ray.

Ormund Hightower x Alicent's ward!reader (half targ)

Summary: Daughter to Daemon Targaryen raised under the shadow of her father's ill feelings as a motherless child, ward to Queen Alicent for no child should be subjected to such cruelty. Married off to Lord Ormund Hightower, years down the line how must this unfold in the dance of dragons? — no description of reader’s maternal house you can pick your own!

flashbacks in italics!

Word count: 3.7k+

Warnings: toxic marriage, dead parent, Ormund obviously

The room felt nothing short of encaging but it was the only familiar notion she could relate to about the red keep. It was ironic for someone who had grown up in the keep to deem the tall walls as a cage. The same walls saw her mother pass at her birth, the same walls saw her father Daemon’s apparent distaste for the babe who took her mother to come into this world. Eventually the walls and the queen did well enough to raise a timid child. 

Daemon had never been keen for his second wife thrusted upon him after his first marriage of convenience had failed yet he had grown fond of the woman who left behind a motherless child behind and hence an unfathomable aversion for his daughter in Daemon. The king in his gracious nature could not stand for his firstborn niece to be treated with such heavy contempt. As the royal ward under Queen Alicent at the red keep y/n found herself torn between celebrated and pitied. Alicent was rather young for most of y/n’s life, the toddler was her first girl child and the lady within the Queen could not help but cherish the prospect of a girl child. Dressing her in pretty dresses, combing precise designs in her hair, her sons as rowdy as they were left to the training grounds and such but her ward was hers beyond the kingly pressure or the court gossips. Even after Helaena’s birth Alicent referred to her as her first daughter. 

Now as she contemplated it all, caged again within the red keep she realised that the Queen wanted her first and her last to be Hightower. It started with herself before Daeron’s birth, betrothed to Ormund Hightower. Leaning against the wall on the ground, in this very room it felt as if they had the conversation yesterday when her marriage was fixed. 

“I like the colours on this one!” Helaena exclaimed as she held up one of the choices for her sister’s wedding dress, the distinction of cousin sister to sister was rarely ever made for they were raised in the same house. 

Alicent sat next to the bride to be, tilting her head as she inspected the dress, “it is rather lovely but seems a bit less on the embroidery.” The dress ought to be nothing short of perfect. 

“We could have some added” Helaena suggested as she picked the other dress up, they had a lot of options to choose from, most of these were tailored for her at the queen’s command from the most skilled dress masters across the seven kingdoms using the finest silks. 

“A fine notion” Alicent quite liked that idea, “how about thread work in gold?” she turned to her fixing a lock of hair behind her ear. Y/n seemed almost too engulfed in the dress at first, but her hesitation spoke to something else. 

“That would be lovely.” She nodded with a small smile but a mother’s heart can read things which aren’t even written. Her response seemed under enthusiastic for the occasion laid out for. 

Understanding the turmoil she did not even phrase, Alicent looked at Helaena, “Could you give us a moment dear?” In the following moments Helaena along with the maids left the room closing the door behind them. Alicent turned towards y/n fully, “What troubles you?” 

“Nothing…” she trailed off with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Just overwhelmed with all the choices that is all.” 

“That isn’t all.” Alicent said, not accusatory yet correcting. “Do not hide your anguish from me as if I haven’t raised you well enough to see through it.” 

If there was something Alicent had misliked and y/n knew, it was the sheepish hesitance. The small distance a child normally would not have with its mother. Y/n did not see herself as a child anymore despite the one she would always be in Alicent’s eyes, honouring the later prospect she sighed relenting to it, “I am worried…” 

“About what, sweet child?” Alicent inquired leaning lower to meet her gaze. 

“The marriage, Oldtown…all of it.” She let out, for someone who had never left the red keep for beyond a fortnight without Alicent simply marrying away for her life was too huge. 

“It is not improper of you to worry, you are young, never been away…” she trailed off in the consolation. Whatever she had to provide her with, as a mother if she had the choice Alicent wohld never subject her to be moved from her this way but as the Queen she knew how the council, the court would move about in y/n’s marriage to any lord making the most profitable alliance. And marrying her to one of her own sons would make her yet another pawn to the games of men. “But I assure you that I have made this decision for you after much thought and much despair to see you go…” 

“It is not your decision that I mistrust.” If anything it was only of the only silver linings she clutched to, that the decision was from Alicent and she could never make a misstep for her even in her sleep. “I am a bit-“ before she was to finish that sentence a knock on the door announced the hand’s presence. 

“Father” Alicent greeted when their heads turned to the door that closed behind him. 

The hand invited himself further into the room, glancing over at the dresses and then back at the ladies “Quite the collection we have here, I trust we are choose nothing short of magnificent for my grand daughter?” 

“Why yes of course” Alicent spoke with a confident smile, the wedding was a joyous occasion despite the young lady’s concerns. 

“If you do not like any do not keep your opinion unbeknownst to us” Otto ruffled the princess’s hair before moving to pour himself a cup, “We have all the coin to spend…do not hesitate.” 

“I will surely like a dress among these, Lord Hand.” She said with a small laugh about his overly gracious offer. 

“You don’t have to be limited to these.” He informed her with a calm expression, Otto had always had a liking to the rogue prince’s abandoned little one, well not so little anymore. 

“She is worried.” Alicent let him in on the bride to be’s concerns, even if y/n had not spoken of her troubling thoughts to Otto she would not mind that Alicent did for she saw the man as a grandfather more or less. 

“It is a big responsibility, being the Lady of Oldtown.” Otto realised the ailing of thoughts in a young lady’s mind. “But you will do well, you have grown up to be a graceful young lady.” 

“I am worried for everyone that I do not know there” she admitted looking downward, feeling small for having such a concern. 

“You have nothing to worry about, our relatives there know of you, you will have your handmaids from here-“ Alicent was listing about all possible strangers she was about to make into family soon enough. 

“In truth she worries about Ormund.” Otto deducted with a reference she did not even say out loud. 

Y/n looked up at him, feeling oddly seen through yet relieved of the awkwardness for the name she was yet to mention. “I do emphasise that your choice could never be wrong for me.” 

“I wish I could say Ormund is an enigma” Otto spoke not wanting to conceal her from something he could not attest for himself, “He is not dishonourable but expecting chivalry of him would not be wise.” 

“He will be kind.” Alicent took y/n’s hand in hers, her sentence was not as assertive as she wanted to make it out to be, there was a panic of wishful thinking “He will have to be.” She looked at Otto hoping he would have some sort of finality over her promise. 

“You will write to us regularly yes?” Otto could not vouch for Ormund, there were meek men and Ormund wasn’t one of them, there were cruel men and Ormund wasn’t one of them which that is all the consolation he could provide and he was not someone who sugarcoat things. “As apt as you are you will always have the rest of here to look after you, your marriage to Ormund does not mean for us to wash our hands off you.” 

“One raven” Alicent took both of her hands in her own and looked into her eyes, “and I will make journey to old town myself if you are in harm’s way.” 

And the raven never came for there was no harm’s way. The words of having such strong support to befall on should anything happen were comforting after every time he would belittle her, for the two fought. Oh they fought. She would make up her mind of sending a raven home each time he would call her the forsaken seedling, jabs at her being half Targaryen and hence a savage, wild. Then he would call her his sweet girl, her wilderness entirely his, the happiness in his veins, music on his tongue and a blessing. And there was no point in writing a raven back home. 

