalty or pressure for staying with the free account.
Also get your stuff off the google drive and put it on Proton's drive. It is encrypted. Only you with your password can access it. Not even Proton can see what you put in there.
online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.
and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.
there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't think anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.
i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.
Summary: Third part of my Search History series (based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal minds) , the dinner party. The culmination of a month of knowing the boy's browser histories. Not much of a summary, it's pretty much dirty from start to finish.
18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Warning: Fem pronouns and genitals, alcohol consumption, alcohol used during sex, porn, emulating porn, group sex, unprotected sex, tagging dub con just to be on the safe side but not really if you read the other parts you get it, Oral (M & F recieiving), fingering, penetration (F receiving) , allusions to penetration (male recieving), inappropriate use of cigar ashes.
Genuinely this is just me being gross about these men for almost 12,000 words, proceed with caution. Say it with me one more time- irl this would be workplace harassment and NOT sexy. However, these are fictional war criminals who ARE sexy so weâre forgiving it.Â
Original Idea First Prev My Masterlist
made a lil header for the first time these are the vibes of reader and 141 :) (not Penelope's psychical description just her vibes)
pssst see how they're all on their mics in the pics?? its cuz your the voice in their ears :)
When you pulled into a parking spot on John Priceâs street thirty minutes early, you automatically feel squirmy and a little foolish. Foolish because youâd convinced yourself that you were reading too much into things. So much so, that, somehow, the boys seeking out your porn twin had circled back around to you feeling like the unprofessional one. Squirming because youâd found the video theyâd all watched more than once (more than three times) in the last days of their assignment. Barrackâs Bunny Getâs Gang Banged!Â
 (Of course it was a military inspired orgy video, with four men and one woman that looked almost identical to you. Because, JFC, why wouldnât it be? Was this actress in on the torment? Was she taking requests or was this some sort of cosmic joke where the punchline was your own sexual frustration?) Â
Ok, how the hell were you not supposed to read into that?Â
You hadnât been able to watch it all the way through yet, having to pause and take breaks to calm yourself down. The thumbnail alone of your doppelgänger with four sets of hands and⌠other extremities... was enough to tempt you put your car back in drive and go back home. Because you werenât sure you could look any of them in the eyes, and also for the third time in the last hour, you were second guessing your outfit.Â
Because what the hell does one wear to the porn-party with their boss and superiors? (Ok, maybe you should start by stop calling it the âporn-partyâ, because outside of your own finding in their browser histories, theyâd yet to mention any actual porn to you in real life, but what else were you supposed to call this?)
After leaving work, youâd spent a long time debating if you needed to change and, if so, into what, and would it be delusional to put on a matching set? Johnny did say he liked seeing something soft⌠And were your work clothes too stiff? Was the skirt too presumptuous after that video Kyle liked titled Easy Access ? And was it just you or did your work blouse look slightly too much like the one from the office-scene Price had bookmarked? And why the hell was this all you could think about? Strewing your clothes around your bedroom like a teenager before a party, different combinations and options littering your bed and dresser until you got frustrated with yourself and your closet. With a what the hell moment of ambivalence, youâd settled on something comfortable, but switched into a lacy bralette, lying to yourself that it was more comfortable than the one youâd worn to work, and if the lacy strap happened to coquettishly accent your shoulder when your sweater sleeve slipped down your arm? Well, if it wasnât a Porn Party, then no one would notice, and if it was, well itâd be sure to draw some appreciative eyes.Â
Your car was still cranked as you sat slightly down the block from Priceâs house in your casual sweater and hidden matching set, anxiously killing time by alternating between tik tok, instagram, tumblr, and oh yes,  the Barracks Bunny Gets Gang Banged video that youâd been working through thirty seconds at a time because any longer had your overheating and threatening to leave a snail trail on your upholstery. So enthralled and flustered, youâd barely thought of the fact you were quietly playing porn over your carâs bluetooth system, youâd made it to the official halfway mark, and each time youâd switched out to a different app, the âbreakâ was short lived as you went back for more, one hand white knuckling your steering wheel as if this was a particularly good movie with a plot twist you just couldnât miss.Â
So enthralled, that a sudden knocking on your window startled you so bad that you half-tossed-half-dropped your phone with a sound that could only be described as a âsquawkâ  as you slammed the mute button to your carâs stereo. It was as you were turning towards the knocker, that you realized you could 100% catch a public indecency charge for this, and somehow were still only half relieved to find Johnny leaning slightly down so he could meet your gaze through your driver-side window. He had his raincoat on, and a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer as he looked in on you with a cheeky smile and raised brows. When you just stared up at him like a deer in headlights, mentally trying to figure out just how long heâd been there and if from that angle he couldâve seen your screen and how good was the sound proofing on your carâŚ. As you ran those mental calculations, Johnny simply knocked again and this time added a downwards motion with his cigarette, requesting you to roll down the window.Â
Youâd never noticed how slow your windows descended as the two of you held eye contact (awkward on your side, delighted on his), until there was no longer a pane of glass between you. The cool, damp night breeze carried the scent of tobacco and some kind of Old Spice fragrance into your little car as you looked up at the Scotsman. He seem amused, but happy to see you, "Coming?"Â
Your brain short circuited for a moment. Were youâŚÂ cumming? You stared at him wide eyed, convinced youâd misheard him.Â
"What?" Was all you managed to respond with, your brain still trying to scrub filthy, lewd images from between its lobes, like a community service volunteer cleaning graffiti off subway walls. Johnnyâs eyebrows only raised higher with his signature, Canât wait to tell Ghost about this look, as he took another deep puff of his cig.Â
"Are ye coming inside, hen?" He clarified slowly with that shit eating grin after blowing his smoke away form you- what a gentleman, "Or areâye planning to sit out here all night?"Â
"Oh, right." You mumbled, resisting the urge to scrub your hands across your face to physically redirect your thoughts. Instead, you nodded and started gathering your things, "Yeah, yeah, Iâm coming inside."Â
"Good, Si was getting impatient." Johnny grinned, stepping back so you could open your car door after you fished your phone from the passenger floorboards and cut the engine. Si? You hadnât head that nickname for Ghost before, hell, you still excusively called him Ghost to his face, because youâd not received permission for anything else. Simon was personal, Si⌠was intimate...  He watched you expectantly, snapping you out of your thoughts, and when you only responded in silent confusion, he reached inside the still open vehicle and tapped the buttons, "Window, bonnie, s'raining."Â
Cheeks heating in mild embarrassment, you quickly cut the battery back on so you roll up the window and then get out. Youâd always been a little scatter-brained, prone to being in your own little world, but this was getting excessive. Maybe all the porn really was melting your brainâŚÂ With the windows up and double checking the car was off, you finally got out of the car. Johnny immediately took the plate of brownies out of your hand in the guise of gentlemanly conduct, but actually snuck one from under the plastic wrap before you could scold him. Â
"Why so grim? Yâlook like yer marching off to war." Johnny seemed pretty pleased with his own little joke, his free arm resting in the small of your back to guide you up Priceâs porch step and into the house like you might run off down the street without his guidance. You were considering it anyways.Â
"I donât look grim." You shot him a look but didnât shake off his arm, nor could you prevent the smile that was fighting at the corners of your mouth, snatching the brownies back from him before he could snag another, happy to have something to fidget with as you smoothed the plastic wrap back into place.Â
"No, you most definitely do not." And there was the other sergeant, Kyle, holding the door open for the two of you. Smiling as charmingly as ever, Kyle was already taking the dish out of your hands only to hand the dessert back to Johnny to carry off somewhere else. Then, he was on you, "Glad you could make it, love. Donât listen to Soap, you look beautiful.â âHey! Dinnae say she couldnât be grim and beautiful.â Soap called back, already on his way deeper into the house.Â
"Such a shameless flirt." You scoffed just loud enough to drown out Johnny with your own teasing smile, a more usual routine amongst all the overthinking youâd been doing, as Gaz helped you out of your coat. Maybe you were imagining the sensuality, but you were not imagining how his touch lingered, and how his fingers grazed the fabric of your sweater as it was exposed. Hell, he was basically unwrapping your raincoat like it was the gift wrap on a present, "Donât look half bad yourself, though."Â
All the boys looked good in their civilian clothes, hell theyâd all look good in anything (or nothing⌠Focus. Focus.). But Kyle? In his stylish and tailored clothes? He always looked heâd walked off a J. Crew magazine cover when he wasnât on base. His burgundy sweater looked like something you wanted to rub your cheek against, soft and warm and it fit him like a glove. Gaz grinned at your little praise, not speeding up his maddeningly slow pace of peeling off your raincoat and adjusting your hair for you afterwards, which distracted you just enough that you didnât notice the others watching his little show. One of his lingering fingers seemed to all together abandon itâs mission, instead tracing the arced lace strap of your (meticulously chosen) lace bralette strap that had fallen off your shoulder. You watched Kyleâs finger follow the flowery lace pattern for a moment before fixing back on your shoulder with an audible snap! that made you jump a little from the sting.Â
This time you did see Johnnyâs amused grin and slightly devious eyes as your own went wide and you let out a little yelp, snapping your eyes over your soldier at the sergeant. Gaz was quick to soothe the ouch, humming at you before you could get disgruntled while his warm palm cupped the curve of your shoulder and rubbed the slightly stinging skin softly. And if you were still reading into things (you were) you could swear it was just for him to have a reason to touch you more.
"Sorry, love, had to fix it, was bothering me." Was the only explanation offered for his actions. Once your jacket was off, Gaz hung it on the foyer hooks, it looking comically small and feminine between all four of theirs. You knew your brain was melted from all the porn when the visual immediately reminded you of the stupid videoâs thumbnail picuture⌠the pretty, feminine actress with four huge actors surrounding her⌠Fortunately, Kyle tugging you further into the house pulled you out of your dirty-thought spiral.Â
In the kitchen, John Price was waiting, marinating a platter of steaks. You couldnât help the amused quirk of a smile at seeing the apron tied over his civilian clothes, an unlit cigar in the chest pocket for easy access. The captain smiled first to Gaz with an approving nod, and then to you with a teasing smirk, "Thought youâd sit out in your car all night."Â
"Iâm early." You defended yourself, cheeks now must be permanently stained into a flush with how easily they managed to fluster you. Gaz parked himself right beside you, leaning on the counter but standing so close that his shoulder was slotted slightly behind you, half his chest pressed to your back, distractingly proving your early guess that his sweater was, in fact, very soft.  It took the steam out of your vehement defense, "You said, eight. Itâs 7:50."Â
"Yeah, but youâve been sitting out there since 7:30, love." Kyle chided. You wondered if it was the whiskey he was sipping that gave him the courage to puncuate his teasings with a slight pinch to your hip that made you squirm. His closeness kept you from slipping away as he shifted his attention to his captain, that easy going smile still on his face, "She brought brownies."Â
"I know. Johnnyâs already had two." Price smiled, slathering another steak with marinade and massaging it into the meat with tender but deliberate ministrations of his long fingers that, for a moment, made you jealous of a dead slab of beef. His eyes caught yours staring at his hands, chuckling as he cleared his throat, "We had something else in mind for dessert. Very sweet of you though."Â
Something Price said made Kyle chuckle like it was some kind of inside joke, his fingers still on your hip, tracing little circles that were almost as distracting asâŚÂ whatever the hell it was that Price was doing to the steaks.Â
"Now, go off and relax. Iâm about to cut onions and we donât want to mess up that pretty make up." Price ordered, shooing you off towards his stocked bar cart, before adding quietly enough you thought you might have hallucinated it, "Not yet, anyways."Â
__
Later, after youâd been supplied a drink and deposited on the couch with Ghost to watch what you were pretty sure was a rugby match (you were a little distracted by his warm arm draped over your shoulder, fingers tracing the same floral lace Gaz had).Â
"Gonna have to make some more room, love." Kyle grinned, looking down at you, holding his drink in one hand and one of your brownies in the other. You looked around yourself, already sandwhiched between the armrest of the sofa and Ghost who hadnât closed his legs even a fraction when Johnnyâd led you to the couch originally. Wasnât much room to make room with.Â
"Oh, I can just-" you started, standing carefully as to not spill the drink Kyle had made for you. Before you could step away to claim the plush arm chair by the mantle (a safe distance from Simonâs thigh against yours and Kyleâs lingering touches), a strong arm wrapped around your middle and tugged you right back down. Instead of your original seat, however, it was Ghost who had pulled you side saddle into his lap, his other hand steadying the drink in yours. Gaz chuckled, taking the spot you had been sitting in, both men unbothered by your startled yelp.Â
Despite the fact that Simon had forecully and silently pulled you onto his lap, when you gave him a bewildered look, he seemed not to even notice the fact you were sitting on him, his amber eyes focused on the fame playing even as his fingerâs kneaded distracting little circles into the plushest part of your waist, his arm still wrapped around you like you might try and escape. And when you just blinked at him, his only offering was, "Thaâs Priceâs chair."Â
"Ye look comfy." Soap chided as he came around the corner with a beer and a lo-ball glass of some sort of whiskey, beer for himself and the (presumably) bourbon was given to Simon, both however, were offered to Simon, "Crack that for me, Si?"Â
You watched, wide eyed and enamored, as he lifted his mask over his nose and used his teeth to crack the bottle open before taking a long swig and then handing it back to Johnny in exchange for the whiskey. You had a front row seat to the bob of his Adamâs apple, and the way a scar split the top corner of his lip vertically (you wondered if you would feel the scar if he was kissing you, focus, damnit, focus). Soap noticed your expression and the blush in your cheeks with a twinkle in his eyes, " âs not nice to stare, bonnie."Â
You stared a moment longer before forefully shaking yourself out of the stupor and taking a swig of your own drink, thankfully ice cold. The momentary pause allowed you to dip back into your usual well of sarcastic wit, offering the Scot a raised eyebrow, "Youâre just jealous Iâm not staring at you."Â
Johnny only shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, making his broad chest only seem broader, his grin showing just enough teeth to appear wolfish as his thigh pressed into Ghostâs and therefore the round of your ass, "Aye, maybe I am." Â
"Ignore him, heâs been watching too muchâŚ" Simon started swirling then sipping his bourbon before tugging his mask down again afterwards. You knew the answer to his trail off and your internal body temp went up five degrees, alarm bells ringing in your brain. Johnny elbowed the taller man, so Simon only shrugged and finished lamely with, "stuff."Â
Porn. Heâs been watching a lot of porn. You all have.  I know that. You know that. We all know that. You brain chanting in time with those stupid circles he was rubbing on your hip as Johnny took the liberty of adjusting the hair off your shoulder, his voice a challenging chide,  "Whatâs that look for, bonnie? Whatâd you think he was gonna say?"Â
Your mouth opened, and then closed, and you were saved from answering by Price coming into the living room, declaring the steaks were marinating so they had a while to just hang out. He gave Kyle a shoulder squeeze in passing, and offered you a warm smile before settling in his chair by the mantle. The chair youâd tried to escape to earlier.Â
For a get-together planned around watching the game, it occurred to you that not a single eye was on the TV at the moment. Instead, you realized they were all on⌠you. Price in his chair, smoothing his beard. Simon still had you on his lap, amber eyes carefully scrutinizing your expression as you flicked your eyes over to Gaz, who was watching you- or rather the rise and fall of your chest as he pulled your legs into his lap- with a slightly cocked head, a small smile on his lips. And finally, Johnny, whoâd not stopped fidgeting with your hair and the neckline of your sweater.Â
Once again, you were uncharacteristically at a loss for words, squirming a bit on Simonâs lap as you tried to figure out what to say or if to say anything at all, because all that was coming to mind right now were two options. Are yâall trying to fuck me? and Howâs the weather?. Both options made you want to crawl in a hole and stay there.Â
"Youâre quiet tonight, sweet, something on your mind?" Price raised his eyebrows, still smirking, knuckles tapping against the armrest, "Something you wanted to tell the boys, right? What we talked about in my office?"Â
How were you supposed to broach the topic of their internet history, essentially admit to knowing about your XXX twin, while sitting on your superior's lap, having your hair played with, and your calves massaged through your leggingsâŚÂ
"No, no. Just⌠enjoying my drink." You muttered, draining the rest of the beverage before leaning over to place the empty glass on the side table, which was a mistake because it just had you practically sprawled over the three men on the couch, "What game are we supposed to be watching tonight?"Â
"Never mind that, hen." Johnny shrugged, clicking the TV off before tossing the remote to Price, "Weâve been into aâŚÂ different form of entertainment lately."Â
Yeah. I know. The problem is that I know. You thought to yourself, now not even able to pretend to watch the screen, forced to focus on all the hands and eyes on you.Â
"Letâs stop dancing around it." Simon gruffed, resting his head against the back of the couch, his fingers trailing from your hip to the top of your thigh, "Sheâs not daft."Â
"Lieutenant Riley, always the subtle one." Gaz rolled his eyes before sliding his eyes over to Price who gave him an affirmative nod, not unlike they would do in the field, and then his eyes were back on you, "So, we know you arenât blind, love, sure you noticed something going on here."Â
You werenât sure if he was talking about what youâd dubbed the porn party or if he was just talking about the general bond between the men that went deeper than just elite squad, so you just nodded, hoping he would proceed with some more context clues⌠any keep rubbing his thumbs around your calf. It was not helping you focus. Kyle just grinned, his hands gently roaming up your shins to your knees and then back down, "Well, weâve noticed something, too, love. You."Â
"Me?" You parroted, half sincere half forced faux shock, that sent you further back into Johnnyâs chest, the Scot who was still fiddling with your hair had also pressed his nose into the crown of your hair to smell whatever products you used. "Donât sound so surprised, bonnie." He murmured into your hair before leaning past you to Simon, planting an open-mouthed,Â
wet kiss against the larger manâs mask right beside your own face. Your mouth dried out despite just finishing your drink, tongue seeming too big for your mouth, eyes flicking rapidly between them and Gaz. You were beyond flustered, your stomach twisting in a both nerve wracking and enticing way. You didnât know where to look, or if you should look, or look away. You didnât want to look away, seeing Soapâs tongue find Simonâs mouth even through the cotton. Did they want the illusion of privacy and if so, how were you supposed to give them that when Simon was half groping you at the same time Johnny was lapping at his tongueÂ
through the balaclava? Johnny slid his eyes to you, barely breaking from Ghost, "Sâalright, hen, donât mind you watching us. After all, sâonly fair."Â
Your eyes widened, owlishly turning to Gaz though Simon kept you from slipping off his lap. Was that them telling you that they knew you knew? Was this some confession about finding your doppelgänger and watching enough of her content to pay off her car? He rolled his eyes at the other sergeant, his easy going smile returning when his eyes came back to you.Â
"Theyâre so impatient." He chuckled with a what can you do shrug, as if theyâd simply skipped to dessert (innuendo intended) instead of started sloppily making out with you in their lap. He quit massaging at your calves, instead using his middle and pointer fingers to trace patterns (you could swear it was a mimic of the lace pattern heâd traced earlier). Your eyes flicked over to Price, who was still just watching, leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin back to Gaz as if telling you to pay attention. Sheepishly, you turned back to Kyle, "So, weâveâŚÂ discovered this person online, and she looks⌠so much like you. Genuinely, love, itâs uncanny. And thereâs this video she made that really caught our attention-"Â
"She knows the one." "Aye, Sheâs seen it."Â
Both Price and Johnny answered at the same time. Price, because youâd brought up the issue to him in his office. And Johnny⌠had apparently been standing outside your car longer than you thought and could see your screen. Your cheeks had to be glowing by now. Kyleâs smile just grew, flashing perfect white teeth at you as he leaned in closer, "Perfect, then we can skip that explanation. But once we saw it⌠well, it kind of got under our skin. Youâve gotten under our skin, love." Â
Johnny and Simon hadnât stopped though they had shifted and suddenly there lips were back and forth on each other, and also over your neck and shoulders as you tried fervently to keep your eyes on Gaz as he leaned closer, pulling the sleeve of your sweater off your shoulder to expose that lace strap again, "And, judging by how youâve been acting lately, weâve gotten under yours too."Â
"Yeah. Yeah. Thatâs one way to put it." You admitted in a released breath, eyes flicked down to Simon whoâd been kissing and sucking right at the curve of your shoulder for several long seconds, like if he wasnât already under your skin, heâd supplant himself there personally. Johnny wasnât going under your clothes, but his hands were tracing the line of your spine, finding the waistband of your leggings, nosing into your hair so he could kiss the shell of your ear. All while Kyle just kept that pretty grin on you, somehow putting you at ease and twisting your nerves even more.Â
"And, truthfully, we could sit here talking about it all night, OrâŚ"  And Kyle Garrick, with that unfairly, stupidly charming smile of his, made a veritable orgy sound as commonplace and sensible as going to the pub afterwork, and you found yourself dumbly nodding along to his easy words before you anxieties, logical and/or otherwise, could convince you that group sex with your coworkers was probably not the most professional way to spend a Friday night. But, damn, the sparkle in those pretty hazel-brown eyes was doing a good job of easing any worries that charming smile had missedâŚÂ
Price finally spoke up again, but stayed in his chair, "You're nodding, sweet, but we gotta hear it. Out loud. Do you want this?"Â
When you looked over again, John Price was looking wholly the Captain he was. If you thought he was making a point to manspread in his office earlier in the day, now⌠Now he was just showing off. He looked like he was posing on a throne, legs spread, elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he settled in, watching the three soldiers and you on the couch.  Seemingly completely nonplussed by his subordinate employeesâ heavy petting on his couch.Â
Your internal reflection was swift. You were already getting felt up. If going into the office was going to be awkward on Monday, it was going to be awkward regardless of whether or not you cut it off at groping. You might as well let them relieve the nagging itch in the back of your mind while you were at it. So after another dumb nod, you found your voice again, "Yes. Yes. I want it. Please."Â
"So polite." Johnny murmured, taking you verbal confirmation as permission to slip his hands underneath your clothes, mapping your bare skin, "And youâll say something if itâs too much?"Â
"Yeah, yeah." You nodded fervently, turning your head to try and catch one of their lips, the sweater had been stifling for the past hour, but now it was itching at your feverish skin. Johnny just smiled, helping you out of the thing.Â
"Good girl." Simon nodded before his amber eyes lit up a bit, "Well, would you look at thaâ."Â
His fingers dipped under the lacy band of the bralette you were wearing. Johnny had already run his hands over the fabric while Kyle just whistled lowly. Price was the one who spoke up about it, "Did you put that on just for us, sweet?"Â
"Just in⌠just in case." You nodded in a breath, leaning back into Johnny as he started rolling your leggings down, exposing the complimentary lace waistband of your panties. Another round of appreciative comments and touches, Simonâs teeth nipping at the curve of your neck again.Â
"Too good to us, love." Gaz shook his head, helping his fellow sergeant get your leggings all the way off and tossing them somewhere out of sight, pressing kisses to the top of your thighs, then your knees, and finally one too the inside of your ankle. " So you suspected all along. Howâd you see the video?"Â
"Go on, sweet, fill him in." Price prompted with that stupid little smirk, the one that tugged the corners of his beard up. The one that made you want to get on your knees and do anything to earn one of those approving nods.Â
"I-I can see the websites yâall visit." You admitted breathlessly, watching as Kyle kissed his way back up your legs, how those eyes never broke contact with yours, "I have to clear them for security purposes. Iâve.. Iâve seen all the videos yâallâve been sharing with each other."Â â
All of them. SoÂ
thatâs why youâve been so quiet, bonnie?" Johnny hummed, a smile pressed into the base of your neck, watching Simon nip at your neck, teeth digging in harder every time, making you whimper which seemed to only egg Ghost on.Â
"Flattered or offended?" Kyle asked, but his smile told you he already knew the answer. Because, with you sprawled over the laps of three men, if you were offended you had a funny way of showing it.Â
"I shouldâve been." You gulped after breaking off Johnnyâs lips for a moment, adding on, "Offended."
"But youâre not?" Price prompted, head cocking to the side as he fiddled with lighting his cigar.Â
No. For better or for worse, this roundabout workplace harassment approach had really worked on you. So you just shook your head, opening your mouth as Simon pulled his mask up and caught your lips, tongue domineering itself into your mouth almost instantly.Â
"So cooperative, nice change of pace." One of them hummed, but you couldnât place it, too focussed on the fingers kneading at your inner thighs, slowly working your legs open into a spread so your kneeâs were hooked over each side of Simonâs wide spread legs, which exposed the dampened gusset of the deliberately chosen panties.Â
"All right, dealâs a deal, Garrick," Simon all but growled into your mouth, your eyes fluttering open to see his amber eyes watching Kyle who was smirking like heâd just gotten away with something, "You get first taste. Warm âer up for us."Â
Oh. Oh. Just diving right in. Though Gaz was ever the gentleman, charming through and through.Â
"May I?" He asked softly, waiting with his fingers hooked in the lacy waistband as he sunk to his knees in front of you. Your breath picked up just from the sight, and it was only Simon holding you to him that kept you from leaning down and catching a kiss from Kyle as well. Since that wasn't an option, you jerked your head in a clumsy nod, punctuating with the cant of your hips towards him that just made him chuckle as your panties were discarded towards the same direction as your pants.Â
"Please." You whined, the tone making all of the men snap their eyes up to you, the expressions all reading make her do it again. You didnât even have time to adjust to the cold air on your exposed bits before Gazâs hot mouth was covering the sensitive flesh, drawing a gasp as you threw yourself back into Simonâs chest. Ghost only hooked his chin over your shoulder, lazily watching as Gaz licked a flat stripe, first dipping into your entrance, teasing a bit as deep as he could get. Your clit got a little attention from his nose bumping it, make you breathe sharp breaths with little clipped moans. But when he withdrew and  traced his tongue  back up, finding your clit and slipping under the hood, your attempts at demure noises were nixed by a sudden and echoing moan.Â
"That good? Yeah, Gazâs pretty skilled with âis tongue." Johnny nodded, nuzzling at your other shoulder as he watched on too, palming himself through his jeans, "Meticulous thing he is."Â
"Howâs she taste, sergeant?" Price asked, adjusting himself as well. Kyle surfaced for only a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers when you whined in disappointment.Â
"Better than the bloody brownies, thatâs for certain." He hummed, his corners of his mouth glistening, eyes flicking up to you as he rested a cheek against the inside of your thigh. You tried to be offended at the diss to your baking skills, but as Kyle dove back in, a skillful swirl and lewd slurp killed any smart comment on your tongue, or rather on his. You werenât sure if it was even possible to actually decipher, but you were certain he was spelling barrackâs bunny over your clit with his tongue, letter by unraveling letter. All four men seemed to delight in how your breathing sped up, how your head seemed so heavy to hold up that it flopped backwards into Simonâs shoulder. Kyle tolerated your hips rolling twice, but his chivalry ended the third time, reaching up and placing Simonâs hand at your waist to hold you still for him, while his hands kept your thighs from closing around his head. The message was clear. Anything you were getting would come from him and only him. You recalled how so many of his preferred videos revolved around control, pleasure dom, a term you had had to google. All you could do was stare down between your legs and watch him devour you.Â
"If she tastes half as good as she looksâŚ" Johnny trailed off, catching the corner of your mouth for a short kiss, his fingers tracing the lace pattern right over your perked nipples, at least Simon was lenient enough to let you arch your chest into the touch, "Right treat you are, hen."Â
Your first climax was a quick thing, a full body clench and vulgar moan clawing its way out of your throat, your thighs trembling around Kyle as he licked and slurped his way through your high, collected anything you put out for him. His movements only slowing when your body relaxed back against Ghost. He gave your pussy a comedically sweet kiss before sitting up, and it was only then that he pulled you down to him for your first real kiss from him. It was tender and sweet, with the appropriate amount of tongue, almost the kind of kiss youâd give on a really good first date, if it wasnât for the fact you could taste your essence on him, your cum making his lips slippery against yours.Â
"Called dibs on that weeks ago." He grinned, breaking the kiss to watch his fingers to dip between your legs, collect some more of your wetness and pop it in his mouth, eyes closing like he was savoring a fine wine. Â You watched him with mouth agape and eyes half lidded, "Alright then, Tav, surprised you held yourself back this long, go on then."
Johnnyâs smile was all teeth as he descended upon you, kissing any of your slick off your mouth that Kyleâd left behind like he was getting a sneak preview. Though, for someone so often ridiculed for being impatient, he was anal about this kiss. Making sure to try every angle of his mouth against yours, then repeating his tests with tongue, and then once more splitting your attention with Simon. Ghost played along for a while, letting his sergeant explore your lips and your chest before he nodded down to the floor when Kyleâd been.Â
"Keep yourself busy, Johnny." Was the clipped order, as he took over kissing you, one large hand splayed along your face to keep you drawn to him, as if you might try to get away. He had nothing to worry about, the whiplash of switching partners and desires had you craving attention anywhere you could find it. You were already putty on his lap with Johnny taking over Kyleâs place between you legs. While it was still overwhelmingly pleasurable, his actions were more sloppy than Kyleâs. His strategy was to barrage your nerves as opposed to Kyleâs precision attacks. It still had you whining and squirming, which was enough to short circuit your focus. Johnny didnât seem to mind you instinctively grinding into his face, in fact it only seemed to encourage him. Simonâs job was to keep you from melting off his lap, which he did while his kisses became harder and harder, sometimes biting at your bottom lip, "Now you just taste like his shitty beer, youâll lemme fix that, wonât you, lovie?"Â
When you nodded, he smiled, tugging the balaclava all the way off. You didnât even have time to properly admire how handsome he was under the thing, didnât have time to pepper those scars with kisses or wax poetic about how all his unconventional features played together harmoniously to make him exceedingly handsome. Before you could do any of that, heâd taken a sip of his bourbon, swallowing as he watched you watch him.Â
"Open." He directed, nodding when you obediently dropped your mouth open. He tipped your head back at the same time as he took a longer draw of his bourbon, holding it in his mouth for a moment before pulling your lips up to his and kissing the liquor straight onto your tongue, burning off anything and anyone else. When heâd given you every last drop, he pulled back and manually shut your mouth, "Go on and swallow for me, donât waste it. âs hard to get this stuff âround here."Â
Bourbon wasnât often in your rotation for drinks, the taste smoky and sharp just like the man that had kissed it into your mouth, but one look into Simonâs eyes had you nodding again. As you forced yourself to swallow it, the burn going all the way into stomach, stoking the fires the men had started in you. After he watched your throat bob, he nodded approvingly.Â
"Good fuckinâ girl." He praised which made the burning sting worth it, catching your lips in another punishing kiss when you moaned from Johnnyâs sloppy slurping. Simon hummed, finding that your mouth now tasted like his preferred pour, "Much better."Â
After kissing the taste of his bourbon off you, he pulled back for a moment just to watch you whine and grind against the sergeant between both sets of your legs. After a moment of appreciation for the garment against your skin, the bralette theyâd all liked so much was roughly yanked down,  the straps down your shoulders while the cups and band bunched up under your now exposed breasts. Johnny was watching from the floor, his big blue eyes crinkling and lips pulling into a smile against you, while Simon ran his hands over your bare chest, stopping to squeeze and pinch when he pleased. âJohnny-Â
Ghost-" You almost shrieked not sure who to call too or thank for the electric static in your nervous system, arching your chest up into his hands, and when the movement moved your hips away from Johnny, he just took your legs off Simonâs knees and hooked them over his shoulders, keeping you firmly in place, "
Shit."Â
"Language, sweet." Price teasingly scolded from his chair, still stroking his beard from his arm chair. Gaz and Simon just chuckled when you pouted through another throaty moan. Simon was nudging your cheek with his nose, skimming his teeth across you jawline between kisses that trailed fown your neck, sucking marks that would stay for weeks, always finding his way back to what seemed to be his favorite spot in the curve of your neck. âShouldâve seen the Sergeants when they first found that video, acting like theyâd won the fuckin' lottery. Been wanting you for months but thaâ really sealed the deal, lovie, couldnât even get through the first quarter before this one was panting and rutting. Like it was the first time theyâd ever seen a dirty video. Ainât that right, Johny?âÂ
It was the most youâd ever heard Simon talk in one go, every couple of words grunted and groaned out between kisses across any skin he could reach with you sitting back against him, breath hotly fanning along your neck as he went. And when he finished the thought, he reached down between your legs and fished the sergeant up by his mohawk, leaving both you and Johnny whine at the loss of contact. Simon just laughed coldly and gave Johnny a prompting jerk, much rougher than heâd been touching you, âYou gonna answer us, Johnny?âÂ
âAye. Aye. Knew I had to get maâ hands on ye.â Was all he managed before diving in for another taste of you, surfacing briefly again to relay a message up to Simon, half moaned half growled,Â
"This cunt's like fucking silk, Iâll tell you, Lt.â Strong hands clenching into the plushest parts your thighs holding them around his face like he wasÂ
hoping heâd suffocate down there, "Ye gotta get in here, ainât nothing like it."
"You want that, sweetheart?" Simon hummed, moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, "Want me in you?"
"Fuck. Yes, fuck me." You rambled which just made them chuckle at you as one of your hands when into Johnnyâs mohawk and the other palmed at your breasts. Johnny moaned when you tugged at his hair, sending subtle vibrations up with his tongue that almost sent you undone again. Simon easily pushed you down his legs, still supporting you with one hand as Johnny kept going, and freeing his erection with the other. Gaz and Johnny had worked hard to warm you up, to break you in for them, but Simonâs dick threatened to break you, period. He was just as thick as John, but almost as long as Kyle, cut, veiny, with a pretty pink tip. Como se dice, how you say⌠hung like a fucking horse. Â
He mustâve seen your wide eyes, the subtle fear in your eyes that was chased away when Johnny drug his teeth over your clit with just enough pressure to make you choke on your own spit. Ghost reached down intermingling his fingers with your folds and Johnnyâs tongue, "Weâll start easy. Just the tip, lovie. Johnnyâll handle the rest for now."Â
They did just that. He held his hand out to Johnny, letting the man on his knees spit into his palm and then rubbed it against his dick, before pulling you back against him once more. Before he even attempted any sort of penetration, he slid his erection through your folds a couple of times just to collect some more slick,  "You are just like silk, Johnny was right."Â
He grunted into your neck with another few slippery passes before reaching down as easing the tip into you. He was thick, enough so that it stung a bit as you tried to adjust. Despite his soft voice and unusually soft eyes, Simonâs control slipped, rutting a bit before you were ready. At you uncomfortable whine, Johnny mirrored the sound in disapproval of your upset, immediately going to remedy the hurt with his tongue, servicing both you and Simon with a flat lick up Simonâs exposed length and then up to your clit to help you relax.Â
"Breathe for me, lovie." The Liutenant ordered, like he was trying to be gentle with you but his jaw was gritted, trying even harder not to snap his hips against yours and bully his too-big dick into your hole, "Try to relax for me."Â
You were panting, cheeks puffing with your breaths, not sure if Johnnyâs tongue was helping or just tensing you up more, but God, it felt good and you werenât going to be the one to tell him to stop. Not yet at least. You got another inch in, which earned a kiss to your neck.Â
" sâall I can take right now." You breathed, reaching back to support yourself against him.Â
"Better than I did on my first go, eh, LT?" Johnny grinned up before kissing up the length of Simonâs cock that wasn't inside of you, flicking his tongue over the stretched rim of your entrance that was still trying to clench around the sudden intrusion, "Sheâs tryinâ so hard."Â
By the look in his eyes, he wasnât talking about you. The She in question was just your pussy. Simon nodded along, hissing curses into your hair.Â
"Alright, lovie, alright, no more for now." He gritted out, " âm gonna move now, just try and stay loose as you can for me."Â
Humming in agreement, you tried to let yourself be pliant against him, feeling his hips rock, the in and out of his movements pleasurable enough to draw out a keening moan despite the less than comfortable stretch. His lips were at your neck again as he continued his thrusts, slightly steadier, growing more confident. And then it was his teeth, nipping between sucks, though his words were still growled, "Thatâs it, doing so good for me, for us."Â
Your mistake was losing yourself in the feeling, letting your hips rock because it shattered what little control Ghost had at the moment. He sunk in another few inches, teetering between painful and pleasurable, making you cry out, nails digging into his forearms as a tear slipped down your cheek. The dig of your nails only urged him on, the nip of your teeth turning into a full bite, enough to break skin just slightly. However, the moment your cry was one of actual discomfort instead of pleasure, he withdrew completely, kissing over where heâd bitten, "Sorry, sorry, lovie, got too rough, too quick with you."Â
He slowly eased you off of him, nudging Johnny off as well, still kissing at the spot heâd bitten too harshly, fingers kneading comfort into your hips and then your thigh, "Y'alright? Need to stop?"Â
You took a breath, let the initial shock of the stretch and the bite fade away, let him swipe the rogue tear off your cheek, let your body readjustâŚ. and then shook your head, signalling you wanted to keep going, pulling him by the back of the neck down to you again for a kiss. Johnny was still at your knees, massaging your thighs, watching Simon deepen the kiss as much as youâd let him, and then pushing a little further, his fingers flexing hard into you again making you wince just a little. Honestly, you couldâve endured that, hell with another couple of kisses, you couldâve enjoyed it. But this time, he cut himself off, pulling back with a slew of curses thatâd send a sailor to confession.Â
"Fuck, âm sorry, sweetheart, Iâve never been good at taking it slow." Simon growled, jaw still clenched so hard you were afraid heâd crack a tooth., thumbs easing the irritated skin heâd clenched just slightly too hard, "Youâre just too perfect, canât keep my head on straight."