Ormund made her more untameable than he deemed her. Every awful or wretched thing he said about her could not compare to what Daemon had already said or left unsaid, she had lost all hope from her father to be civil with her on her eleventh name day when he came in through the halls drunk and made a scene. Punishing the king for forcing him to attend the nameday of a child he could not bother to love and punishing the child for simply being in his life. He’d banged the table and laughed about marking her nameday as the death anniversary of the woman his daughter brought to perish to come into this world. “A fierce warrior you are for a child…conquered your place into this world, your mother your first victim.” Drunk out of his mind, Daemon had grabbed her face and told her this on the feast of her nameday. She remembered how her father had snickered as he told her that, holding her face like cheap glassware before he was ordered to be dragged away by the king. 

Ormund would hold her face only when he wanted to apologise for his behaviour in a heated argument and there was never a time where she did not spit out venom back. He never let her feel as though she could not hurl insults at him all the same, the gap of the gravity in their spiteful words fell on his shoulders making him apologise. 

Apologise with the finest emeralds and jewellery she never asked for but it was only the truthful remorse in his apologies. Surely he would reduce her to tears with his words prior to it all but she would never fall behind in pricking him with his words. Oftentimes his own lack of tears would fail to attest just how much her words to hurt him too but it was a rare notion. 

He had a temper not too sweet to bear but it did not taste most bitter to her. She was told he would not be chivalrous but when the sun would drink the day he would lay his head in her lap. Let her mere scent disarm him of everything stern in him and it would just be the two of them. Despite their fights and their rifts, the pragmatic approach and the mindless kisses in each other’s company it would just be her husband and his only light. 

Things changed drastically in a slower descent when a Targaryen ward came their way. She developed a maternal likeness for the infant in the blink of an eye. How could she not? She was raised by the woman who mothered the infant, Queen or not Alicent would always be like a mother to her first and Daeron as though her own. He despised just how quickly the infant took up her time but he could not speak so much of it for she was too glad a lady with the boy. She never left his side, even his crib was in their shared chambers. The same woman who needed Ormund to adjust the covers over herself in her sleep would awaken at night if Daeron even whimpered in his sleep. 

In a way he softened up to the infant as well, not as affectionate as she would be but there would be soft moments of domesticity between them like the time where she had fallen asleep reading to the boy in her hands and he babbled his way towards Ormund, the infant smelled distinctly like her and something uniquely baby. Putting the covers over her with one free hand and the other holding the child properly in his arms he kissed her good-night in her slumber and paced around their shared chamber to get the infant to sleep. 

She recalled Daeron’s childhood too, she gave it her all to make it different from her own where she spent a lot of time begging for good graces from a father who could not even see her as a mortal person. Did her best to even shield Daeron from the Targaryen savagery his husband had concluded their lot to be to get to his head. “None of it worked out for me…” she trailed off, finally looking up at the man who sat in front of her for answers as if he had the right. “Or for him.” She meant Daeron. 

“You mean the cunt these Hightowers married you off to?” Daemon’s voice came in rather defensive, he had a newfound sense of fatherhood towards her when the war broke out. When he had those visions of each time he had wronged his firstborn, which brought his consciousness to its knees. He had his daughter y/n brought back to him by all means necessary to safekeep her against the tragedies they might inflict upon her. Only for her to consider his safekeeping as abduction, "you do realise that you are not a prisoner here?" Daemon took in the sight of her seating with her knees to her chest on the floor sitting against the stone pillars as if in her despair. "You are here because you are my daughter.” 

“Your daughter?” She asked and could not help but let out a small laugh about the term falling off his mouth. “I am here, alive, because I am your daughter? And not because you need a dragon?” 

“You truly think that low of me?” Daemon asked taken aback but not letting it show on his face. 

“I do not think of you at all.” There was no bite in her tone only a hopeless, fight-less admission about his question, “and if I were to it would be much lower. The only reason you have not killed me yet could be the dragon or use me as a leverage to get my husband to kneel.” 

“I would not need a grand scheme or plot to get your dimwit good for nothing husband to kneel.” Daemon shrugged, he had not factored in the fact that Ormund would possibly have the heart to kneel to the Queen for his wife? “I’ve brought you here to keep you safe.” 

“You have had a traitor abducted because that is what I am to your queen.” She admitted fearlessly, no fire in her eyes or venom in her words. 

Daemon tensed, what he considered to be her ramblings to get at him could result in a grave circumstance should it fall on the wrong ears, “Do not speak in such a manner.” 

“It is the truth.” She said from her position on the floor, “I will not kneel to your queen…” she replied as though dangling mindfulness. “Unless of course you step down as king consort.” 

“What?” He replied confused, in this moment he felt the anguish of what it would be like to raise a stubborn toddler. 

“I have nothing against her and she might as well be a fine ruler. It is you, a man who could not even be a proper father…to be a king consort?” She did not even realise when the level headed snide seeped into her words, like those of her husband’s, “That is rather unfortunate…tarnishes her cause as well.” 

Daemon stood there dumbfounded at the heartless confession, it felt as though she went at his personhood with her own knives. There was nothing he could tell her or do to change her mind, not yet anyways. So he did what he did best, he left, thoughtlessly and she did not even call out for him. 

It was probably the first time in her entire life against him where she had the last word. From what came up as a question and an insult to her husband eventually became her cutting him down. She had thought of this interaction for so long and it felt like nothing.  Hurling his words back at him was something she had thought of ever since her nameday and yet now that she finally had, it felt like nothing. A numbing nothingness.

The numbness ate away at her because despite the front she put on, she was afraid of this untimely peril. What would happen to Daeron if she left him be…gods he is so young? This had been her fear ever since the first nameday she had with him…

There was no place in the halls of Oldtown which had not been lit up, the ward’s nameday was the most extravagant affair these old walls had seen in centuries and the lady of oldtown made sure of it, jesters and musicians brought in from all over the kingdoms, all the best cooks prepared for the feast and of course the noblemen with their ladies even those in farther stretches from oldtown to come witness the baby boy turning two years of age.  

Daeron was a fussy baby at the time, Ormund would conclude her spoiling him resulting in the whining but she would disregard that opinion. “This is your uncle Gwayne!” Y/n talked to the babbling baby in her arms greeting Ser Gwayne at the celebration. “Good evening, Ser Gwayne.” She spoke in a cheery voice readjusting Daeron in her arms to hold him better. 

“And who do we have here?” Gwayne returned her enthusiasm, it had always been easy to match it. The baby boy let out a small laugh, as agitated as he was with new faces it was often a hit or miss. 

“He seems to like you…” Y/n mentioned gladdened by it, not entirely rare for Daeron to mix with new faces but it was uncommon. 

“Oh you honour me rightfully little one.” Gwayne spoke as a small chuckle escaped him, caressing the boy’s cheeks between his fingers “I will have to say you have thrown quite the celebration, princess.” He commented about the extravagance about them in a positive manner. 

“Not a princess anymore.” Ormund’s voice called from behind as he made his presence known with a gentle kiss atop his lady wife’s temple, he stood next to her as she greeted Gwayne. 

“Isn’t she?” Gwayne tilted his head feigning obliviousness. 

“You would do well to regard the lady of Oldtown with her proper title.” Ormund reminded him but he could tell Gwayne was trying to be amusing, “Squire boy” 

“Ah, delightful as always cousin.” Gwayne faked a laugh but his discomfort was rather apparent. 

“He is merely jesting.” Y/n tried to save face for the insult Ormund just spewed out. 

“No I am not, you are the lady of this house.” Ormund said even though he knew that is not what she was referring to. 

“I meant Ser Gwayne, he is not a squire…” she trailed off apologetically to be repeating to the same jest again. 

“Isn’t he?” Ormund feigned the same obliviousness as Gwayne back at him. 

“I was just telling Lady Hightower what a lavish celebration she has put together.” Gwayne retraced his title for her, he did not mean to offend Ormund prior to him taking an offence. 

“That she has” He agreed looking around with a small nod, “and yet she deprives me of a dance.” 

“You know how he gets.” She admitted referring to the baby in her arms, blinking and prattling softly in her arms, in awe of the decorations and the music. Daeron’s peaceful trance would break apart if displaced from her. 

“Oh he will be fine.” Ormund shrugged carrying the boy out of her arms and placed him in Gwayne’s grip. Struggling for a second Gwayne maintained a firm grip in an instant supporting the head, wouldn’t want to drop the child on his nameday. However without missing a bit Daeron started weeping at being separated from y/n. “Have taken a liking to uncle Gwayne haven’t you? Yes that is precisely what he feels like.” 

Before y/n could protest she was being dragged to the dance floor by her wrist and muttered an apology to Ser Gwayne who let out an understanding nod as he rocked the infant in his arms to calm him down. “Daeron started crying.” 

“Let him.” Ormund said as he slipped his arm around her waist and his other intertwining their fingers together for the dance, “you need not mollycoddle him.” 

“I do not!” She defended herself as he spun her around dramatically, mainly for her to retrace her words in her mind. It gained a laugh out of her nonetheless. “My lord!” 

“My lady?” He feigned innocence swaying slowly as compared to the spin he just put her through. 

Her back was to Gwayne and Daeron as they swayed gentle to the music and she could not hear properly over the loudness in the room. “Is he still crying?”

“He will be alright.” Ormund sighed rather annoyed and it was rare for him to not let his expression conceal his emotion. “He is our ward you are not his nursemaid.” 

“If it were up to you, you’d let me tend to him once a day.” She joked as the music grew slower as did she, closer to him, resting her head against his chest. 

“If it were up to me I’d cage you, right here in my arms.” He told her resting his chin atop her head, enlacing her within his arms properly. 

“Cage me?” She giggled looking up at him from his chest but not breaking their distance. 

He had sealed it with a kiss then. And here she was caged, but not in his arms. 

—

Soldier Boy x Butcher’s daughter!reader

read part 1 here!

word count: 4.9k+

warnings: crazy daddy issues, soldier boy, cuss words

It was the gift of a nightmare she could not sleep long enough to have that living through one was filling in for. After the awkward interaction with Soldier Boy the previous night she had accommodated herself in the adjacent motel room. However the sleep was short lived as the banging on her door early in the morning came with an unavoidable invitation.

Hughie was left with Soldier Boy for obvious reasons and she had to attend yet another road trip with Butcher. Perhaps their first if she were to forget the trip from her first house to her boarding school where he’d dropped her off and never picked her up from. Not going there. She thought to herself as the endless road stretched on, “How long is this going to take?”

“Why? ‘er majesty’s feelin’ car sick?” Butcher scoffed as if she did not get her impatience from him.

“First you wanted me to fend for myself against Homelander now you need me to accompany you for an errand?” She complained, her elbow resting against the closed passenger side window.

“I don’t be needing you for anything luv, you just won’t be doing so well to be left with that old nutter.” Butcher explained, there was nothing fatherly or even humane about his relationship with his daughter. He was never going to be that person. That’s what he told himself at the irkness he felt watching her move away from Soldier Boy the other night. It was clearly not the odd ill-feeling of seeing his daughter with someone so deplorable. The possibility of something arising between her and Soldier Boy sat with him like spikes.

“Why? What did I do?” Oblivious to where his conclusion came from she questioned, “I kept him in one piece?”

“Sure did” he snickered, as if Soldier Boy needed somebody to help keep him in one piece. It wasn’t about that but he won’t admit to his parental side interfering. He never could because he could never recognise the father within himself. “Well, there we are!” He said pulling up to an seemingly abandoned gas station. Like everything else it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Glancing at the time once he got out of the car and almost like clockwork, another car was pulling up. He saw her bracing herself as if for impact with her body language, “s’fine.”

Getting out of the car at the same time as him she leant against the door, waiting the intention of yet another long trip to be revealed. “Uncle M?!” Her eyes lit up as if in an instant when she saw who was getting out of the other car, he could barely close the door behind him before she rushed to the man, jumping at him.

“Oh get in here!” He reciprocated her hug, almost lifting her off her feet. It seemed like time was withering off them, Bucther may not have been the best father but his picker for people was so strong that he had MM, on a legal document she didn’t yet know about MM was her ‘godfather’. The first time she had ever met ‘uncle M’ was during butcher’s initial supe hunting squad days. Kidnapped off her grandfather’s suburb during her spring break to get the squad to back off, it was MM who rescued her even by disadvantaging their own mission because Butcher wouldn’t budge. It was that day and today, ever since MM had been present in her life. Referred to her as his “oldest”.

Graduation, school plays, grandfather’s funeral, MM was there. There weren’t a lot of milestones in her life growing up in a boarding school, raised by her grandfather from Christmas break to spring break. But however many could be there, MM was present. Going out of his way for attendance in her life often highlighted just how easy it would have been for butcher to do the same. Only he didn’t. With time she let go off the notion that her father was not present because her auntie and uncle were always cheering louder over his absence.

“God Monique’s going to kill me” MM said pulling away to get a good look at her, it had been a while since he had last seen her and he had not known he would be meeting her again anytime soon.

As glad as she was to see him again, her heart sank at the realisation that he was back in this buisness. “So you’re…back in all this?” She had to confirm almost hoping he was not back to the vengeance life and was running one favour for Butcher.

MM did not know how to answer that without disappointing her. “Your hair’s gotten so unruly.” He commented to shift away from the question, ruffling the top of her head.

Letting out a slow chuckle she internalised the answer he did not gave her but was received. So he was dragged back into this mess. “Proper little reunion. Ain’t that just beautiful?” Butcher asked as he walked away from the car and toward them, “brought a tear to me eye” he scoffed, “jolly good if we could get back on track though”

“You didn’t tell me this was your guest for Judy?” MM said shaking his head, to think he would be used to unpredictability from butcher by now.

“What’d she say then?” Bucther disregarded MM being offended he had not laid out his plan on him entirely, it was rather simple. Drop her off where he’d dropped terror off, at his aunt’s place.

“Vieille dame did not take to us kindly.” Frenchie spoke, he assumed this would be a short interaction before getting her for Butcher and the rest were not on the best of terms for now. “And she sent him back” he spoke releasing terror from his grasp.

“Oh bollocks” Butcher sighed in agitation watching Terror free from Frenchie and rush towards, her.