Ghost stopped to think for a moment, breathing hot and heaving against you skin, before flicking his eyes down to Soap whoâd stopped massaging your thighs in favor of featherlight kisses where his stubble had chafed you. Youâd seen this before, the internet called it cuteness aggression.Â
"Price." He called, nodding to his Captain, a signal to take over. John nodded, and after meeting your still lust glazed expression, ascertaining you were alright, seemed rather amused by the tag-in.  It seemed, despite the civilian clothes  and whatever intimacy was shared amongst the group, rank hierarchy was still firmly present, because when Captain Price finally rose from his arm chair, the sergeants and Lieutenant wordlessly moved out of his way, presenting you along the way for him as his belt buckle jingled being loosened and discarded.Â
Still, despite his evident imposition, his strength was gentle as he peeled you off his lieutenant who stood, manhandling Johnny off with him to the chair. Half dazed and panting, you were grateful for his patience as he asked with only a little teasing, "Can you stand for me, Sweet, just a little?"Â
And when your legs were still jelly and trembling, he just chuckled, leaking cigar smoke into your mussed hair, "Thatâs alright, Sweet, you just let me lay you out all pretty."Â
With that, you were bent over the arm of your bossâs sofa, callous hands traced slowly down your spine and then paused at your hips, massaging your flanks much as he had his cuts of steak. Price massaged his way from your hips, over and around your ass, and then worked from outwards to the inner most part of your thighs. Finally, he dragged a flat palm up your exposed sex, and when you looked over your shoulder, he was licking his tongue across that same hand, a deep rumbling growl shaking you to your core as you watched him taste not only you, but also notes of his boys, "Sweeter than fuckinâ sugar, love. Fuckinâ perfect."Â
You just stared at him with wide eyes, limply spread over the arm rest, hips instinctively pressing back into him to find more touch, more friction, more him. Words failed, only high pitched whines made it out. Which made Johnny, off to the side, chuckle.Â
"Think this is the longest Iâve ever seen her quiet." The scot chided, watching with great interest as Price took another swipe through your folds, coating his cock in whatever (whoeverâs) bodily fluids he collected there.Â
"Maybe you should take some notes, mutt." Simon gruffed, taking a fistful of the sergeantâs Mohawk and tugging it rather harshly backwards, exposing Johnnyâs throat that his teeth descended upon almost immediately. Some time between being between our legs and being in Simonâs lap, Johnnyâs shirt had disappeared, his jeans still on but unbuckled and Simon was fishing his erection out.Â
"Ignore âem." Price chuckled down to you, physically redirecting your attention by giving your clit a bit of attention as he eased himself slowly in, all the way to his base, "Yâfeel even better than you taste, sweet thing, yâknow that?"Â
You didnât know that, but youâd take the compliment, if you remembered it, or your own name by the end of⌠whatever this was. He gave one slow and steady thrust, almost like an experiment, one hand holding your hips in place, the other holding his cigar up to his lips.Â
"Dessert before dinner, how about that, lads?"Â
There was a moment of recall to his earlier words, "Already had something else in mind for dessert" echoed with what he just said in your fuzzy mind. You had been dessert all along, and judging by the ravenous eyes with varying degrees of satiation,  the 141 intended to eat their fill, your online look-a-like was simply a taste test. A momentary taste of vindication on your tongue- you hadnât been reading too far into things or fluffing your own ego, this was premeditated, and your matching set wasnât presumptuous. Still, that only lasted a singular breath, the smug vindication was phsycially forced out of you with a rough snap of his hips, the first of many from the demanding, almost brutal, pace John set for himself.Â
"Thereâs a girl, you just take it for me," He grunted between thrusts, seemingly pleased with your little cries and moans, "Just like that, sweet, youâll be taking Simonâs cock in no time." Â
John Priceâs couch was not picked out with âbeing bent over the sideâ in mind. Or perhaps, you were just a bit softer than the otherâs that had had the pleasure of being bent over the arm like John had you at that moment. Taking mercy upon your ribs, or perhaps just for his own selfish purposes, Kyle slotted himself underneath your front and sat you up against his chest, throwing your arms over his shoulders. While John still had your hips over the couch arm, Gaz had pulled you chest up to his, his lips finding your lips, your cheek, jaw, and breasts as he went.Â
"Poor sweet thing" Kyle cooed, his perfect pearly teeth nipping at your ear while is chest steadied you against Priceâs onslaught that pushed a thought our of your mind with each quick, but deep, thrust, "Didnât know what you were walking into, did you? And now look at what a mess we made you?"Â
You couldnât tell if Kyle was mocking you or praising you, kind words and little digs were both dipped in that sugary sweet tone that just made you nod up at him with wide eyes and a pouted lip. One of this thumbs reached up and swiped a mascara laden tear out from under your eye, the same thumb dipping into your mouth and holding it open in the pornographic O-shape after Price drew a vulgar moan out with a particularly deep thrust that also managed to scoot the sofa a couple of inches. Gaz didnât even waver, just laughed a bit as he held you steady, "Mean, innit he?"Â
Another moan blocked the chance at a snappy reply, not that you had the current brain power to make one. The sergeant just took the chance to swallow your noises with his mouth over yours, kissing you and biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. With what little fortitude you had, you grabbed the collar of that soft sweater and hauled him right back up to your mouth. It was aggressive kissing. Tongue and teeth and nails, sloppy and  dirty, your noses bumping together from the force of Priceâs thrusting.Â
When Price adjusted your hips, it forced you onto your tip toes to maintain the angle. And while the new angle provided incentive and reward in the way of relentless pounding of that delicious spongy spot inside you, that fact only made it harder for your already shaking legs to support you.Â
"Hold her fast, Sergeant." Was the grunted order as he gave your ass a smack, like he was punishing you for the indiscretion of already having you legs fucked out from under your from the other men in his living room. Honestly, How dare you? Kyle took orders beautifully. The best multitasker on the squad, as he not only, held you at that perfect angle for his Captain, but also, trailed wet, hot kisses down to your chest, locking onto one of your nipples with devious precision, only sucking harder when you cried out.Â
" âm gonna cum-!" It was strangled and whined into Kyleâs shoulder still fisting the collar of his shirt while your other hand posed serious risk of shredding the upholstery.Â
"You gonna cum on me, sweet? Go ahead, but Iâm not stopping." Price chuckled through his warning, leaning over your head and pulling Gaz in by the back of his neck for a sloppy kiss of his own.Â
"Go on then. Give it to him." Kule urged in that sickly sweet tone, "The captainâs working so hard back there for you, least you could do is let âim feel how pretty you fall apart."Â
Another moan, a garbled cry of both of their names mashed together when they pushed you over the edge in tandem with a well timed deep thrust and light smack to your clit from Price at the same time that Gaz tweaked both of your nipples..Â
"You feel that Cap? That flutter?" Gaz called, talking (literally) over your head as you sagged, twitching against him, unlatching from the hickey he was sucking into your collarbone, "Thatâs fuckinâ magic, that is."Â
"Flutter? Sheâs wringing me dry in there." Price groaned, his pace only slowed by the vice like grip your core had as your eyes rolled back, "Sweetâs cuntâs practically swallowing me, bloody hell, greedy thing, arenât you?"
The only reprieve you had was Price leaning forward so his warm chest pressed to your back, his big hands circling your clit like it might encourage you loosen back up for him so he could resume his movements, "Câmon, love, you gonna answer me?"Â
"YesâŚ" You drawled, flopping your head over so you could meet his eyes over your shoulder, that signature mirthful smile twitching the corners of his beard of as he tweaked the little bundle of nerves to correct you. With a little cry, you answered once more, "Yes, sir."Â
"Atta girl." Price nodded approvingly as he took a long draw of his cigar his pinkie shaking off little bits of ash onto your raised posterior (which shouldâve made you feel degraded, or maybe it did which is why it made your eyes flutter again), both at the answer and at the relaxing of your muscles allowing him to build his pace back up. Â
"Hear that, love?" Â Kyleâs attention returned down to you when your face dropped back down into the curve of his shoulder, "what a good pussy, taking us all so well, and she just keeps wanting more."Â
"More?" You croaked out through another moan, panting and trying to count the stars dotting your vision, not sure if you were requesting or parroting in disbelief. Though with a clearer mind, you wouldnât have been so shocked. Price had barely stuttered in getting his rhythm back up to itâs pace, riding you all the way through your orgasm.Â
"Told you, âm not fucking stopping." Price growled with another smack to the round of your ass. Something between a moan and a cry crawled out of your throat, but tapping our hadnât once occurred to you.Â
"You can take it, love, bet you can even give us another big finish, yeah?" Kyle encouraged. It occurred to you the Gaz had now coaxed you through two orgasms, and really hadnât even asked for anything in return from you. And while you were sure, between the four of you, someone would throw him a bone(r), you decided to take that cross upon yourself, reaching down between him and yourself and wrapping around his dick. From what you could tell, he was on the leaner side, but he was the longest in the group, slightly curved. Which gave you plenty of room to rub and squeeze, from base to his tip where you thumbed the slit, spreading the precum back down as you followed the vein on the underside. Kyle tried to chuckle through a moan, "Bloody hell, love."Â
Jerking off took on a new meaning as your movements, meant to be languid and smooth, turned jerky and choppy with the force of Priceâs increasing speed, his rythym stuttering as he chased his own release. Kyle leaned down using one of his free hands to roll a nipple in his fingers, catching the other in his mouth as you continued to pump him. Between the two of them, it didnât take long to come close to the edge once more, and you didnât even have time to be proud of bring both of them over with you in tandem as your third orgasm tore through you, leaving all three of you dazed and breathless. You were vaguely aware of Gazâs cum on you chest, kind of feeling the warm, sticky trail it left as it leaked down your front while John gave a few more lazy strokes as he softened inside of you. Though Gaz twitched hard again just watching your eyes roll back, and when Price was finally done, he gave your thighs a gentle, almost proud squeeze, watching his spend leak out for a moment before gently collecting you upright once more. With a sweet forehead kiss that contrasted so heavily from the cigar ashes and ass slaps, he gave your cheek a little pat, "Still with me, sweet?"Â
"Mmmhm." You nodded, eyes only half opned as Gaz sat up behind you and sucked kisses across the back of your shoulders. Youâd be wearing turtle necks for weeks. Johnâs attention shifted over to Simon, who you now realized had been watching the show with the darkest eyes youâd ever seen with poor Johnny taking the brunt of whatever storm Ghost had brewing. Your eyes fluttered watching the liutenantâs hand tighten around Johnnyâs throat. Despite the tears on the Scotâs face, he didnât appear to be too upset with his current predicament, in fact giving you a groan through a watery smile as Simonâs other hand tightened even more around Johnnyâs leaking dick.Â
"Got it all out of your system, Lieutenant?" Price asked with a raised brow, both him and Gaz still keeping you upright with gently roaming hands. Simon gave both his hands another squeeze making Johnny pant.Â
"Iâm solid." He nodded, surprisingly tender as he released Johnny, the sergeant stumbling off his lap.  Simon rose behind him, both men approaching the couch. You werenât positive what âitâ was or why it needed to be out of Simonâs system, but Gaz nodded and pressed one last sweet kiss to the curve of you shoulder before letting Simon slide into his place. The largest of the men simply laid down on the couch, taking up most of the three-seater, efficently pulling you backwards so you straddled his lap facing away from him.Â
"Nice and slow for me, lovie." Simon directed, lining himself up with your entrance after bumping your clit with his tip. Thank god for his strong hands guiding your hips down at the pace he set. Though Price had thoroughly broken you in, and youâd already partially taken Simon once, you still tensed up nervously but set your jaw with determination to do it again and get all of it from this new angle. With your back to his face, you had a front row set to the others watching hungrily. Kyle was leaning back against Priceâs chest, the older man reaching around to palm the sergeantâs erection as Gaz pressed his back to Priceâs front, grinding backwards. But Johnny, poor Johnny, with his cock almost purpled by Simonâs earlier teasing, rocking on his heels like he was just waiting for permission to join in, sapphire eyes bouncing between Simonâs face, your face, and the stretch of you pussy around Simonâs cock- like he couldnât decide who was most jealous of.Â
Inch after deliciously painful inch, Simon helped you ease yourself down until your ass was flush with his hips. From this angle, though Simon could still rut up against you, the pace was all your decision, making it harder for him to lose control again. With your hands braced against his tree-trunk thighs. Simon gave you a minute to adjust, to pant and try to focus your eyes. The soldier underneath you grunted, fingers flexing on your waist as he adjusted himself making you whimper and almost fall forward.Â
"Si-" Johnny whined, his hands twitching forward like he wanted to help you, or maybe just touch you, his cock leaking down his leg. Simonâs voice was not as gentle to his sergeant, a gruff order.Â
"Noâ yet." Â Before returning his attention to you, voice softening slightly, "Take your time, sweetheart, move when you want, I want you to feel good."Â
Giving a jerky nod, you gave an experimental wiggle that nestled him somehow even deeper. Your moan was lodged in your throat as your eyes shut, but the movement earned a deep groan and hiss from Simon. With a deep breath, you managed to move past the acclimation stage so the actual pleasure started building again, which felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon. Next, a roll of your hips that genuinely blurred out your vision, feeling so good that our body instinctively did it again to chase the feeling. And then again, and again- head falling forward and then rolling back.Â
"Thatâs it, lovie, find your rhythm." Simon tried to prain but it sounded more like a growl as his hands flexed again into the softest parts of your waist, his long fingers spanning so far that they kneaded into the plushness of your stomach, "Fuckin' hell."Â
"Si-" Johnny whined again, drawing the clipped nickname into two syllables, this time his twitching fingers finding purchase in the arm of the sofa youâd been bent over earlier. If you werenât so focused on Simonâs cock rearranging your internal organs, you mightâve heard the ominous creak of the fabric under his strength. When your eyes fluttered open, they locked onto Johnnyâs bright blues, darkened to a stormy hue with impatient want. His Scottish brogue thickening deeply, "Ah keened youâd be better than the lass in the fuckinâ videos, so fuckinâ sweet and pretty-"Â
"Alright." Simon gruffed  before his voice softened down again, "Go on, sweetheart, show the mutt some love, wonât you? He wonât shut up until you do."Â
Even though the permission had been given to you, Johnny was immediately upon you. Much like Gaz, Johnny took up the job of supporting your upper body as Simon had your hips firmly in his grasp. With one knee pressed into the couch cushion, he hugged your chest to his, his hands groping and feel any part of you he could get his hands on like it was the first time heâd touched you or any other soft and pretty thing. Unlike Gaz, his mouth on your started out aggressive and when you would moan, heâd mirror the noises, groaning them right back onto your tongue.Â
"And soft. Ye sound better too." Johnny groaned when Simon suddenly rutted against your rocking, leaving you crying out and digging your nails into Johnnyâs shoulders. With strong but surprisingly gentle grip, your fingers were removed from his shoulders. Johnny led one of your hands in an exploratory trail down his chest, following the path of thick, dark body hair, past his abs, until he wrapped your hand around his cock which twitched even at your slightest touch.Â
"So fucking soft, bonnie," he breathed, coaxing your hand into movement while kissing your other palm, before looking over to Simon, "Not a callous on her hands, Lt, dinnae even think about that."Â
Simon merely grunted in acknowledgement of Johnnyâs discovery, seeing as his focus was an entirely different part of your anatomy. The larger man seemed content letting his sergeant be the vocal one, sometimes rewarding you with a hiss or a strangled groan. Heâd given up on letting you control the pace now that you were acclimated and half bouncing against him, rutting and grinding against you in time with your own rolling and rocking as you sped up. It was only natural for your hand on Johnnyâs cock to speed up as well.Â
"Sweetheart, why donât you show him something even softer than your hands? He went through a lot for you, after all."Â He didnât give you time to ask what that was supposed to mean, but you figured it had something to do the vicious series of bites and hickies on the manâs neck. You could tell Simon was moving because his cock was shifting angle inside of you, making you gasp. One of his large hands splayed against the small of your back, pressing you firmly forward and down. A sudden thrust as he applied pressure to your back made you go boneless, letting the men push your cheek first into Johnnyâs stomach and then down to where your hand was still pumping Johnnyâs cock.Â
"Look at that, a multitasker. âs why sheâs such a good analyst for us." Gaz chided from the sidelines like he was commentating on a sports match, watching as you were stroking Johnny, holding your cheek against him while trying to catch your breath from Simonâs thrusts. Johnny helped guide himself into your mouth. It wasnât so much length as the girth, even thicker than Price, that stretched your jaw uncomfortably. But the way that Johnny moaned sinfully above you when your nose pressed into the dark curls at his base, the way he all but melted over you like butter, encouraged to breathe through your nose and keep going.Â
"Steaming Jesus, Si, I cannae last like this-" Johnny moaned, seemingly not even noticing how loud he was. Simon only laughed lowly, reaching around your thighs to dip between them, circling your clit. Your thighs were trembling, moans getting louder and less restrained, nothing about this was restrained anymore.Â
"Thatâs alright, Johnny, neither will she, will you, lovie?" He asked with another deep thrust, "feel âow sheâs shaking?" Â
You were shaking your head still with a mouthful of Johnnyâs cock, because you werenât going to last much longer, eyes rolling and fluttering, landing on the arm chair again where Gaz being treated as well, both him and John watching appreciatevly as Ghost and Soap had you in lopsided Eiffel tower. You were pulling out any trick for Johnny that you managed to remember between Simonâs thrusts, swirling tongue and bobbing heads. But what did him in was actually Simonâs doing. When Simon rolled his hips into you just right, hitting every good spot and giving your clit a swipe, your eyes crossed and you moaned, practically screaming around Johnnyâs member, the vibrations and look on your face enough to finish him. His hand tightened in your hair, hips snapping, pushing your nose into his pelvis, and holding you there as he came with what some might call a battle cry.  After everything Simon had put him through earlier, he was pent up, leaving him cumming. and cumming, and cumming, until you had to swat at his thigh because you couldnât take anymore.Â
You swallowed what you could, taking a couple more spurts to your face and chest before Johnny crumbled onto the couch against you, kissing the taste of himself right off your tongue as Simon continued his thrusts, getting incrementally faster and harder as you proved you could handle it. The scot took over the praising and encouragement as his superior fell back into the quiet grunting and groaning against you, though you could barely make out any of the words as you approached your fourth finish. For the first time in your life you understood the phrase "fucked stupid". You were somewhat sure you were rambling gibberish accolades to the men, cries of âyesâ and âpleaseâ and âthank youâ intermingled with moans and curses that put your over the top XXX twinâs to shame.Â
"Câmon, sweetheart, one more fâ me." Simon growled out, switching positions so quickly and effeciently that you didnât even realize it until you body was pressed face down into the couch cushion, Simon still behind you, drilling into you with a pace that put mechanized machinery to shame. You werenât even sure how you were taking it just that you were and if he stopped you might start crying, "I know youâre close, just lemme have it-"Â
Johnny was back on his knees in front of the couch, catching your nipple in his mouth. And you turned your head towards John and Kyle, locked in their own encounter, and then it just snapped. Your orgasm not just washing over you, but a tidal wave crashing over you and frying every nerve a long the way. For a moment your vision whited out, the only thing you were aware of was Simonâs strokes slowing and working you through it. With your body practically vibrating with overstimulation, you let your unseeing eyes roam to to the cieling fan and let your mind wander as you floated somewhere above reality for a bit, enjoying the electric feelings between each neuron firing. Every noise and sight becoming background information as overstimulation fuzzed it all out except the aftershocks and twinges in your core.Â
You werenât sure how long it was before you came back to yourself, but you heard Johnnyâs voice first, "Câmon, bonnie, float back down to us."
"There she is." Kyle cooed in tandem with the other sergeant while your cheek, "Lost you for a bit there. Alright?"Â
You were more than alright, body more sated than itâd been in years, still thrumming and twitching with the aftershocks, so you just nodded slowly, trying to focus your eyes in on one thing at a time, voice slightly slurred with nothing to do with the drinks, " âm alright."Â
"Was worried I broke you." That was Simon, whoâs lap your head was in. You only offered a dopey smile and a lazily blink.
"You mightâve, but Iâm ok, more than ok." You sighed with a dry laugh, turning your head so your cheek pressed to his thigh, though you noticed heâd slipped his sweats back on.Â
"Siâs gotta work on being gentle, we donât make him practice enough." Johnny teased, running soothing hands along your sides. Suddenly, a cup of water with a straw was placed in front of your face, and when you looked up it was Price holding it down to you before Kyle took it and held it steady for you.Â
"Never see you complaining about it, McTavish." John teased right back, trading off the cup so he could smooth hair off your sweaty forehead, "Take as long as you need, sweet, yâdid good for us. So good."Â
His praise nestled deeply, right between your ribs, making you smile softly as Kyle coaxed the straw into your mouth, letting you sip on the water as he ran a caring thumb over the apple of your cheek.
âÂ
You mustâve dozed off, because when you woke up, you were still on the couch, but everyone else had moved around you liked you simply always been nestled amongst them. The thought made your lips curl in a dopey grin as you looked around them. Half upright and wrapped in someoneâs hoodie, you were laying against Priceâs chest, head tipped back into his shoulder as he worked around a plate filled for two, the atmosphere was cozy now, the electric  frantic tension from earlier had morphed into something warm and intimate.Â
âEvening. Hungry?â His chest rumbled as he held the plate closer to your field of view. Two very juicy ribeyes, baked potatoes, green vegetable- the stereotypical macho man plate. John seemed all too proud of himself when you opened your mouth to accept a fork of perfectly cut bite-size steak, laughing when you hummed in approval, âThere we go, sweet, worked up an appetite, yeah?âÂ
âReally? Thought we already stuffed âer pretty good.â Kyle teased, still gently swiping warm rags over your body, wiping away any evidence that wasnât etched or sucked semipermanently into your skin, occasionally following his ministrations with gentle kisses and soft praises, âFeel ok, love? Need anything?âÂ
When you shook your head, gently squeezing his wrist in gratitude, he only smiled, giving you a tender kiss to the forehead before retrieving his own plate and sitting on the opposite side of Price, claiming the captainâs other shoulder for his own head.
Johnny was in the same boat as you, though whatever the hell Simon had done to him made his attention to you look like princess treatment, having obviously reigned himself in with you. Was that what Ghost was getting out of his system before coming back to you? Still, the scot didnât seem to have many complaints after Simon sat him down between your legs on the couch, letting the sergeant lay facedown against the softest part of your stomach, where heâd nuzzled the hoodie out of the way so he could rest against your bare skin. It was then you noticed that you and Johnny were the only ones still in a state of undress which if your mind wasnât moving at a snailâs pace, you mightâve tried to read into.Â
Like you, he seemed half asleep and fucked out, a couple more bites around his neck that hadnât been there the last time heâd been touching you. Soapâs mohawk gave you something to gently fidget with as Price nudged another bite against your lips. Simon took his seat on the floor, leaned back against the base of the couch with his head tipped back against the curve of your hip. One of his arms wrapped around the leg that Johnny had dangling off the couch, massaging gentle circles into the mans calf muscle. His other other arm was propped on his knee so he could catch your wrist where it flopped down on his shoulder. He was tender as he ran his ungloved hand over yours, massaging your fingers and comparing them to his much larger hands, murmuring himself, âNo callouses.âÂ
âTold you, Si.â Johnny sighed almost dreamily into your bare stomach, leaning into your fingers in his hair. With the rest of the men doting on you and Johnny, Simon didnât even retaliate or tease something back, just snickering quietly and fondly, offering straw topped water bottle to the sergeant.Â
Another bite of food was offered to you, along with water, and something struck you funny, drawing a quiet chuckle out of you as you turned your face into Priceâs neck to stifle the noise. It drew the groupâs eyes, clearly waiting for you to divulge. âCâmon, hen, share with the class.â Johnny prompted with grin, always down for a laugh, propping his chin up on your belly so he could look at you through the valley of your cleavage, eyes shining like youâd hung the moon.Â
âWhatâs on that pretty mind of yours?â Price rose his eyebrows, cutting another bite of meat for you.Â
âNothing, itâs dumb.â You snicker a little more, earning a expectant but amiable tug to your fingers from Simon, âItâs just all a little backwards, sâall.âÂ
âBackwards?â The liutenant parroted in that deep Manc accent, making you giggle a bit more, nodding against Price.
âI let yâall fuck me every which way from Tuesday, and you didnât even buy me dinner first.â  You mused, ironically before taking another bite of one of the best steaks youâd ever had, which could be an effect of the post-sex endorphin rush, or maybe John was just a grill master. âOur apologies, sweet thing.â John rolled his eyes playfully, his apology deeply sarcastic as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.Â
âIn our defense, dinner and a very nice bottle of wine were on the agenda before, but some people,â Gazâs eyes flicked over to Johnny and Simon who didnât even have the decency to look sheepish. Simon was stone faced as usual, still playing with and kissing at your fingers while Johnny just smiled into your belly, âgot impatient.âÂ
âHey, the first time Simon fucked me all I got was the drink mix and wet nap from his MRE.â Johnny whined which only made you laugh harder.Â
âYâdidnât ask for anything else.â Simon shrugged tilting his head to press an uncharacteristically romantic kiss to the curve of the Scotâs knee. â âsides, I got your mouth on her didnât I? think I made up for it.âÂ
And before you could question if Simon was really the one to orchestrate all of this, Price quieted you with a bite of potato while Gaz leaned over to distract you with his lips on your shoulder, âDonât worry about it, love.â
Â
And for the first time since youâd seen their search histories, you werenât worried about much of anything other than when this might happen again.
 ____Â
me, who doesnât ever really write smut: yes i will enjoy writing a fivesome with at least ten hands, five mouths, ten arms, and four penises to keep up with.Â
Yâall should see the notesapp where I had to like draw out stick figures to see if what I was writing was anatomically possible. I feel like this has gotten me on some kind of watchlist.Â
Taglist in Comments because there were too many of y'all!! Thanks to anyone who has commented, liked, and reblogged! Whenever I'm feeling uninspired, I just scroll through y'alls comments and they make me smile so so much!!!
Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).
Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.
The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldnât be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.
Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldnât be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.
Youâd asked how he knew.
âHad some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.â
Instantly flustered, youâd looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.
It didnât matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. Youâd be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.
Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.
As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didnât come off, but youâd definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnnyâs mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didnât realize was so public.
You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasnât like youâd meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalidâs open damn door.
But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighborâs boyfriendâs arms and realizing theyâd seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer â again for platonic reasons â and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.
You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you werenât in a position to have either.
When youâd suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.
âWeâll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, youâre still recovering.â
So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didnât want to be a burden, anyway.
Fuck.
Right.
You were a burden.
When you felt a bit better, youâd handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.
Youâd make it right. When youâd put some distance between your waking thoughts and deathâs shadow.
Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.
Until he knocked.
âHey.â
Fucking Johnny.
You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.
ââM so sorry, hen.â Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.
Youâd wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, youâd bet anything Ghost was, too.
âI almost died,â you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. âI wouldâve helped with whatever you needed if youâd fucking asked.â
His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.
Good. That made two of you.
âYouâre an asshole.â
âAye.â
âYouâre a jerk.â
âAye.â
âYou almost got me killed.â
âAye.â Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. âIâll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.â
He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.
If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.
âI thought we were friends.â Half confession, half accusation.
âWe are, bonnie, I swear ââ
âNo, weâre not.â
He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.
âBonnie ââ
âStand down, Soap.â
You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadnât quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.
He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.
âBrought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. Iâll set out some towels for you.â
âThanks.â You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. âThat sounds great.â
âIâll get things sorted, then.â
He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. Youâd address your hair later. And⌠everything else, really. You werenât ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighborsâ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.
Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels heâd prepared. âAssume your showerâs like ours.â
âProbably. Thanks.â Again. âIâll just be a minute.â
âTake your time.â
A nice sentiment, but you really couldnât. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.
Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your hostâs. He hadnât gotten frisky. Heâd been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a littleâŚ
Or a lot.
Shit. Fuck. No.
You could not get off in your neighborsâ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didnât hear you, it was⌠rude.
Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.
Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.
So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.
Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.
âUhâŚâ Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You shouldâveâŚ
âThought it was about time you got that apology,â Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. âYouâre cold again.â
âIâm fine.â
âOh, aye.â Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. âReally am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?â
He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.
âWhat did you have in mind?â
Tea? A yearâs subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?
His eyes flicked to your lips. âThought I could warm you up.â
Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.
âI donât think I understand.â
âI think you do.â
He wasnât touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.
His partner was in the fucking room. âYouâre in a relationship.â
âAlready discussed it.â
You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.
âWe both like ya, bonnie,â Johnny whispered in your ear.
You shivered.
It sounded like such a bad idea.
But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.
âHow about it?â Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. âLet us make you feel good?â
One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.
With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.
A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.
Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.
âThe best apologies are given on your knees, donât you think Johnny?â
A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.
âCouldnât agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.â He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robeâs knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.
One more peck, and a whispered, âLie back, bonnie.â And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. âGonnae give you an apology you never forget.â
The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the Oâs path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.
He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.
The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.
It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. Youâd had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like heâd promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.
Your whining plea didnât sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.
Solid heat youâd learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.
âBe good, Johnny,â he rumbled. âStop teasing.â
Eyes glinting, your tormentorâs face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolfâs fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghostâs.
âYes, sir.â His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. âMind givinâ me a hand, LT?â
Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.
âYou doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble heâs caused, yeah?â
One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghostâs balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.
âYeah. Iâm alright. Please.â
âYou heard the woman.â
âHappy to serve.â Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.
Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess heâd made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.
Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnnyâs face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.
âGood girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.â
A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.
Heâd tormented you so long. You didnât have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldnât even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghostâs words to penetrate.
âHow you feelinâ? Rung out or ready for more?â
What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. Youâd ask for more until your voice gave out.
You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnnyâs face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.
âMore.â
Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldnât quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.
âTell her, Johnny,â Ghost prompted. âGive her everything youâve been thinking since you moved in here.â
âFuck.â The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LTâs commanding gaze. âHeard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected â doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit Iâd ever fuckinâ seen. Showinâ up with biscuits and makinâ friendly.â The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. âHad me graspinâ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchinâ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.â He popped his button free. The zipper went down. âWanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let âim see ya. Let him understand.â His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.
âShouldâa heard him on the phone,â Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. âThought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.â
Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. âWanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt Iâve ever had. Please?â
Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.
You were going to combust, and youâd enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.
âYes.â Heâd dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. âPlease.â
He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.
He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter â not that you wanted any â and you once again seized Ghostâs arms because they were the only fucking thing heâd let you reach. They would take care of you. You werenât allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.
Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.
But not enough.
His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.
âFuck.â Blushing from exertion â and probably something else â he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. âI swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didnât get you there in time, did I?â
He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghostâs shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.
When you didnât fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.
âMay I?â
Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. âI said I trusted you.â
âGlad to hear it.â
He didnât pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.
One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.
âMinute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,â he said. âKnew itâd been so long since someone took care of you that youâd forgotten how a good neighbor should act.â The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. âWanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasnât fit company.â The full implications of that didnât quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.
A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnnyâs cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. âHad to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.â He pulled his hand free, denying you release.
âYou said youâd take care of me.â
âWe will, sweatheeart. Easy now.â His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. âFuck. Youâre perfect.â
He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. Youâd need to relax. Youâd need to trust him.
Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.
When heâd sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.
âThink youâve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.â
âYes, sir.â
Youâd closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.
Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.
A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.
âFuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.â
After Johnnyâs performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that heâd ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third youâd entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (Iâm okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnnyâs attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.
But you were tapped.
âCanât. Too much.â
Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.
You didnât even realize as you slept that youâd found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.
Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).
Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.
It was supposed to be a one-shot.
You didnât know hate until Johnny MacTavish.
He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty âtil death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.
The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.
âNeighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.â His eye lands on the plate of cookies youâve brought to welcome him. âThose all for me?â
You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.
Then the first snow fell.
You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.
But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.
As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.
You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing youâd gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.
When he didnât appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.
You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.
Since you didnât know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.
You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.
When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasnât terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.
He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if youâd known what that conversation would incite, you wouldâve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.
âEat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.â You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he wonât remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. Heâs staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.
Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them â and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.
âIf your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. Iâll drive you if you need me to.â
That glassy stare isnât shifting. The man doesnât even blink.
âDid you get all that?â
He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and youâre determined not to feel bad for him.
âAye.â Finally, he blinks. âEat the soup. Watch for 104.â
Good enough.
âOkay.â
The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You donât wait for him to show you out. âTake care of yourself.â
He didnât call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.
The next time he saw you in passing â you were returning home and he was just leaving â he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.
Ah, well. They were replaceable.
Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.
It wasnât as much snow, and it didnât take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.
You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.
The man didnât know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.
His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.
His truckâs battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didnât get himself stranded.
When he didnât keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldnât meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.
He didnât have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.
He gave you burnt cookies â âBiscuitsâ â in return.
(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)
He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.
And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.
He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.
What were you supposed to do? You couldnât leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.
He made you angry. But you didnât hate him until his friend moved in.
A few months into his residence, you went to Johnnyâs door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.
A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.
The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You werenât sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge â like an adult stepping out of a childâs playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.
Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predatorâs intent before it was too late.
You didnât have a problem with people balaclavas. Youâd worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.
Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.
You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didnât carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.
âYou the neighbor?â
He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasnât the voice of a man whoâd just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the strangerâs mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a⌠houseguest?
Your neighbor never had guests before.
It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense heâd have friends, though. You couldnât imagine heâd survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.
You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.
And â well â manners.
Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, âI stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-â
âNo.â He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. âDonât need anything.â
He closed the door and that was that.
Sun glittered on the seasonâs collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldnât entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and youâd need to teach Johnny flash flood safety andâŚ
It didnât compute. Johnny was still home, so surely heâd pop out with an explanation.
You waited.
But he didnât.
The absolute fuck?
Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.
You mustâve done something wrong.
Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cartâs shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasnât in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnnyâs requests. Youâd already added things you doubted heâd think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldnât have saved you, even if youâd remembered it.
Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. Theyâd keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).
Two gallons of milk.
Wait.
No.
You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced youâd catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought youâd just broken up with your boyfriend or something.
You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigeratorsâ humming. One less source of white noise. It didnât help as much as youâd hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.
Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasnât considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.
The stranger hadnât even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.
Because youâd never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?
His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but youâd unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.
Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldnât see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.
Youâd thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.
But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.
Convenient.
Until his real friend joined him.
You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldnât keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.
When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.
If they didnât say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.
You werenât likeable, not loveable, and the minute you werenât useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.
It didnât hurt, and even if it did, it shouldnât, because you didnât have a right to that feeling.
Alright. Fine.
You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that youâd forgotten matches and sugar. Theyâd been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didnât exist shackled you in place. Too late. Youâd look stupid. Youâd bother someone. Oh well. Youâd just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didnât want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assumeâŚ
Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what theyâd been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employeesâ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.
The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.
You drove home.
Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.
At least you didnât need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because youâd planned to bake for two.
The flour hadnât been on your list.
And there was no room for it.
Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.
It wasnât a problem. You liked being prepared. Youâd dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.
You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.
There. Yeah. That wasnât so bad. A silver lining.
As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags youâd used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadnât put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.
The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast whoâd wandered through your unlocked door.
A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.
MacTavish.
The Scottish mumbling wouldâve tipped you off even if you werenât so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).
Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.
Relief. Hope. Dread.
He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning youâd just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either youâd jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.
âJohnny? What are you doing here?â
He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.