“Are you kidding me?!” With a gasp she lowered herself instantly holding the pup in her arms, Terror jumped and licked her enthusiastically. “No way-“ she muttered as she kissed her baby all over. Butcher stood to the side, deadpanning for he knew what was coming. “You piece of shit you told me he died!”

“Got you to stop phoning didn’t I?” It was an unnecessary trail from her to him every now and then whenever she would call asking for updates on the mutt.

She couldn’t bother to even look at him, so overcome with hugging her life long pet who she had to mourn for, thinking he’d died. MM witnessed that interaction, phased he would lie about her childhood pet dying. “That is way too low, even for you.” He commented but Butcher just rolled his eyes at the melodrama.

“Off you go then, mustn’t keep Judy waiting for breakfast.” Butcher motioned, he’d asked MM and Frenchie to clear the premise for his aunt Judith where he kept terror was seemingly the safest off radar house he could place her in. “Finally get ‘er wish, that old bag” when butcher lost his first wife to childbirth, it was beyond difficult for him to raise the baby. Always a mess, with the wailing baby, cleaning and feeding along with his grief. As poorly as he made work do, he raised the infant.

Kept her alive up until she was five, not the best textbook father surely. It was odd, looking at her face and realising just how much she had lost due to her birth but he used to refrain from admitting out loud or even to himself. Not celebrating her birthdays for the grief was too fresh, even after five years. Her grandfather when, came to know upon this notion intervened. For that was no way to raise a child, it was a fight and something his daughter surely had no knowledge of. But she could only remember growing up with grandpa, to butcher the man never even saw him a proper fit to marry his daughter let alone raise his granddaughter. An alcoholic battling with depression, a legal battle would’ve ended his chances to even see her. Eventually as she grew older the best and safest gift to her was his distance.

Judy, back then was offended that Billy never let her raise the child. Would get her wish now nonetheless. “She said no. And wants nothing to do with you.” MM briefed Butcher.

“That can’t be” he tilted his head, somewhat taken aback because his plan was firm to send her away.

“Can’t blame her” Frenchie chimed in and earned an unwarranted glare from Butcher. “Also won’t take Terror back, ever. Her words not mine.”

“Why didn’t you tell us the guest was her?” MM questioned crossing his arms.

“As if you’d let me ship ‘er off without poking your nose in.” Butcher scoffed, he’d have dropped everything to collect her let alone send her away.

“Why is she even here? With you, of all people?” MM asked again, unaware she was hunted by Homelander.

“Homelander knows.” She answered for Butcher and watched the light in his eyes shift.

MM let out a deep breath, he had a lot to say to butcher about dragging not only the people he loved into his darkness but also the people butcher himself was supposed to love. “And your idea was to send her off to some old aunt in the suburbs?”

“He wouldn’t be sniffing ‘round there” butcher said, to him it was as safe as the next place otherwise he wouldn’t have left terror there in the first place.

“You’re so full of shit.” MM scoffed shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it, “She’s coming with us.”

“No chance mate.” Butcher said, he knew it wasn’t safe with himself but it surely was less safer than MM over at the base where he was no longer allowed for the new grudge they held about him.

“I’m not asking.” MM emphasised.

“You think you and your lot of powerless Kimiko, drugged up Frenchie and little miss sparkles will hold against Homelander?” For it was sure that Homelander would find her at the heart of the city with this lot, first place he’d look. “Get back in the car” Butcher told her, she did not move.

“Anyone who has cared about her all her life knows you are the last person to trust to keep her safe.” MM saw no point in holding back, he knew that it was a purposefully the nastiest thing to be said to Butcher.

Butcher did not let it show on his face, like everything else but it was evident to look through in his eyes, his jaw clenched and a still body language as if he was so moved he’d forgot to breathe. It was no use reasoning with MM he figured, “you go with him, the blonde cunt’s gunna find you a’long with ‘im and the rest who can’t do fuck all to save you or themselves.”

“Don’t listen to him.” MM was beyond reasoning with the logic.

“There will be bloodshed and it will be on yer hands.” Butcher pointed at her, talking over MM because he too was stubborn to get his way.

“I am sorry…” she looked at MM, the last thing she wanted for herself was go back with Butcher even when she had another option with uncle M. But she could not take him up on the offer at the cost of putting him in danger.

“You know damn well he is just trying to get to your head.” MM countered, butcher was going even lower tapping at her worst fears for she was raised with this sense of ‘blood on her hands’ attitude because of what happened with her mother.

“Homelander will not hesitate.” She told MM, “I don’t want to go with him but I have no other choice. I will not risk your life.”

“It’s fixed then.” Butcher clasped his hand together, in a sort of show’s-over way. “Get in the bloody car.”

“I’ll see you soon alright?” Hugging her uncle M real tight she closed her eyes behind his shoulders.

MM pierced daggers into Butcher’s conscience as he look over at him behind her shoulders, patting her back, “you take care of yourself alright?” He placed his phone in her hands. “It’ll take just one call.”

She nodded, clutching the phone tight, god knows she’ll need it. With a snap of fingers for Terror to come follow, they parted their ways again. In the car ride back to the motel she had nothing to say to him. Letting herself sit with the silence of the cruelty he held for her as second nature. He too had nothing to justify for himself and simply didn’t want to.

—

“No no no, Terror drop it. Drop it.” She directed at the bulldog trying to make a mess of the food scraps scattered within takeout boxes Soldier boy had lying around.

“Ah shit” Ben spoke when he came upon the sight.

“Terror. Enough. Drop it!” At that the bulldog let go off the takeout wrapper and rushed to her, she grabbed him up on her arms, sat on the desk table leaning against the chair whilst Butcher and Hughie were across the room with some maps scattered out. They deemed Soldier Boy too technologically dumb to help with input of their search yet he insisted they do it where he can keep an eye on them.

“What the fuck kinda name’s ‘terror’?” Soldier Boy scoffed with his hands on his hips looking at the little shit revel in her kisses.

She paused, trying to think of exactly why her childhood pet had the name terror. Come to think of it she could not recall the exact reason, “probably because of a cartoon or something..”

“No” Bucther spoke, looking up from the maps, “It was the only name he responded to when we got ‘im.”

“We always called him Terror, that was his name.” She tried to correct him, as if she were to forget how long her childhood pet had that name.

“Not at first” Butcher shrugged, “it was going to be something dumb perhaps but then he only responded to Terror when I called you ‘lil terror.’ ‘cause you were one.”

“What?” Her brows came about together knitted, confused.

“It was always ‘go to sleep li’l terror’ getting you to eat ‘one last bite li’l terror’ you were an exceptionally pain in the arse toddler ‘cause you would never sleep on time, you were picky with the crushed bullshit. And every time I would have to talk to you over your wailing calling you li’l terror, that bugger would light up—so the name came from that.” He would have never in a million years would’ve believed that he would be looking back at his unlived life, reminiscing it back at her. There was a faint glint in his eyes just talking about those moments.

The moments she did not even know were there because for as far as her memory stretched there was no memory of him being a father to her in a way that mattered. “Oh..alright” at a loss of words she simply held to Terror closer.

Soldier Boy’s harsh low snicker brought her out of her stance, “and since when do men put babies to sleep and feed them?”