âHello, neighbor!â He cackled, laughing at his own joke. âWanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friendâs come to stay with me.â
Friend? What flavor of friend?
âI know. We met this morning.â
âAye. Real barrel oâ sunshine, isnâ he?â
âIf you say so.â
You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you werenât, and youâd worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town â you were drained.
âHis nameâs Ghost.â
Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost âwith his skull balaclava and gruff voice â seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.
Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasnât even there. âTold him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said weâd go into town for a generator before the next big snow.â
âHard to predict the next big snow.â
âAye. He said that, too.â
If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.
And it did.
Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didnât need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldnât even if he left space to speak.
For the life of you, you couldnât riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.
His arm wide, indicating the views heâd fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mugâs handle.
It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.
A bad day instantly became your worst in years.
It mustâve made a sound when it hit, but you didnât hear it. Or didnât remember it. You didnât remember going to the floor after it, either.
Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. Youâd made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.
The mug wasnât a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.
It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew youâd be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.
There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.
âOh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me ââ
You didnât want him to touch it again. Didnât want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didnât dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.
A pretty crier you were not.
And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone elseâs messy emotions.
âItâs fine. Iâm okay.â You grit your teeth and smiled through them. âBut I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?â
âAre you sure?â His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.
âYeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I canât play host and clean myself up.â
His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where heâd knelt in front of you.
âIf you insist. But weâre right over there if you need anything, aye?â
âI know.â
Finally, he left.
You got up and locked the door behind him. If youâd taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this wouldâve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldnât be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.
-----------------------
He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghostâs truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he shouldâve bought for himself.
You put your curtains to good work. You couldnât remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, youâd answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.
Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers â fleetingly painful â than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.
They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and youâd combust.
So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didnât come with a side of flashbacks.
The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighborâs last-minute requests.
You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.
Gas theft didnât cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.
Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldnât flush. Â
The little shits had siphoned your tank.
You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.
So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldnât escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.
But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.
Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.
The red plastic was shockingly light. You didnât realize until youâd already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.
The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.
You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. Youâd find an explanation.
When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, orâŚ
An I.O.U. was taped to the back.
You knew the handwriting all too well.
That shitting littleâŚ
The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sunâs warmth.
You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.
You had made a mistake.
You made your neighbor chicken soup.
Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.
Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.
I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)
CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut
Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks
âThe 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.âÂ
Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base.Â
âThank you, private.â You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video.Â
After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisitingâŚÂ
By god, theyâd done it.Â
Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldnât look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny.Â
Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video sheâd stopped speaking words, so accent didnât matter much. Â But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin.Â
It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost⌠the only link heâd visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit.Â
God, if you told anyone about this⌠Theyâd tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted.Â
But hell, youâd be lying if you said you didnât send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone.Â
The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the manâs lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod.Â
âHoly shitâŚâ  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Priceâs.Â
Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. Theyâd been gone for a month and a half, and itâd been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world.Â
It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus.Â
Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-
âJust the bird we were looking for!âÂ
It was Kyleâs voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos heâd replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, âWhatâd the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.âÂ
A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god youâd bitten your nails to stubs or they wouldâve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength.Â
Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didnât. Â Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Priceâs chest.Â
The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you.Â
âYour intel was good.â It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, âThey didnât even see us coming.âÂ
âThey never see you coming, thatâs kind of your whole thing.â You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldnât noticed. focus, focus, focus.Â
Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Priceâs fingers.Â
âDonât be so modest, bonnie!â He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didnât waver, âCouldnât of done it without our lass in the chair.âÂ
â ânough, Johnny,â Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that theyâd all but cornered you against, âPut âer down.âÂ
Soapâs laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, â 'eâs right though. Intel was good.âÂ
They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew theyâd seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnnyâs tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.
âGlad to be of service.â You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didnât). Jesus Christ, you couldnât do this.  You couldnât tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, âEnjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.âÂ
As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review.Â
You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination.Â
____
Youâd gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long.Â
âMorning, love.â It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat.Â
âLooking good, bonnie,â He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, âTired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a littleâŚÂ softer.â Â
You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gazâs ass, and he sure didnât seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content.Â
âPrice wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.â Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction. Â Â
âA present? For me?â You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, âItâs like Christmas.âÂ
âYou been good this year?â Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, âNah, sheâs definitely been naughty.âÂ
Both Sergeantâs shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee.Â
âIâm leaving now.â You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, âYâall should shower. Or take a nap.âÂ
âYou want us naked?â Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. âAnd in bed?âÂ
Now that was some imagery. Taking the lordâs name in vain you didnât dignify that with a response other than a huffed, âLeaving now.âÂ
____
The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive.Â
You could almost ignore how Priceâs fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes.Â
âHas a self destruct program that Gaz didnât want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.â Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain.Â
âWhatâs on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.â Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, heâd draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft.Â
âSo donât screw it up, got it.â You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldnât feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations. Â He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later.Â
âPrecisely,â John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, âYou wonât screw it up, love.âÂ
The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.
âIâm having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, Iâm gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.â Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, âWe want you to come. Couldnât have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.âÂ
âOh, uh-â You started before you could think of a good excuse, âIâll be really busy⌠with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.âÂ
âWhat stuff?â Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, âThis can wait.âÂ
âFiles. Coding. Security checks.â You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured youâd have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if theyâd been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. âIâm a little behind. BeenâŚÂ distracted lately."
âEverything all right, love?â He âaskedâ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, âYouâve been⌠skittish, since we got back.âÂ
Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, â âm fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. Howâre you?âÂ
Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a deskâŚÂ
Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, âIâm fine, really.âÂ
âEither lie more convincingly or tell me whatâs bothering you, sweet.â  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. Youâd have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. Youâd always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasnât as easy to write off as âloveâ or âbonnieâ, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal.Â
âIâm not bothered.â You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that youâd been thinking about way too much lately-, âListen, Iâm not judging, youâre grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that itâs my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didnât know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-âÂ
âYou can tell 'em yourself. âs your job, sweet.â Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected âfirmlyâ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, âAt my place. Tonight. 8 oâclock. Not a request.â Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldnât help but nod and squeak, âYes, sir.âÂ
___
Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)
Weighing my options: go out and get hammered (i work in retail and Iâve had some crazy days) ORRR stay in, be warm and cozy in bed (itâs about to be 6 degrees) and read the epilogue. Whatever shall I do?!?
I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.
I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.
When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).
By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.
I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.
Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.
Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).
Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.
I am the same.
I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.
I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.
I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.
I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.
Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.
It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.
Summary: Living in a small town had it's pluses and minuses. But when an older man and his daughter move in, things start to change, perhaps for the better.
Word Count: 24.3k+
Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!teacher!reader
Notes: this is looong, and believe me, i was surprised when i realized that it ended up being 24,000 words.
this thing is a slow-burn, i was literally screaming at my screen saying 'just kiss already!' then realizing that, in fact, i'm the one who has to make them kiss or confess or do something.
reader has a last name, but other than that, she isn't described. this technically could be considered an AU of logan (2017) where logan survives, so this was written with old man logan in mind.
i would like to turn this into another oneshot series, so don't be afraid to send in any requests! (relating to this or anything else you want to see!)
warnings: none!
The small town you lived in meant a few things, everyone knew everyone, and everyone got in everyoneâs business.
A few months ago, an older man and his young daughter moved into town. You werenât sure exactly how old he was, of course you knew who he was, but even you had to admit, he was attractive. But thatâs what everyone thought, you heard the mothers who would pick up their children from school, looking at Logan as he picked up Laura.
It was nice to see a man who picked up his kid, though youâve never seen Lauraâs mother, so perhaps that explains why.
Laura was a quiet and sweet girl, at least thatâs what you thought. Apparently, she also had the spirit of a firecracker and got angry easily. And while sheâs visited the principalâs office at least 9 times since sheâs been here, you still canât help but see her as a cute little girl whoâs been through something traumatic, whatever it was.
You were standing outside with your class in the afternoon, waiting until all the students were picked up. Laura was in another teacherâs class at the end of the day, your coworker Emma Zhou. You and Emma stood next to each other, your classes mingling as they waited for their parents to pick them up.
Emma leaned close to you, âthis is my favorite part of the day, you know.â
âYeah, I think itâs everyoneâs favorite part of the day. We get to go home after this.â You replied.
âIt used to be that, but nowâŚâ Emma trailed off as you glanced over at her, âthere arenât a lot of people in this town who are good looking. But heâs a great new addition.â
You hummed noncommittally, so what if Logan was good-looking? It wasn't like you spent your time ogling him. He was just another parent in the sea of them, a bit rougher around the edges maybe, but nothing that special. Emma shot you a knowing look.
"Come on, youâve seen him, right? That scruffy beard, those eyes," Emma said, nudging you with her elbow. "Heâs like one of those rugged cowboys from the old Westerns."
"You sound like you're about to swoon," you teased, trying to keep the conversation light. You didn't want to admit you might have noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at Laura or the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Well, can you blame me?" Emma shot back with a grin. "Small town like ours, and a guy like that shows up? It's bound to turn some heads."
You knew that much. All the women, even those who were married, always ogled him, but he either didnât mind or didnât care. His salt and pepper hair, the thick beardâhe was practically a wet dream for women everywhere.
Emma nudged you again, eyes gleaming with mischief. "What, youâre not even the least bit curious about him?"
"I mean, sure, he's... attractive, but I'm not about to join the fan club," you said, shrugging it off, though you could feel heat creeping up your neck. You kept your focus on the kids in front of you, especially Laura, who sat quietly on the steps, doodling in her notebook like she always did while waiting for her dad.
Emma smirked, clearly not buying your indifference. "Yeah, right. I see the way you look over there sometimes."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're seeing things."
Just then, you noticed Loganâs truck pull into the school parking lot. He stepped out, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the crowd of parents. Laura immediately perked up, her quiet demeanor shifting just a little, and she started gathering her things without a word.
"Speak of the devil," Emma murmured, but you ignored her, watching as Logan approached, his usual scowl in place, though it softened when his eyes landed on his daughter.
He gave a brief nod in your direction as he came closer. "Afternoon."
"Hey," you replied, casually. You werenât about to give Emma the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.
Laura stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she walked over to him. She paused in front of you, though, glancing up with those big, serious eyes of hers.
"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice quiet but steady with a hint of her accent.
You smiled. "See you tomorrow, Laura."
She gave a small nod before taking Loganâs hand. He didnât say much else, just a simple âthanksâ before turning to leave with Laura in tow. You watched them walk away for a moment longer than necessary, noticing the slight limp in his step that he tried to hide.
"Y/N," Emma sing-songed, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Admit it, youâve got a little thing for him, don't you?"
You rolled your eyes. "You really need a new hobby."
Emma laughed, but before she could press any further, her attention shifted to another parent picking up their kid, and you were grateful for the distraction. Still, you couldnât help but wonder about Logan and Laura, what their story was. Everyone in town seemed to have their theoriesâsome more ridiculous than othersâbut youâd always figured it wasnât your place to pry.
As the crowd of students and parents thinned out, you found yourself thinking about Logan again. His gruff exterior didnât bother youâit reminded you of those old Clint Eastwood characters, tough but with something vulnerable underneath. Maybe it was the way he looked at Laura, so protective but with a softness that made you wonder what kind of man he really was when he let his guard down.
Emmaâs voice pulled you back to the present. "So, whatâs your plan for the evening?"
You shrugged. "Probably just grading papers. Maybe catching up on some Netflix. You?"
"Trying to figure out how to run into Logan at the grocery store," she joked, though you wouldnât have been surprised if she wasnât kidding.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "Good luck with that."
As you both said your goodbyes and headed to your cars, you couldnât help but glance over at Loganâs truck one more time. He was already driving off, Laura in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window.
You let out a small sigh and got in your car, starting the engine. You werenât sure what it was about him, but there was something there. Maybe Emma wasnât entirely wrong.
Not that youâd ever admit that to her.
---
Much to your dismay, you had to go to the store once you were already clad in your loungewear. You wanted to make pasta, only to remember you forgot to get milk after work.
So now, here you were at the small local grocery store grabbing milk and a pint of ice cream for your troubles. The store was quiet at this hour, a few other people milling about but otherwise uneventful. You grabbed a basket and made a beeline for the dairy section, trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. Loungewear was great for a lazy evening at home, but not exactly your first choice for public appearances.
Once you made it to the frozen section, you looked at the pints of ice cream, specifically looking for one of your favorites, Ben and Jerryâs sâmores. âFuck.â You muttered, seeing a pint of cookie dough in the spot of the sâmores.
You angrily grabbed the cookie dough ice cream to look behind it, only to find a chunky monkey pint. With a huff, you looked at the pint of ice cream, mentally cursing your luck. Just as you were about to put it back onto the shelf, a deep voice spoke from beside you.
"Didn't figure you for a chunky monkey type."
Startled, you looked up and found Logan standing there, one eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was holding a six-pack of beer and a carton of eggs in one hand, the other casually resting in the pocket of his jeans.
You blinked, thrown off by the sudden appearance. "What? Oh, no, I was just... I was looking for s'mores," you explained awkwardly, holding up the ice cream like it was evidence.
He nodded, his smirk deepening a little as he glanced at the shelves. "Guess theyâre out, huh?"
"Yeah, my luck tonight," you muttered, a little embarrassed to be caught standing here obsessing over ice cream in your loungewear. Not exactly how you wanted to run into the guy you were definitely not crushing on. How could you? He was the Wolverine, around 200 years old, and looked to be the age of your father. Well, if your father was still alive. Or if you ever got to know him.
Logan glanced at the shelf again and shrugged. "S'mores is overrated anyway."
You quirked an eyebrow at him, momentarily forgetting your embarrassment. "Oh really? Whatâs your go-to then, Mr. Anti-S'mores?"
He smirked, that same low, gravelly voice coming through as he responded. "Not much of an ice cream guy, but if I had to choose⌠probably plain vanilla. Simple. Not too sweet."
You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you. "Of course you'd go for the most basic flavor."
His eyebrow twitched slightly at that, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes. "Sometimes simpleâs the best option."
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pint of vanilla. "Well, I guess I'll take your advice tonight, then. Not like I have much of a choice."
He gave you a brief nod, and for a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there, but then Logan shifted slightly, his weight on one leg, clearly trying to mask the limp you'd noticed earlier. You werenât sure if it was from the adamantium or something else, but it definitely wasnât healing like it should. You found yourself biting your lip, wanting to ask but knowing better.
Instead, you went for something safer. "Lauraâs doing well in class, by the way. Sheâs sharp. A little stubborn, but sharp."
He glanced down at you, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Yeah, sheâs a tough one." His expression softened as he added, "She doesnât talk about it, but I know she likes you. Keeps her distance with most people."
Your heart fluttered a little at that. Laura was a bit of a mystery, rarely engaging much with the other teachers or students, so hearing that sheâd let her guard down even a little with you meant more than youâd expected. "Well, sheâs a good kid. I try not to push her too much."
Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than you expected, like he was sizing you up in that quiet, brooding way of his. It made you feel both exposed and⌠oddly seen.
"Anyway," you said, breaking the silence, "Iâll let you get back to your shopping. Iâm sure youâve got more important things to do than stand around talking about ice cream."
He gave a small grunt that mightâve been a laugh, but it was so subtle you couldnât be sure. "Yeah. See you around, Ms. Aberra."
"Y/N," you corrected, feeling a little awkward. "You can just call me Y/N."
He hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Y/N, then."
You gave him a small smile, feeling a strange warmth at the way your name sounded in his deep voice. He gave a nod before turning to leave, but as he walked away, you couldnât help but steal a glance at his retreating form. There was something about himâsomething rough, broken, but undeniably captivating.
---
The next morning, you pulled into the school parking lot, iced coffee in hand, still replaying your chance encounter with Logan at the grocery store. Why did it have to be the one night you went out in loungewear? If Emma ever found out, you'd never hear the end of it. You mentally braced yourself as you walked toward the building, determined to shake off any lingering thoughts about last night.
As you entered the teacher's lounge to drop off your things, Emma was already there, nursing her own cup of coffee. She spotted you immediately and raised an eyebrow.
"You look a little too chipper for a Wednesday," she teased.
You shrugged, trying to act casual. "Just happy to be halfway through the week."
"Uh-huh," she said, not quite convinced. "You didn't run into anyone interesting last night, did you?"
Your heart skipped a beat. How does she know?
"Like who?" you asked, trying to play dumb, but Emma's smirk told you she wasn't buying it.
"Oh, I donât know... maybe a certain rugged cowboy-looking guy with a truck?" she said, her grin widening.
You groaned. "Seriously, do you have a sixth sense or something?"
"I knew it!" Emma practically squealed. "You did run into Logan, didnât you? Come on, spill!"
You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. "It was nothing. We just ran into each other in the frozen section, talked for, like, two seconds. Thatâs it."
"Uh-huh, and?" Emma leaned forward, eager for details.
"And nothing. We talked about ice cream. He said s'mores was overrated."
Emma let out a dramatic gasp. "Overrated? Now, I know he's not perfect."
You chuckled despite yourself. "Yeah, well, that's the most thrilling part of my story, so feel free to be disappointed."
Emma shook her head, still grinning. "Oh, I'm not disappointed at all. This is just the beginning."
"There's nothing to begin, Emma," you said, exasperated. "He's just another parent."
"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that," she said with a wink before heading out to her classroom. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again as you followed her out into the hallway.
---
The morning passed uneventfully, but Laura had been quieter than usual in your class. Not that she was typically the most talkative kid, but today she seemed more distant, even from you. Sheâd finished her assignments early, as usual, but spent most of the class staring out the window instead of doodling in her notebook.
During lunch, you decided to check in with her. You found her sitting by herself outside, picking at the sandwich Logan had packed for her. You approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her.
"Hey, Laura," you greeted, taking a seat on the bench next to her. "Everything okay?"
She glanced at you, her expression as unreadable as always, before giving a slight shrug. "Yeah."
You studied her for a moment, noticing the way she kept her gaze low, avoiding eye contact more than usual. Something was definitely off. You knew better than to push too hard, but you also didn't want her to bottle everything up.
"Well, you know if you ever want to talk, Iâm here," you said gently.
She gave another shrug, but this time, her eyes flickered up to meet yours briefly. "I know."
You nodded, letting the silence settle between you. Laura wasnât one for big emotional outburstsâat least not around youâbut you had a feeling she'd talk when she was ready.
"By the way," you said, changing the subject to lighten the mood, "your dad said he donât like s'mores ice cream. Is that true, or is he just weird?"
Laura looked up at you, her lips twitching slightly like she was trying not to smile. "I like s'mores."
"Thought so," you replied with a smirk. "Well, Iâm officially questioning all of your dad's taste now."
Laura didnât laugh, but her expression softened a little, and she took another bite of her sandwich. It wasnât much, but it felt like progress. You let her finish eating in peace, feeling a little more at ease knowing that youâd at least gotten her to relax.
---
The afternoon flew by, and soon enough, the end-of-day pickup routine was in full swing. You and Emma stood outside again, watching the usual parade of parents and cars. Loganâs truck was easy to spot as it pulled up to the curb. You tried to act like you werenât paying attention, but of course, Emma caught you glancing over.
"Still nothing, huh?" she teased under her breath.
"Shut up," you muttered, doing your best to seem disinterested.
Logan stepped out of the truck, his usual stoic expression in place as he made his way toward the school. Laura was already waiting, standing near the steps with her backpack slung over her shoulder. She saw him and walked over without hesitation, but before they left, she turned back to you.
"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice a little softer than usual.
"See you tomorrow, Laura," you replied with a smile.
Logan gave you a nod as they walked past, and you couldnât help but notice the slight limp in his step again. It was subtle, but there. Your curiosity piqued, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself it wasnât your place to pry.
Emma, however, was still watching you closely. "Youâre so not fooling anyone."
You shot her a look. "Seriously, get a hobby."
Emma just grinned, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, this is my hobby, Y/N. And Iâm going to enjoy every minute of it."
As you both stood there, watching the last of the kids get picked up, you couldnât help but glance over at Loganâs truck one more time as it drove away. Emmaâs teasing was getting on your nerves, but there was a part of you that couldnât completely dismiss what she was saying.
Maybe you were a little curious. Just a little. But you werenât about to admit that to anyoneânot even yourself.
---
Over the weekend you decided it was time to get an oil change. You werenât going to go to âMavinâs Oil Changeâ, not after that happened. Which is why for the past few years youâve been doing it yourself.
It wasnât difficult, and it was a lot cheaper, both wins in your book.
You walked around the hardware store, glancing at the shelves as you carried a new oil drain pan. You paused in front of the rows of motor oil, scanning the labels. Conventional had always worked fine for you, but maybe this time you'd splurge on the synthetic blend. It wasn't a huge decision, but it felt like a small act of treating yourself, in a way.
You were debating the pros and cons of the oil options when you heard the sound of someone walking up behind you.
"Didnât peg you for the kind to do your own oil changes."
You turned your head and were met with Loganâs familiar gravelly voice. There he was againâof all places, heâd found you here in the auto section of the hardware store.
"Yeah, well, it's cheaper this way," you replied with a casual shrug, hoping to mask the slight surprise in your voice. You gestured to the oil in front of you. "What about you? Conventional or synthetic blend?"
Logan glanced at the shelf, then back at you. "Conventional. Gets the job done."
"Figures." You grinned a little, grabbing the conventional oil off the shelf. "Guess Iâll stick with what I know too, then."
He raised an eyebrow at you, but there was a hint of amusement behind his usual stoic demeanor. "Figured youâd be one to overthink it. Syntheticâs not all itâs cracked up to be."
You chuckled. "Iâll take your word for it, Mr. Oil Expert."
He grunted in response, grabbing something off the shelf for himself. For a moment, you both stood there, surrounded by tools and motor oil, neither of you saying much. It was kind of niceâquiet, comfortable in a way you wouldnât have expected.
You shifted, holding the oil pan in your hands. "So, is Laura doing anything fun this weekend?"
Logan glanced at you, his face softening slightly at the mention of his daughter. "Not much. She likes to keep busy, but⌠this town ainât exactly got a lot going on."
"True," you nodded, biting your lip as you tried to think of something. "She could come by and help me out with my garden, if sheâs interested. I know she likes plants."
Logan looked at you, a little longer than usual, and you wondered if youâd crossed some kind of line offering something so personal. But then he nodded. "Sheâd probably like that."
"Cool," you said, feeling oddly relieved that you hadnât messed up. "Let me know if she wants to. I could use an extra set of hands."
He gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered on you again for a second before he turned his attention back to the shelf. There was that same weight to his gaze, like he was always sizing things up, figuring people out.
"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "Iâm starting to think youâre stalking me. First the grocery store, now here. Should I be worried?"
Logan snorted, shaking his head. "Pretty sure itâs the other way around."
You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me? If anything, Iâm just a simple schoolteacher who likes ice cream and doing her own oil changes. Hardly the stalking type."
"Sure," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly into what could almost be considered a smile.
You felt your own lips tugging into a grin, and for a moment, it felt easier. Logan wasnât always the easiest person to talk to, but something about these small, random moments with him made you feel more at ease than you expected.
"Well, good luck with your oil change," he said, turning to head down another aisle. "Maybe see you around."
"Yeah, see you around," you replied, watching him walk away before you continued shopping, a strange warmth lingering in your chest.
As you walked toward the checkout, you couldnât help but think back on how natural it felt, just talking to him. There wasnât any awkwardness or forced conversationâjust two people running into each other at the hardware store. Nothing to overthink. Except, maybe, the fact that you were starting to like these encounters more than youâd like to admit.
---
Logan blew out a breath of his cigar smoke. Laura said she didnât like it when he smoked inside so he started doing it outside on the porch.
A small added bonus was seeing you, a few houses down, across the street, currently underneath your car getting the oil to drain.
The door opened and shut behind him as Laura stepped out, âella te gusta,â she said softly.
He let out a huff, âkid, I donât know how many times I have to tell you, but I donât know Spanish.â
Laura let out her own huff, sitting down next to Loganâs chair with her sketchbook, flipping it open. She didnât say anything for a while, just started sketching in that intense, quiet way she had. Logan leaned back, puffing on his cigar, watching the smoke curl up into the air.
He caught himself glancing back across the street, where you were still working under your car. Laura's earlier comment lingered in his mind, even if he pretended not to know what it meant.
After a few minutes of silence, Laura looked up from her drawing. âYou should go help her.â
Logan snorted, taking another puff of his cigar. âSheâs fine. Knows what sheâs doinâ.â
Laura raised an eyebrow at him, her expression skeptical. âYouâre always saying people shouldnât be doinâ stuff like that alone. What if something happens?â
âYeah, but sheâs not helpless,â he grunted, though there was something in his tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.
Laura shrugged and went back to her sketch. âStill think you should.â
Logan glanced at her, then back at you. You were sliding out from under the car, wiping your hands on your jeans, looking like youâd handled it just fine. He grunted again, though this time it was more to himself.
âWhat are you drawing?â he asked, trying to change the subject.
Laura held up her sketchbook, showing him a detailed drawing of a plantâa vine with thorns twisting around a branch. It reminded him of your garden, something about the way the plants seemed to grow wild but still had a certain beauty to them.
âThat for Ms. Aberra?â Logan asked, the name slipping out before he could stop it. He tried to keep his tone casual, but Laura shot him a knowing look.
âMaybe.â She shrugged, but there was a smirk playing on her lips. âShe likes plants. Thought sheâd like this.â
Logan just nodded, staying quiet. He wasnât about to get into a conversation with an eleven-year-old about why heâd noticed things about your garden or how you seemed to have a way with plants. That wasnât his style.
âWhy donât you go show her?â Logan suggested, nodding toward you as you gathered up your tools.
Laura seemed to think about it for a second, then shook her head. âMaybe later. Sheâs busy.â
Logan raised an eyebrow at her but didnât push it. He knew better than to try and make Laura do something if she wasnât in the mood. The kid had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Though he supposes it was his fault.
A teenage girl who was walking a dog, a tan pit bull, stopped in front of your driveway, the dog happily wagging its tail as it patiently waited for you to say hello.
You were still wiping the oil off your hands when you noticed the pair. "Hey, there.â You smiled as you crouched down to greet Juno, who leaned eagerly into your hand, her tail wagging excitedly. "How are you, Juno?" you cooed, giving the pit bull a good scratch behind the ears.
The teenage girl holding the leash smiled politely. âSheâs been dying to see you again,â she said, giving the leash a little slack so the dog could get closer.
"Well, Iâm always happy to see her." You grinned as the dog nudged your leg, clearly wanting more attention. "Been a busy evening?â
The girl shrugged. âYeah, but Juno here makes it better. You know how it is.â
You nodded. "Definitely. Plants are my version of Juno. Or baking, itâs hard to decide.â
The girl chuckled lightly before glancing at the car behind you. âDoing your own oil change?â
"Yep," you said, standing up and wiping your hands again on the rag. "Easier and cheaper than going to a shop."
She raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. I wouldnât even know where to start."
âYouâd be surprised how easy it is. YouTube tutorials, mostly,â you said, shrugging as you wiped your hands on the rag.
The girl smiled. "I might have to try that next time. If I donât mess up my car in the process.â
You laughed. "Thatâs what the tutorials are for. But yeah, itâs not too bad. Youâd get the hang of it."
As you chatted with the girl for a bit longer, Juno continued to happily soak up the attention. You scratched behind her ears one more time before standing up straight. âWell, good luck with the rest of your walk. Always nice seeing you two.â
âSame here,â the girl replied, tugging gently on Junoâs leash. âCâmon, girl. Letâs get home.â
You waved as they continued down the street, Juno looking back at you with her tail wagging. With a satisfied sigh, you turned back to finish cleaning up, putting away the oil pan and bottles of motor oil.
Across the street, Logan puffed his cigar, watching as you gathered your tools and wiped your hands one more time. Laura had gone back to her sketching, though every now and then sheâd glance up at him with that same look.
âSheâs done now,â Laura said after a moment, still sketching.
âI can see that,â Logan grumbled, tapping ash off the end of his cigar.
âStill think you should go help,â she added, not even bothering to look up this time.
Logan huffed, staring at you as you double-checked your work and began packing up. He didnât need to helpâyou were obviously handling everything just fine. But still, there was something about the way you worked so methodically, so determined. Youâd done it all yourself, like you didnât need anyoneâs help. He couldnât quite shake the feeling, though, that maybe he wanted to offer it anyway.
âKid, you sure know how to push buttons,â he muttered under his breath.
Laura just smirked, flipping another page in her sketchbook.
Logan grumbled to himself for a moment longer before standing up from his chair, tapping out the last of his cigar in the ashtray. âStay here.â
He walked across the street toward your driveway, hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes set on you as you knelt by the toolbox, sorting through the remaining tools.
âYou done already?â he called out, making his presence known.
You glanced up, not expecting to see him again so soon. âYeah, just finished up,â you replied, standing up and wiping your hands on the rag again. âWhat about you? Something break down?â
âNah, just figured Iâd see if you needed any help,â he said, his tone casual, though you could tell it wasnât exactly his style to offer assistance without a reason.
You raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. âYou offering to help after the jobâs already done?â
"Guess I am," Logan replied with a hint of a smirk, his eyes not quite meeting yours.
You couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose. Next time, Iâll be sure to save the hardest part for you."
"Yeah, you do that," he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at the now-finished oil change. "You do this kind of thing often? Or just the oil changes?"
"Mostly just the oil changes," you admitted, as you leaned in closer like you were telling a secret. âI went on a few dates with Mavinâs son the first few months I was here and didnât go over well. Now he overcharges me.â You held up your hands, âbut if itâs something complicated, I promise I drive 30 minutes to the city to get it checked out.â
Logan's eyes flickered with interest, the corners of his mouth twitching into something resembling a smile. "That right? Well, can't say I'm surprised. Mavin's a bit of a jerk."
You chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, he wasn't thrilled about me ghosting his son, that's for sure. But hey, I learned how to change my own oil, so I guess something good came out of it."
Logan grunted in agreement, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't say much after that, his eyes lingering on you as if he were trying to piece together something that didn't quite fit. You had a feeling he wasn't used to people like youâpeople who seemed to find their way into his life, one way or another.
"Well," you said, breaking the silence, "thanks for the offer, even if the jobâs already done." You smiled, a little uncertain about what to do next. "Guess I'll see you around."
He nodded, but didn't make a move to leave. "Laura likes you, you know."
That caught you off guard. "Oh," you replied, a bit flustered. "Well, I like her too. She's a good kid. Smart, but... you already know that."
"Yeah," Logan muttered, his voice softer than usual. "She doesnât open up to many people. But you... youâre different."
You weren't sure how to respond to that, so you just nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through your chest. "Iâm glad she feels comfortable around me. Sheâs been through a lot."
Logan's eyes darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. "More than most," he agreed, his voice rough with something that sounded a lot like guilt.
You wanted to reach out, to say something that might make him feel better, but words failed you. So instead, you just stood there, the silence stretching between you, not awkward but charged with something unspoken.
"Anyway," Logan said, clearing his throat as if to shake off the heavy moment. "If you ever need help with the car, you know where to find me. Or Laura."
You smiled, feeling that warmth again. "Iâll keep that in mind. And if you two ever need help with, I donât know, math homework or... anything else, you know where to find me."
He nodded, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Noted."
You watched as he turned to leave, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. As he walked back toward his house, you couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something more than just friendly encounters at the store.
---
During lunch, you sat in your classroom, enjoying 30 minutes of peace and quiet before the kids came back into the room. The soft hum of the heater filled the space, making the room feel warmer than usual as you flipped through the stack of quizzes you needed to grade. The formulas and diagrams were a blur as your mind drifted back to the weekend, specifically to Logan.
The way heâd offered to help with your oil change, the quiet moments that had followedâit was so unlike him. Or maybe, you realized, you just didnât know him well enough yet. Either way, something about it had left you feeling... something.
A soft knock on the doorframe pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway, that cheeky grin on her face.
âSo,â she started, stepping inside your classroom. âI hear youâre making friends with a certain someone across the street.â
You rolled your eyes, setting down the quiz youâd been half-grading. âIâm not âmaking friends.â We just happen to run into each other.â
Emma raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. âMhm. Sure. Totally normal for him to come help with your oil change, right?â
"My God, how do you know?" you asked, eyes widening in disbelief as you sat back in your chair.
Emma smirked, leaning against the doorway like she had all the time in the world. "Small town. You know how people talk." She paused, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Besides, youâre not exactly subtle. Logan? The gruff guy across the street? Itâs hard to miss that you two have been... running into each other more than usual."
You sighed, rubbing your temple. "Itâs not like that. He just offered to help with my car, and Lauraâ"
Emmaâs grin widened. "Ah, Laura. Thatâs the key, isnât it? Iâve seen how she looks at you. That kid doesnât warm up to just anyone. Sheâs a little... prickly, but with you? Sheâs different."
"Sheâs a good kid," you said, trying to deflect. "Sheâs been through a lot, you know? I just think she needs someone to talk to. Someone whoâs not... intimidating."
"Sure, sure," Emma teased, walking further into the room and sitting on the edge of one of the desks. "But you canât tell me there isnât something more going on between you and Logan. I mean, come on. He doesnât exactly strike me as the âfriendly neighborâ type. More like âleave me alone or Iâll stab you with my clawsâ type."
You chuckled despite yourself. "Okay, yeah, heâs not exactly Mr. Rogers. But itâs not like weâre... you know, itâs justâ"
"Flirting?" Emma offered with a raised eyebrow.
"Friendly," you corrected quickly, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "Itâs just friendly. Heâs Lauraâs dad, and weâve talked a few times, but thatâs it."
Emma gave you a knowing look. "Uh-huh. Sure. And Iâm the Queen of England."
You groaned, pushing your quizzes aside. "Why are you so obsessed with this?"
"Because," Emma said with a shrug, "itâs about time you had a little fun in this town. You spend all your time either at school or working on that garden of yours. You deserve to have a life outside of grading papers and pulling weeds."
"I have a life," you protested.
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Really? And when was the last time you went on a date?"
You opened your mouth to reply, but quickly closed it, realizing you didnât have a good answer. "Okay, fine," you admitted, "itâs been a while. But that doesnât meanâ"
"Exactly my point," Emma interrupted, flashing a triumphant grin. "Look, Iâm not saying you have to marry the guy. But Logan? Heâs clearly interested. And I think you are too."
"Okay⌠even if I was interested, Iâm pretty sure a guy like that doesnât have dating or relationships on his mind. Especially with someone like me." You leaned back in your chair, feeling a mix of frustration and doubt.
Emma gave you a skeptical look, shaking her head. "Someone like you? Come on, Y/N. Donât sell yourself short. Youâre smart, funny, and clearly, Logan thinks youâre worth his time. Heâs not just helping anyone with an oil change, believe me."
You sighed, crossing your arms. "Itâs not that simple. You know what heâs been through. And Laura... sheâs been through so much already. Iâm not about to mess with their lives."
Emma smirked, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Mess with their lives? Or make their lives better? Laura clearly likes you, Y/N. Sheâs practically glued to your side when youâre around. And Logan? Heâs different with you. I see it."
You frowned, picking up a pen and twirling it between your fingers. "Lauraâs nice to me, yeah. But that doesnât mean anything. Sheâs indifferent to most of the other teachers, and she barely talks in class. I donât even know if she likes me, or if itâs just... I donât know."
"She doesnât warm up to just anyone," Emma pointed out. "Youâre different. She looks at you like she trusts you, and Logan trusts you too, whether he shows it or not. Thatâs not something that happens often with them. Theyâre... well, guarded, for obvious reasons."
You were quiet for a moment, thinking about Laura. It was trueâshe was quiet, distant with others, but with you? There was something different. Sheâd even started staying after class sometimes, just sitting there while you graded papers or prepped for the next lesson. And Logan? He was always nearby, watching, but never intruding.
Still, the idea of anything happening between you and Logan felt... complicated. "Even if he did trust me, itâs not like heâs the type to be thinking about relationships. The manâs got enough on his plate. And me? Iâve got work, and... Iâm not exactly relationship material."
Emma laughed, shaking her head. "Please, Y/N. If anyone deserves a chance at something real, itâs you. Youâve spent so long taking care of everyone elseâyour students, your job. Maybe itâs time to let someone take care of you for a change."
You looked at her, skeptical. "You think Logan is the type to 'take care of' someone?"
She smirked. "He already is. Heâs just doing it in his own way. And trust me, the way he looks at you? Thereâs more there than you realize. You just have to stop overthinking it."