She closed her eyes in disappointment knowing this would not unfold something nice with him. “The ones with motherless children do.” Butcher snapped, surely a nerve was hit.

“I’ll call bullshit when I see it.” Soldier Boy huffed, doubling down.

“Why? ‘cause I stayed for me lil nipper?” The last person who Butcher would let look down upon on his parental skills was Ben.

“You stayed?” She scoffed, did he really think that not abandoning her since age zero counted as staying.

“Guys I think we need to—“ Hughie tried to intervene because he did not want the previous day repeated.

“You left me at grandpa’s, the only man who can ever claim he raised me and when I started to settle in well enough you dropped me off at boarding school.” She reminded him what it was like to be at the receiving end of his gracious presence.

“You think the fucker was sound in the head enough to let him raise you?” Butcher scoffed, from her mother, his first wife he’d known enough that the retired colonel ‘grandpa’ was not the best influence to have around. It’s not what she would have wanted and Billy himself was not equipped enough against his father in law to raise her himself.

“You took me away from him. Left me at the boarding school and you never visited once-“ she was interrupted almost quickly, he matched her volume too.

“That’s what he’s told you!” He pointed at her, Billy was already the worst man in the old man’s eyes when he married her daughter he simply became the devil when he fathered his grand daughter “he always saw me as devil-sent for marrying his daughter and an awful father with you but the cunt never saw YOU as someone who took away his precious daughter to come into this world. You took her away from him.” Butcher knew it was out of line and just as purposely done. “You took her away from me.” He added in a lower, quiet tone what carried a lot of weight.

By then silent tears were already streaming down her face. She was still holding Terror and the irony was that she had spent all the years the bulldog had on him in a life unlearning her hatred for taking, her own mother, his wife away from him. And yet she could not escape it, “Homelander let me go because he wanted you to watch when he kills me.” Through her tears she let out a humourless laugh “isn’t it ridiculous that he thinks he can kill something in me which you already haven’t?” Standing up to leave she stood in his way, “I hope you die and I get to watch.” It was the worst thing she could think of and she said it only to realise her entire existence was so fickle in his life it would make no difference just like her living or dying wouldn’t, just like it never did. Rushing out for her exit, she left to her room through the connected door slamming it shut.

Butcher stood in a tense contemplation of her outburst, he wanted to not let it show on his face but when he couldn’t prevent it he simply left the room himself. Rushing out with Hughie nagging back at him, following him outside.

Ben stood there in the aftermath of something his comment had started. It made no difference to him how strangers raised strangers. He had been out too long to grow a softer heart to situations like these however her face, instantly bloodshot eyes and a quivering lip trying the absolute hardest to talk through a meltdown. Her face. He could not seem to get it out of his head, all over the damn dog!

He sat his drink down decided to take matters into his own hands after all, he couldn’t shake away the feeling of being partly responsible. With a small stride to the door which connected to her room he turned the knob to open it but it was locked from the other side. “Open the door, sweetheart” his voice came out, not soft yet not a bark either. Just characteristically loud. He tried shaking the knob when there was no response from her, “It’s me! Come on open up.” He banged upon the door yet again. “If you don’t open up in five seconds I’m breaking it in.” He called out only to gain no response. Not even a shuffle of movement. With no other option he pressed his shoulder against the door and with one shove the whole thing came apart, he didn’t even apply too much of force to begin with.

“Cheap fucking thing.” He scoffed setting the door aside which came apart with one push, as he moved further into the room. Finding her curled up on the twin sized bed with the dog whimpering with a sad traditional dog look on its face at the edge of her bed. “You seriously can’t be crying over this?”

“Fuck off” she said without looking up from where her head was buried amongst her pillow, hiding her face and the tears he knew were there.

“I couldn’t even if I tried, the door’s broken.” He pointed out and snickered hoping she would find it funny. “Alright” he put his hands on his hips staring at her unwaveringly miserable. So much so that she won’t even look at him. Not that there was anything between them which would warranty that occurring, but still. He made a short pace back to his room and letting her to think he left her alone.

Only to come back with a glass, he nudged her shoulder with the glass, “Ain’t no better way to drown in your misery.” He offered her the drink, he made himself. Which was a lot for him in the first place even if she would not realise that.

Clearly she did not. Taking the glass from his hands, when he finally got to see her tear streaked face right before his eyes followed the glass that she threw across the room thrashing. “Okay that was the cheap stuff anyways but I’m trying here!” He huffed, at his wit’s end with her.

“Get out of my room!” She yelled at him, sitting up on the bed. This was the last moment she needed someone’s interference with.

“You can yell louder than that, from your diaphragm come on!” He talked back at a composed volume, yet not taking her seriously.

“I don’t want your shoulder to cry on and I don’t want your advice.” She tried to reason with him only to realise she would be the butt of that joke.

“Okay” he shrugged and when he moved it made the impression he might be leaving, instead he sat on her bed, next to her but still with some space between them.

“For god’s sake!” Whining in frustration she fell back on her bed, hiding her face in the pillow again. Hoping the blindness it provided form the world would take her in all the same.

“I know I’m the last bastard you wanna keep on doing this song and dance with. But you’re unlucky enough to keep ending up with me in tears and I wasn’t raised to be a pussy who can ignore a crying woman.” He spoke, hoping he had taken the glass she threw across the room for himself to get through this interaction easy. “Look your father’s an asshole. I’m sure you know this yourself, you crying tears in here all over your pretty face is not going to change any of what’s happened.” Only as the words came out of his mouth he realised just how bad he was at this whole thing.

She didn’t even make an attempt to move, With a sharp intake of breath he continued, “I was raised in a boarding school. We have that in common…” he trailed off hoping she would at least look at him now that he was being open about his own tapestry of life but when she didn’t he was almost glad because he wouldn’t want her to see his phased face as he recollects his lesser memories, “grew up in a wealthy South Philly mansion with twice of everything a boy would need. The boarding school was filled with other rich kids too stupid to know what to do with their money. Yet most of them would have their parents pick them up during spring breaks and a day out on birthdays—even the poor ones. A different chauffeur always picked me up and I would lie my father was in the car just not getting out because it’s too cold…as we got older the other kids saw through it. Who wouldn’t? I was young but I realised pretty quick that the money will never make up for a lot of things. It never did” he exhaled, the memories crossing his mind like a bad fever dream. That life was so farther away from him. “And neither will time…” he told her. For if she did not realise, even with time apart there was no redeeming what had already happened between Butcher and her, her childhood. Same way the money wired to his account for his father’s absence always bought another round for his pals but never pushed away the heavy lack.

Finally, as though his story had got to her or that she only wanted to see his face to test his genuineness about it. She turned around sitting up. Seemed like the later fell through given she didn’t kick him off her bed, a single tear making its way down her face and she wiped it quickly looking up at the ceiling, heavy moments spent in an anticipating silence. “I feel like a fake.” She let out, looking away from him. “I have had to raise myself to never need or want anything from him ever again…and when he told me all those things just now I felt like I was seven years old again right after he told me I took my mother to come into this world and that’s why all the other kids gets a birthday and I don’t, so what truly have I done with myself all this time-my entire life; if his words can still have the same effect on me?”