Before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Emma stood up, giving you one last knowing smile before heading for the door. "Just think about it, Y/N. Sometimes, the best things happen when you least expect them."
You watched her go, your mind still swirling with doubt and a tiny sliver of hope. Could there really be something more between you and Logan? Or was it just your imagination?
As your students started filing back into the room, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the rest of the day. But even as you taught your lessons and graded papers, Logan lingered in the back of your mind.
---
Later that evening, you found yourself in the garden, pulling weeds and trying to clear your head. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm orange glow over the small town. You liked this time of dayâthe quiet, the calm.
Just as you were settling into the rhythm of pulling weeds, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning around, you saw Logan standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Need any help?" he asked, his gruff voice breaking the silence.
You blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, with the garden? Iâm just pulling weeds."
He shrugged, stepping closer. "Doesnât hurt to have an extra set of hands."
You smiled, feeling a bit awkward but oddly touched by the offer. "Sure, if youâre up for it."
Logan crouched down next to you, pulling at the weeds without saying much. The two of you worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the rustling of plants and the distant hum of traffic.
Eventually, you spoke up, trying to break the tension. "So... Lauraâs been doing well in class. Sheâs quiet, but I think sheâs starting to come out of her shell a bit."
Logan glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah? Thatâs good to hear. She doesnât talk much at home either."
"Sheâs a smart kid," you added, pulling another weed. "But I think... she could use someone to talk to. Someone she feels safe with."
Logan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Sheâs been through a lot. Trust doesnât come easy for her."
You hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Do you feel safe here?"
He looked at you, his expression softening just a little. "Safer than Iâve felt in a long time."
That simple admission hit you harder than you expected. Logan, this gruff, guarded man, was letting his walls down, even just a little. It made your heart ache in a way you hadnât anticipated.
"Thatâs good," you said quietly, your eyes meeting his. "Iâm glad."
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you felt heavy but not uncomfortable. Loganâs presence was grounding, solid in a way that made you feel... safe too.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I appreciate what youâve done for Laura. She doesnât trust many people, but with you... itâs different."
You shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Iâm just doing my job. Sheâs a good kid, like I said."
Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Itâs more than that. She trusts you. And... so do I."
Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There was something unspoken in the air between you, something neither of you was ready to address. But it was there, simmering just below the surface.
"Logan, Iâ"
Before you could finish, he stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Anyway, Iâll let you get back to it."
You stood up too, feeling the weight of what was left unsaid hanging in the air. "Thanks for the help."
He gave a brief nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Anytime."
As you watched him walk away, your heart was pounding in your chest. There was no denying it nowâthere was something between you and Logan. Something real. And it scared you just as much as it excited you.
---
Parent-teacher conferences always stressed you out. Gathering all your studentsâ information, organizing it all, it was hectic and unreasonable. You couldnât understand why an email didnât suffice.
Possibly the worst thing about it is the fact it took place in the school gym, which had no AC. The heat was almost unbearable, making your clothes stick to your skin as you shuffled through your notes, waiting for the next parent to arrive to your table.
The gym was packed, parents and their kids moving between tables as they talked to teachers, making the already stifling room feel even hotter. You fanned yourself with the stack of notes youâd organized earlier, feeling sweat prickle at your back.
You glanced at your list of appointments, sighing when you saw who was next: Logan. You hadn't expected him to come. Laura was doing well enough in your class, but she wasnât exactly the type to care about grades. You figured Logan would be the sameâpractical, but not overly concerned about school meetings.
You straightened up, glancing around to see him approaching with Laura by his side. She looked slightly uncomfortable, her arms crossed and her gaze focused anywhere but the gym, while Logan was, well... Logan. His expression was gruff, unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes that softened when he saw you.
âMs. Aberra,â Logan greeted as he reached your table, giving you a nod.
âLogan,â you said, smiling at Laura. âAnd Laura. How are you two doing?â
Laura shrugged, barely meeting your gaze. Logan pulled out the chair for her, and she reluctantly sat down, still quiet. He stayed standing, leaning on the back of the chair, watching you with that familiar intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
âDidnât expect to see you here,â you said lightly, trying to ease the tension. âLauraâs doing fine in class. Really, thereâs not much to talk about.â
Logan glanced at Laura, then back at you. âFigured Iâd come by anyway. See how things are goinâ.â
You nodded, pulling up Lauraâs grades on your tablet. âWell, like I said, sheâs doing great. Sheâs one of the best in the class, actually. Quiet, but I can tell sheâs always thinking.â
Lauraâs face remained impassive, but there was the slightest twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips.
âSheâs got potential,â you continued, looking at Logan. âEspecially in science. I think sheâd be great at anything she wanted to do, honestly.â
Logan grunted in response, but there was a proud glint in his eye. âThatâs good to hear.â
Laura finally spoke up, her voice quiet but clear. âI like science. And math.â
You smiled, surprised by her willingness to engage. âWell, youâre really good at it. I was thinking, if you ever wanted, there are some extracurriculars coming up. Science club, math competitionsâstuff like that. It might be fun.â
Laura glanced at Logan, who simply shrugged. âUp to you, kid.â
She seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded slightly. âMaybe.â
âWell, no pressure,â you said, trying to keep it casual. âYou can always decide later.â
There was an awkward pause as you flipped through the rest of Lauraâs grades, though there wasnât much else to say. She was excelling, especially considering her background. You couldnât help but feel a little protective over her, knowing what sheâd been through.
âSo, uh, anything else you need to know?â you asked, looking back up at Logan.
He shook his head. âJust wanted to check in, make sure sheâs on track.â
You smiled, feeling the warmth in his words even if he didnât show it. âSheâs doing great. Really.â
Logan gave you a brief nod, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary before he straightened up. âThanks.â
You watched as he turned to Laura, ready to leave, but she didnât stand just yet. Instead, she glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowed slightly like she was piecing something together.
âAre you... friends?â she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the noise of the gym.
You blinked, taken aback by the question. Logan seemed just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly recovered.
âWell,â you said slowly, glancing at Logan for a cue. âI guess you could say that.â
Logan cleared his throat, crossing his arms. âYeah. Somethinâ like that.â
Lauraâs eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didnât quite believe it but wasnât going to argue. âOkay.â
She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor as she started toward the exit. Logan hesitated for a moment, giving you one last look before following her. âSee you around,â he said, his voice gruff but softer than usual.
You watched them go, feeling that strange mix of emotions againâthe warmth, the uncertainty, the possibility of something more. As the door closed behind them, you realized that, for once, you didnât mind the heat. It was a small town, and people noticed everything. But you were starting to wonder if maybe that wasnât such a bad thing after all.
Laura grabbed his hand as they exited the gym, having already seen her other teachers. She looked up at Logan, as he stared straight ahead at the truck in the parking lot. âCreo que ella te gusta.â
He let out a huff, âkid, donât know how many times I gotta say it, but I donât know Spanish.â
Laura gave him a sidelong glance, clearly unimpressed by his response. "You should learn," she muttered under her breath, squeezing his hand as they reached the truck.
Logan grunted as he fumbled for the keys, a slight wince crossing his features as he slid into the driverâs seat. He glanced at Laura, who was already buckling herself in without a word. The silence between them wasnât uncomfortable, but it wasnât quite easy either.
He turned the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life as he pulled out of the parking lot. His mind wandered back to the parent-teacher conference, and specifically to Y/N. Sheâd always been good with Laura, he could see that. But lately, something about her seemed to calm him tooâa feeling he wasnât used to and didnât quite know how to handle.
âYou like her,â Laura said, breaking the silence with her blunt observation. It wasnât a question.
Loganâs grip tightened on the steering wheel. âSheâs a good teacher. You like her, too.â
âThatâs not what I meant,â Laura said, crossing her arms. âYou act different when sheâs around. You donât growl as much.â
Logan let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. âI donât growl.â
âYes, you do,â Laura said, looking out the window. âBut not at her.â
He didnât know how to respond to that, so he didnât. Instead, he focused on the road, trying to push away the thoughts circling in his mind. He wasnât a man used to... feelings, especially not ones that left him unsure. But Y/N had a way of sneaking under his defenses, and that scared him more than heâd like to admit.
âI like her,â Laura said quietly after a long stretch of silence.
Logan glanced at her, surprised by the soft admission. Laura didnât trust people easily, and she certainly didnât like many. But her words carried weight, especially to him.
âYeah?â he asked, his voice softer than usual.
Laura nodded, still looking out the window. âSheâs not like the others. She doesnât treat me like Iâm different.â
Logan felt a knot in his chest loosen, though he wasnât sure why. Maybe it was the relief of knowing Laura had found someone she trusted, or maybe it was the way Y/N had already become a part of their lives, without him even realizing it. Either way, he didnât say anything more, just drove the rest of the way home in silence, lost in his own thoughts.
---
The next morning, you thanked the stars that it was Saturday. You were exhausted from the large amount of human interaction last night and decided to sleep in a bit before tending to the garden.
After that, and taking a shower, you slipped into comfortable clothes, some small shorts and a large t-shirt that covered the shorts, since it only getting warmer outside.
Even with that said, you couldnât help but crave chocolate chip cookies, thanking the stars once again that you had all the ingredients.
You turned on the oven, allowing it to pre-heat, as you grabbed a mixing bowl and walked around your small kitchen looking for the ingredients listed on your worn-out piece of paper. You still hadnât memorized the recipe after making it for years.
The doorbell ringed as you poked your head out the side of your kitchen. When you answered it, you were pleasantly surprised to find Laura outside, wearing what you could only describe as a cute grey shirt with a colorful bear on it. Youâd never say it to her, sheâd probably leave if you said she looked cute.
âHey, Laura. Dâyou need anything?â
âDaddy said I could help with the garden.â She spoke softly.
âOof, sorry kiddo. Already did it this morning.â You looked back inside your house before turning back to Laura, âthough, I could use some help making cookies.â
Laura hesitated for a second, her dark eyes studying you as if trying to decide whether this was worth her time. You were still getting used to her quiet, guarded nature, but youâd learned quickly that she was different around you compared to other people. It was like you had some sort of unspoken understanding, even if you didnât fully get why.
âOkay,â she finally said, stepping past you into the house.
You closed the door behind her, walking back into the kitchen and grabbing a second mixing bowl. âYou ever make cookies before?â you asked, glancing over your shoulder at her.
Laura shook her head, standing by the counter as she watched you.
âWell, todayâs your lucky day. Iâm about to show you the magic of sugar, butter, and chocolate chips.â You grinned as you started measuring out the ingredients. âCan you hand me the brown sugar?â
She scanned the countertop before reaching for the brown sugar, silently passing it to you. You got the feeling she wasnât used to this kind of thingânormal, mundane stuff like baking cookies on a lazy Saturday. Not that you knew her whole story or anything, but youâd heard enough about Logan and his complicated life to guess Laura hadnât had a typical upbringing.
As you started mixing the butter and sugar together, you tried to think of something to say. Conversations with Laura could be tricky; she wasnât the chatty type, and you didnât want to push her too much.
âSo,â you started, keeping your tone casual, âwhatâs Logan up to today?â
She shrugged. âResting.â
You raised an eyebrow but didnât push further. Logan resting was a good thing. You knew heâd been having a rough time lately with his health, even though he wasnât the type to admit it. You figured he was just being stubborn, refusing to slow down even though it was clear his healing wasnât what it used to be.
Laura remained silent, watching as you added the flour to the mix.
âYou wanna stir?â you asked, offering her the spatula.
She looked at it for a moment before stepping closer and taking it from you. Her movements were careful, deliberate, and you couldnât help but smile as she focused on the task.
âNice job,â you said, giving her a thumbs-up. âYouâve got a future in cookie-making, I can tell.â
Laura didnât react much, but you swore you saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes.
As she stirred, you reached for the chocolate chips. âBest part of making cookiesâsneaking a few of these before they go in the dough.â You tossed a couple into your mouth, then held the bag out to her.
She paused, looking at the chocolate chips like she wasnât sure what to do. After a second, she picked one up and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.
You chuckled. âSee? Told you itâs the best part.â
Laura kept stirring the dough while you got the baking sheets ready. The silence wasnât uncomfortable, just⌠quiet. You didnât mind it, though. Laura wasnât the type of kid who needed constant conversation, and you appreciated that about her.
As she worked, you glanced at her again, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness. You didnât know what exactly sheâd been through, but whatever it was, you could tell it had shaped her into someone far older than her years.
When the dough was ready, you started scooping it onto the trays. âAlmost done,â you said. âThen itâs just a waiting game while they bake.â
Laura nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she watched you.
You slid the trays into the oven and set the timer before turning back to her. âYou want some water or anything while we wait?â
She shook her head, her eyes still on the oven like she was trying to figure out why people made such a big deal out of cookies.
âWell, Iâm grabbing a drink.â You poured yourself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you sipped. âItâll take around 12 minutes for them to finish. Then we put in another batch, and another until the dough has all been used.â
Laura gave a small nod, her eyes still focused on the oven. It was like she was trying to figure out if all this waiting was actually worth it.
You studied her for a moment, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. She never really said much, but it was clear there was a lot happening behind those dark, watchful eyes. You werenât exactly sure why sheâd taken to you, but you were grateful for it. Laura didnât let many people in, that much was obvious.
âI can show you a movie. Or maybe some music? I usually play somethinâ while I wait.â
Laura glanced up at you, her brow furrowing slightly. âMusic,â she said quietly.
You smiled, glad she was at least open to that. âCool. Letâs see what we got.â You pulled out your phone and scrolled through your playlist, landing on something mellow, nothing too upbeat or distracting. You hit play, letting the soft sounds of a guitar fill the room.
Laura leaned against the counter, listening, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasnât fidgety or impatient, just quiet, like she was absorbing everything around her.
You took another sip of water, watching her from the corner of your eye. âYou ever help Logan with stuff like this? Like cooking?â
She shook her head. âNo.â
You figured as much. âWell, if he ever asks, youâll be a pro now.â You winked at her, earning the tiniest of shrugs in return.
You both stood there in a comfortable silence, letting the music play. It wasnât awkward, just⌠peaceful. The smell of the cookies starting to bake filled the kitchen, and for a moment, it was easy to forget all the heavy stuff hanging in the airâLoganâs health, Lauraâs past, whatever weight she carried that you didnât fully understand yet.
After a few minutes, Laura spoke up. âI talked to Logan about you⌠last night.â
You paused, surprised sheâd bring it up. âOh yeah? Whatâd he say?â
She didnât answer right away, her gaze fixed on the oven. âHe said youâre... different from other people. In a good way.â
A warmth crept into your chest at that. âWell, thatâs nice of him to say. I think heâs pretty different too, you know. In a good way.â
Laura looked at you, her expression unreadable. âHe likes you,â she said, her tone flat, but there was something in the way she said it, like it was a fact she was still processing.
You felt your cheeks heat up a little. âYeah? Well⌠I like him too.â
She stared at you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, like she was piecing something together in her head. âHe doesnât trust people. But he trusts you.â
You swallowed, not quite sure how to respond to that. âIâm glad he does. I mean⌠I care about him, Laura. And you too.â
Lauraâs eyes flickered with somethingâmaybe understanding, maybe something else you couldnât quite name. She didnât say anything for a while, just looked down at the floor.
Before the silence could stretch too long, the oven timer beeped, cutting through the moment.
âCookies are done,â you said, turning to grab the oven mitts. You pulled the trays out, setting them on the counter to cool. The smell was even stronger now, warm and sweet, filling the entire kitchen. âWanna taste test one?â
Laura hesitated for a second before nodding.
You carefully lifted a cookie from the tray, holding it out to her. âCareful, itâs hot.â
She took it, blowing on it before taking a small bite. You watched as she chewed, her face still neutral, but you could tell she liked it.
âGood, right?â you asked, biting into one yourself.
Laura nodded again, chewing slowly. For a split second, you thought you saw a hint of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.
As you both stood there, munching on cookies, the air felt lighter, like some kind of invisible barrier between you had shifted just a little. You didnât know all of Lauraâs story, but you didnât need to. What mattered was that she was here, sharing this small moment with you, and that was enough.
âSo,â you said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. âWhat should we do next? More cookies? Or maybe try out that movie?â
Laura looked at the remaining dough, then back at you. âMore cookies.â
You grinned. âGood choice. Letâs make this batch even better.â
---
After all the cookies came out of the oven, you sent Laura home with a container of some of the batch. You could never eat them all on your own, and you ended up giving some away anyways, so why not give some to Laura?
You walked Laura to your front door and watched as she crossed the street, her figure disappearing behind the door three houses down. There was always something surreal about the way she movedâso quiet, so controlled, like she had learned to blend into the background. It made you wonder what her life had been like before coming here.
When Laura walked in, the container held tightly to her chest, Logan sat on the couch, the soft murmur of the TV barely audible as he sipped from a whiskey bottle. His eyes flicked over to her as the door clicked shut behind her.
âYou were gone a while,â he muttered, his voice rough but not harsh.
Laura shrugged, walking past him toward the kitchen. âMade cookies.â
Logan raised an eyebrow, watching her disappear from view. The faint clinking of a container hitting the counter reached his ears. He knew she didnât do stuff like this unless someone dragged her into it. âWith Y/N?â he asked, taking another sip.
Laura reappeared, nodding as she plopped down beside him on the couch, the container of cookies now on the coffee table.
Logan stared at it for a moment, then gave a small grunt of approval. He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the container, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness that felt out of place in his usual world of bitterness and whiskey.
âNot bad,â he muttered, glancing at Laura. âYou help with these?â
She shrugged again, still watching the TV, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression that didnât go unnoticed by Logan.
âHmm,â he grunted, leaning back. âMaybe next time, you can bring some whiskey to wash âem down.â
Laura didnât smile, but her lips twitched slightly as if she was trying not to.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the low hum of the TV filling the room. Loganâs thoughts drifted back to Y/N. He didnât trust people easilyânever had, and probably never would. But Y/N was different. Heâd seen how she handled Laura, how she didnât push too hard or ask too many questions. And she was patient, something Logan knew he didnât have much of.
âY/Nâs a good one,â he said quietly, almost to himself.
Laura didnât say anything, but she shifted slightly, leaning her head against the arm of the couch.
Logan watched her for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He knew settling down wasnât really in his nature, but for Lauraâs sakeâand maybe a bit for his ownâhe was trying. And Y/N? She made that easier, even if he didnât want to admit it.
âShe ask about me?â Logan asked, more curious than he wanted to let on.
Laura nodded, her eyes still on the screen. âYeah. I told her you were resting.â
Logan snorted. âResting. Thatâs a nice way of putting it.â
Laura didnât respond, and Logan didnât push further. He knew what Y/N probably thoughtâthat he was just some grumpy guy with a limp, maybe a few too many scars for comfort. She didnât know the half of it. But she didnât pry either, and for that, he was grateful.
âGuess Iâll have to thank her for the cookies,â Logan said after a while, taking another sip from the bottle. His mind wandered to the thought of Y/Nâthe way she smiled when she was around Laura, how she always seemed to have the right balance of patience and understanding. It wasnât just anyone who could handle a kid like Laura, let alone make her feel comfortable enough to bake cookies on a Saturday.
âShe likes you too, you know,â Laura said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Loganâs brow furrowed. âWhat?â
âY/N,â Laura clarified, her tone as flat as ever. âShe likes you.â
Logan chuckled, though there was a bit of discomfort behind it. âYou donât know that, kid.â
Laura looked at him, her gaze piercing and a little too wise for someone her age. âShe does. I can tell.â
Logan stared back at her, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact she sounded. It was hard to argue with Laura when she had that look on her face, the same look that said she saw through everything and didnât waste time with pleasantries.
He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off. âYeah, well⌠thatâs her problem, not mine.â
Laura didnât react, just turned back to the TV. But Logan could feel her eyes on him for a few seconds longer before she settled back into the cushions.
Logan shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Lauraâs words hanging in the air. He wasnât used to people âlikingâ him in the way Laura seemed to imply. People tolerated him, sure, maybe even respected him, but liking him? That was new territory.
He let out a sigh and reached for another cookie. It wasnât worth thinking about. Not right now.
But even as he chewed in silence, he couldnât shake the thought of Y/Nâand what it might mean if Laura was right.
---
A few days later, you found yourself at Loganâs house helping Laura with some of her English homework. You usually donât make âhouse callsâ to help students, but you couldnât deny Laura.
Logan stayed seated in the living room, drinking a beer and watching the TV. But really, he was pretending not to listen to their conversation in the kitchen.
âYouâre doing good, Laura.â You said.
Laura shrugged, her eyes flicking over to Logan in the living room. âCan you stay for dinner?â She asked you.
Loganâs head snapped up at that. He hadnât expected Laura to ask, but there was no denying that the kid had gotten attached to you. Before you could answer, Laura added, âI made something. With Logan.â
That was a lie, of course. Laura had barely touched the stove since the cookies, but she gave Logan a look that told him to back her up.
Y/N smiled softly. âI wouldnât say no to dinner.â She glanced at Logan. âIf thatâs okay?â
Logan grunted, shifting his weight. âYeah. âCourse.â
Laura gave a small nod, clearly satisfied with the answer. You smiled, pushing the papers aside. âGuess Iâm staying for dinner, then.â
Logan shot Laura a look, one that said what exactly are we eating? but she ignored him, turning her attention back to you. âItâs nothing fancy,â she said, which wasnât reassuring.
âWell, Iâm excited. Food always tastes better when someone else cooks it,â you joked, standing up to stretch your arms.
Logan watched you from the corner of his eye as he sat back down on the couch, pretending to be more interested in the muted TV than he actually was. You couldnât help but notice the way he seemed a little tenser whenever you were around, like he wasnât quite sure what to do with himself. He was trying to stay low-key, but you could tell he was keeping tabs on every move you made, every word you said.
âSo, whatâs on the menu?â you asked, trying to ease the quiet that had settled over the room.
Laura, sitting across from you, didnât answer right away, like she was carefully considering her next move. Loganâs eyes flicked over to her, waiting for her response.
âSpaghetti,â she finally said, her voice as flat as ever.
You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. âOh yeah? Sounds good.â
Logan gave a low grunt from the couch, and you could tell by his expression that he was trying to figure out when theyâd supposedly made spaghetti. But he didnât contradict Laura, just took another swig from his beer.
âWell, Iâm looking forward to it,â you said, standing up from the kitchen table. âLet me know if you need any help.â
Laura didnât say anything, just headed to the stove where a pot of water was already simmering. You followed her, glancing at the nearly-empty box of spaghetti on the counter. It was clear she hadnât done this a lot, but the effort was what mattered. And if it meant spending more time with herâand Loganâyou werenât about to complain.
âIâll get the sauce going,â you offered, stepping beside her. Laura gave you a slight nod, sliding over to make room.
Logan watched from the couch, his eyes narrowing as if he was weighing the situation. He hadnât expected you to just roll with it, but then again, you always had a way of adapting.
âSo, howâs school?â you asked Laura, trying to keep the conversation light while you opened the jar of sauce.
âItâs fine,â she said, her tone noncommittal.
You stirred the sauce, giving a little shrug. âWell, if you ever need help with any other type of homework, you know where to find me.â
She glanced up at you, her expression unreadable, but something in her eyes softened for a second. âI know.â
The two of you worked in quiet sync, with Laura focusing on the pasta and you keeping an eye on the sauce. It wasnât long before the kitchen started to smell of tomatoes and garlic, the scent filling the air and making the small space feel cozy. For a while, the only sounds were the bubbling pot and the clinking of utensils.
Logan shifted on the couch, clearing his throat. âNeed me to do anything?â
You glanced back at him with a smile. âJust sit there and look pretty, Logan. Weâve got this.â
A low chuckle escaped him, though his face didnât change much. âThat so?â
Laura glanced at Logan, her expression unreadable, but you caught the briefest hint of approval in her eyes before she turned back to stirring the pasta.
Once everything was ready, you and Laura brought the food to the small dining table. You plated up the spaghetti, topping it with sauce and a sprinkle of Parmesan. Logan joined you both, moving slower than he probably realized, and sat down with a grunt.
As you all ate, the room stayed comfortably quiet. It wasnât one of those forced silences that felt awkwardâit was more like everyone was just settling into the moment. Laura was still guarded, but you could tell she was starting to relax, even if it was just a little.
âYou did good, Laura,â you said, twirling some spaghetti on your fork. âThis tastes great.â
She didnât say anything, just kept eating, but you saw her shoulders ease up ever so slightly.
Logan, on the other hand, glanced between the two of you, chewing slowly. He hadnât been big on cooking or anything domestic like this, but he could tell Laura had put in effort. He took another bite, grunting his approval. âNot bad,â he said quietly.
You smiled to yourself. This whole thing wasnât exactly what youâd planned for the evening, but it was nice in its own wayâjust simple, like normal people having dinner together.
As you were finishing up, Logan pushed his chair back, grabbing his beer bottle from the table. âIâll handle the cleanup,â he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.
You raised an eyebrow, standing to gather a few plates. âYou sure?â
Logan waved you off. âYeah. Laura and I got it.â
You nodded, stepping back. âAlright, Iâll leave you to it then.â
Laura watched you quietly, her dark eyes flicking between you and Logan. You could tell she wasnât used to this kind of thing, the casual ease of sharing a meal and cleaning up afterward. But she was learning, and it seemed like she didnât mind having you around for it.
âWell,â you said, grabbing your bag from the chair. âThanks for dinner, you two. Iâll see you around?â
Logan grunted in acknowledgment, giving you a nod. Laura followed you to the door, her small figure standing by your side as you reached for the handle.
Before you could leave, she spoke up. âWill you come over again?â Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
You smiled softly. âOf course. Anytime.â
She nodded, her face still unreadable, but there was a certain calmness to her now, a trust that hadnât been there before.
You gave her a little wave before stepping out into the evening air. As you walked back to your house, you couldnât help but think about how unexpected this had all been.
---
You muttered to yourself, hanging up the phone. Your sink had started to leak, and even though you were fairly handy, when you tightened the pipes, it did nothing.
So here you were, on your lunch break, looking for a handyman that didnât want to charge you $200 for a quick fix.
Emma walked in, holding a folder with her lesson plans. âSoâŚâ
You rolled your eyes, âdonât start.â
âWhat! Iâve told you, word travels fast. Rose saw you leavinâ his house last night.â
âRose?â You shook your head, âthat woman is 85 and still gossips like sheâs 20.â You put your phone down, âI was helping Laura with her English homework.â
"Helping Laura with her English homework?" Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You mean, at ten o'clock at night? Sure, Y/N."
You groaned, leaning back in your chair. âIt wasnât like that. Sheâs struggling with some of the writing prompts, and Loganâs... well, you know heâs not exactly the best person for that.â
âUh-huh,â Emma nodded slowly, setting her folder down. âIâm just saying, you and him⌠thereâs something there. You can deny it all you want, but people see things.â
âPeople need hobbies,â you muttered. âBesides, Loganâs... complicated. Itâs not that simple.â
âIâm not saying it is,â she shrugged. âBut youâve been spending more and more time with him and Laura lately. Iâm just curious.â
You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. âCurious about what, exactly?â
âJust curious when you're going to admit you like him,â Emma smirked.
âI donâtâ" you started to argue, but stopped yourself. âEmma, heâs⌠I mean, I care about him, but itâs not like that. Heâs a single dad with a kid, and Iâm just the neighbor who helps out sometimes.â
âYeah, sure, Y/N.â Emma grabbed her folder and gave you a pointed look, âif you donât make a move, someone on the âWolverine Watchersâ will.â
You choked on the iced coffee you took a sip of, âthe what?â
Emma grinned, âthe âWolverine Watchersâ. A bunch of women in the town created a Facebook group about him. I joined out of curiosity.â
You blinked at Emma, still processing what sheâd just said. âHold onâthereâs a Facebook group about Logan? Are you serious?â
âDead serious,â Emma said with a smug smile. âThey call themselves the âWolverine Watchers.â Thereâs, like, at least 30 women in it. Maybe more.â
You shook your head in disbelief, sinking back into your chair. âThatâs insane. Why would anyone even...â
âOh, please,â Emma interrupted. âDonât act like you donât get it. Heâs rugged, mysterious, barely speaks to anyone, and heâs got the whole grumpy-silver-fox thing going on. They eat it up. Hell, even I get it.â
You glared at her. âYouâre not helping.â
She leaned against the desk, still grinning. âJust saying, donât wait too long, or one of them might swoop in.â
You waved her off, though a part of you felt oddly defensive about the whole thing. âLoganâs not interested in any of that.â
Emma shrugged, pushing off the desk and heading for the door. âMaybe. Maybe not. But are you interested?â
You opened your mouth to respond before shaking your head. âOkay. Iâm going to forget this part of our conversation and continue to try and look for a plumber or handyman.â
Emma laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. âFine, fine. But if you need help with Logan or plumbing, you know where to find me.â
She left the room at the same time Laura walked in. She walked over to the front of your desk and stared at you with those eyes of hers. âYou need help?â Laura finally asked.
You shook your head, âno. Just need a plumber. The sink in my kitchen is leakinâ.â
Laura tilted her head slightly, considering something. âWhy donât you ask daddy?â
You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose. âBecause your dadâs busy, and itâs not his problem to deal with. Iâll figure it out.â
âHe fixed the dishwasher last week,â she pointed out quietly, a hint of mischief in her eyes. âAnd the dryer.â
âYeah, but I donât want to bother him with stuff like this,â you countered, trying to ignore how her face lit up every time she mentioned something Logan had done for you. âIâm sure heâs got enough on his plate.â
Laura didnât respond right away. Instead, she leaned against your desk, her small fingers tapping lightly on the wood. âHe likes helping,â she murmured, almost like she was testing the waters.
You looked at her, raising an eyebrow. âIs that so?â
âMhm,â she nodded, but quickly glanced away, pretending to focus on the bulletin board behind you. âHeâs good at fixing things.â
You watched her for a moment, your irritation from earlier starting to melt away. It was hard to stay frustrated when she was being so earnest. âOkay, okay, I get it. But your dad doesnât need to be the townâs go-to handyman.â
Laura glanced up at you through her lashes. âJust tell him. Please?â
There was something almost⌠hopeful in her gaze, and you felt a twinge of guilt. Laura wasnât the type to ask for much. If this meant that much to herâŚ
âFine,â you sighed, holding up your hands in surrender. âIâll ask him. But only because you asked nicely.â
Lauraâs lips twitched in the faintest smile, a look of victory crossing her face. âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome, but youâre not off the hook yet,â you teased gently. âYou still owe me an essay on Newtonâs laws of motion, remember?â
She scrunched up her nose, making a face. âI know. Iâll finish it.â
âGood,â you nodded, giving her a playful wink. âAnd donât go trying to bribe me with homework just to get me to talk to your dad, okay?â
Lauraâs eyes widened in mock innocence. âI would never.â
âUh-huh,â you said skeptically. âAlright, head back to class. Lunch is almost over.â
She gave a small nod, then glanced back at you before leaving. âHe really likes you, you know.â
Your heart stuttered, caught off guard by her bluntness. âLauraââ
âJust saying,â she added quickly before ducking out the door and heading down the hallway.
You stared at the empty doorway, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. Liking you? What did that even mean coming from an eleven-year-old?
You shook your head, trying to push the thought away. Logan was⌠well, Logan. Gruff, quiet, and often impossible to read. And sure, heâd been more present lately, but that didnât mean anything. He was just being a good neighbor.
You glanced at the time on your phone, groaning softly. Lunch was almost over, and you hadnât even finished setting up for the afternoon class.
âGuess Iâll ask him about the sink,â you muttered under your breath, more to convince yourself than anything.
Because if Laura was already noticing things, how long would it be before the whole town started talking?
---
That evening, after school had ended and youâd finally managed to get through the rest of your lesson plans, you found yourself standing in front of Loganâs place. It was only a short walk down the street, and yet, your feet felt heavier with each step.
You could hear the faint sound of a TV through the open window and the soft murmur of voicesâLaura and Logan, probably talking about her day. It was⌠nice. Domestic. Something that made your chest tighten with an inexplicable emotion.
âJust ask about the sink and go,â you whispered to yourself, giving a firm nod. âNo big deal.â
You knocked lightly, and a few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal Logan. He was in his usual attireâflannel shirt, jeansâand he looked at you with that same unreadable expression.
âHey,â you said, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. âI, uh, wanted to ask for a favor.â
His brow furrowed slightly, and he stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. âWhatâs goinâ on?â
You hesitated, then took a deep breath. âMy kitchen sink started leaking, and⌠well, I tried fixing it, but I think I made it worse. Laura said youâre good at this kind of stuff, so I thought⌠maybeâŚâ
Logan raised an eyebrow. âYou want me to take a look at it?â
âYeah,â you nodded quickly. âIf youâre not too busy. I donât want toââ
âItâs fine,â he interrupted, already grabbing a toolbox from a nearby shelf. âLetâs go.â
You blinked. âWait, you donât want to, like, finish dinner or something first?â
He shot you a look that was almost amused. âIâm not gonna let your kitchen flood because of a sink. Câmon.â
You let out a small laugh, relieved by his reaction. âOkay, fair point. Thanks, Logan.â
âNo problem,â he grunted, stepping out onto the porch. âLead the way.â
As you walked back to your place, you stole a glance at him. Logan might have been gruff and intimidating to most people, but youâd come to learn there was more to him than that.
When you reached your house, Logan set to work immediately, inspecting the pipes under the sink. You leaned against the counter, watching as he tinkered and adjusted, his movements methodical and precise.
âYou didnât have to come over right away,â you said softly, breaking the silence. âI know youâve got a lot going on.â
He didnât look up, just shrugged. âItâs fine. Better to fix it now than let it get worse.â
âYeah, I guess,â you murmured. âBut still⌠thanks.â
Logan glanced at you then, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than usual. âYou donât gotta thank me every time I do somethinâ for you, Y/N.â
âI know,â you replied, offering a small smile. âBut I want to.â
He gave a low grunt, something between acknowledgment and dismissal, and returned his focus to the pipes. You stayed silent, watching him work, trying to make yourself useful by occasionally handing him a tool or holding a flashlight.
âYouâve done this before, huh?â you asked, breaking the silence again.
Logan didnât look up, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. âCouple times.â
âFixing sinks?â you teased, raising an eyebrow. âOr just everything?â
âEverything,â he muttered. âYou learn to handle stuff when no one else can.â
There was an unspoken weight behind his words, something you didnât pry into. You knew Logan had been through more than he let onâthere were pieces of his life you still hadnât put together, and you werenât sure you ever would. But that didnât stop you from being curious.
Instead, you chose to keep the conversation light. âWell, I appreciate it. I probably wouldâve made a bigger mess if Iâd kept trying.â
He grunted again, this time almost in agreement, and you couldnât help but chuckle.
âOkay, I walked into that one,â you admitted. âBut seriously, thank you. Laura was rightâyou are good at this.â
Logan tightened the last pipe and stood, wiping his hands on a rag. âShe talks too much sometimes.â
You shook your head, still smiling. âSheâs just proud of you.â
He didnât respond, his eyes darkening for a brief moment before he shifted the subject. âItâs done. Shouldnât leak anymore, but if it does, just call me.â
You nodded, feeling that strange tightening in your chest again. âGot it. Thanks again.â
Logan grabbed his toolbox and started for the door, but something in the air between you both felt unfinished, like there was something unspoken hanging there. Before you could second-guess yourself, you called out.
âLogan?â
He paused, his back to you.
âI meant what I said earlier,â you continued, a little more quietly this time. âI know youâve got a lot on your plate, and I donât want to add to it. But I appreciate you helping me.â
Logan turned, his gaze locking onto yours. There was something in his eyesâsomething you couldnât quite place. For a second, you thought he might say something, but then he just gave a slow nod.
âDonât worry about it, Y/N,â he finally said. âIf you need somethinâ, Iâll be around.â
He turned and walked out the door, leaving you standing in your kitchen, staring after him. You exhaled, feeling a mix of confusion and warmth.
Later that evening, as you cleaned up and prepared for the next dayâs lessons, you couldnât stop replaying the interaction in your head. Loganâs quietness, his willingness to help, Lauraâs knowing smiles. There was something stirring there, something more than just neighborly concern.
But you pushed the thoughts aside, reminding yourself of the practicalities. Logan was a single dad with a complicated past, and you⌠well, you had your own life to focus on. This wasnât the time to start overthinking things.
Still, as you drifted off to sleep that night, the image of Logan fixing your sinkâfocused, calm, and oddly comfortingâstayed with you.