He blinked. Out of surprise that she considered that to be fake, it was ridiculously funny but he kept the laugh to himself. “You feel like a fake for that?” He had to confirm given how crazy it sounded to him, “these things take their sweet fucking time to be out of your system doll, it’s like the coke you get from a local park dealer—“ before he could go on his colourful choice of words made her let out a suppressed giggle which made his heart flutter. But he kept the notion to himself, as if the smirk making its way to his lips involuntarily wasn’t a sign enough “there’s that lovely sound.” He didn’t realise he was thinking out loud but didn’t mind it.

It got her to wipe her tears without more streaming down her face, at least for now anyways. “I don’t know what to say Soldier Boy you are-“

He interrupted her, “Ben.” He had a name. He had a name he wanted her to say as if the only one she knew. As if he only had it if she said it. “It’s Ben.” He had been Soldier Boy to so many awful set of people for so long.

“Ben” she repeated as if testing it out, shifting in her place on the bed, the distance between them measurable but not so far that he couldn’t dive into the colour of her eyes. Which was mainly because of how he sat, wide legged leaning against one thigh which was closer to her, regardless she straightened a bit. “You are the last person I would expected to give me a pep talk.”

“And when you’re crying the first thing I want to do is make you stop so I can kiss the daylights out of you.” Once again the filter connection of his thought process and his tongue favoured no filtering which made him say it out loud. Not that he was one of those coy boys who thought a million times before saying their piece to a pretty woman. That’s the thing about a pretty woman she can disarm you to say anything without thinking and if you’re thinking too hard you’re probably a homo because nonchalance is a weaker man’s weapon. That was Soldier Boy’s thinking. Ben was saying the words.

“Oh…” she was dumbfounded clearly because he sounded so truthful about it. As much as she wanted it this was the last thing she could afford. “What-? Oh-“

“God look at your face” he laughed, in her face, “I’m not going to kiss you right now. I got plenty of time to find a moment where I have to race you to it.”

“What? To kiss you?” His overconfidence in his charm had her back to her usual self and she didn’t even realise just how quick the shift happened.

“Uh huh” he had a smug expression on her face, “the day’s just around the corner sweetheart.”

“Okay.” She hated that she could not avoid smiling against his blatant flirting, “Just because I let you come here doesn’t mean you get to say anything that comes to your mind.”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He scoffed shaking his head, at the obvious double meaning of her ‘letting him come here’.

“Get out!” Suppressing a chuckle she hit him with the pillow behind her back.

Followed with a deep chuckle of himself he finally got up. “Saved some fries from the last one if you want it.” He told her walking backwards to his ‘connecting’ room.

“Coming in a bit” she said letting out a huff at the normalcy of moments.

“—Coming huh?”

—

Let me know what you think of this PLS PLSSS!!! Also discuss with me about the boys finale im losing my mind and I don’t want to text my ex (the only person who watches the boys) about it KIDDING I’d never text that loser (sAvE mE)

Soldier boy x butcher’s daughter!reader

summary: follows the plot line of season 3, butcher has a long (purposefully) forgotten daughter with iffy relations which comes to light when Homelander is set for revenge via her life.

warnings: crazy daddy issues, dead mother (not becca), cuss words, soldier boy

read part 2 here!

word count: 5.4k+

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Butcher mumbled under his breath thinking out loud as he saw a recognisable figure approach the doorstep through the curtain blinds over the window, standing up from his chair, his mind going through heavy agitation as to however could this location to disclosed, to her off all people. His aggressive stride to the door turned heads. Both Hughie and Soldier boy looked up in the direction of the exit Butcher was taking, solider boy was unbothered and simply curious about the commotion however Hughie was stressed as if bracing for impact. “Get the fuck off this property.” Butcher announced as soon as he opened the door, the stranger still taking slow steps towards the porch.

“Listen—“

“Absolutely fucking not.” He barked, clearly in no place or interest to listen to the woman approaching him despite his warning.

Alex turner x singer!fem reader

Based on the request by the lovely @emmagoldrush13 from the song :)

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: angst (w happy end), mentions of drugs, age gap sort of, meltdowns not much cursing

-

The seasons move later as they come from the previous years until they chase the initial years again. They tend to move farther until they are back the way they used to be which is like most things in life. But not the rifts between Alex and someone he was set to rue. It was the regret of slipping away, blowing away his chance when they first started out and he met her through Miles. That regret clothed itself as contempt in the familiarity he thought was there.

Which is why he was here at some award show party, bringing her up in almost every third conversation with nothing kind to say. Essentially behind her back but Alex was never one to mind saying something behind someone’s back he necessarily wouldn’t say to their face, especially when it’s her. He did say it in the recent most bazar editorial piece, the one most people skim through but it brewed up a controversy when there was no editorial cut and the article came out, Alex’s words were unfiltered. “She [y/l/n] makes good music, sure, but it’s nothing sensational or special when seen into account with the pedestal she’s been put on…and she can see that too. I just wish we all didn’t have to bear witness to her trying to find the footing of her genre you know what I mean? It’s so tacky! Are you a poet? A concept artist? A musician? Just a big time wannabe?” an exempt from the article. Which made most think just how much Alex gave his opinion on the newest singer he was barely seen out with…their inner circle knew the editor must have redacted half of the paragraphs of Alex talking about her given he always had the most off handed thing to say.

“Alex!” The voice chirped from behind him at the party when he was busy within a conversation and he with a sigh he turned his head to the voice he did recognise, apparently, “I’ve been looking all over for you!” She exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, as though long lost best friend. The person he was speaking with prior to her intrusion, in relief excused themselves congratulating her as they left.

“Have you now?” He tried to keep up the unbothered facade even though he was livid within from her happy go lucky act, the whole kill them with kindness was such a strong principle in her books and it showed.

“Yes!” She agreed pulling away without her smile faltering one bit, “I saw you leave during my acceptance speech, knew you’d end up here though.”

“I thought they wouldn’t let you in here” he said tilting his head as he wondered if the 21+ policy at these parties went less strict now.

“Turned 21 last month!” She quickly dismissed the notion of her not being rightfully allowed in here.

“Ah” he adhered, “Congrats on that account then” he said giving her a nod of acknowledgement.

“You’re seeing me in that account now?” She said with a small smirk referencing to what he said about her on the article, “when seen into account with the pedestal she’s been put on.”

Alex didn’t even figure what she was talking about, confused, “what?”

“The pedestal…” she trailed off reminding him, “that I’ve been put on.”

“Oh” he seemed to recollect, “Yes, that” the colour in his face did not seem to change by a bit because he was not at all ashamed to say it again, “You and your music may be a bit too try-hard for my liking, but you must be doing something right” he said to soften the blow but didn’t care as much.

“Try-hard?” She repeated bringing her eyebrows together, “I’ll have to add that to the list—Big time wannabe? Tacky!”

“What’s this list called?” He asked leaning against the counter, wanting to entertain this interaction.

“Strongly opinionated asshole on a roll” she replied with a courteous smile she did not mean. “Tell me, does it get you off Alex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He replied smugly his question having a double entendre to what she asked of him.

It was an eye roll she couldn’t keep herself from giving away, “You are too old to act like this.” She said.

“Yeah?” He scoffed completely unfazed with her remark, “to answer your question it does get me off, drawing parallels, analysing shitty music-“

“Is that what you call it? Drawing parallels?” Despite the non surfacing rage she had about this entire issue she did not let it show on her face or on her words, she was more irked and surprised than ornery.