---
Youâve never liked storms. Youâre not sure why, you grew up in Houston where it rained consistently and encountered a few hurricanes.
But when you turned 18, you went to college further north in Texas, getting away from the rain and finally getting sunshine and real heat, not humid heat.
It never rained much in the north of Minnesota, but when it did rain, it rained a lot. So much so that the school cancelled classes for the rest of the week.
You could use the time to catch up on grading assignments, but instead you found yourself barely able to keep your attention on the TV, flinching every time you heard thunder.
The storm outside raged on, lightning flashing every few seconds, followed by the rumble of thunder that rattled the windows. You glanced at the stack of papers youâd set aside to grade, but your mind just wasnât in it.
âWhy does it always feel worse at night?â you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch, trying to focus on the TV.
Then, a knock at the door startled you. You werenât expecting anyone, especially with the weather this bad.
You got up, hesitating for a second before opening the door to reveal Laura, soaked from head to toe, holding a small flashlight.
âLaura? What are you doing out here?â you asked, eyes wide with concern.
âOur power went out,â she explained quickly, shivering slightly. âDaddy said I could come over here since your lights are still on.â
You frowned, glancing past her toward Loganâs house, which was barely visible in the heavy rain. âIs your dad coming over too?â
Laura shrugged, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. âHe said heâd figure it out.â
You closed the door behind her, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and handing it to her. âYou shouldâve just called, you know. I wouldâve come to get you.â
Laura gave you a small smile as she dried off. âItâs fine. I didnât want to wait.â
You shook your head, unable to suppress a smile at her stubbornness. âOf course you didnât.â
The two of you sat in the living room for a while, Laura settling into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her, still glancing out the window at the storm every so often.
âHow longâs the power been out?â you asked after a few minutes.
âSince just after dinner,â she replied. âDaddy was gonna try and fix it, but he said it might take a while.â
You nodded, already feeling a little guilty. If the power didnât come back on soon, youâd probably end up with both of them staying over. Not that you minded, but it was one of those situations where you didnât want to impose. Especially with Logan.
Almost on cue, there was another knock at the door, this one heavier, more deliberate.
You didnât even have to look to know it was Logan.
You opened the door to find him standing there, drenched like Laura had been. His hair was plastered to his head, and his usual gruff expression was softened slightly by the rain dripping from his face.
âCome on in,â you said quickly, stepping aside.
Logan entered, shaking off some of the rain before giving you a nod. âThanks. Powerâs out, and I donât think itâs cominâ back anytime soon.â
You closed the door behind him and offered him a towel, which he accepted without a word. He glanced over at Laura, who had made herself comfortable on the couch, and then back at you.
âYou alright with us beinâ here?â he asked, his voice low but genuine.
âOf course,â you replied, waving it off. âIâm not gonna let you sit in the dark with no heat.â
Logan nodded, though there was something in his eyesâsomething like gratitude, though he didnât voice it.
The three of you sat in the living room for a while, the storm still raging outside. It wasnât exactly the most comfortable silence, but it wasnât awkward either. Just... quiet. Logan wasnât one for small talk, and Laura seemed content just to be around people, her gaze flicking back and forth between you and her dad.
As the night wore on, the storm didnât let up, and Lauraâs eyelids started to droop. You glanced at the clock, noting how late it was getting.
âYouâre welcome to stay the night,â you offered, glancing between them. âItâs still coming down pretty hard out there, and I donât think the powerâs coming back on soon.â
Laura perked up at the suggestion, but Logan hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. âWeâll be fine,â he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. âDonât wanna impose.â
âYouâre not imposing,â you said firmly, crossing your arms. âThereâs a guest bedroom, and Iâve got blankets. Besides, Iâm not letting either of you walk back in this mess.â
Laura, sensing her opportunity, chimed in before Logan could object. âI want to stay,â she said quietly, her eyes big and hopeful.
Logan sighed, glancing at his daughter, clearly torn. âLauraâŚâ
âDaddy, itâs still storming,â she added, her voice soft but insistent. âWe can stay, right?â
You jumped in before he could refuse. âItâs no trouble, Logan. Really. Laura can take the guest bedroom, and I can sleep on the couch.â
Logan gave you a skeptical look. âYouâre not sleepinâ on the couch in your own house.â
You rolled your eyes. âItâs not a big deal.â
âItâs your bed,â he grunted. âIâll take the couch.â
Before you could argue, Laura piped up again, her voice full of innocent mischief. âYou could both sleep in the bed.â
Your eyes widened, and you quickly glanced at Logan, whose expression had shifted to one of slight surprise.
âLaura,â you started, but she just shrugged, clearly enjoying this more than she should have been.
âWhat?â she said innocently. âItâs a big bed.â
Logan sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. âYouâre not helpinâ, kid.â
Laura just grinned, her eyes gleaming with quiet victory. âI think I am.â
You cleared your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. âIâm fine with sleepinâ on the couch, really. Canât really sleep when itâs storminâ anyways.â
Laura, still lounging on the couch, piped up again, her grin growing wider. âYou could just share the bed.â
Your face flushed, and you shot her a look. âLauraââ
âWhat?â She shrugged, playing innocent, but you could see the hint of mischief in her eyes.
Logan sighed, his shoulders slumping. âKid, stop messinâ around.â
She held up her hands in surrender, but the teasing smile on her face didnât budge. âIâm just saying itâs an option.â
You shook your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. âLaura, youâre gonna sleep in the guest room. Iâll be on the couch. End of story.â
Laura rolled her eyes but didnât argue. âFine.â
Logan glanced at you, his eyes softening for a brief moment before he muttered, âYou sure about this? I donât wanna take your bed.â
You waved him off, trying to sound casual. âSeriously, itâs no big deal. Just get some rest. Youâve been out in the rain long enough.â
He hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod. âAlright. But only because you wonât stop arguinâ.â
âExactly,â you said, smiling a little as you grabbed an extra blanket from the hallway closet and tossed it to Laura. âYou can get settled in the guest room, kiddo.â
Laura caught the blanket and headed toward the guest room with a little bounce in her step, clearly pleased with how things were turning out. You watched her disappear down the hallway before turning back to Logan, who was still standing in the living room, looking somewhat out of place.
âYou can leave your wet clothes by the door if you want,â you offered, trying to keep things normal, even though the situation felt anything but.
Logan gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, pulling off his soaked jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. He moved slowly, like he was still debating whether to argue about the sleeping arrangements again, but thankfully, he didnât.
After a minute, he glanced back at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. âYou really are stubborn, you know that?â
You raised an eyebrow. âTakes one to know one.â
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you toward your bedroom. âFair enough.â
Once he disappeared into the room, you let out a small sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was... not how you expected your night to go. Sharing your house with both Logan and Laura during a storm, with Laura sneakily playing matchmaker. It was almost funny, if not for the fact that Logan being this close made your heart race a little too much for comfort.
You settled back onto the couch, pulling a blanket over yourself and staring at the TV screen without really watching it. The sound of rain pounding against the windows and the occasional crack of thunder filled the quiet, but it was hard to focus on the storm when you knew Logan was in the next room.
Laura had probably planned this all along.
You glanced toward the hallway where the guest room was, wondering if she was already asleepâor if she was lying there, scheming her next move.
Thunder broke you out of your thoughts, making you flinch slightly under the blankets.
You settled deeper into the couch, but sleep wasnât coming any easier despite the exhaustion from the day. Your mind kept wandering, mostly back to Logan and how natural it had started to feel having him and Laura around. Maybe a little too natural.
A sharp crack of thunder rattled the windows, and you flinched again, instinctively pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Youâd thought you were getting used to storms, but this one was relentless, dragging on with no signs of easing up.
Just when you started to think youâd be up all night, you heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind you. You turned, expecting to see Laura coming out of the guest room, but instead, Logan stood there in the dim light of the living room, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.
âCanât sleep?â you asked, your voice quiet but steady, despite the storm.
He shrugged, leaning against the doorway. âNot used to sleepinâ anywhere but my own bed.â
You nodded, biting back a knowing smile. âYeah, I get that. Stormâs not helping much either.â
Loganâs eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. His gaze was a little softer than usual, like the storm had taken some of the edge off his usual roughness. âYou alright? Heard you jumpinâ every time the thunder hits.â
You rolled your eyes, trying to brush off his concern. âItâs nothing. Just... not a fan of storms.â
âYeah, I noticed,â Logan said, stepping further into the room. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. âDonât have to tough it out, yâknow.â
You looked up at him, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. It wasnât like Logan to be this open, to offer any sort of comfort. He usually kept things buried under layers of gruffness and distance.
âGuess Iâm just used to toughing it out,â you said softly, offering him a small smile.
Logan studied you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face, like he was weighing his next words carefully. âYou donât always have to. Not with us.â
The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You werenât sure what to say. This side of Loganâthe quiet, protective sideâwas something youâd only seen glimpses of before, but tonight, it was like the storm had brought down some of his walls.
âYou donât have to worry about me,â you finally said, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.
âNot worryinâ,â Logan replied, his gaze steady. âJust statinâ a fact.â
The thunder rolled again, quieter this time, as if the storm was finally starting to let up. Loganâs eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, before he stood up, looking like he was about to head back to the bedroom.
But then he paused, glancing over his shoulder. âIf you want... thereâs room in the bed.â
Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, not sure if you heard him right. âWhat?â
Loganâs lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but his expression remained serious. âI ainât suggestinâ what Laura was earlier,â he muttered, a little embarrassed. âJust... if it helps you sleep better, I donât mind. Couchâs not exactly comfortable.â
Your heart thudded in your chest, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Logan wasnât the type to offer comfort lightly, and the idea of sharing a bed with himâplatonically or notâmade your pulse quicken.
âIââ You faltered, unsure how to respond. But something in the way he was looking at you made it clear this wasnât just about the storm or being polite. This was about something moreâsomething that had been quietly building between the two of you for a while now.
Before you could overthink it, you nodded. âOkay.â
Loganâs eyebrows raised slightly, surprised by your answer. He stepped aside as you stood, grabbing the blanket from the couch. Neither of you said anything as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom, the tension thick but not uncomfortableâmore like an understanding had settled between you.
Once inside, Logan shifted awkwardly as you took your side of the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself, trying to act like this was normal, like your heart wasnât racing in your chest. Logan laid down on the opposite side, keeping a respectful distance, though the bed felt smaller with him in it.
The sound of the rain outside softened, though the occasional rumble of thunder still rolled in the distance. You stared at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Logan beside you, the space between you feeling charged.
âYou good?â Logan asked after a minute, his voice low in the quiet.
âYeah,â you whispered. âIâm good.â
A beat passed. Then another.
âThanks,â you added, not just for offering the bed, but for being there, for not making this weird.
Logan turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft in the dim light. âAinât nothinâ.â
But it was something. It was a lot, actually.
You both lay there in silence for a while, the sound of the rain becoming almost soothing. You could feel the warmth of him next to you, solid and reassuring, and slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease.
Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Loganâs voice broke the silence again, so quiet you almost missed it.
âI meant what I said earlier,â he murmured, his voice gruff but sincere. âYou donât have to do this on your own. Not with us around.â
Your heart swelled, a mix of emotions you werenât quite ready to confront just yet. You didnât know what to say, so instead, you reached out, your hand brushing against his in the small space between you.
Logan didnât pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours, his grip warm and steady.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you fell asleep without flinching at the sound of thunder.
---
You woke up to the sound of soft rain pattering against the window, the storm from last night finally easing up. For a second, you forgot where you were, until you felt the weight of the blanket and the warmth of another presence next to you. Logan. His steady breathing filled the quiet space, and you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.
This was new.
You glanced over at him, his face relaxed in sleep, the tension he usually carried nowhere to be found. It was strange seeing him like thisâcalm, almost peaceful. You could feel the residual warmth from his hand where heâd held yours last night, and the memory made your chest tighten.
Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb the rare moment of quiet. You padded out into the hallway, stopping by Lauraâs room to peek in. She was still asleep, wrapped up in blankets, her small body barely a lump under the covers.
You smiled to yourself, already suspecting that she had something to do with last nightâs sleeping arrangements. Laura was too clever for her own good sometimes.
In the kitchen, you started brewing coffee, the scent filling the small space. As you waited for it to finish, you found yourself staring out the window, your mind still on Logan. Last night had been... unexpected. But not unwelcome. The way heâd stayed close, offering comfort without making a big deal out of itâit meant more than you wanted to admit.
The soft creak of footsteps behind you pulled you out of your thoughts.
âYouâre up early,â Loganâs gravelly voice broke the quiet.
You turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his hair still a little mussed from sleep, but otherwise looking much like his usual self.
âCouldnât sleep much after the storm,â you shrugged, offering him a small smile. âCoffee?â
âYeah,â he grunted, moving to sit at the kitchen table. âThanks.â
You poured two mugs, setting one in front of him before taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just sipping your coffee in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.
Logan glanced at you over the rim of his mug, his eyes softer than usual. âYou sleep alright?â
You hesitated, remembering how easily youâd fallen asleep next to him. âBetter than I expected, honestly.â
He grunted in acknowledgment, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. âGuess the storm wasnât as bad as you thought.â
You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. âOr maybe it was the company.â
Loganâs smirk widened slightly, but he didnât push it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on you again. âThanks for lettinâ us stay. Laura didnât give you much choice, huh?â
âShe didnât have to,â you replied with a shrug. âI wasnât gonna let either of you stay in a freezing house with no power.â
Logan nodded, his eyes drifting to the window. âPower should be back on soon. Iâll head back once itâs up.â
You didnât say anything, but part of you felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. You hadnât had many moments like thisâquiet, with just the two of youâand you found yourself wanting it to last a little longer.
Lauraâs quiet footsteps broke the silence as she padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
âMorninâ, kid,â Logan greeted her.
âMorninâ,â Laura mumbled, glancing between the two of you with a knowing look before plopping down at the table. âIs the power back on yet?â
âNot yet,â you said, trying to ignore the way she was eyeing you and Logan.
Laura just shrugged, grabbing the cereal box from the counter and helping herself. âGuess weâre stuck here a little longer, huh?â
You shot her a look, but she didnât seem fazed, her focus on her cereal. It was hard to tell if she was playing innocent or if she was just that good at pretending.
âSo, whatâs the plan for today?â you asked, trying to shift the conversation.
Laura perked up at that. âYou said youâd help me with my English homework, remember?â
You blinked. âIâuh, right. Yeah, I did say that.â
Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at Laura. âSince when do you need help with English?â
Laura shot him a quick look before turning back to you, all smiles. âI figured Ms. Aberra would be better at explaining it than you.â
You narrowed your eyes at her, starting to catch on. âIâm sure youâre doing fine in English, Laura.â
She shrugged, playing with her spoon. âYeah, but itâs better when someone explains it.â
Logan just shook his head, clearly not buying it either, but he didnât say anything, letting Lauraâs little game play out.
âWell,â you said, getting up from the table. âI guess we can take a look at it after breakfast.â
Laura grinned, clearly pleased with how things were going. âThanks, Ms. Aberra.â
You smiled back, even though you knew something was up. Sure, you had been helping her with English homework for a while now, but she didnât need the help. When she would show you her essays or answers to questions about a reading, they were always perfect. Still, you played along, grabbing your coffee and heading toward the living room.
âAlright,â you said, glancing over your shoulder at her. âGo grab your stuff, and weâll take a look.â
Laura jumped up, cereal forgotten, and dashed off to retrieve her things. You settled onto the couch, sipping your coffee and trying to push aside the strange feeling that this was part of something bigger. But what?
Logan followed you into the living room, sitting down in the worn armchair opposite you. He gave you a lookâone eyebrow slightly raised, lips set in that half-smirk he sometimes wore when he was figuring someone out.
âShe really roped you into this, huh?â he asked, voice low and rough.
You shrugged, trying to seem casual. âItâs not a big deal. Iâm used to kids asking for help with schoolwork.â
âYeah, but Laura? She doesnât ask for help unless sheâs got some kind of angle.â
You laughed softly, but the truth of his words settled somewhere in the back of your mind. Laura wasnât just a smart kidâshe was calculating. Youâd seen it in class and at home. The way she observed things, the way she always seemed to know what was going on, even when no one said a word.
âI guess Iâll find out,â you said, leaning back into the couch.
Before Logan could reply, Laura returned, a small notebook and a pencil in hand. She sat beside you, flipping it open to a random page. You glanced at the page, immediately noticing that it was filled with neat, almost perfect handwriting. The essay sheâd written didnât have a single correction or revision mark.
âAlright,â you began, pretending you didnât see the perfection in front of you. âWhat do you need help with?â
Laura handed the notebook over, her face perfectly serious. âI just wanted to know if the introductionâs strong enough.â
You skimmed through the first paragraph, and honestly, it was better than anything youâd expect from a sixth grader. If anything, it felt more like she was testing you than asking for actual feedback.
âItâs good,â you said slowly. âYour thesis is clear, and you have a strong opening sentence. You might want to make the transition to your first point a little smoother, but overall, itâs solid.â
Laura nodded thoughtfully, pretending to make a note in her notebook. You watched her for a moment, trying to figure out what game she was playing. There was no way she needed your help, but for some reason, she wanted you here. And Logan, too.
Logan just sat quietly, watching the two of you like he wasnât quite sure what was happening either. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, fingers tapping lightly. You could feel his presence, steady and grounding, even when he wasnât saying anything.
Laura glanced at her dad. âMs. Aberraâs a pretty good teacher, donât you think?â
Loganâs eyes flicked to you, his smirk back in full force. âYeah, Iâd say so.â
You gave Laura a suspicious look. âYouâre not just buttering me up for extra credit, are you?â
Lauraâs eyes widened in mock innocence. âNo. I just like the way you explain things.â
âMhm.â You werenât buying it, but it was hard not to laugh.
The quiet hung between you all for a moment, just the sound of the rain outside and the occasional scrape of Lauraâs pencil against her notebook. It felt⌠peaceful, despite the nagging feeling that something was going on beneath the surface.
âAlright, well,â you finally said, pushing yourself up from the couch. âLooks like youâve got this handled, Laura. I donât think you need much help.â
Laura blinked up at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. âThanks anyway.â
You caught the look she sent Loganâs way, and suddenly, it clicked. She didnât need your help with homeworkâshe was just trying to get you to stick around a little longer. Maybe even trying to give you and Logan more time together.
Smart kid.
Logan, of course, said nothing, just watching you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. You could never quite tell what he was thinking, and it both frustrated and intrigued you.
"So," Laura said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Whatâs the plan today?"
You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Youâre the one with the notebook full of perfect essays. I thought you had plans."
Laura grinned at that, not even trying to hide it anymore. "I was thinking we could all go out for lunch. Since weâre stuck here."
Logan gave her a look, but didnât say anything, clearly seeing through her. You stifled a laugh, playing along. "Lunch, huh? You paying?"
Laura shrugged, looking way too pleased with herself. "Iâll ask nicely. Maybe youâll cover it."
You shook your head, pretending to think it over. "Might be able to swing it."
Logan snorted. "Real generous of you."
"Hey, Iâm a teacher. Gotta budget wisely," you shot back, smirking at him.
Laura just smiled, clearly happy with how things were going, and it hit you againâshe was definitely playing matchmaker. Subtle, but it was there. Not that you minded. Spending more time with Logan wasnât exactly a hardship.
Logan leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on you, though. "Youâre sure you donât mind us hanging around?"
You tilted your head, genuinely surprised. "Logan, if I minded, I wouldnât have let you in. Youâre both always welcome here."
For a second, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he just gave a slow nod, like he was accepting itâmaybe even appreciating it, though heâd never say that out loud. "Thanks."
You shrugged, trying to act like it wasnât a big deal, even though you knew it kind of was. "Donât mention it."
Laura got up, stretching her arms over her head before grabbing her empty bowl. "Iâll go get ready for lunch then," she said, already heading to the sink. "Iâm starving."
You watched her go, then turned back to Logan, raising an eyebrow. "Think weâve got time for that before the power comes back on?"
Logan shrugged, his smirk returning. "Could be out a while longer."
"Convenient," you muttered, though there was no real bite to it.
Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that made something in your chest tighten. He set his empty mug on the coffee table and stood up, stretching slightly. "Guess we better make sure the kid doesnât eat the place out of food while we wait."
You laughed, following him into the kitchen. The dynamic between the three of you felt easy now, comfortable in a way that surprised you. Even with Lauraâs not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, there was something natural about how you and Logan were around each other. It wasnât rushed or forced. Just... right.
Laura appeared from the hallway, already dressed and tugging on her jacket. "Ready when you are," she said, a little too cheerfully.
Logan gave her a look. "We havenât even decided where weâre going."
"Iâll leave that up to the grown-ups," she said, grabbing her shoes.
You exchanged a glance with Logan, both of you clearly thinking the same thing: this kid was way too clever for her own good. But neither of you called her out on it.
"Alright," Logan finally said, grabbing his jacket. "Letâs get going before the power comes back and ruins her plan."
Laura grinned but didnât say anything, grabbing your hand as you all headed out into the damp, cool air. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still overcast, a soft, gray light filtering through the clouds.
You walked beside Logan, Laura skipping a few steps ahead, her eyes darting around like she was taking everything in. She was always like thatâwatching, observing. And now you knew why. She was playing a long game, slowly pushing you and Logan closer together, little by little.
You couldnât help but smile. She was good. Really good.
And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to appreciate her efforts.
---
The school did something special for parents on Valentineâs Day. Instead of just handing out donuts or cupcakes, they did a competition.
There was different challenges for each couple, or pairing, to finish, and to make it even better, their kids would have to guide them on certain challenges, like walking blindfolded to the finish line on the field.
Emma glanced over at you as you were going through the list of parentâs names, making sure everyone had a partner. There were a few single parents, so you had to figure out who they should be paired with. But there was an odd number, one parent would have to sit out.
âSo⌠whoâs sitting out?â Emma asked, leaning on the desk next to you. She had that casual curiosity in her tone, but you knew she was just as invested in making sure things ran smoothly as you were.
You chewed your lip, staring at the list. âLooks like weâve got one extra parent. Iâm not sure yet.â
Emma peeked over your shoulder, scanning the names. âWhat about Logan?â
You paused, looking at the list. Loganâs name was there, as was Lauraâs, but you hesitated. He wasnât exactly the type to jump into school events, especially one that involved blindfolds and teamwork. And while heâd been involved in Lauraâs life, you werenât sure heâd want to participate in something like this.
âYeah, guess he can sit out. We have an odd number of parents anyways.â You put down the clipboard and looked at the empty donut box, âIâll be right back. Gonna go to the other room and get another box.â
As you moved toward the door, you noticed Laura sitting quietly in the corner, fiddling with her notebook, watching everything with that usual sharpness in her eyes. She had been quiet all morning, almost too quiet. You gave her a smile before heading to the break room, still feeling a little awkward about pairing up the parents.
Emma stayed behind, her eyes flicking between you and Laura, a slight smirk tugging at her lips like she was onto something.
You weaved through the hallway, your mind still on the whole situation. These parent events were always a little tricky when it came to single parents. You knew Logan wasnât exactly the type to jump into the school scene, especially for something like a Valentineâs Day competition, but you couldnât help but think maybe heâd want to give it a shot for Laura.
Grabbing the donut box, you paused for a second. The idea of Logan being there today, paired up with someone else, didnât sit right. Not that you had any reason to feel that way. It was just... Logan. You werenât even sure if heâd show up.
When you returned to the room, Laura was still sitting there, now scribbling something in her notebook. She glanced up as you entered, her expression neutral but her eyes watching you closely.
âEverything okay?â you asked, setting the fresh box on the table and moving to grab the clipboard again.
Laura nodded. âYeah, just thinking.â
âThinking about the competition?â You smiled, trying to make conversation, but she just gave you a vague shrug.
âSomething like that.â
Emma glanced at you, her smirk still there as she made a little noise of amusement. âLogan didnât strike me as the âcompetitionâ type. But who knows?â
You shot her a look, but before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan walked in. Speak of the devil. He looked around, taking in the sight of parents getting ready, kids buzzing with excitement. His eyes landed on you, and he gave a short nod, his usual gruff greeting.
âYouâre here,â you said, surprised, trying to keep your voice casual. âDidnât think youâd make it.â
Logan raised an eyebrow, his hands in his pockets. âLaura signed us up. Thought Iâd better show.â
Laura, sitting nearby, perked up but kept her face mostly neutral. She wasnât about to blow her cover, not yet anyway.
âRight,â you said, glancing down at the clipboard. âWell, thereâs an odd number of parents, so... I was thinking maybe youâd sit out.â
Laura, quick as ever, jumped in. âOr you could partner with someone else.â
You blinked at her, caught off guard. âWell, yeah, I guess, but we donât really haveââ
âYou could partner with Daddy.â Laura said it so simply, like it wasnât a big deal, like she hadnât been plotting this for weeks.
Loganâs eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between the two of you, clearly realizing what his daughter was doing, but he didnât say anything. He just stood there, waiting for your reaction.
You stammered a bit, caught completely off guard. âIâI donât know if thatâs a good idea...â
Laura gave you a look, one that said she knew exactly what she was doing. âItâs just for the competition. Besides, itâll be fun.â
Loganâs gaze flicked to you again, and this time, there was a slight smirk on his face. âItâs just a game, right? Weâll survive.â
Emma, watching the whole thing play out, was trying very hard not to laugh. âLooks like youâre stuck with Logan, Y/N.â
You felt a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. It was one thing to think about spending time with Logan, but being thrown into a school competition with himâespecially with Laura being the mastermind behind itâwas another.
âOkay, fine,â you muttered, trying to act like this wasnât a big deal at all. âI guess weâll partner up.â
Logan just gave a nonchalant shrug. âLetâs get this over with.â
Lauraâs eyes practically sparkled with victory as she hopped up from her seat, already heading toward the field where the first challenge would take place. You followed, trying to shake off the awkwardness, but it was impossible with Logan right next to you.
As you reached the field, the first task was announced: a three-legged race. Of course. Out of all the challenges, it had to be this one. You glanced over at Logan, who was already eyeing the ropes being handed out for the pairs to tie their legs together.
"This should be interesting," Logan muttered under his breath, taking one of the ropes and holding it out for you.
You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your nerves behind a smile. "I feel like this is a recipe for disaster."
Loganâs lips quirked into a smirk. "Only if you donât keep up."
"Me?" You chuckled, shaking your head as you bent down to tie the rope around your ankle and his. "Youâre the one with the bum leg."
Logan grunted, not arguing, though his usual swagger was still intact. "Iâll manage."
Laura stood off to the side, watching with a faint smile, clearly enjoying the show. You could tell she was pleased with herself, and part of you was too, even if you were trying to act like this was no big deal.
"Alright, ready?" Logan asked, standing up straighter after securing the rope.
"As Iâll ever be," you replied, trying to gauge the best way to navigate the race without falling flat on your face.
The whistle blew, and before you knew it, you were awkwardly hopping forward, one leg bound to Loganâs as you tried to find some sort of rhythm. The first few steps were disastrousâLoganâs longer strides making it nearly impossible for you to keep pace without stumbling.
"Slow down!" you laughed, grabbing his arm to steady yourself as you nearly tripped.
Logan smirked, his hand quickly coming to your waist to keep you from toppling over. "You gotta move faster than that, Y/N."
"Or maybe you need to move slower!" you shot back, trying to adjust your steps to match his. After a few shaky moments, you finally found a rhythm, the two of you moving in syncâwell, mostly. Loganâs hand lingered at your waist, steadying you as you both half-hopped, half-laughed your way toward the finish line.
"Not bad," Logan grunted as you crossed the line, not quite first, but definitely not last either.
"Not bad?" You shot him a look, still a little breathless from laughing. "Iâm pretty sure we almost face-planted three times."
"Couldâve been worse," he replied with a shrug, that smirk of his still in place.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldnât deny the way your heart was still racingâthough you werenât sure if it was from the race or from the fact that Logan had kept his arm around your waist longer than necessary.
Laura, waiting at the sidelines, gave you both a knowing look as you untied the rope. "You guys were pretty good," she commented casually, though the glint in her eyes said otherwise.
"Pretty good?" you echoed, shooting her a playful glare. "We almost ate dirt, Laura."
Logan grunted in agreement but didnât say much, just shaking his head as he rubbed his leg a bit. You noticed the slight grimace that flashed across his faceâsomething you hadnât seen often, but it was there for just a moment before he covered it up.
"Next challenge is... egg balancing," Emma announced from the other end of the field, holding up a spoon and a carton of eggs.
You and Logan exchanged a look, and you couldnât help but laugh. "Oh, thisâll be fun."
Logan just sighed, clearly less than thrilled about the prospect of trying to balance an egg on a spoon, but he didnât protest. You handed him one of the spoons as you lined up for the next round.
"You got a steady hand?" you teased, raising an eyebrow at him.
Logan glanced at the spoon, then back at you. "Steadier than yours, probably."
"Letâs see about that," you shot back, placing the egg carefully on your spoon. The whistle blew, and you both started across the field, trying to keep the fragile eggs from toppling off. You had to admit, Logan had a surprising amount of focus for a guy who usually looked like heâd rather be anywhere else.
"Not bad for an old man," you joked, glancing over at him as you both carefully moved toward the finish line.
"Careful, Y/N. Thatâs how you get egg on your face," Logan muttered, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.
Just as you were nearing the end, Laura darted over, watching closely. "Come on, you guys can do it!"
It was hard to ignore the pride in her voiceâshe was definitely enjoying watching you two work together. And maybe, despite the ridiculousness of it all, you were too.
By the time you finished, both of your eggs still intact, you couldnât help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. It was silly, sure, but being paired with Logan for these goofy challenges wasnât as awkward as you thought it might be. In fact, it was... kind of nice.
"Two for two," Logan said with a smirk, handing his spoon back as the event wrapped up.
"Donât get too cocky," you replied, bumping his arm lightly as you handed yours in too. "Weâll see how you do with the next one."
Laura appeared beside you again, her eyes bright. "You guys make a good team."
You gave her a sideways glance, trying not to read too much into her words. "Yeah, well, itâs all about teamwork, right?"
Logan didnât say anything, but his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and there was something thereâsomething unspoken that made your heart skip a beat.
The rest of the day went by in a blur of silly games and laughter, and by the time the event was over, you were exhausted, but in the best way possible. Logan had stayed the whole time, never complaining or trying to bow out early. Laura, of course, was thrilled with how things had turned out, and you couldnât help but feel like she had succeeded in whatever plan she had been cooking up.
As the parents and kids started to trickle out of the school, you found yourself standing beside Logan near the door. Laura had already run ahead to grab her things, leaving the two of you alone for a moment.
"Thanks for sticking around," you said, glancing up at him. "I know this probably wasnât your idea of a fun day."
Logan shrugged, his usual nonchalant expression in place. "Wasnât so bad."
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, Iâm glad you came. Laura seemed to really enjoy it."
"Yeah," Logan agreed, his gaze softening slightly as he looked in the direction where Laura had run off. "Sheâs a good kid."
"She is," you said, nodding. "And sheâs lucky to have you."
Logan didnât respond right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Thanks."
There was a brief silence between you, the air charged with something unspoken but palpable. Before you could say anything else, Laura came bounding back, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Ready to go?" she asked, looking between the two of you with that same knowing glint in her eyes.
"Yeah," Logan said, ruffling her hair lightly. "Letâs get outta here."
As they started to head for the door, Logan paused, glancing back at you. "See you around, Y/N."
"Yeah," you replied, feeling your heart skip again. "See you around, Logan."
---
It had been a few days since the Valentineâs Day event, and things had settled back into routine. You were sitting in your living room, halfway through grading papers, when there was a knock on your door.
Opening it, you found Logan standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking slightly out of place.
"Hey," he greeted, voice low. "Laura wanted me to ask if you'd join us for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy. Just... thought itâd be nice."
You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Logan wasnât exactly the type to invite people over casually, but something about the way he stood there, slightly awkward, made your heart skip a beat.
"Sure," you said, smiling. "Iâd like that."
Dinner at Loganâs place was unexpectedly warm. Laura set the table with care, and you found yourself laughing more than you expected as Logan recounted some old stories about his past. The tension that usually simmered between you felt different tonightâsofter, like you were slowly crossing an invisible line youâd both been careful to avoid.
As you helped clear the dishes, your hand brushed against Loganâs, and the brief contact made you pause. He glanced at you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It was like a quiet acknowledgment of something building between you.
âThanks for coming,â he said, his voice low, his gaze lingering just a little too long.
âAnytime,â you replied softly, feeling the weight of his eyes on you as you turned to put the plates away. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, but it was hard with Logan standing so close. It was like every time you were around him, you felt like something unspoken hovered between youâsomething that Laura, in her quiet, clever way, seemed determined to help along.
Laura wandered back into the room, a book in her hands. âY/N, can you help me with my English homework?â she asked, holding it up and glancing between you and Logan like she hadnât just interrupted a moment.
You blinked, turning to her with a small smile. âOf course, I can take a look.â
âGreat!â Laura said, her voice a little too cheerful. She plopped down on the couch and spread her notebook and book out in front of her. âItâs this essay Iâve got to write.â
Logan lingered by the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to Lauraâs book with an expression you couldnât quite read. âIâll leave you two to it, then,â he muttered, and before you could say anything, he was stepping outside, probably to get some fresh air or give you and Laura some space.
You turned your attention back to Laura, still smiling but a bit confused. âAlright, letâs see what youâve got here.â
Laura launched into an explanation, talking about a character analysis she needed to do for class. As you glanced over her notes, though, it struck you that everything was pretty much perfect. Her sentences were clear, her argument made sense, and sheâd clearly put a lot of thought into it. Like always, it was perfect.
âLaura⌠this is really good,â you said slowly, giving her an impressed look. âI donât think you need help with this.â
Lauraâs face stayed impassive, but you caught a faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips. âJust wanted to make sure it was okay,â she said casually, glancing in the direction Logan had gone.
Something clicked then, and you had to suppress a chuckle. So this was just another one of Lauraâs little schemes to get you to stick around. You were starting to see the patternâtiny excuses to keep you close, to get you and Logan in the same room more often. It was subtle, but now that you were catching on, it was impossible to miss.
âWell, your essayâs great,â you said, folding your arms as you gave her a knowing look. âBut I think thereâs more going on here than just English homework.â
Lauraâs gaze stayed steady on yours, and for a moment, you could see a glimpse of something deeper in those eyesâsomething far beyond her years. âHeâs lonely,â she said quietly, so softly that you almost missed it.
Your heart gave a small squeeze at that. It was true that Logan always seemed like a man on the outskirts of everything, never quite fitting in. And you knew he and Laura had been through a lot together, more than most people could imagine. But he wasnât exactly the type to talk about his feelingsâor admit he might need someone else in his life.
âMaybe,â you replied gently, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. âBut thatâs something he has to figure out on his own, okay?â
Laura nodded slowly, but she didnât look entirely convinced. âHe likes you,â she said, blunt as ever. âAnd you like him.â
Your cheeks heated, and you glanced away, trying to keep your voice steady. It wasnât the first time Laura has said something like this. âItâs not that simple, Laura.â
âWhy not?â she asked, her brow furrowing like she genuinely didnât understand.
You struggled to find the right words. How could you explain that things with Logan were complicatedâthat you werenât sure where you stood with him, or if there was even a place for you in his life beyond being Lauraâs teacher? And yet, every time you were near him, there was this pull, this quiet magnetism that made you wonder.
âI just⌠donât want to mess things up,â you admitted finally, feeling a little silly for having this conversation with an eleven-year-old.
Lauraâs gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. âYou wonât.â
Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan stepped back inside, his gaze immediately going to the two of you. âEverything okay?â he asked, his tone gruff but laced with something you couldnât quite pinpoint.
âYeah, weâre good,â you said quickly, trying to push down the strange mix of emotions Lauraâs words had stirred up. You stood up, smoothing down your shirt as you gave him a smile. âI should probably get going, though. Itâs getting late.â
Logan nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyesâsomething that almost looked like disappointment. âIâll walk you out.â
He led you to the door, and you hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Laura. She gave you a small, encouraging smile, and you couldnât help but smile back.
âThanks again for coming,â Logan said as he opened the door, his voice a little softer than usual.
âAnytime,â you replied, echoing your earlier words as you stepped outside. The cool night air hit you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of Loganâs gaze on you.
There was a long pause, the kind that felt like something should be said, but neither of you knew what. You shifted on your feet, biting your lip as you glanced up at him.
âLogan, Iââ
âY/N, Iââ
You both spoke at the same time, then paused, sharing a startled laugh.
âYou first,â Logan muttered, his lips twitching into a faint smile.
You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. âI just⌠I wanted to say that I really enjoyed tonight. And I know Lauraâs been⌠well, playing matchmaker or something,â you added with a chuckle, âbut I just want you to know that Iâm notââ
âUsing her as an excuse to get close?â Logan finished for you, his voice dry but not unkind.
You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. âYeah.â
Logan stood there, his eyes steady on yours, and for a moment, you both let the silence fill the space between you. He shifted his weight, his usual stoic expression softening just a bit, and for the first time, it felt like he was truly considering what to say next.
"Look, I know Laura's been trying to push things," he said, his voice low and gruff, but gentler than usual. "She's... smart, too smart sometimes. But thisâtonightâit wasnât just about her."
You blinked, surprised by his admission. You werenât used to Logan being so open, especially about anything personal. He seemed to read the surprise in your face and let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck like this was harder for him than any physical fight heâd been in.
"What I mean is," he continued, glancing at the ground before his eyes flicked back up to yours, "itâs not just her, Y/N. I didnât mind tonight. And thatâs not something I say often."
Your breath hitched a little at his words, heart beating a little faster. There was a vulnerability in Logan that you werenât expectingâa side of him that he clearly didnât let out much, if at all.
"I didnât mind it either," you said softly, trying to match his tone, to let him know you werenât taking this lightly. "And Laura... well, sheâs got a way of seeing things."
Logan let out a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that caught you off guard. "Yeah, she does. Sometimes I think sheâs too smart for her own good." His eyes softened as he spoke about her, a fondness there that made you smile.
"She just wants you to be happy," you said gently. "And, I guess, maybe me too."
Logan looked at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you, and for the first time, you wondered if maybeâjust maybeâthere was something more here than just a shared concern for Laura. You had always admired Loganâs strength, his quiet loyalty, the way he looked after Laura with such fierce protectiveness. But standing there now, with the night air cool against your skin and Loganâs presence so close, it felt different. More personal.
"You know," Logan said after a long pause, his voice low again, "I donât exactly have a lot of people in my life. Never been good at that sort of thing. But... youâre good with Laura. And youâreâ" He stopped, his jaw tightening for a second like he wasnât sure if he should say the next part. "Youâre good for us."
Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you werenât sure how to respond. His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you could feel the weight of what he wasnât sayingâthe layers beneath that simple statement. Youâre good for us. It wasnât just about being Lauraâs teacher anymore. It was about something more.
Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced a smile to keep things light. âGood for you?â you repeated with a slight chuckle. There was an ache there, something that hinted at how much more those words meant coming from Loganâsomeone who didnât let people in easily. The way he looked at you, steady and deliberate, made it hard to brush aside. His eyes held yours a little longer than usual, almost daring you to look away.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice a low rumble, and you couldnât help but notice how the weight of the night seemed to gather between you, thick in the air. Loganâs usual guarded stance had softened, just enough for you to sense it. He stepped a bit closer, enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, the earthy scent of cigars and the wild outdoors clinging to his skin.
You shifted on your feet, trying to figure out where this was heading, but the flutter in your chest only grew stronger. Something unspoken seemed to pass between you two, like a current beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to reach down and touch it.
âI think Lauraâs got something figured out,â you admitted, voice soft as you kept your eyes on him. âSheâs smart enough to see whatâs happening here.â
Loganâs lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile. âYeah, too smart sometimes.â His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, and when he looked back up at you, there was something different thereâsomething raw. âBut sheâs right. Youâre good for us. Hell, youâre good for me.â His words carried a weight, a kind of honesty that took you by surprise, even though deep down, youâd been hoping to hear them for a while.
You swallowed, trying to keep your composure, but your pulse quickened. âLogan, IâŚâ You started to say somethingâanythingâto break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and there was a wildness in his eyes that drew you in.
And then, as if some invisible line snapped, Logan took another step toward you, his rough hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin, the touch light but electrifying. âI donât say things like this often,â he muttered, his voice husky, the growl in it more pronounced now, âbut I want you to stay close. For Laura, yeah, but... for me too.â
Your breath hitched as his words sank in, your body reacting to the closeness of him, the way his hand lingered on your cheek. It wasnât just the softness in his eyes or the tenderness of his touch, but the way he was looking at you, like he was seeing more than just the surface.
âIâve wanted to stay close,â you admitted, your voice barely a whisper, as your hand gently touched his chest. His heartbeat was strong, steady, and you couldnât help but feel drawn in, like the pull between you was more than just chemistry.
Loganâs gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, everything else faded awayâthe cool night air, the sound of distant traffic, even the faint light from inside the house. All that mattered was the closeness, the way you could feel his breath mingling with yours.
Before you knew it, Logan was leaning in, and you closed the gap without thinking. His lips pressed against yours, rough and warm, and everything else just melted away. The kiss was slow at first, almost tentative, but then it deepened, and the heat between you flared like wildfire.
His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him, and you could feel the solid strength of his body as you pressed into him. The kiss was everything you hadnât let yourself think about for so longâfilled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.
Logan kissed like he livedâintensely, without holding back. His grip on your waist tightened as if he was afraid to let go, and you responded in kind, threading your fingers into the rough texture of his hair. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing; just the two of you, connected in this raw, unexpected moment.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, you both stood there for a moment, neither of you saying anything. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and Loganâs forehead rested against yours, his breath still ragged.
âIââ you started to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and hoarse.
âDonât,â he muttered, shaking his head slightly. âDonât ruin it with words, not yet.â
You nodded, biting back whatever thought was trying to escape. The night air felt cooler now, the warmth of Loganâs body contrasting sharply against it, grounding you in the moment. His hand lingered on your waist, thumb brushing your side, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, like even he was surprised by what just happened.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, voice quieter than before. âDidnât think thisâd happen,â he admitted, almost to himself.
You gave a soft laugh, still trying to catch your breath. âMe either.â
His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and he shifted slightly, his hand moving from your waist to gently brush your cheek. The gesture was so uncharacteristically tender for him that it made your heart twist a little.
For a moment, you both just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you. Part of you wanted to step back, to put some distance between you and Logan, to give yourself a chance to think. But another partâthe stronger partâwanted to stay right where you were, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the rough edge of his thumb grazing your cheek.
Meanwhile, Laura peeked through the blinds, a smile spreading across her face.
Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!
Summary: Aegon had no desire to ruin you, so he buried himself in his favorite wine and favorite whores to keep his blossoming feelings at bay. Only, his efforts seemed to work too well and he has to convince you that youâre all he needs.
Warnings: No Dance AU, inaccurate use of some characters (Tyrell was an infant during this time but here he's in his early 30s), two smut scenes (Aegon is a dick in the first, much better in the second), infidelity (Aegon), Targcest (Aemond x Helaena), nice guy Criston Cole, unprotected PinV, oral (f!receiving), miscommunication. Anything else, let me know and I'll tag.
Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader (Manderly!Reader - no features mentioned)
Word Count: 22.8k (....I'm so sorry)
HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist
The Red Keep was rarely, if ever, silent.
There were moments - fleeting, few and far between - where a hush befell the Keep with only the quiet noise of servants and guards dutifully moving about to shatter the illusion of solitude. But, no matter the hour, it was rare to find a silence so unbroken that it teetered on the edge of maddening.
However, as Aegon sat in your chambers for the first time in weeks, slouched in a chair adjacent to the couch you lounged on, you found the silence drawing on long enough to surpass discomfort and edge into pain.
Aegon - sobriquet still undecided, though heâd dismissed âThe Magnanimousâ the moment you frowned as he spoke it, the moment Aemond snickered - sat with a cup of wine in one hand as he used the other to flip the pages of a book. It was one youâd left on the table, brought to you by Aemond and next on your list to read, and you hoped Aegon couldnât see the way you winced every time wine sloshed a bit too close to the text for comfort.
As silence persisted, there was little doubt that the reason for his presence was his motherâs insistence.
Alicent, as well intentioned as you imagined her to be - and, where you and Helaena were concerned, she seemed to be truly well intentioned - chided him relentlessly these days. Since he became king, there was no end to her and Ottoâs lectures. They urged him to play his part as faithfully as you played your own, to act as your husband and try to keep from embarrassing you. Time and again, you heard Alicentâs furious whispers, instructing her eldest son to think of the shame he continued to bring upon you, but you knew as well as she did that the time for his acquiescence had passed.
Everyone knew the kind of husband Aegon was, the kind of man heâd grown to be.
Though there was little chance he might, it he would have thought to ask you for your opinion -Â as he once did in the earliest days of your marriage - you wondered if you wouldâve been able to stop yourself from sharing the sobriquet you chose but did not dare speak aloud; Aegon the Shameless.
Despite becoming Queen Consort, looks of awe and excitement had shifted into looks of pity that burned into your skin each time you found yourself in court. There were few who did not know where your husband spent his nights - in the throne room, deep in his cups and surrounded by idiot guards and naive squires; or, perhaps, lost in the streets of silk, deep inside one of his favorite whores. The only boundary he seemed to respect was that now his trysts were kept from the Keep, his whores bedded elsewhere.
Though eleven moons had passed since you were married, heâd shared your bed only a handful of times. Once, on your wedding night, to consummate the marriage; a drunken attempt or two at creating the heir the realm demanded; and once, not long ago, when he stumbled into your chambers by mistake and couldnât be roused to move until morning.
Yet, as much as you hated to admit it and as unbelievably foolish as it made you feel, youâd somehow grown to love him.
In the very beginning, you had hope that your marriage might be a happy one.
Aegon was not perfect, you knew that. But for all his faults, he was kind to you in the light of day. The cruelty you caught glimpses of, the derision and bursts of anger, was never leveled at you. In fact, it often seemed that you were the only person he deemed worthy of sparing his unpredictable moods. He softened whenever you entered a room and made an attempt at levity. Though there were whispers of his sharp tongue and quick temper, you saw little of it.
The words he leveled at you were often kind - compliments, jests - and, if not kind, at least cordial. He gifted you beautiful gowns, glittering jewelry, perfumed soaps and oils, and allowed your youngest sister and a cousin to serve as your companions, all the while remaining very far from them himself.
When you chose to eat your meals outside of your own chambers, he kept you near and included you in the conversation at hand, no matter how little attention you paid. When decisions were made, he seemed to take your counsel more seriously than anyone elseâs - save, perhaps, Aemondâs. When you took your daily walk around the gardens, he joined as often as he could, though he typically fell behind you and your companions and departed halfway through to return to the small council.
During the early days of your marriage, you spent a great deal of time seeking him out. Whatever moments he could spare for you were cherished and you treated them as gifts worth more than anything gold could buy. As far as you were concerned, Aegon was trying his best. You knew that his reign was young, that he was young, and took no offense to his frequent absences.
Though much and more of your time was spent with others - your companions, Helaena, Alicent, even Aemond - Aegon was present. Time alone with him, however, was scarce. And, despite Alicentâs repeated assurances that his absence was merely a matter of his duty to the Realm, you began to believe the truth was much simpler.
Aegon simply did not wish to be alone with you.
Of all the things Aegon had done to, according to Alicent, bring shame upon you, none hurt quite so much as the realization that you were nothing more than an accessory to his reign.
Much like his crown, you were only there to solidify his status as king.
Despite the fondness you sometimes felt from him, you realized very quickly that Aegon did not want to be married. He had been forced to wed and you were the least offensive choice. You were nothing more than a pawn chosen by his grandsire for the strength of your house, and meant to be nothing more than an acceptable queen to stand beside the king.
Still, the realization was one you struggled to make sense of.
Affection was, at least in the beginning, a somewhat regular occurrence. Though you did not lie together, he never turned down a kiss or a soft caress of your hand. If anything, he sought those fleeting gestures out. He also seemed to favor the soft press of your hand to his thigh beneath the table - a calming gesture, offered whenever his grandsire or another council member undermined his authority - or a gentle squeeze of his hand more than anything. And, for a while, even initiated the gestures himself.
There were moments when Aegon seemed to make an honest attempt at being a husband.
Though he did not spend much time with you alone, he sometimes sat with you in the evenings as you and your ladies sipped tea. He sought your company when settled amongst a crowd, standing close and smiling every time you caught his eye. He remembered the little details you shared with him and asked about things youâd only mentioned in passing as a thousand other conversations carried on around you.
The first time you wore the green of his house, he complimented your gown and granted you a brilliant smile with each green gown that followed. When you passed him in the halls, one of you rushing to someplace else, he would always catch your eye and allow his hand to graze yours.
Thus, for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe the hollow reassurances.
For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you truly meant something to Aegon. The bitter sting of rejection, of humiliation, that accompanied his lack of desire to see you alone - his near refusal to bed you, unless heâd drowned in his cups and found himself on the receiving end of a lecture from his mother - was rationalized away.
It was easy, for a time, for you to believe that you simply meant more to him. Whores were meant to be bedded, a way for men to rid themselves of frustration - something a king had in spades. You told yourself that Aegonâs distance was a kindness, a form of respect. Your affection meant more to him than your ability to warm his bed. And for longer than you cared to admit, you allowed yourself to believe it; to love him, despite it.
Only, the lie grew harder to believe with each moon that passed.
Gradually, the little affection Aegon seemed to hold for you began to fade and the distance between you grew. While his visits to the streets of silk were few and far between in the early days of your marriage, the longer you were wed, the louder the whispers that heâd resumed his trips grew.
With every whisper came a lecture from Alicent, from Otto, from Aemond. And with every lecture, the more eager Aegon seemed to disappear into the deepest corner of his favored brothel.
One by one, every ounce of Aegonâs affection and attention seemed to disappear. The lingering glances heâd once spared in the halls, the brilliant smiles he leveled you with when you opted to join the family for dinner, the soft caresses of your hand when he passed you in the halls; they were no more and your heart ached with each disappearance.
Soon came the day of realization; if you did not offer affection, you received none.
After the passage of seven moons, it became obvious that Aegon merely tolerated. While he may once have even liked you, with the passage of each moon, you came to realize and accept that he did not love you.
While you found yourself grateful he was not unkind to you, that he did not seem to loathe being married to you, the realization that he did not love you was one that shattered the glittering illusion youâd been clinging to so desperately. Youâd hoped that he would settle, that with time he would grow to love you as you were growing to love him, but there was no use.
Every day that passed, he seemed to drift farther from you and only proved there was no sense in waiting for him to love you back. There was no point in inserting yourself into places you werenât wanted or making gestures that went unnoticed. So, you stopped trying.
And, if Aegon noticed that youâd stopped putting in the effort heâd grown accustomed to, he did not mention it.
In the beginning of your marriage, you rarely went more than a few hours without seeking Aegon out. Even if he could only spare a moment, even if you were only at the periphery of his attention, you accepted it happily. Now, it had been two days since you last saw him.
A simple change in your routine kept you from seeing Aegon much at all these days.
Whereas you would normally walk the gardens at midday, your companions in tow and occasionally accompanied by Helaena or Alicent, you chose to spend that time perfecting your needlework instead. The walk was pushed to either early morning or afternoon - when Aegon was busy with the small council. And, as for dinner, more often than not, you ate along in your chambers. Your sister and cousin joined you occasionally, even sometimes Helaena, but your goal was to avoid Aegon and that you did.
Still, you played your part dutifully when called upon.
As requested, you stood beside him to welcome the first of the lords arriving in Kingâs Landing for Daeronâs six-and-tenth nameday tourney. There were a handful of lords from the Reach accompanying the Hightower host and Aegon pulled you close, standing tall with pride as they all complimented what a beautiful couple you made.
Though your heart was no longer in it, you put on your happiest face - thanking the lords whose names you would doubtlessly spend the rest of the tournament whispering to your husband before he could ask - and resisted the urge to step away from him before you were granted leave.
Embarrassment and shame now burned in the pit of your stomach, heated your skin and left an acrid taste in the back of your throat, each time you stood at his side. The glances shared between the ladies of the court, the whispers you knew would inevitably follow - blaming you for not yet giving him an heir, for not being enough to keep him from straying - needed at your already frayed nerves.
Believing that he ever loved you was foolish and you were reminded of your delusion with every pitying glance you were spared.
Now, despite the silence that stretched unbroken for nearly an hour, instead of pitying glances, you felt the weight of Aegonâs gaze upon your skin intermittently. Violet eyes observed your stillness, watching with an uncharacteristic intensity youâd never seen directed at you before, and you wondered if that was worse. However, before you could wish for an interruption - someone to step in and save you - Aegon finally placed his cup onto the table.
âWhat troubles you, dear wife?â Though his words were beginning to slur, there was still a coherence to his speech that sometimes surprised you. âIâve been here a while and youâve yet to turn a page.â
âI believe I chose the wrong volume,â you sighed. The lie fell from your lips easily - unwilling to confess that it was the weight of his attention that distracted you, his very presence that left you unable to concentrate on the words you wanted desperately to read - as you lifted your head to meet his intense gaze. His attention remained on your face, eyes searching for something, as you placed a ribbon between the pages and placed the book onto the table, far from his glass. âThis one is⌠dull.â
âTheyâre all histories written by maesters,â he reminded you with a laugh that rang a touch hollow, a smile that didnât quite meet his eyes. âDull is expected, is it not?â
Though Aegon could be kind to you - when he so desired - and once took an interest in what interested you, you were often reminded that you had little in common. Aemond was the studious brother, well-versed in the histories and philosophy, while Aegon found it all dreadful. Where Aemond could spend days locked away in the library and never grow bored, Aegon had only read what was required of him as a boy - sometimes - and only occasionally listened when you read aloud to him in the early days of your marriage.
âPerhaps,â you allowed, after a moment of thought. âSome of the stories about the Conqueror have been interesting,â you defended, âbut Aemond assured me this was a favorite of his.â With a shrug, you leaned back into the cushion of the couch and admitted, âWe must have different tastes.â
Aegon laughed, a derisive sound that made you frown as his eyes flashed with an emotion you couldnât place so quickly you almost considered it a trick of the light. He reached for his glass once more and swallowed a scoff. âOf course you do,â he exclaimed, with a touch of venom you were unused to, âyou are married to me and he can barely stand to be in the same room these days.â
With a sigh, you reached for your own glass. âThatâs not true,â you reminded him, though not as gently as you supposed you should have. âAemondâs part of the small council and plans with you, not over you. Heâs loyal to you.â
âAll one could ask of a guard dog,â he declared, lifting his cup, though there was little bite to the insult - as if it were spoken reflexively, rather than intentionally.
âI wish you wouldnât antagonize Aemond,â you chided, almost wincing as you heard an echo of Alicent in your words. âHe means well. Heâs trying to help. All of your family is.â
The moment the words left your lips, you regretted them. Though you had grown uncomfortable in his presence, you did not wish for him to leave - not really. But you could see the flicker of warmth that lingered in Aegonâs gaze, the slight fondness he still regarded you with, cool completely as you uttered your admonishment. However, before you could apologize, blame the comment on your exhaustion, Aegon stood.
âAs Iâm often reminded,â he scoffed, though he attempted to cover it with a smile. âIâll leave you to your dull volume, then. Goodnight, my queen,â he bade, smile tight and not reaching his eyes.
âGoodnight, Your Grace.â
Aegon bristled at the formal title - one youâd taken to calling him earnestly, no longer in jest as it had been the first few moons of your marriage - but paused only for a moment before striding out of the room. Behind him, the doors to your chambers fell shut with a heavy noise and you were, once again, alone with your thoughts.
For a few long moments, you sat with only the crackling of the hearth to fill the quiet. Somehow, the silence felt more overwhelming without Aegonâs presence, more oppressive, and you hated that you missed him.
Though you now felt a pinprick of bitter shame in his presence, you still felt guilty any time you pushed him away. Aegon was the one who began to pull away from, to place a wall between you and dismiss your attempts at affection, but you loved him. Despite realizing the few precious moments he spent with you alone were forced upon him, you cherished them, just the same - regardless of how ill they now made you feel.
To be the center of his attention, if only for a moment, still filled you with an awful, overwhelming, lovesick feeling. It once was the highlight of your day, the bright spot in an otherwise dull pattern of needlework and gossip. Now, however, the once bright light only served to further illuminate your own foolishness.
The giddy feeling was now replaced entirely by a roiling in the pit of your stomach, a bitter nausea that heated your skin and made your head spin, and you couldnât help yourself as you stood to pull on a heavy cloak.
Despite being queen, you often felt an afterthought. There were only a handful of guards lingering near your chambers - none directly in front of your door - as most were keeping an eye on Aegon, Helaena, Helaena and Aemondâs children, or Alicent. It was easy to slip past them undetected and trace a familiar path through the halls.
At night, the Keep was almost peaceful.
Though a few lords lingered about, and others were on their way, there always seemed to be less pressure at night. Most were too deep in their cups or too weary from a long day to pay you any mind. The guards who kept watch at night were often less steadfast than their day-shift counterparts and most ladies who sent you pitying looks - or openly lusted after your husband - were locked away in their rooms.
Wandering about the Keep under the cover of darkness had become something of a routine for you and, with practiced ease, you made your way through the labyrinthine halls to the riverwalk.
Standing in the cool night air, the breeze surrounding you and filling your lungs with the familiar salt scent of the sea, soothed a touch of the homesickness you sometimes felt. Kingâs Landing was not White Harbor, not even close, but standing atop the riverwalk, you were able to pretend and felt your heart begin to calm. It was the hour of ghosts, a quiet time where the full moon shed bright white light over the bay and illuminated the water below just enough for you to watch it crash onto the shore.
There was no way of knowing how long you stood there. The only real measure of the passage of time was how cold your hands had grown. However, you realized that it had been long enough for your absence to be noticed as the clink of armor approached.
âYour Grace,â Criston began, voice carrying on the cool breeze as he stopped a few steps from where you stood, âthe hour grows late and the night grows cold. You should return to your chambers.â
The question was no longer where youâd gone. Criston himself was the first to find you on the riverwalk one night, shortly after Aegon summoned you to his chambers in a drunken attempt to produce an heir that left you wondering why he would willingly bed everyone but you. The question was now how long you would remain.
Despite being from the North and used to far colder nights - longing for them, even - as winter began to creep into Kingâs Landing, Criston seemed to allow you less and less time in the cool night air.
âWhy?â
If the question was unexpected, or confusing, Criston did not let on. Instead, he stepped closer - moonlight glinting off the silver of his armor with every step - and sighed as he watched your fingers trace the smooth edge of the stone barrier. âYou are the queen,â he reminded you, simply, as if it were answer enough.
âI am the queen,â you agreed, voice quiet amidst the crashing of waves. A rueful smile twisted your lips as you shook your head. âThough, it is easy to forget.â
With a quiet sigh, Criston turned to face the water and watched the waves crash silently for a long moment. There was an affinity you shared with Criston, an understanding as he knew Aegon better than most - and regarded you with an affection similar to the one Alicent held for you. He seemed to share your disenchantment with life in Kingâs Landing, life in the Red Keep, and did not turn to face you as he asked, âTrouble sleeping again?â
âMm. I do not wish to rely on the maesterâs dreamwine to find sleep. The cool air helps. I apologize if Iâve caused worry.â A small part of you doubted anyone else knew you were missing - certainly not Aegon, for he was likely half-conscious in the throne room or already hidden inside the walls of a brothel by now - but you felt obliged to apologize, anyway.
Criston nodded, remained silent for a beat, and then pressed for another answer - the one he truly wanted. âWhat troubles you, Your Grace?â
Despite yourself, you found it easy to admit your upset to Criston. If anyone understood, you supposed it was him.
âI was excited to marry Aegon,â you admitted, a mirthless laugh escaping as you lifted your gaze to the moon. âI knew little of him but when we met, I found him charming. He made me laugh and heâs handsome. When he chooses to be, he can be good. Upon meeting, I forgot why I was afraid to marry, and my mother gave me reason to believe it would be⌠joyous, I suppose, too marry someone like him, to live in a place like this. I imagined a life that, looking back, could have never been mine.â
âLife rarely happens the way we imagine it will,â Criston reminded you, though it was gentler than you were used to. âWe live the lives the gods see fit to allow us.â Those words, though spilling from his lips, were Alicent Hightowerâs and you struggled to bite back a laugh as you recognized that you both pined for someone whose love eluded you. You wondered if this was the life he imagined for himself - a Kingsguard, hopelessly in love with someone who would never love him back.
âIn that case,â you began, shoulders rounding as you wrapped your arms around yourself, âI canât help but wonder what Iâve done wrong, what Iâve done to anger the gods so.â Your voice faded to a near whisper, lost in the wind, and Criston stepped closer to hear you as you continued. âI have no children to attend to, though if I did, there would be a nurse dedicated to them. They would not being to me, but to the realm.â
Another sigh escaped your lips as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes. âMy only friends are two members of my own family. The rest of the ladies at court all cower in fear of my goodbrother or regard me with pity because of my husbandâs reputation. And my husbandâŚâ Another laugh, this one bitter and harsher than you intended, escaped as you shook your head. âMy husband drowns in his cups or remains too lost in the streets of silk to even consider wanting for an heir.â
With a hand brought to your cheek, brushing away traitorous tears that fell despite your best efforts, you felt a lump of emotion form in your throat. âWhy does he seem so eager to bed every woman in Kingâs Landing, save his own wife?â Your voice broke, betraying your hurt, and you could see Criston tense beside you - uncertain, though hurting for you. The comment lingered for a moment before you shook your head once more and cleared your throat. âI apologize, Ser Criston,â you sighed, as the realization sank in. âPlease forgive my outburst. It was inappropriate and I did not mean to⌠Perhaps youâre right, it is time for me to retire.â
âYour Grace,â Criston began, hesitant as he always seemed to be where matters of Aegonâs indiscretions were concerned, âit is understandable that you feel this way. Your patience has been impressive. Aegon is⌠he is young, but he will settle. Just give him time.â
âIâve given him nearly a year,â you declared, suddenly angry as you turned to face him. âI knew, entering into this marriage, that it was little more than a political arrangement. I am but a pawn in the games of men. But I thought I might at least find a companion in Aegon. Now, I wish it did not feel so obvious that he cares little for me. I donât want a husband to settle for me,â you declared, stronger than you intended. âI want a husband to want me, to desire me, to care about me. Aegon, I fear, barely knows I exist.â
A moment passed in which you sought to regain control of your own temper, your own tongue, and just as quickly as your anger arrived, it began to ebb. Exhaustion replaced it and you wrapped your cloak tighter around your body as you gave Criston a rueful smile. âSome in the realm consider that a blessing.â
Without waiting for his reply, you turned and set off in the direction of your chambers.
Criston followed close behind, remaining silent as you stepped through the halls much quicker than you had earlier in the night. It was only when you approached the door of your chambers that he spoke.
âFor all your concerns,â Criston began, voice low and wide brown eyes meeting yours as he held the door open for you, âknow that Aegon loves you deeply. It may not be visible in the way you wish, but it is there, in his heart.â
It struck you how deeply, how truly, Criston seemed to believe the words himself. There was an earnestness in his tone, a hope that you might believe him, and you desperately wanted to. But the best you could do was offer him a sad smile. âIf only that were true,â you hummed. âGoodnight, Ser Criston.â
With the heavy, wooden thud of your door closing, you found yourself blinking back tears and hoping that the coming days would distract your husband enough to give you time to gather yourself. Every whisper convinced you of something different - that Aegon could someday love you, that he had no use for you, that he meant well, that he wished he was married to anyone else - but falling apart would do you no good.
The swirling thoughts in your head, the bitterness gathering in the pit of your stomach, had you on edge but it would only hurt you in the long run. You would have time to try and make sense of it all later, after the tourney ended and the Keep once again returned to its normal state of being.
For the moment, you could only hope that Aegon himself would remain distant.
Aegon was certainly distracted by his responsibility as king. Council meetings, petitions, private meetings; all took up valuable moments he once mightâve spared for you. He wasnât fond of any of it, though he suffered through at the behest of his mother and grandsire. Like his father, however, he found a certain joy in hosting. Feasts, tourneys, dances; Aegon enjoyed them all in a way that you and his siblings did not. Merriment pleased him as he found himself at the center of attention, amidst happy revelers and praise directed at him.
Though the tourney was being held to celebrate Daeronâs nameday, Aegon still found himself at the center of every conversation. And his youngest brother, like Aemond, allow him to do so without complaint.
And while you would have preferred engaging in conversation with the other Targaryen siblings - or, perhaps, Aegonâs Velaryon nephews, or even the ladies who pitied you - you dutifully remained at Aegonâs side as he drank and laughed and feasted with lords whose names he could barely remember.
The few ladies surrounding you remained polite, though you could see their shared glances every time Aegonâs attention drifted from you. Regardless, he remained as close to his best behavior as he could and kept his hand in yours as Lady Redwyne offered you a smile that even he could see through. Aegon squeezed your hand - in comfort, you supposed, though you refused to read into it, even as your heart leapt - as she opened her mouth.
âHow are you faring in the South, Your Grace? I imagine Kingâs Landing is wholly different from White Harbor,â she declared, taking a sip from her glass as she awaited your answer.
âIt has been an adjustment, to be sure,â you returned, as polite and pleasant as you found yourself capable after hours of cordiality with women who openly snickered at your marriage. âBut it is nice to experience a change of scenery. There is no shortage of excitement in Kingâs Landing.â
âAn understatement,â Lord Tyrell declared, laughing as he shared a conspiratorial look with Aegon that you didnât very much like. âThough, one can assume youâre glad of the coming winter,â he continued, gesturing to the gown you wore - a lighter fabric, compared to the warmer gowns the other ladies had opted for in response to the biting chill that settled into the air.
âAn understatement,â Aegon parroted, tipping his cup for a cupbearer to fill. âSheâd spend all night out in the cold, staring out the water, if she could,â he revealed. âCole has to drag her in at night,â he continued, and you felt a sharp pang of disappointment as you realized Criston had informed him of your whereabouts.
âA reprieve from the warmth of the Keep,â you agreed, smiling politely - even as you couldnât help but wonder what else Criston had shared with your husband. âAnd a marvelous view of the Bay,â you continued, pulling your hand as naturally from Aegonâs grasp as you were able, unwilling to spark any questioning looks.
âA marvelous view, indeed,â Lord Tyrell agreed, a salacious smile curving his lips as his gaze dipped to the curved neckline of your gown. Though your stomach roiled at the way he glanced at you, you kept your expression neutral as he continued. âAnd a wondrous place to share with a child, if the gods should allow it.â A few heads turned, then, all certain of the direction Lord Tyrell intended to steer the conversation as you reached for your wine. âWe are all thankful to be celebrating Prince Daeronâs nameday, but cannot help wondering when we might convene to celebrate the birth of the crownâs heir.â
Luckily, before you were forced to offer a polite response to the inquiry made countless times in such a short timespan, Daeron appeared at your side and offered a brilliant smile. âI would be honored if the queen would grant me a dance,â he declared, glancing first at Aegon for permission before offering a hand when he was granted it.
Eagerly, you grasped Daeronâs outstretched hand and allowed him to lead you into the throng of people - still within reach of the guards and within Aegonâs line of sight. âThank you,â you sighed, allowing Daeron to take the lead with a practiced ease. âWhile Iâve enjoyed having so much excitement around the Keep, Iâm not quire sure how you deal with all the fine people in the Reach regularly.â
Daeron laughed, violet eyes glimmering in the light and untroubled by life in Kingâs Landing as he moved gracefully in time with the music. You almost envied his weightlessness, his freedom, as he revealed, âThank the Seven, my days are spent training. Conveniently, I am exhausted any time there is to be a dinner.â
With a hum, you asked, âDo you think one of the guards might train me, so I could have the same excuse?â
âNo.â He twirled you, smile bright as he watched the soft green fabric of your gown shift with each motion, and kept pace with the other dancers easily. âBut youâre the queen. You can do as you please.â
âIf only that were true, my prince.â Despite your best efforts at levity, the statement sounded as disheartened as you felt, a note of bitterness - acrid and biting in a way you had no desire to be with the youngest of Aegonâs siblings - laced every word. However, before you could apologize, Daeronâs smile softened into something understanding.
âIf only,â he agreed with a wistful shake of his head. âIâm afraid Iâve forgotten what life is like here,â he admitted, not bothering to pay any attention to the others hoping to cut in. âBut I do hope you can find joy in it someday.â
âTell Aemond and I will adamantly deny I said anything,â you began, smiling conspiratorially at Daeron, âbut I do believe youâre my favorite goodbrother.â When he grinned, smile bright and boyish in a way that reminded you of Aegon - painfully similar to the way he smiled at you so early in your courtship when you complimented him - you returned it with a soft smile of your own. âIâm happy Oldtown has treated you so well but very glad youâre here to celebrate with us.â
âI suggested a progress to mother and grandsire,â he announced, grin brightening when you blinked. âAegonâs never visited the Hightower and grandsire was inclined to agree that he should. While my brother entertains Lord Tyrell and the other fine people of the Reach,â he parroted, laughing as you rolled your eyes at him, âIâll give you a tour. Perhaps weâll even find a few new volumes for you to bring back to Kingâs Landing.â
That anyone - let alone the youngest of your husbandâs siblings whoâd only been at court a few short days - could see that you needed a respite from the halls of the Red Keep and would advocate for it pressed a weight to your chest in a way that mightâve concerned you had Aegon not become so oblivious to your distress.
For a brief moment, the time it took for the music to change and you both to begin the new routine with practiced ease, you wondered if anyone else could see what he saw so easily or if his distance from the Keep gave him clarity others did not have.
Idly, you wondered if your husbandâs family had all become so blinded by the mundane - by their own gilded cages - that your growing discomfort was simply regarded as part of the life you now lead. There was nothing anyone could do about your discomfort, nothing that could be said to Aegon that hadnât been repeated a thousand times over. This was now your life, as it had always been theirâs, so they simply allowed you to suffer in silence, as they did.
Though they tried to placate you, it was often confined to the Keep. They never gave you the freedom to wander, to disappear when the walls of your gilded cage began to close in on you, and you wondered if it was because they never considered leaving.
Regardless, you were touched by Daeronâs considerations. âI no longer believe you are my favorite goodbrother,â you announced, trying and failing to hide the emotion in your voice. âI know it for a fact.â
Daeronâs gaze softened for a moment, violet eyes alight with an understanding wise beyond his years - a kindness, an empathy ingrained in him by Gwayne, you realized - before he leaned in conspiratorially. âLet me further establish my place in your heart by promising to share word that the queen regrets her absence but fell ill with a sudden headache and decided to retire for much needed rest before the tourney begins,â he offered, and it was only then that you realized how close to the door heâd managed to guide you both.
âWell, now youâre just unabashedly courting the favor of the queen,â you teased, the words weak though the smile you offered him was genuine. âThank you, Daeron,â you whispered, squeezing his arm in a gesture of appreciation.
âI hope your rest revitalizes you, my queen,â he bade, âso that you might attend the tourney.â His voice carried just far enough to attract the attention of the few lords and ladies surrounding you and, with a nod of acknowledgement, he allowed you to slip through the small group near the door before turning to pass along your regrets to Aegon.
Despite how exhausted you suddenly felt as you left the feast - the noise from the hall fading into a muffled cacophony with every step you took - sleep was the last thing on your mind. Since the arrival of the first lord, your days had suddenly become filled with noise, an endless, mindless stream of sound that deeply unsettled you. Though the Keep was never silent, it was mostly tolerable.
Now, however, you knew that every place you sought solace was like to be filled with lords and ladies from every corner of the realm. The gardens, the courtyard, the entire Keep swarmed with people. There was no solace to be found in your usual perch atop the riverwalk, not tonight - not after Aegonâs laughter - so you opted for a place you knew few would venture.
The library was, even in the bright light of day, usually deserted.
Very few people, aside from the maesters - and a septa or two - set foot in the dim room. Even when the Keep was filled to the brim with people, it was rare to find anyone in the darkness sifting through volumes kept in the royal collection.
As such, you were pleased to find yourself alone for the first time in hours as you lowered yourself into one of the chairs scattered about the room.
For a few long moments, you were left alone with your thoughts. There were very few that many any sense, all jumbled into a cacophony of noise that did, unfortunately, cause an ache to form at your temples. It felt as if each thought was made of smoke, impossible to catch and examine in the way you often felt necessary to make sense of them all, and you released a heavy sigh as you sank deeper into the chair and closed your eyes.
âQuite concerning how quickly your headache appeared, Your Grace. Though this is not the place to sleep it off.â
With a start, your eyes flew open and a hand lifted to your chest as you inhaled sharply.