“You’re allowed to draw your own.” He shrugged offering her an easy way out of this conversation because he knew he was too prideful to back out himself and didn’t hold the same capacity as hers towards criticism of any kind.

“Parallels in music?” She thought out loud, “I mean there are already the pre existing ones…the Beatles were huge on elvis, the oasis were huge on Beatles, the oasis and well…my bad really that must be a touchy subject” trailing off in the implication.

“Huh, right” he nodded trying to keep from tasting sour in his mouth from the nerve she hit felt like bleeding through his teeth, gritting them.

“Hit a nerve?” His discomfort was so evident she was almost grateful he said those things about her, gave her a platform to get back at him just for the fun of it. “Maybe you’re just too American for the Gallaghers and that’s okay” she put a faux sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“It was just Noel.” He scoffed, heavily irritated as he had to be reminded of Noel Gallagher publicly calling his changed American accent fake. It felt more awful than she would have felt about his bazar interview because she did not idolise him or his band how he’d idealised the oasis growing up.

“Must sting no?” She exhaled a dramatic sigh by the time he was already down almost every ounce of patience that he had.

“Let me just tell this to you straight up” Alex said stiffening as he corrected his posture in a faux intimidating way but it sort of was so, “I loathe the concept of your music, downright hate it. Hate is a strong word and that’s just it, I strongly hate it. I hate your music, hate all of your work, hate your aspiring young artist facade, hate your aesthete and I hate that you keep running in my circles.”

“Okay Kat Stratford do you want a feature on Kendrick Lamar’s new hit?” It was that unbothered and collected attitude in the face of confrontation which unnerved Alex to no end, so livid he had nothing to say except angrily stride away, “hey come back here I was enjoying that monologue!”

Rest of the night went on with Alex actively trying to avoid her and she wasn’t actively trying to actively be sought out by him at all, in his head her orbit mattered so much to him. Even that little interaction sent his nervous system to do somersaults, it was all he could talk about. "Why are we always talking 'bout her?" Miles, finally had enough rolled his eyes as Alex went on over analysing that interaction as if he’d come out of it scathed. His pride definitely had but it was amusing to see that he happened to have zero self composition bringing her up, “This is relentless. You don’t even know her that well, not now anyways”

“I do know her” Alex deflected with a shrug bringing his brows together as to why Miles was being the devil’s advocate “I am allowed to have my opinion.”

“And most times it doesn’t sound like an opinion, you really sound like a radical politician with a schoolgirl crush.” Miles elaborated further with a question, “Is this about what happened between you two last year?”

“What do you mean” Alex feigned innocence as if he didn’t know what Miles was referring to.

“You know what I’m talking about” Miles huffed, finding his nonchalance amusing. “How she kissed you and then proceeded to run for the hills.”

Last year when the singer in question was just starting out, she would spend a lot of time hanging around the studio with Miles, learning relentlessly and as much as she could. Alex would just happen to linger and the two of them grew closer than company would warranty. But it was a welcome company, unwelcome distraction both of them wanted to afford nonetheless. Harmless fun until it isn’t, Alex sat rather closer to her teaching her a specific rift in the guitar, caging her between him and the guitar as they played the strings together, it wasn’t rare for them neither was the position they were in, they often situated one another like this when he would be teaching her a rift. Harmless..fun? It was just the two of them in the studio that day and when she finally got the hang of it she looked back at alex only to later realise their close proximity. Pausing in the elation of the moment and their closeness neither of them moves until the kiss brought them closer, Alex only leant a bit forward not wanting to overstep his boundaries but she took the leap forward kissing him. However he wasn’t the one to shy away from a moment that was seemingly long awaited on his side. In a swift moment he set the guitar aside and held her face without once breaking the kiss. But to breathe, the kiss eventually did break along with their bubble of indulgence. It was an answered prayer for Alex and an indulgence for y/n. She pulled away a bit further as the realisation dawned on her. This was never meant to be and never could be, Alex was a bit late to piece this as he was still in his ever lovely haze of the kiss. “I, I’m sorry…we can’t” she had reasoned and the words rung in his ears to this day. Before any further explanation he could give or demand she had left the studio in a hurried horror of a sense. The bitter understanding of comprehending the situation made her leave from his life in a way.

“Please” Alex scoffed shaking his head hoping it would shake the memory he just recollected from his head at the same time. “It’s hardly any of that.”

“Is it?” Miles wasn’t one to let it go as he inches his head forward to meet the eyes Alex wouldn’t meet.

“Fuck off” Alex put at end to that conversation pushing his friend’s face away from him as he glanced him an eye roll and a sigh before moving about the place.

It was like any other and every other function of the industry, parties and awards and after parties. A perfect line up for a long night. Alex had his fair share of these nights to not find any of it anew. Wanting to call it an early one out he saw his way out of the party, a bit irked with the conversation about her. Always her.

Almost like a live action of his thoughts happening out and about he saw her in the corridor, he has to confirm it with himself internally if he was surely seeing her in real time. It couldn’t be otherwise because he knew he hadn’t done any stuff back in that party, one of the reasons he was leaving early. As her silhouette against the wall, leaning towards the edge he scanned the sign above to piece of she was waiting for someone outside the toilets but this wasn’t even that corridor. It was just an empty corridor she was leaning against, with her award in one hand leaning with her forehead against the wall. “Out here doing ritualistic practises?” He could never help himself. But she did not reply, she didn’t even look to the direction of his voice even as he approached rather close she didn’t even raise her head to look up at him. “No way, it’s an actual ritual.” He snickered and the only thing she let out was a deep breath audible enough for him to hear. However as relentless as he was he leant against the wall next to her in the same position, to mock her. “So what’s this? Is the wall speaking to us? Are we channelling brain dead energies—?” Before he finished the sentence she shoved him away with all her force and turned away from him. His stance didn’t change much but her distaste and enough-ness of him was evident.

“Leave me alone.” A voice meek and barely making it out of her voice box, she yet again looked away from him as if to hide her face.

Rather slowly and somewhat uncaringly Alex was picking up on something deeper being wrong, “come on it’s no fun if you don’t even look at me with that face on your face.” He joked nonetheless to see if she would take the bite, he tried to pull her to face him by her elbow.

“Stop-!” She said when she was finally made to see his face, her eyes were bloodshot. Crying relentlessly. As though caught in a trance which made it all worse she felt exposed now that he came upon her episode like this. Covering he face she sank to the floor, breathless.

“Hey hey-!” Alex was quick to follow her settling down upon the floor, her gown pooling around her on the floor as she at yet her distress didn’t cease to exist. “Hey it’s alright, what’s wrong-? What’s going on?” His heart sank to his chest thinking his words had something to do with this. “Y/n, love? What’s happening?” He asked again rubbing her arms to help soothe her but she couldn’t even get her words out wholly.