Aemond stood in the doorway, illuminated by the dim orange glow of candlelight, and studied you with an intense understanding youâd started to grow used to. The green leather he wore looked black in the low light and you sighed as you settled.
âBy the gods, Aemond,â you huffed, shooting him a look that mightâve caused anyone else to wither but seemed to have no effect on him, âyou frightened me.â As he stepped into the room, moving to sink into one of the chairs across from you, you sighed. âI do have a headache,â you defended, lifting the hand from your chest to your aching temple, âand I did not intend to sleep here. I just needed a moment alone. What are you doing here?â
âIâve come to check on my goodsister,â he declared, lips curving into a smirk as you rolled your eyes. âI only wanted to see that you were alright, my queen. And remind you that you shouldnât leave accompanied. Thereâs no telling who might be lurking in the darkness.â
âIâm afraid youâre the only one who worries about such things. I doubt anyone else would notice my absence,â you declared, tipping your head to rest on the edge of the chair. âWhat are you really doing here, Aemond?â
Though your comment earned a frown, thoughtful and calculating, Aemond ignored it for the moment. âThe same thing you are; escaping the mindless, drunken chatter of our king and his esteemed guests,â he declared wearily, tipping his head to study you - daring you to deny your true reason for leaving the feast.
There was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise and, besides, you made it a habit not to lie to Aemond. He always seemed to find the truth in the end; it was easier this way. So, instead of playing coy, you simply asked, âHow did you know where to find me?â When he raised a brow, you barely refrained from rolling your eyes once more. âStupid question,â you admitted, sighing as you raked a hand over the intricate fabric of your gown in an attempt to distract yourself.
âYour absence is noticed, by more than me,â he declared, voice quiet in the still of the room.
When he offered no elaboration, you heaved a heavier sigh and asked, âIs Aegon still entertaining Lord Tyrell?â
Pursed lips served as your only indicator of Aemondâs contempt as he hummed. âHatching a plan to escape the Keep and explore the streets of silk, no doubt,â he declared casually, only pausing to gauge your reaction. When you swallowed, he continued. âLord Tyrellâs appetites are⌠notorious.â
âNo more so than Aegonâs, Iâd wager.â Aemond tipped his head in silent agreement as you sighed and stood. As you began to pace, a slow back and forth across the stone floor, your goodbrotherâs violet eye tracked your every step as he waited for you to continue.
âI try,â you began, with a shake of your head, ârelentlessly, it sometimes feels, but it all seems so pointless. I heard the whispers before we were married, there is no woman in the real that hasnât. But I hoped, naively, that he might change when we were wed. Foolish, I now realize, but I still donât understand why he seems so particularly⌠displeased with me.â
As you paused, inhaling a shaking breath, Aemond sighed. âAegon is a fool,â he declared, strong and certain in a way you only wished you could be, âthough I believe you knew that when you were wed.â Despite yourself, you cut your eyes at him - discouraging the insult, though you knew it to be true - and he repented with a tip of his head. âBut you are as much a fool as he if you think he is displeased with you.â
With a frown, you continued your pacing. âWhat other explanation is there? I care, more deeply than I suppose I should, that he continues to spend his nights haunting the streets of silk. But it is more painful to hear the whispers at court. Those women who denigrate me, claim it is some fault of mine own that he strays - that there is no heir yet⌠I know I shouldnât care, but by the gods, I do. We have lain together only a handful of times while heâs bedded every whore in Kingâs Landing thrice over by now. Eleven moons have passed and we have no child. I tried, in the beginning, but heâs turned me away at every chance lately.â
Another moment, another beat of silence, as you blinked back the traitorous tears that you refused to allow Aemond to see. You swallowed the emotion settling at the back of your throat and shook your head. âDo you know how humiliating it is, to know that my own husband would rather lie with every whore on the streets of silk than take me to bed? I just wish he would tell me what it is he dislikes, what displeases him, so that I might try and change it.â
Aemond sighed heavily and you could feel his intense gaze burning into your skin. You knew that if you looked at him, you would break - the dam keeping your emotion at bay would burst and tears would flood your eyes - so you kept your gaze cast to your shoes and waited, with an anxious need, for his response.
If there was anyone who might understand, anyone who might offer you the truth, it was Aemond.
As he stood, your breath caught in your throat. With only a few steps, Aemond met you in the center of the room and urged you to lift your head. âThere is nothing wrong with you. If anyone needs to change, it is Aegon. You are⌠formidable,â he declared, unflinching as he took in the way your eyes shimmered in the dim light. âThat is a compliment I do not spare lightly. Aegon, despite his foolishness, has never wanted for anything. Except, I believe, to be worthy of you."
The declaration settled over the library with a finality only Aemond seemed to possess, a certainty that nearly made you believe him without question, and the words reverberated in your mind for a long moment. Aemond granted you silence, understanding as your jumbled thoughts began to make even less sense in a desperate bid to make something of his certainty, and you inhaled sharply as you tried to follow a single train of thought for longer than a moment.
However, before you could beg for clarity - for him to speak plainly, as if he were explaining the concept to one of his children - your sisterâs voice interrupted. âApologies,â she began, sparing a glance between you and Aemond with a look you recognized as something akin to regret. âThe king has asked for you to visit him in his chambers, sister. He was told you did not feel well,â she announced with a sigh, âbut he insists.â
âVery well,â you acquiesced with a sigh of your own. âI can see myself to his chambers. If you could make sure a bath will be waiting for me when I return to my own, you can retire for the night.â
With a pitying look you did not much care for - especially not from your youngest sister - she nodded. âOf course. Goodnight, sister."
As she took her leave, Aemond hummed once more. âAnd here you thought him displeased,â he teased, lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. âHe could be perusing the streets of silk with Lord Tyrell but he wants for his wife. How touching.â
âYou are insufferable,â you declared, turning to make the journey to Aegonâs chambers, though there was no heat - save for a fond warmth - in the statement.
âYet you seek my counsel and company,â he reminded you. âIf I am insufferable, it is a burden you willingly bear.â
âGladly,â you corrected, easily. âA burden,â you confirmed, though Aemond knew you did not truly consider him one, âbut one I gladly bear. Goodnight, Aemond. Bid Helaena goodnight for me, as well.â
Despite the growing resentment you felt toward Aegon, the bitter sadness that started to fill your heart, your found a sort of comfort in his family. They all seemed determined that yours would be a happy marriage, no matter the doubt you now felt, and you appreciated their efforts. Though it seemed to be something of a coping mechanism for them, brushing truth aside for something happier - something lighter, even if it was unrealistic - it brightened your considerably gloomy outlook in a way you needed.
Though you were not a Targaryen by blood, they all stood with you - sheltered you from the outside world, even if they could not shelter you from one of their own.
And as you stepped through the halls in the only vaguely familiar direction of Aegonâs chambers, you wondered if he would even be awake to greet you - a cynical thought that once wouldâve never crossed your mind as you rushed to Aegon as soon as he asked.
Much to your surprise, however, he was wide awake and waiting near the foot of his bed for your arrival.
âMy queen of ice,â Aegon slurred, grinning at you as you entered his chambers. The doors fell closed behind you, the hall and the guard disappearing, and you bit back a sigh as you stepped deeper into the dimly lit room. âHave I told you how beautiful you look tonight? Green suits you,â he complimented, though the words were broken by a hiccup and a scrutiny that you believed to be his curiosity as to whether the gown was one heâd given you.
âYou have,â you assured him, though not a word of compliment had been uttered in longer than you cared to admit - the sentiment in his words now unsettling your stomach rather than setting your skin alight. You also did not bother to remind him that the green you wore was the color of your own house, not Hightower green, as you watched him pour himself another cup. âPerhaps you should rest, Your Grace. It has been a long day, filled with excitement. Iâm sure youâre exhausted.â
âNot until I have done my duty as your husband,â he declared, before downing the contents of the cup in a long gulp. âLost count of how many times I was asked when there might be a feast welcoming an heir to the throne.â
A small sense of satisfaction lingered for a moment - at least you were not the only one facing the repeated question. However, the satisfaction was short lived as conflicting emotions surrounding lying with Aegon began to cloud your mind.
For nearly a year, all you wanted was for him to want you. With each day that passed, you hoped - despite yourself - that he might seek you out and offer some of the affection you once received. You hoped that he might spare you the most fleeting glance, the softest touch, the smallest smile. It made you feel pathetic, but you wanted it so desperately.
Anything Aegon wished to give you, you realized you would gladly take.
However, now that he was offering you something of the affection you dreamt of each night you spent alone, the throbbing in your temples grew greater and the churning in the pit of your stomach nearly overwhelmed you. Thoughts - wondering if he would lay with you and then depart the Keep with Lord Tyrell, anyway; wondering if he might someday slip up, call you the name of one of his favored whores; wondering what might happen if you did fall pregnant, if he no longer had a reason to call for you - swirled so quickly that they stole the air from your lungs.
The room felt as if it were spinning around you and, for a moment, you felt drunker than Aegon seemed. Regardless, you could not bring yourself to deny him.
As pathetic as it made you feel, you grasped the opportunity to be closed to him with both hands.
âAs you wish, Your Grace.â The acquiescence was soft, spoken in a breathless whisper to keep your voice from breaking, as you stepped deeper into his chambers. Despite the glassy sheen to his violet eyes, a flash of something dark - something angry, all too aware - flashed in them.
âI wish for you to call me anything else,â he sighed, pouring himself another cup of wine. The words were sharper than you imagined he intended, exhausted in a way youâd never heard him sound, and you felt yourself falter.
Breathing his name had once been your greatest joy. Calling him âAegonâ or âhusband,â where others addressed him so formally, made you feel as if you had at least one piece of him others did not. Now, however, it brought you little comfort as you knew there was nothing you had others wanted for. You wondered, only for a moment, what the other women called him, before you bit the inside of your cheek to anchor yourself to the present.
There was no longer anything you possessed that was solely yours. No matter how badly your heart ached at the thought, no matter how angry it made you, there was nothing left. The only thing you could even hope for was a child born from your own body, though you knew even that would belong to the realm first, as Aegonâs heir.
With a swallow, you reminded yourself there was no sense losing the moment. Aegon wanted you, if only because he had to, and you would take it. You steeled yourself, willed yourself to remain upright and calm, and resumed your path.
âVery well, my king,â you agreed, stepping closer to the bed - unable to make yourself call him anything but. The possessive âmyâ seemed to soften the title some, deemed it appropriate somewhere in the recess of his wine-muddled mind, and those violet eyes cooled some. They were beginning to glaze over, beginning to lose their focus, as he beckoned you closer.
Aegon drank deep from the cup, a few drops of wine escaping down his chin, and you sighed quietly as your fingers tugged at the intricate laces of your gown to keep from reaching for him. You wanted to, wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush the deep red from his pale skin, but you were uncertain how he would react.
However, before you could make much progress, Aegon pushed himself away from the bed and closed the distance between you.
Standing so close to Aegon left your heart beating wildly in your chest. You could feel it throbbing in your temples, in the balls of your feet that ached after spending the day standing to receive guests, thudding heavily against your ribcage. The scent of him filled your nose - the soaps and oils used earlier to prepare him for guests, the heady combination of wine and dragon fire that lingered on his skin - and it brought an ache to your chest.
Though it once mightâve made you swoon, brought a girlish warmth to your skin and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, it was now almost entirely unpleasant. As badly as you wanted this, wanted him, you also wanted to turn and run. But you kept yourself standing and schooled your face into an impassive mask as his fingers tugged at the laces.
Even drowning in his cups, he managed to make quick work of the ties that held your gown together - and, bitterly, the only thought you found yourself capable of forming was a question of how much practice that had taken.
Long ago, the first few times heâd taken you, there was some semblance of effort. Though you knew he did not want you, did not yet love you - though you still had hope then that he someday might - he tried. He kissed you softly, caressed your skin, whispered compliments in the dim of the room.
Now, he could barely keep himself upright as he helped you out of your gown.
Despite his drunkenness, Aegon still managed to remove the gown easily. The laces came undone quickly and it fell to the floor, piled into a heap around your feet. He stepped away, just enough for you to step out of the fabric and climb into his bed, before placing a knee onto the bed to follow.
Only then did he pause, seeming to remember himself. He stepped away for a moment, searching the small table near the privacy screen, and grabbed the oil the maesters had given you in hopes that it might aid the process.
A small part of you resented it - it hadnât been necessary, in the beginning - while the larger part was thankful. It made the act more tolerable, easier to withstand, easier to pretend that the want was mutual and Aegon was not simply âdoing his duty.âÂ
Aegon tossed the vial onto the bed and peeled himself out of his clothes. The undershirt and breeches were tossed away, along with his small clothes, before he returned his weight to the mattress. He was half-hard, another surprise with how much he drank, and you contented yourself with watching as he reached for the vial and poured a few drops into his palm.
You were conflicted as to whether his refusal to glance at your face should be seen as an insult or a kindness as he worked himself to full hardness.
The man above you was somewhat unsteady, wobbling precariously as he climbed over you, and you had half a mind to reach out and steady him. However, you kept your hands fisted tightly in the sheets as he absentmindedly reached for your thigh with a slick hand and settled between your now spread legs.
Aegonâs eyes closed as he situated the head of his cock at your entrance, brows furrowing, and you followed suit as he pressed forward.
Unable to help yourself, a noise - louder than you wouldâve liked - escaped your throat at the stretch. It had been nearly two moons since you last laid together and you couldnât make much sense of how you felt in the moment as his weight descended upon you.
âKeep your voice down,â he slurred, shushing you - though you knew he would soon grow louder. âThereâs still a feast going on.â
None of the guests would hear you, the feast was far enough away. If they did, it wouldnât have been a bad thing - perhaps they might stop asking when to expect an heir, they might stop whispering that he refused to lie with you. But you relented and kept quiet, as he ordered.
The act itself was not wholly unpleasant, not when you relished in being the center of Aegonâs attention if only for a moment, but it was nothing like youâd hoped.
Aegon did not love you, nor did he desire you. The realization was enough to have you counting down the moments until you were allowed to return to your own chambers.
However, though the moment was less than idea, you held it dear. Despite yourself, as Aegon found a sloppy rhtzhym, you reached for him and held him close. One hand lifted to his hair, clean and soft as heâd been in the presence of so many guests and needed to keep up with appearances, while the other pressed to his chest. You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, rapid but steady - or, maybe it was your own, echoing in your ears - and the way his chest rose and fell in search of breath.
Pleasing you was not his objective, nor was it even remotely on his mind, so you distracted yourself with watching him seek his own release.
Though you hated it, you still felt your heart beat a touch faster at the sight of him.
There was plenty of Targaryen beauty evident in Aegon - his fair hair, his violet eyes, his beautiful features - but there was something else that captivated you. Aemond was angular, fierce, serious; Helaena, soft and bright, with mournful moments of melancholy interspersed; Daeron, a mixture of both, blessed with a lingering, youthful ignorance his siblings were not granted.
Aegon, however, was something else entirely.
Even at his happiest, there was something so sad about him. His eyes, perhaps, where the smile never quite reached - holding a depth you were not privy to understanding - or the frown he wore so often when he thought no one was looking. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders, more so now than ever, but youâd long ago given up the hope that he might someday allow you to cary some of his burden.
Though the entire world had been placed at his feet, he wanted for something. If only he would tell you, you knew that you would provide it without a second thought.
In the pursuit of his own pleasure, Aegon still did not look entirely happy. There was a pinch to his brows that never quite left, a faraway look in his eyes that made your chest ache in the most unpleasant way, and a seemingly never-ending war waging in his mind as to whether he should touch you or not.
Hands, calloused from years of dragon riding - and the occasional session with a sword, though heâd long since given lose up - hovered near your skin. His violet eyes were conflicted, uncertain, and you could see his hands fluttering about before he settled on placing them near you. When he moved, his skin brushed yours and that seemed to be enough for him in his altered state. The weight of your own touch against his skin was something he leaned into, something he accepted eagerly, and you felt as if you could cry as he decided against returning the gesture.
However, you werenât given long to dwell as his thrusts grew erratic after only a few short moments.
The time you spent together grew less and less frequent, as did the time it took him to âdo his dutyâ as your husband. With only a few thrusts, he buried himself deep and spilled inside of you, pressing himself close enough to steal the air from your lungs.
Disheveled blonde curls filled your vision as he leaned forward. Aegon stared at you, violet eyes clearly and blinking, and, for a brief moment, you felt a sliver of hope that he might kiss you.
It stung only a little when he did not.
âGods,â he sighed,â leaning forward to press his face into the crook of your neck as he attempted to catch his breath. âYou really look just like her,â he mumbled, voice slurring with sleep and wine. âSound like her, too. And smell like her.â
Aegon breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of your hair and skin - perfumed oil doubtlessly dulled to barely any scent after a long day - as your heart began to beat even faster and your stomach clenched. A part of you had no desire to know who he imagined you were, who he pictured beneath him as he pressed his nose into your skin, but you couldnât help yourself.
âLike who?â If he noticed the shake to your voice, the way your hand trembled in his hair, Aegon said nothing as he hummed.
âMy wife,â he answered, lifting his head and blinking bleary eyes at you once more, âthe queen. Must be paid well.â
It was a wonder he couldnât hear the beat of your heart as it threatened to hammer right through the wall of your chest. A thousand conflicting feelings ran through your head all at once. It was you heâd thought of, you he saw, and that was something of a balm for the ache in your heart. However, he thought you were a whore who merely looked like his wife, a whore heâd rather allow warm his bed.Â
A question lingered on the tip of your tongue - did he seek out one who looked like you or did he merely find your presence so improbable that he chose the most logical explanation.
Either way, he pulled out and moved away, rolling onto his back beside you. He allowed his head to fall against the pillow and muss his hair. ââM sure thereâre more than I care to imagine that want to fuck her,â he began. âThat Tyrell cunt couldnât take his eyes off her at dinner,â he huffed, eyes closing as he brought a hand up to scrub at his face. âCanât fault him, though,â he sighed, âsheâs beautiful.â
âThen why donât you lay with her?â
The question escaped before you could consider it, before you could wonder if it was appropriate to ask, but Aegon seemed unbothered.
âWould you fuck me if I didnât pay you?â Though the question was spoken blandly, meant to prove a point, it made your heart ache. Aegon thought so little of himself and you wondered how much a part you played in his self-doubt.
âI would, my king,â you whispered - you did, you would, if only he wanted you. âGladly.â
âDonât deserve it,â he declared, lips parting with a heavy sigh as he reached for the sheets to cover himself. âLeave me,â he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes and spare you another glance. âI want to sleep.â
The question of who he meant, of what he meant - who was undeserving of what? - lingered on the tip of your tongue, but rather than face his ire as he would doubtlessly turn his infamous temper upon you in the moment as he did not recognize you, you climbed out of the bed and pulled your dress on as best as you were able without the help of your handmaidens and slipped out of Aegonâs chambers.
Criston was the only guard lingering in your path - a calculated move, no doubt, to spare you further humiliation - and he dutifully cast his gaze aside as you approached your door. Any other night, he mightâve bid you goodnight, but thankfully, he remained silent as he held the door for you. You were uncomfortable and exhausted and grateful as the door shut with a soft click, plunging you into silence once more.
After bathing - alone, unwilling to allow anyone to see you after spending time with Aegon, too lost in your own thoughts and questioning your own feelings to care about propriety - you climbed into bed and waited for sleep you knew would not come.
The next morning, however, you awoke with a certain resolve. Following the night you spent with him, the questions that now lingered, you took greater care to keep yourself out of his reach.
Keeping away from him wasnât all that difficult. Aegon had distanced himself enough that your routines were entirely different, living almost wholly separate lives despite sharing the same home. The only times your paths seemed to cross was in the middle of the day and at dinner.
Though, with the entirety of the realm now watching as you were supposed to be together for appearance sake, you were meticulous with your excuses.
The beginning of the tourney was a joyous affair, celebrated loudly by all in attendance.
With any number of events happening simultaneously, you made it known that you wanted simply to experience it all. Northern tourneys were different, you explained to anyone who asked - though all tourneys paled in comparison to those hosted by the king. This was simply an experience you wanted to remember, and Aegon encouraged your wandering.
There were but a handful of Northerners present - a few minor lords and ladies, two knights, and a handful of cavalrymen - and, while you were disappointed that your family was not among them, you were still glad to see familiar sigils. And, instead of sitting with Aegon in the royal box and watching as the tourney began, you made it a point to visit with those you knew, offering your greetings and welcome, and even a favor to the one knight who boldly asked.
Throughout the day, you wandered.
With your sister by your side, you watched the mummers and the archers, the puppets and the poets. You nursed a cup of wine and, when asked why you were not sitting with Aegon, confessed - feigning sheepishness, an emotion that earned you soft coos of delight - that you did not much care for the sport, that you worried for the knights and took no pleasure in watching them be carted off, injured.
In reality, it was Aegonâs act you did not much care for.
Without the attention of the realm placed solely on the pair of you, he might notâve noticed your absence. It had taken him days, after all, to find you before the guests began to arrive.
However, this time, it took him only hours.
As the day crawled to an end and you found yourself stepping through the crowd to settle into your seat beside Aegon at dinner.
âWhere have you been?â He frowned, paying no mind to the lord he cut off in the midst of a story. âI stopped by your chambers to escort you to dinner. You werenât there,â he added, almost an afterthought - the words softening what he realized couldâve made you defensive, what couldâve made others suspicious.
âThe bay,â you admitted, smiling your thanks at the cupbearer before sipping your wine.
Confusion wrinkled Aegonâs brow as he leaned in to get a better look at you - searching your face for any hint of a joke. âThe bay,â he wondered, âwhy? Was the tourney not entertaining enough?â
âLady Mormont wished to see it,â you answered, smile patient though you wished to roll your eyes. âIt reminds us both a little of home.â
âThere is water in the North? I thought it all miserable and frozen.â
When you frowned, incensed by the lordâs quip and the laughter that followed, Aegon sighed and reached for your hand. âIt was a jest, my queen,â he soothed you. âIâve heard stories of the beauty of White Harbor. Grandsire suggested a progress - perhaps we can go to the North and you can show it to me.â
âThe Conqueror held court at New Castle three times,â you recalled, a fact you read in a book long before you married Aegon. âIâm sure my father would welcome you as my ancestors welcomed your namesake.â
âAlysanne held court there, I believe,â he declared, almost uncertainly as he glanced to you for confirmation. When you nodded, he hummed - pleased to have remembered his own history, something Aemond could have recounted with startling ease.
âA womenâs court,â you confirmed, reaching for your cup with the hand Aegon left free. âI grew up hearing stories of how kind she was and how much the women enjoyed the opportunity to speak and have the queen hear them.â
Daeron, who had taken the spot occupied by Lord Tyrell the previous night, turned to you with a smile. âPerhaps it might be worthwhile to use this gathering to your advantage,â he interjected. âI know some women do not much care for tourneys. Perhaps you could hold court with them, afford them an opportunity to speak directly with the queen.â
âA marvelous idea,â Aegon agreed, squeezing your hand and smiling as he tipped his cup in his brotherâs direction. âYouâve sat with me, listening to petitions before. Youâre well trained,â he teased.Â
âOh, how wonderful that would be,â Lady Baratheon declared, offering you a knowing smile - easily detecting the discomfort your husband so eagerly ignored. âAll of the ladies could gather and share, so that you might know more about the concerns around the realm, Your Grace.â
âItâs settled, then,â Aegon concluded, smiling brightly as he nodded. âA womenâs court; a perfect opportunity for my queen to become better acquainted with the women of the realm.â
Of the group, only Daeron seemed to sense your discomfort and you could see the pang of regret in his eyes as you spared him a glance. Regardless, you nodded your agreement and offered a smile to the new sets of eyes now turned to you.
âOf course. Tomorrow, then,â you confirmed, âI shall begin holding court for the women who do not wish to watch the tourney.â
In hindsight, the womenâs court was, truly, a marvelous idea.
Though it was not something you wished to be put upon you without notice, there was a desire in you to take a more active role as queen. You grew bored easily, tired of needlework and idle gossip. The books you read were a nice distraction, as were the infrequent High Valyrian lessons your husbandâs siblings spared you, but you needed something more.
Spending your time learning more about the plight of the women of the realm made you feel as if you were accomplishing something.
The womenâs court also gave you a reason to disappear throughout the day, a reason to avoid Aegon entirely without having to explain yourself to anyone. As your mornings were spent working through the previous dayâs findings and dinner was eaten alone - exhausted by the very valid concerns shared by so many women - you never needed to flounder for a reason to seek solitude.
However, that did little to stop the whispers.
From your sister - and your cousin - you heard the few whispers, those who correctly deduced your dedication as an excuse to hide from your husband. But you had little reason to believe that Aegon heard, or cared, about the whispers himself.Â
Until he sought you out.
On the third day of the tournament, late into the night - after the feast ended and the lords and ladies had retired for the evening - the door to your chambers flew open at the hour of ghosts.
Aegon, doublet undone and hair mussed, stormed in. His eyes were wild, violet darkened by an emotion you found yourself too exhausted to attempt to read, and his cheeks tinted pink as he stared at you for a long moment. âWhat have I done?â
The door to your chambers had barely swung shut when the demanding question echoed through the room.
Aegon looked less the part of king and more the part of upset husband as he began pacing before you, only pausing to glance at you incredulously when you flipped a page.
âThe offense very likely depends on who is chastising you,â you declared, tone detached, uninterested - despite the unsteady beat of your heart and the sharp inhale you took great care to conceal, âyour mother, your brother, or the hand. Perhaps you should ask one of them.â Your exhaustion kept you from standing yourself, from reading too deeply into the situation as you knew there would not be a satisfactory answer, but that seemed to only fuel his upset.
âThe offense is yours,â he clarified, resuming his pacing as he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. âWhat have I done to offend you?â
With a sigh, you finally placed the book onto the table and leaned into the couch - just as youâd done only a few days earlier. It was clear that he had no plan to leave without an answer, though you found yourself at a loss for why he thought heâd offended you or why he cared. âI take it Alicent chastised you, then,â you deduced, the only logical answer as you finally lifted your gaze to watch as he stepped evenly - without the drunken sway you so often spotted. âOrder the Guard to keep your trips to the streets of silk quieter and she might leave you be.â
Violet eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed in frustration - he seemed more upset that you werenât listening than by the thought of causing offense.Â
âThis has nothing to do with my mother,â he insisted, stopping to take a seat in the same chair heâd occupied only days earlier. Now, instead of waiting in silence for you to acknowledge him, his intense stare was accompanied by a frustrated frown. âIâve done something to offend you but I donât know what. Tell me, so I can fix it and apologize.â
For a moment, you simply stared at him, attempting to make sense of his sudden line of questioning, his sudden interest in you - in whether heâd offended you, when you both knew heâd spent nearly a year doing little else. If Alicent had not chastised him, if Aemond or Otto or even Criston hadnât pressed upon him the importance of soothing your aching heart, why did he seem so rattled?
âIf your no one has reproached you,â you finally began, words slow and deliberate, your confusion evident, âwhat makes you think youâve done something to offend me?â
Aegon huffed a frustrated sigh as he gestured to where you sat, glass of wine, a stack of papers, and a book on the table. âYouâve been avoiding me. This is the first Iâve seen of you in days.â
With a sweeping glance around your chambers - at the papers and the book, at the gown waiting to be worn for the next day of court - you blinked at him. âIâve been entertaining the ladies of the realm,â you reminded him, words still escaping slowly, evenly, even as you raised a brow at the way his knee bounced. âWe decided to hold womenâs court, like Good Queen Alysanne. I believe you called it a âmarvelous ideaâ.â Aegon huffed at the reminder, incensed by your response, and you sighed. âThe ladies are glad to spend the day unburdening themselves. Iâve been working through their concerns,â you explained, gesturing to the stack of papers, âdiscerning which are in need of further attention and which can be solved without the crownâs intervention.â
A moment of silence passed in which Aegon scrutinized the papers before he huffed once more and stood, resuming his pacing. âYouâve been avoiding me long before guests began to arrive,â he declared, nearly startling you as you hadnât realized heâd noticed. As you blinked, surprised, he shot you a look, something angry - wounded, almost - and shook his head. âDonât deny what we both know to be true."
âYouâve been busy.â Deflecting blame to him was not how you intended the conversation to go, not when you could see him bristle at the acknowledgement you had, indeed, been avoiding him. So, you added, âI did not wish to add more of a burden.â
Aegon sighed, a defeated sound that youâd never heard, and sat once more. He seemed to consider reaching for the flagon of wine, perhaps even stealing your cup, but thought better of it as he settled into the chair.
Silence enveloped you both for a long moment, thick and unbroken by even the faintest of sounds outside your chambers - by design, you assumed, as Aegon seemed intent on understanding why youâd been avoiding him, for reasons you could not fathom - and you nearly allowed yourself to ask why he seemed so desperate for an answer, when it was he who began the whole ordeal.
Violet eyes studied you, settled on your face and searched for something - anything - in lieu of an answer to an unspoken question, a question even he couldnât seem to form. You nearly shrank beneath the intensity as Aegon finally uttered, âYou are my wife. Nothing about you is burdensome.â
Though the words were soft, sincere in a way you did not expect, you found yourself unable to stop the bubble of laughter that erupted from your throat. âA relief.â The comment was biting, sarcastic in a way youâd never been with Aegon, and he frowned - wounded, violet eyes sad - as he regarded you.
âYou do not believe me.â It was not a question and the realization seemed to do little to settle him.
Aegon was not someone you spoke openly with, not someone you shared your feelings with, but you couldnât help yourself. Exhaustion set in and your desire for propriety was long gone. Instead of feigning acceptance, you simply reached for your wine and offered him a sad smile. âI often feel my presence is little more than a burden your family insists you bear.â
âThatâs not true.â A near whisper, though the declaration held far more conviction than you ever imagined Aegon capable of. The hurt was no longer prominent in his sad eyes, replaced, instead, by disbelief - anguish, nearly, that you believed your words to be true. âSurely, you donât believe that.â
Eager to move on, to keep from sharing your innermost feelings with Aegon in a way that you would surely come to regret when he drunkenly spilled them to the entirety of the realm, you shook your head. âIt does not matter what I believe,â you declared, waving a hand to rid yourself of the conversation. âI fear there are more pressing matters at hand than my feelings. Court has been⌠enlightening.â
For a moment, you feared Aegon may not allow you to move on - that he may dwell on the subject until you broke, shed the tears that stung at the backs of your eyes. He seemed eager to push, to argue, but after a nearly uncomfortable stretch of silence, he finally asked, âWhat have you learned?â
The question was hollow, detached, and you nearly apologized. Instead, you turned your attention to the stack of notes on the table.
âEvery solution the crown offers only seems to create a dozen more problems,â you related, sighing as you poured more wine before nudging the cup across the table toward him. âFor every petition answered, a dozen more appear in its place.â
Aegon sighed, momentarily redirected, and reached for the cup with a nod of thanks. âWeâre learning the same things, then,â he announced, rubbing at his eyes. âThere is not enough grain or land or livestock. The winters are too cold, the summers too harsh, boundary stones are being moved and duels are breaking out over cows grazing on the wrong grass.â
The complaints were similar to the ones you heard, though yours were more nuanced - filled with heartbreaking accounts of cruelty and anger.
âThe men are cruel, taxes too high, inheritance laws unfair; Iâm sure weâre hearing similar stories.â
âThe men are cruel?â Aegon frowned, hand pausing midway to his mouth as he blinked, uncertain as to what you meant.
âMm. The men share the complaints about taxes, Iâm sure, and maybe inheritance laws, but the women have unique concerns,â you explained, brushing a hand across your nightgown in an effort to distract yourself. âAlysanne decreed an end to the First Night but it seems the decree only held for royal or highborn women. Lesser ladies only escape the ritual if they have a kind husband. And inheritance laws mean second or third or even fourth wives are left with nothing if a husband dies, unless she or her husband has kind relatives.â Aegon frowned as he returned the cup to the table and shifted in his seat to get a better look at you. âMarriage is a political alliance for most,â you informed him, though you assumed he already knew. âBut, for others, itâs a means of survival.â
âGods,â Aegon sighed, âwhat did my father do all those years? Nothing seems to have changed. Itâs all fucking miserable.â He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands for a brief moment, before he returned his gaze to you. âThey told you all of this?â
âThey did,â you confirmed, sighing as you clasped your hands together to keep from reaching for him. âI believe they just wanted someone to listen.â For a moment, you simply studied him - your gaze sweeping across his face, eagerly drinking in the soft look in his eyes - before you laughed, a soft sound lacking mirth. âI suppose I am lucky,â you confessed, standing to begin your journey to Alicentâs chambers for your nightly tea with her, Helaena, and the children.
âYouâre married to the king,â Aegon surmised, standing to follow - to head for his own chambers, or perhaps out of the Keep.
âNo.â With a shake of your head, you paused to meet his eyes. âI would be just as happy as a lady,â you confessed, watching as he frowned. âI am lucky because, even though you do not love me, you are at least kind to me. That is more than I could have asked for, more than most women hope for.â Aegon blinked, violet eyes going wide as his lips parted in preparation to respond, but you gave him a tight smile. âItâs alright,â you assured him, straightening your robe. âIâve accepted my fate and am grateful for your kindness. I would not ask more. Goodnight, Your Grace.â
With quick steps and a racing heart, you left Aegon standing in the middle of your chambers with blinking eyes and parted lips. There would be time later to dwell on how much you said, how awful you felt for confessing such a thing, but you did not imagine it would be before the tourney ended.
However, you were surprised to find a request from Aegon the next morning - the king wished for you to join him in his chambers to break fast, as early as you were ready.
The request itself was odd - in the eleven moons youâd been married, youâd only broken fast together once or twice, and always after Aegon woke. Part of you feared youâd offended him, that you might finally become acquainted with his infamous temper, while the other part feared the rats shared your conversation with Alicent and this was her doing. There was little you could do to calm your racing heart as you considered both possibilities, neither pleasant and neither comforting.
Either way, you hurried through your morning routine. A part of you wanted to make him wait, to take your time or even send your regrets with the excuse that you had other plans. The greater part, however, knew it was better to get the whole ordeal over with and pushed you to your way to Aegonâs chambers - skin alight with an unfamiliar warmth as you did so.
Though you half expected to find Aegon still asleep, he was stood - pacing, silver hair clean and brushed - waiting.
As you entered, heart thundering in your chest, Aegon stopped in his tracks. âGood morrow, my queen,â he greeted with a tentative smile and an outstretched hand. âHow did you sleep?â
Without thought, you accepted Aegonâs outstretched hand and allowed him to guide you to the table. He pulled out the chair beside his own, one youâd never before occupied, and gestured for you to sit. As you did, you noticed that the table held most of your favorite foods - items you normally requested for your own morning meal - and you nearly forgot the question as you turned to meet Aegonâs gaze.
With a great effort, you attempted to mask the confusion you felt. âFine,â you assured him, offering a smile you hope he believed real. âAnd you?â
Undeterred by the obvious concern in your tone, Aegon nodded. âFine,â he parroted, reaching for the tea to pour you a cup. âNo wandering in the night for you?â
A confused curiosity filled you, settling into the pit of your stomach alongside a sinking feeling you couldnât quite make sense of. There was no reason for Aegon to care - none that made sense to you, anyway - but being at the center of his attention, if only for a moment, sent your heart soaring.
So, with a rueful laugh, you shook your head and decided to humor him. âNo, not last night.â Aegon hummed as he offered you a piece of fruit - your favorite, though you werenât sure if he remembered it from the early days of your marriage or if a servant simply filled the table with things you liked - as you continued. âIt seems some of the lords and ladies wished to see the riverwalk after I spoke so highly of it. They are curious what it is that calls to me.â
Aegon winced, his violet eyes flashing with regret as he sighed. âI shouldnât have said anything,â he declared, eyes cast down and lips curved into a frown. âI did not mean toâŚâ
With a tight smile, you nodded. âI know,â you assured him. Heâd been drunk, caught up in conversation with Lord Tyrell - who seemed to bring out the worst in him - and you did not blame him. Not entirely. âItâs for the best, anyway,â you continued, shrugging. âAlicent has chided me relentlessly for wandering about alone so late. I do not wish to face another of her lectures. I suppose Iâll just read, instead.â
The pair of you shared an understanding laugh - though your lectures were, doubtlessly, far kinder than any Aegon had ever received - before his thoughtful frown returned.
For a moment, Aegon allowed his searching gaze to sweep across your skin. There was a question written on his face, one he seemed unable to articulate, that he sought an answer to. Finally, he asked, âThe reason you wander, is because you canât sleep?â When you sighed, sipping your tea instead of denying what he now realized to be true, Aegonâs frowned deepened. âIs it the sound of the water or the cool air you seek, on the riverwalk?â
When he affixed you with wide eyes, a look that begged for the truth, you sighed. âThe sound is soothing, but I wish for the cool air, more than anything. I leave my windows open when I can but as the air grows colder, someone will catch a glimpse and I am scolded - reminded by the maesters again and again that I could fall ill any time a breeze blows. Itâs as if they forget Iâm from the North.â
At your indignant huff, Aegon laughed - a soft sound that youâd missed dearly - before his thoughtful frown returned. âWhy havenât you said anything?â
Aegonâs concern left you mildly unsettled, confused, as you searched for an appropriate answer.
âWe married in winter,â you finally reminded him, shrugging lightly. âI slept well enough then and we havenât spoken about it since.â We havenât spoken much at all since went unsaid but Aegonâs wince assured you he heard it, just the same. âIt does not matter anyway,â you continued, âas thereâs nothing to do but wait for cooler weather. Iâm growing used to the heat. I wander a bit, cool off, and return to my chambers. Ser Cole was the only one to notice my absence. If he hadnât said anything, no one wouldâve known.â
âIâm sorry.â
The apology caught you entirely off guard and you found yourself turning to face Aegon with a frown. âWhat for?â With a laugh, you reached for your cup once more. âYouâre the king, but you cannot control the weather. I will just savor the cool air whenever it appears.â
âI did not even know you wandered until Cole told me,â he confessed, swirling the cup of tea in his hand. His brows furrowed in frustration - though, you could tell it was not directed at you as he huffed. âI shouldâve known you were not sleeping.â
With a sigh, you shook your head. âJust as you cannot control the weather, you cannot expect to know my every waking move. There are more important things to concern yourself with.â
âIâm your husband. You are my most pressing concern,â he declared, words soft - guilty. âI should know all there is to know about you.â Before you could argue - something Aegon could see written clearly on your face - he continued. âThe next time you find yourself unable to sleep, perhaps I could wander with you. I do not enjoy the cold but I will brave it with you,â he offered, a hopeful smile lifting the corner of his mouth as wide violet eyes met yours.
A spiteful comment lingered on the tip of your tongue - certainly, if you are in the Keep and not lost in the streets of silk - but you swallowed it with a sip of tea. âOf course,â you agreed easily, though you had no intention of seeking him out when sleep inevitably refused you once more.
Sleep would only be harder to find when coupled with disappointment.
Regardless of your intention, Aegon seemed settled by your easy agreement. Assured - of what, you were uncertain - he turned the conversation to the remaining days of the tourney and began to eat as you began to worry.
Though all youâd wanted for nearly a year was Aegonâs attention, having it in spades made you overwhelmingly suspicious. There was little about the situation that brought you joy or comfort. If anything, it set you more on edge than youâd been since stepping foot into the Keep.
There was a part of you - the rational, pragmatic part - that understood. Aegon wanted to keep up appearances. Alicent and Otto had spent much of his life instilling in him the importance of maintaining an image. What happened in the privacy of the Keep when the crowds departed did not matter, so long as they all believed the happy facade put on for their benefit.
It made sense, then, why he insisted on breaking fast with you - so the lords and ladies would see you depart from his chambers - and why he insisted on escorting you to dinner. It even made sense to you why his hand found yours when you were amongst the crowd of revelers at dinner.
The part that worried you, however, was the attention he paid you when no one was looking.
Just as he had in the beginning of your marriage, Aegonâs hand brushed yours in passing as he went his way while you went your own. Throughout the day, you felt his intense gaze on you - searing into your skin across a crowded room, across the field as you spoke with the ladies of the realm when he shouldâve been watching the tourney. And when night fell, he escorted you back to your chambers after dinner and sat with you, sometimes without so much as a word shared, until you deemed it time for bed.
For two days, Aegon paid more attention to you than he had over the course of your entire marriage - all without drowning in his cups.
And by the final day of the tournament, you found yourself utterly exhausted.
Being surrounded by people - those who meant well and those who certainly did not - was enough of a discomfort. The sometimes curious, sometimes accusing, sometimes pitying gazes of the lords and ladies of the realm set you on edge. But attempting to make sense of Aegonâs sudden burst of attention was what kept you awake at night.
Every reason you considered made little sense.Â
Initially, you assumed it was Alicentâs doing. However, the moment she expressed her surprise at Aegonâs sudden change of heart, you found yourself more perplexed. She seemed assured, however, certain that her eldest son was finally settling, and rejoiced at the sight of Aegon escorting you to the gathering of women two mornings in a row.
Aemond also seemed surprised, though his was better hidden than his motherâs as he watched Aegon offer you a hand to pull you into the fray of dancing bodies. And your assumption that it was he whoâd spoken with his brother vanished into thin air the moment his violet eye met yours - a question of âwhatâs happeningâ dancing curiously in it.
All logic failed you, each conclusion vanished as quickly as it arrived, and you found yourself confused and alone - away from the madness so that you might catch your breath and think.
However, you were not left alone for very long.
Without warning, no guard and no crowds of people vying for his attention, Aegon approached you as you sat far from the madness of the tourney.
The Conquerorâs crown glimmered atop his head, silver and ruby shimmering in the sunlight, and he looked the part of king. Royalty suited him, you decided - his features regal, his poise now unencumbered by drink as heâd done his best to remain sober in your presence - though you kept the thought to yourself as you bit back a sigh at his presence.
Aegon had taken to asking you what was wrong - a question he took seriously, as he attempted to remedy whatever it was that bothered you - but you turned to him before he could.
âWhat does it feel like?â The question was asked in desperation, a deep-seated desire to turn the conversation away from yourself - a need to return to some semblance of normalcy, despite his newfound attention - and Aegonâs brows furrowed. âRiding a dragon,â you elaborated, gesturing to Sunfyre in the distance. His prized dragon had been brought from the Dragonpit to be seen, marveled at; the most beautiful dragon in the realm, the kingâs pride. âIâve asked Aemond and Helaena, even Daeron,â you confessed. âThey all say the feeling is indescribable.â
For a moment, Aegon regarded you with a smile - something bright and true, genuinely happy; something you saw little of in him - before he turned to glance at his golden dragon. âDo you want to try it,â he began, stepping closer and tipping his head to meet your eyes, âfind out for yourself?â
With a hollow laugh, and a touch of fear at the prospect, you shook your head. âA beautiful thought, to be sure,â you acknowledged, âbut if I stepped closer, I fear I would only learn what death by dragon fire feels like.â
Unbothered, Aegon stepped even closer - his arm now brushing yours. âIf you stepped closer to Vhagar, surely, but Sunfyre is less inclined to violence,â he teased, sparing his dragon an admiring glance. âHe listens well and will take to you, so long as you are with me.â When you frowned, uncertain, Aegon smiled softly and reached for your hand. âI shouldâve introduced you sooner,â he hummed, apologetic as he squeezed your hand, âbut we will just have to make up for lost time.â
Slowly, carefully - for your benefit, you realized, as Sunfyre seemed entirely aware of Aegon no matter how he moved - your husband guided you across the field to where Sunfyre rested. The keepers offered you both polite greetings before stepping aside to allow Aegon to interact with his dragon, unbothered.
Though his commands were nowhere near as sharp as the ones youâd heard from Aemond, nor as fluid as those youâd heard from Helaena, Aegonâs word still struck a chord with Sunfyre. His High Valyrian was clumsy, almost broken, but Sunfyre still responded just as eagerly as the others - if not more so - as the great beast made a rumbling noise and nudged Aegon in the chest.
Aegon cooed, returning the greeting happily as he offered the dragon a few soft strokes of his hand, and you felt a smile curve your lips - in spite of the thundering of your heart at your proximity to such a fearsome creature.
âGive me your hand,â Aegon urged, turning his head to glance at you when Sunfyre settled and turned a great eye upon you. âHe trusts you because I do.â
With a tentative step, you moved closer to Aegon. He accepted your outstretched hand eagerly, tugging you closer, and placed a steady and on your waist. Every inch of your skin felt warm - from the great breaths Sunfyre took, warm air billowing around you; or from the heat of Aegonâs body pressed to yours, unfamiliar and easily stealing the breath from your lungs as his hand stroked your waist to calm you.
Aegon tipped his head to offer you a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Sunfyre once more. With a few quiet words - mostly in Valyrian, though a few words in the common tongue caught your ear - Sunfyre lifted his large head and repeated the affectionate gesture heâd shown Aegon.
A noise resembling a purr escaped the large beast and, with Aegonâs hand still clasping yours, your hand was pressed to his scales.
For a single, nerve wracking moment, you waited - half-afraid Sunfyre might turn on you, temper as unpredictable as his rider - but when he simply leaned into your touch, you exhaled slowly. âHeâs beautiful,â you whispered, voice awed as your fingers trailed lightly across the warm patch of golden scales. âAnd so warm.â
The moment Aegonâs hand released yours, it fell to your waist as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Sunfyre rumbled another pleasant noise, as if he understood the compliment, and you laughed. âSee? Nothing to fear.â
âYou are well matched, I believe,â you nearly whispered, as if Aegon had not spoken at all. âThe most beautiful dragons in all the realm.â The compliment escaped without your notice, unintentional, but Aegonâs hands squeezed your waist gently as he inhaled just a bit too sharp.
âHe is beautiful,â Aegon agreed easily, reaching out to stroke the scales just above where your hand rested - thankfully sidestepping your compliment of him. âHeâs also quick and loves to soar over the sea, something that reminds me of you.â
Sunfyre released another contented noise, happily basking in the attention, as you hummed thoughtfully. âThe view must be incredible,â you whispered, still in awe of the beautiful creature before you. âIâm not sure how you find the strength to return to the ground.â
âIt helps to have something worth returning for.â Aegonâs declaration was soft, as was his gaze as violet eyes fell to you. âDo you want to see for yourself? Youâll be safe, I promise. There is nowhere safer, in fact.â
The prospect of riding a dragon set your heart beating overtime once more and brought butterflies to your stomach. It was terrifying - and tantalizing - and you could not understand why Aegon offered. Still, you tipped your head and offered him a playful smile. âDo not let Vhagar hear you,â you teased, voice nowhere near as strong as you hoped it would be. âShe might take offense.â
âThe old beast is asleep in a field, she couldnât hear me if I stood right next to her.â Aegon grinned at you - expression brightening considerably when you laughed - before he stepped away. His hands left your waist but grasped your own, fingers intertwining with your own, as he guided you to the rope connected to Sunfyreâs saddle. âCome, my queen. We wonât be missed.â
A lie - his absence would be noticed immediately - but you said nothing.
Conflicting feelings swirled in the pit of your stomach as you allowed Aegon to help you climb into the saddle. There was fear - a natural instinct, when faced with the prospect of riding a dragon - and doubt, uncertainty as to your safety. There was concern, an ever-present wonder as to why Aegon seemed so intent upon getting you to bond with his dragon. There was worry, a curiosity as to why Aegon was acting the part of husband you so desperately wanted.
But, above all else, there was an overwhelming happiness.
Excitement coursed through your veins as Aegon helped you situate yourself in the saddle, despite your dress not being appropriate riding gear. Warmth coursed through your veins as he settled in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and offering you a bright smile as you turned your head to glance at him.
The reason why mattered so little when it felt so intoxicating in the moment.
Though the question danced on the tip of your tongue - more of a demand, a need to know what had changed - you kept quiet as Aegon spared a few words for Sunfyre.
With an eager rumble, the dragon began to stand.
âReady?â
Before you could answer - nod your agreement or beg to be returned to the ground - Aegon shouted a command you couldnât understand. The golden beast took a few steps forward before bolting toward the sky, clearly as eager to fly as his rider.
As you hurtled toward the sky, your heart leapt into your throat and making any noise at all seemed impossible.
Though you wouldâve agonized over the decision any other time, there wasnât a single thought in your mind as you reached for Aegonâs arm. You held - perhaps too tight, you realized, as your nails bit into the leather of his riding jacket - and held your breath as the burnt, fading colors of foliage began to give way to the white stone of the city and then the dark water of the bay.
Cool air rushed around you, growing cooler the higher you climbed, and you delighted in the contrast of it biting at your skin as Aegonâs warmth bled into your back.
Part of you wanted to close your eyes, to savor the feeling of weightlessness as Sunfyre began to level out and soar above the water, while the rational par demanded you keep them open and drink in the sight of Kingâs Landing from above.
There was no guarantee you would have another opportunity to witness the beauty below you.
The city youâd grown to early loathe - the streets of silk that claimed your husband, the stench that sometimes wafted through your open window - was undeniably beautiful atop Sunfyreâs back. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, though none seemed to provide an adequate description of the beauty below you.
Rather than attempt to speak, you simply breathed deeply and reveled in the quiet.
Atop Sunfyre, everything youâd spent nearly a year agonizing over seemed to fade into nothing. It all seemed so trivial, so meaningless, when the world was so vast and beautiful.
For a moment, you understood what your husbandâs siblings meant - there was certainly no other feeling in the world that could compare to the experience at hand.
As you caught your breath, lungs filling entirely for the first time since leaving White Harbor, Aegon remained quiet behind you. For the first time, his silence was entirely comfortable - not something to be wary of, not something for you remedy. It was blissful, a shared joy, and you appreciated it.
Aegonâs chin rested atop your shoulder once more, blonde curls brushing your skin, and as you glance out at the dark water, you were nearly convinced it was all just a beautiful dream.
Having Aegon so close, his affection flowing so freely - his attention so rapt, so complete - was al youâd wanted for longe than you cared to admit. However, now that you had it, you were uncertain of what to do with it. You remained suspicious, concerned there was some sort of string attached to his affection, but a he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, you felt your concern begin to melt away.
It had been so long since Aegon kissed you, so long since he offered any kind of affection, that you couldnât help yourself.
With a turn of your head, your gaze met his. As Sunfyre soared, you felt your heart begin to beat just a touch faster when Aegon leaned to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was soft, nearly chaste, and you could feel the familiar ache in your chest at the gentle nature of it. There was something so intimate about the gesture, something that meant more than all the attention in the realm, and you struggled to blink back your tears as Aegon broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.
Everything around you ceased to exist with those violet eyes trained on yours.
Sunfyre rumbled a pleased noise - something bright and joyful - and Aegon smiled as he tipped his head to glance at the golden dragon. With your husband distracted, you swallowed the emotion lingering in the back of your throat and held tight to the saddle as the flight continued.
Just as youâd imagined, there was little desire to return to the ground - to the life that awaited you both, the crowds of people seeking your company, the expectations that overruled your happiness - but with a single command from Aegon, Sunfyre began to descend all too soon.
Though the flight had been short, nothing more than a quick trip around Kingâs Landing, it meant the world to you.
And when you landed, your feet firmly on the ground and Sunfyre returned to the keepers, Aegonâs expectant gaze met yours. âWell,â he began, smile knowing, âwhat did it feel like?â
âI fear I owe your siblings an apology. It was truly indescribable,â you admitted, heart still pounding in your chest - though you werenât certain if it was from the adrenaline or the way Aegon was looking at you, bright eyes so intent on your face. âKingâs Landing is beautiful from above. And I believe Sunfyre is the most beautiful being Iâve ever seen.â
âDragon, certainly,â Aegon agreed easily, stepping closer and bringing his hand to your waist. âYou are the most beautiful woman Iâve ever seen.â
The compliment was nothing more than flattery, almost certainly untrue - heâd spent his nights with Lyseni women whose beaut was famed - and shattered the moment entirely. Reality crept back in, startling you back into your own body, and drew the tears youâd been keeping at bay since the kiss.
With a shake of your head, you attempted to pull away from him as you lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks. âAegon,â you whispered, voice cracking as you addressed him by name for the first time in several moons, âplease, donât.â
Like a strong wave, every emotion youâd felt over the course of your marriage crashed into you.
Each feeling was stronger than the last, shattering your resolve with astounding ease, and you could see the flash of panic in Aegonâs eyes as he stepped closer. The nudge you offered in response was weak, nowhere near strong enough to dissuade him, and Aegon ignored the gesture completely as he began to guide you back to the Keep.
Neither of you wanted the moment to be witnessed - Aegon did not wish for his motherâs ire, as she knew your tears were his fault, nor did he wish for more speculation on behalf of the realm; you did not wish for more pitying gazes - so you allowed him to steer you through the halls without complaint.
Aegon guided you through the halls of the Red Keep, stepping without thought in the direction of his chambers. However, before he could turn down the hall leading to his door, he seemed to think better of his destination. Instead, with a few retraced steps, he turned and guided you to your own chambers.
The moment the door shut behind you, effectively sealing you both away from the realm, Aegon did something heâd never before done - he wrapped both arms around your waist and held you tight to his chest.
It was a clumsy gesture, almost uncertain, and crushed your arms to your body, but you appreciated it, just the same. His proximity did little to stop the tears that spilled, though you pleaded with your body to offer you some sort of respite, and Aegon made a broken noise as his own eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
âPlease, donât cry,â he whispered, voice quiet in the still of your room. âIâm sorry.â
Despite yourself - despite the truth you both saw plainly - you shook your head. âNot your fault,â you denied, reflexively.
Aegon scoffed, wholly disbelieving, as he shook his head. âIt is,â he acknowledged, tipping his head to press his forehead to yours the moment you glanced at him. âI have not been the husband you deserve. I have been no husband at all.â
For a moment, he seemed to falter - uncertain, unused to such emotion - before he lifted a hand to cup your cheek.
âI wanted to spare you,â he admitted, so earnest it made your chest ache. âThis place, this life; it seems to make everyone fucking miserable. My mother was happier before she was queen, Helaena is happier when she is far from Kingâs Landing. There is no joy to be found here. I didnât want to subject you to the same misery.â
The sincerity with which Aegon spoke struck you. He truly seemed to believe it - truly believed that he was sparing you - and you couldnât help the fresh wave of tears that fell.
âAs noble as your intentions may have been, I am here,â you reminded him, voice thick with emotion. âThere is no sparing me, not when our lives were intertwined in front of the realm and in the eyes of the gods. It might be enjoyable if we sought happiness in one another.â
âI donât believe Iâve ever made anyone happy,â he confessed, voice a pained whisper, âas a son, a king; certainly not as a husband.â
âYou have made me happy,â you asserted, brows furrowing. When he frowned, disbelieving, you gestured to the embroidery of Sunfyre adorning his doublet. âSoaring over the city with you on Sunfyre was the most joy Iâve felt in all my time in Kingâs Landing and I felt it because of you. The first few moons of our marriage, you were kind - affectionate, present - and that made me happy. The past few days, youâve been kind again, youâve been with me, and my heart felt as if it might burst. Being with you made me happy, Aegon.â
Aegonâs eyes fell shut, his breath stuttering as he shook his head slightly. âI know less about being a husband than I do about being king,â he confessed, violet eyes glassy as they reopened. âIâm afraid Iâll only disappoint you.â
âYouâve never been a husband, nor have you been a king, just as I have never been a wife or a queen,â you reminded him, tone gentle. âI also know little of either role but I want to learn. With time, both will become easier, but learning together would make me happy. I donât want perfection, Aegon. All I want, all I have wanted, is you.â
âAnd I you,â he agreed, quickly - easily, his hand squeezing your hip. âI am not too late, then?â
âIâve spent the last few moons wishing to hate you,â you confessed, lifting a hand to caress his cheek - your heart aching in your chest as he flinched, expecting a blow instead. After a moment, he leaned into the caress and you struggled to keep yourself from crying once more. âI wanted nothing more than to feel indifferent, or even angry, in your presence. But all Iâve wanted is your love. Iâve taken what little of you you would give but I want all of you. I fear it will never be too late, not when my heart belongs entirely to you.â
âHow can you love me, after all Iâve done?â Sad violet eyes met yours, downcast and filled with a self-loathing you understood all too well, as he leaned into your touch.
âBecause love is irrational. It lives in the heart, not the mind, and my heart has been yours for a long while.â
âI donât deserve this,â he whispered, âI donât deserve you.â
The whisper sharpened the ache in your chest, made your heart hurt for Aegon, as you caressed his cheek. Your thumb brushed away a few errant tears, brushed the dark circles beneath his eyes, as you studied him. His drunken words, whispered in the dim of his chambers, returned to you and you sighed as you met his eyes. âYou do. You deserve love, Aegon.â
The declaration hung in the air for a long moment, lingering between you in a silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, before Aegon moved. He surged forward, eager to press his mouth to yours in another kiss.
This kiss, unlike the soft display atop Sunfyre, was desperate. It brought forth every emotion you both struggled to make sense of and stole the breath from your lungs. It was searching, starving, and you allowed it to consume you completely as Aegonâs grip on your waist grew tighter and you hand moved to tangle in his hair.
Nothing couldâve prepared you for the turn you day would take, for the onslaught of Aegonâs desperate affection, for the sheer force of his kiss, but you surrendered to it without thought.
Even as your lungs burned with the need for air, as your chest ached and your skin felt as if it were blistering, you refused to part from him. And, to your surprise, Aegon seemed just as reluctant.
Each breath was stolen with lips only inches apart, with violet eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.
Whereas affection had been nonexistent for so long, it seemed as if the dam had broken and you were both desperate for some semblance of the otherâs love.
Despite Aegonâs emotional whispers, his open display of concern, you could feel the doubt lingering in the back of your mind as he walked you backward. While he navigated your room with an ease that shouldâve surprised you, you wondered what might happen in the aftermath.
How long would Aegonâs affection last before you were left alone again?
As if sensing your hesitation, Aegon broke from the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours as you approached your bed. He took a moment to breathe - to allow you to breathe - before he whispered another apology. âI canât change what Iâve done,â he acknowledged, âhow Iâve treated you. But I can be better. I will be.â
Before you could speak - and say what, you did not know - Aegon recaptured your lips in another searing kiss.
With a practiced ease, he unlaced the ties of your gown - Hightower green, laced with the gold of his dragon - and brushed the fabric from your shoulders.
Unlike the night of the feast, Aegon took a long moment to study you as you stood before him in only your small clothes. And when you attempted to cover yourself - arms stretch across your chest, your stomach, your hips - Aegon gripped your wrists.
âPlease, donât hide from me. I want to see you.â
Wide violet eyes met yours, so sincere in their desire, and you found yourself unable to deny him. With a nod, you relaxed your arms - allowing them to fall to your sides when Aegon released you - and he hummed, a pleased sound that warmed you from within.
Though you only laid together a handful of times, and though Aegon had been attentive in the beginning, no experience compared to the one at hand.
There was a desperation in his touch, an eagerness youâd never before witnessed, and your breath grew harder to catch as Aegon crowded closer. His lips - chapped, but warm and not entirely unpleasant - pressed to every inch of skin he could find; your cheek, your chin, the column of your throat, your shoulder. He inhaled deeply and laughed, a surprised sound, as his gaze lifted to meet yours.
âYou stink of dragon,â he teased, eyes glimmering with a mirth youâd missed - a lighthearted joy you hoped would remain - as his words recalled the words you leveled at him in the early days of your marriage. âIt suits you, my queen.â
âA worthwhile exchange,â you assured him, hand returning to his hair as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.
âWeâll ride again,â he promised you, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. âAny time you want, all you need is to ask.â
Aegon pressed you back, then, allowing the backs of your knees to press against the footboard of the bed, and you squealed as he tipped you toward the soft bedding. When you rested on the bed, legs hanging over the end, Aegon followed you down.
âLook at you,â he hummed, voice low as he ghosted kisses across your skin, âmy queen of ice, melting beneath your dragonâs touch.â
Without thought, you heard yourself ask, âAre you?â Doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.
Though his lips pressed to your skin, Aegon responded with a somewhat distracted, âAm I what?â
âMy dragon?â
The possessive was clear, easy to hear, and the question was unmistakable. The doubt that lingered shined bright, obvious, and Aegon sighed as he continued to press kisses to your skin.
âI am yours,â he promised, fingers lacing with yours as his lips pressed to the warm column of your throat, âentirely.â
It was not a promise you could yet believe, not a promise that you would allow yourself to fall victim to, and he seemed to understand your reluctance as you whispered, âAegonâŚâ
âI know,â he confirmed, tone softening as he continued pressing kisses to your heated skin. He trailed down your chest, blazing a path down your stomach and over your hips, and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears nearly drowned out the words he spoke. âIâve been a terrible husband,â he acknowledged, violet eyes lifting to meet yours. âWorst of all, Iâve not exposed you to the most incredible joy of marriage - pleasure,â he declared, sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed. âBut, from now on, I devote myself to seeking pleasure with you.â
A breath caught in your throat. Though your thoughts were muddled, uncertain - rational thought disappearing with each kiss he pressed to your skin - your stomach flipped at the potential weight of his declaration. âDoes that⌠are youâŚ?â The question would not escape, mostly for fear of misunderstanding, but Aegon understood.
âNo more streets of silk,â he whispered, lips pressing to the heated skin just above your knee, âno Flea Bottom. You are the only one I want, the only one I need.â There was a certainty in his voice, a desperate need for you to understand, but you were hesitant. And when you blinked, uncertain, Aegon pressed his forehead to your heated skin. âYou have no reason to believe me, to trust me, but I will prove myself to you. I will be worthy of you.â
âOh, Aegon,â you sighed, fingers carding through the silver strand of his hair as he busied himself with pressing eager kisses to every inch of skin he could reach - lighting a fire that burned bright within you. âYou are worthy.â
Aegon hummed, acknowledging heâd heard you, before he returned his gaze to yours. He searched, for just a moment, before he confessed, âIâve been drinking, waiting while the knights and squires enjoy themselves. Iâve not⌠The only whores Iâve bedded as of late are the ones that look like you and even that is not enough.â
âThe night of the feast,â you whispered, nodding. âYou marveled at how much I looked like your wife.â
âGods,â he huffed with a shake of his head, âI hoped that was you. I wasnât sure. It felt like a dream, seeing you in my bed. I⌠Iâve been frustrated, as of late. I thought you would not want me. When you told me you felt as if you were little more than a burden I must bear, I⌠All Iâve wanted is you. Iâm sorry I allowed you to believe otherwise.â
âThen have me,â you encouraged, as an understanding began to creep into your mind. âTake what you need from me, my love.â
Aegonâs fingers dug into the plush of your thigh, grounding himself to the moment for fear it was all a dream - something pleasant he would wake from violently, with his mother ripping the sheets from his body or his grandsire yelling insults at him - before glassy violet eyes lifted to meet yours.
âYou are kinder to me than you should be.â
âLove is meant to be kind,â you whispered, your heart aching as he clung to you. âI want to be kind to you.â
For a long moment, Aegon simply stared at you. Words seemed to fail him - all thought lost to the ether as your statement lingered in the silence - but you both knew he preferred action.
Without sparing another moment, he returned his attention to your body, splayed just for him.
In the beginning, though he was attentive - pressed kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your throat - Aegon offered little in the way of true pleasure. Sex was a duty, a chore you shared in an attempt to secure an heir for the throne, but this was something else entirely.
Little seemed to exist outside of the pair of you. All you could find the strength to focus on was the eager press of Aegonâs mouth to your heated skin.Â
The warmth you felt was unfamiliar, indescribable, as he pressed his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. He nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh, and you could feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach as his eyes began to darken.Â
With each nip of his teeth, with each swipe of his tongue, you allowed quiet gasps to fall from your lips unbidden and each noise only spurred him on.
And as his fingers tugged at the fabric hiding you from his searching gaze, you resisted the urge to cover yourself and, instead, relaxed beneath his touch. Though you felt an overwhelming vulnerability, you were offering Aegon the opportunity to earn the trust he sought.Â
âMy beautiful wife,â he whispered, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh as he spared you a glance. âI intend to make up for lost time when our guests leave us. For now, Iâll settle for introducing you to pleasure.â
Before you could question him, Aegon leaned in and licked a stripe along the length of your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tugged at his hair as a gasp escaped your lips, and you could feel his mouth curve into a grin as he settled between your thighs. The sensation was new, odd but you hated the thought of losing it as he licked at you leisurely.
Though your absence had doubtlessly been noticed, Aegon was clearly in no rush.
Settled between your thighs, he seemed to struggle to decide whether to close his eyes and enjoy himself or keep them open and watch the bewildered look on your face morph into unabashed pleasure as his hand lifted and his thumb pressed to your clit. As your thighs jerked, fingers gripping his hair tighter, Aegon hummed against you.
âBetter than the sweetest wine,â he mumbled, words muffled by your skin a he lapped at your leaking arousal.
Every swipe of his tongue, every press of his fingers, sent shockwaves down your spine. Your skin felt warm, feverish, and you suddenly found yourself understanding the few women who eagerly disappeared with husbands who lavished them with affection.
Pleasure was something foreign - a concept youâd only read about - but the experience was better than you couldâve imagined as Aegon eagerly sank into you. His fingers began searching, gathering the slick that coated his lips and chin, and pressed to your entrance. As you tensed, preparing for the uncomfortable intrusion, Aegon hummed.
âRelax for me,â he whispered, warm breath fanning over your skin and earning him a shiver. âThis will feel good,â he promised. âLet me make it good for you.â
With a little effort, you attempted to relax beneath Aegonâs touch. It was difficult, when the only experience you had to call upon was the discomfort of your earlier encounters, but he seemed so earnest. And, as he waited, he continued lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.
Throughly distracted by the press of his tongue to your aching cunt, the foreign sensation of warmth in the pit of your stomach, you managed to keep from tensing as Aegon pressed a finger to your entrance.
The ease of his touch was different than the quick, rough thrusts youâd grown used to and you found yourself sighing in a mixture of relief and pleasure as his thumb rubbed circles over the bundle of nerves. As foreign as the entire experience felt, you found yourself enjoying it more with every passing moment.
Until, however, a pressure began to build at the base of your spine.
When you tensed, gasping as you attempted to make sense of the new sensation, Aegon cooed. âDonât fight it, my love,â he urged, fingers continuing to press into you - touch further igniting the spark blazing across your skin. âLet go for me.â
With a cry of pleasure, a noise you lifted a hand to cover, you felt the blaze swallow you whole. Aegon pressed forward, eagerly lapping up your release, and your vision began to white around the edges as he hummed.
For a moment, everything ceased to exist.
There was only the ragged sound of your breathing and the uneven thump of your heart as you attempted to make sense of the intense warmth you felt.Â
All too suddenly, however, a pang of discomfort drew your attention back to Aegon whose teeth sank into the soft flesh of your hip. âThat was your peak,â he explained, grinning as his thumb continued to rub soft circles over the bundle of nerves - eyes glimmering with an unrestrained joy with every twitch of your limbs. âHow did it feel?â
Unable to make proper sense of your own thoughts, and unable to choose your words with your usual careful precision, you hummed. âFine,â you whispered, though your twitching thighs and hips chasing his touch as he pulled away betrayed you. He met your lackluster review with a raised brow, waiting for elaboration. âI think I need another to truly understand the joy of it.â
A laugh, genuine and all too pleased, escaped Aegon as he stood. He made quick work of his own clothing, pushing the fabric to the ground without a care, as he shook his head. âIâm afraid you were meant to be my wife,â he teased, climbing onto the bed to join you with a look that only served to bring a reader warmth to your skin. âAnd Iâm afraid Iâll have to spend the rest of my life between your thighs, making up for lost time.â
âYouâve a duty to the realm,â you reminded him, though it sounded weak in your own ears - a flimsy rebuff as he tipped his head to press his mouth to your throat once more.
âMm, but my first duty is to my wife and Iâve neglected her long enough. The realm can wait,â he announced.
Aegon settled above you and, for the first time, there was no stench of wine - no fumbling hands, no unsteady swaying. He was present, eager, and overwhelmingly affectionate as his mouth pressed to your heated skin.Â
Any lingering doubt, any fear that this time might be like the few others, dissipated as his hand explored your heated skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, as his fingers brushed your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You could feel his lips curve into a smirk with every soft noise you made and, as something of a reward, his touch grew steadier the louder your noises grew.
âI want to hear you,â he assured you, his hand dipping between your spread thighs to gather the slick pooling there. âSound divine, moaning for me.â
As he babbled, words of praise escaping his lips in a near incoherent stream - never once falling quiet, though you found yourself unsurprised - he reached for the base of his cock. The head dragged through your folds, gathering slick, before it notched at your entrance.
Unlike previous encounters, Aegon took his time sinking into you.
With one hand pressed into the mattress near your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you feared it would bruise, he pressed forward slowly - deliberately. There was no rush, no frantic urge to reach the end, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his forehead pressed to yours.
The noise Aegon made rivaled your own and you found yourself lost in him.
Soft silver curls, disheveled from your fingers raking through them; darkened violet eyes, torn between watching your face and eying the way you took his cock; parted lips, swollen and red from kissing you - he looked beautiful, and you wasted no time telling him so as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek.
âSo beautiful,â you whispered, voice cracking with an emotion you couldnât quite place. Aegon paused - slow, deliberate thrusts stopping - as he blinked in surprise. His lips parted, however, before he could speak, you offered him a reassuring smile. âMy beautiful king,â you continued, fingers brushing his flushed cheeks, âmy beautiful husband.â
A strangled noise escaped his throat at your compliment and his cheeks and chest flushed a deep pink, a stark contrast to the fine silver of his hair. In lieu of response, however, he simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.
The hand on your hip moved, thumb returning to the bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying the moment.
There was no worry as to whether this would provide the realm the heir they so desperately wanted, no worry as to whether Aegon may leave you wanting - there was no worry at all. Instead, all you felt was a pleasant warmth, the eager press of your husbandâs lips to yours and the weight of him atop you, and you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling as the pressure youâd felt earlier began to return.
Aegon seemed to be near his own end, his thrusts gaining speed and force - though it was still far more pleasant than anything youâd ever experienced - and his lips parted from yours as he inhaled sharply.
Time seemed to slow and speed, all at once. Everything blurred into a searing warmth, all-encompassing and overwhelming. The edges of your vision turned white and you felt yourself plunge headfirst into the depths of pleasure as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own release followed yours, the end sweeter than anything either of you had experienced thus far, and you couldnât help but cling to him as he buried himself deep inside.
For several long moments, Aegon remained above you - more of his weight pressing you into the mattress with every second that passed. You both fought to catch your breath, chests heaving and ears ringing, and you couldnât help the laughter that bubbled in your throat as he lifted his head to glance at you.
âIâm dying, and youâre laughing?â He rolled his eyes, though there was a fond warmth in the question as he pulled away to lay beside you.
Rather than placing distance between you, Aegon tugged you into his side - wrapped an arm around your waist and nearly hauled your body atop his - and returned his face to the crook of your neck as you laughed a bit harder. âI just, I didnât know it could feel like that,â you explained, still marveling at the lingering warmth you felt.
Aegon remained silent for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he sighed and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. âIâm sorry. It shouldâve been like that all along,â he declared, hand returning to your hip as he attempted to pull you closer. âI didnât want to disappoint you, or make you unhappy, but that seems to be all Iâve done,â he lamented. âBut I promise, that will change.â
âSo long as youâre with me, I think Iâll be happy enough,â you assured him, reaching out to cup his cheek once more - smiling as he leaned in to the touch. âI was happy to be betrothed to you, you know. I thought you were handsome and funny, charming.â Aegon leaned in, then, and stole a soft kiss - unable to part from you now, it seemed, now that something had shifted - and you laughed as you sank into him. âPerhaps there will be another tourney come summer,â you hummed, lips barely parting from his, âto celebrate the kingâs heir.â
âPerhaps,â he agreed, nose brushing yours as violet eyes searched your face. âBut heir or no, Iâm glad to have you by my side.â
Though a small shred of doubt lingered in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that made you nauseous, you swallowed it with a smile. Aegonâs attention was yours, his love was yours, and that was all you wanted. Certainty would come with time, with practice, and you were glad to spend as much time with him as he wanted.
The only thing youâd ever dreamt of - a husband that wanted you - was finally yours and, despite the rocky start to your marriage, you found yourself glad that it was Aegon.
Author's Note: This may be fanon!Aegon but I just wanted something a little soft. He deserves some love. I was also a little nice to everyone but you know what, why not? It's fiction. Not sure how it got this long but here we are.
Did I read the whole thing as soon as I saw the tag? Yes. Do I have to get up early for work in the morning? Yes. Was this an absolute banger of a fix? Absolutely yes. I canât wait to reread it already. Also Iâm calling out either Cole or Daeron for making him get his shit together