“I-I just want to go home!” She let out crying, placing her award next to her on the floor so she could hide her face in her hands properly. The night had finally taken its toll on her despite being a winner, “I feel like the biggest loser in there-!” The fresh 21 year old just had a cultural shock mixed with the Paris syndrome of what these parties would be like. She didn’t know a lot of people in there, a lot of them didn’t seem to care to know her. The age ranges were odd. It was almost like if high school was worse than it could be. “I don’t want do stay in there-I can’t withhold my opinions, I don’t want to talk about the geopolitical state of the world with coked up strangers whose news source is Instagram—I don’t drink all this much-I don’t do STUFF, I have had it. And my manager says I can’t leave before the afterparty because we have another outfit for me we need pictures in. I can’t go outside there’s paparazzi and I can’t stop crying—I’m all apart Alex. I have no friends in there and no way home.”

Goodness. For some all this fame and glory came so naturally to he would have never imaged this to be a state of distress, or anyone’s distress for that matter. But her world was so unshakably different from the rest of them, from his. Which is why it was easier to hold her with mislikeness than have her pass through him. What a ghastly concept it was to be rid of her in thoughts and feelings…Alex wondered and wiped her tears. “You are fine…” he said as she tried to move her face away from his hands. He held her in place and brought the sleeve of his shirt closer out of his jacket to wipe her tears. “Can you look at me?” He coaxed her into finally meeting his eyes. “Deep breaths, here” he said putting her hand over his chest so she could synchronise the rhythm of his breathing. “Come on…”

Feebly she followed but her distress wasn’t easy to subside, “I feel so lame…and I’m not. I know I’m not but why is this so hard-I won tonight and I feel like shit. I’m supposed to be old and cool but instead I’m out here-crying to YOU of all people!”

“Did you know that cool is not even a real word?” He kept wiping her tears, as an excuse to caress her face hold her a bit longer than this circumstance warranted. “Cool is just something that is, like the weather. The only thing that determines, the only thing that stays and that’s you. You are the weather my love what’s in there is just…a bunch of people with second hand air conditioners.”

His sentence structure was so poor to her because she couldn’t fathom he would purposely be sweet to console her, what was somewhat heartwarming became funny because it came from him. “That doesn’t even make any sense.” She let out a small chuckle through the tears and he didn’t know if he was glad he didn’t have to wipe more away or the fact that she laughed. Regardless his didn’t move his hand away from her face.

“I’m a second hand air conditioner trust me I would know what’s cool.” He said and fixed a hair strand behind her ear. “You are overwhelmed and tired..in there—it wasn’t what you expected and that’s okay.” He shrugged, given her personhood he knew she would have a hard time getting a hang of this life sooner or later. The reality set her but it was untimely that it just came crushing down in one night. “These agents and managers, they are in business because of you not the other way around…you’re not supposed to take their word as gospel alright? You want to go home we’re going home.” He explained. It was very textbook for someone overly polite and fairly young to be pushed and paraded by suits like this.

“We?” Was the only word she took into consideration enough to respond to in surprise. “There is no way I can afford being seen with you out there like this.”

“I know another exit.” He said helping her up through her arms despite the hesitation in her body language. Without much debate further she followed him nonetheless and the exit he knew was rather quiet, he gave her his jacket too, just in case some cameras made their way out here even though it was highly unlikely he just didn’t wanted her to be paranoid about it any more than she already was. With a hand at the small of her back he guided her to his car, her driver was an agency lent out guy with fixed timimgs, “what will I tell my manager-? My other outfit was like already collaborated for-“

“Do you want to wear that outfit?” He asked stopping for a second midway to his car.

“No. Not really.” She replied with a deep sigh, it was too much work as it is. To wear it, hair and makeup, attend another carpet. None of which aligned with her headspace at the moment and Alex gave her this false sense of groundness. A truthful one she just assumed to be false because at the end of the day…it was Alex.

“Then there we have it.” He said continuing to guide her to the car and opened the passenger door leaving her side for a moment. Being ever so bent to these execs jerks barely did much good.

“But I have to call at least-“ she hesitated reaching for her phone but he stopped her regardless.

“A text and DND would do. You’re a winner for crying out loud and get in the car.” He told her firmly and his voice carried too much faith and a sense of experienced clarity for her to doubt him. So she complied, drafting a text for nearly 10 minutes until he finally had enough at the signal. “Oh give that here…” he sighed and pressed sent to whatever she had written.

“Alex-!” She exclaimed and tried to reached for her phone he had pressed power off on already. He raised it high against the opposite direction to and held her away from it.

“It’s not the end of the world! Just let it be!” He told her yet she kept struggling for her phone but the signal turned green so she caved in and stopped going at him for her phone, since he was driving and she didn’t mean to get them into a fender bender or worse.

“I don’t know about this…” she said shaking her head and felt worse about the situation. “I never should have left.” The stress seeped back in as the bubble of everything-will-be-fine that Alex had created burst in her head.

“It’s alright we’re almost at your place…” he told her as he tried focusing on the road but kept looking at her through the corner of his eyes. With her fingers fidgeting in her lap and her staring out the window, away from him. “Y/n it’s going to be just fine, it’s just one award function’s stupid after party and your manager isn’t Godzilla alright?”

His words once again made no sense to her as her thoughts spiralled into nothingness staring out the window that she didn’t even recognise they had reached her place, until the car stoped. The tears had blurred her vision. “I really just a big time wannabe-!” She choked on her words as the car came to a stop.

“Hey hey no don’t do that-don’t—“ that one felt like a gut punch because those were his words. And she played it cool, she mocked him for it, for even saying it in the first place and laughed about it like it was really funny. However in this moment, she looked so fragile and broken in spirits repeating his words like the knives they must have felt like to her. God what was he even thinking? What he said were meticulously carved out insults from what he knew of her. What he knew would get at her the post, it was a sick satisfaction for her running away from him. A poor and seemingly small road to exit from her life with his dignity but here he was, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world because perhaps he was. “Let’s just go inside okay?”

She barely said anything more and dared look up at him as if she was the one who should be ashamed. Even after years in this business and an upper had at experience in all segments he acted out so immature and uncouth. Seating her on her couch, he went to her kitchen to get her a glass of water. “You don’t have to talk right now just take a moment. You are just having a hard time. You are not the first neither the last person to feel like this and it’s okay but you have to realise you’re not your thoughts and neither my words.” He reminded her, are there even any words to say sorry for calling someone’s music awful repeatedly in every news article or podcast which would take his opinion?

“I just—I can’t get it out of my head” she sniffled wiping her tears because it was getting exhausting being the human chernobyl for the entire night. “And it hurts…that you probably didn’t even mean what you said about me!”

Her anguish, confused him. Almost like everything with her, this would probably take the cake as he stared at her blinking, “what?” It would had made sense if her hurt came from a place of un clarification of where his disdain had originated from. “No, but I didn’t. I didn’t mean-“

“Yes exactly!” She affirmed “You are so good at what you do-your music, your career and your life it’s all so compelling! What you said about me was so random and critique like to you, it probably never even mattered that much to you just saying stuff like that, it didn’t even come from heart. A-and it’s so pathetic that I wish that it had because at least then you would have thought about me the way I do…because I-“ she hesitated going any further but he was looking at her as if he could already see through her. That’s always how it was with him, even this entire night as if he was heading a call. “Because I really like you. I’ve liked you for so long-and we could never because you’re so much older and wiser and better and you don’t even hate me well enough to actually hate me beyond my music.” It was all around in her head that he would never mention her beyond her music as if the months they shared as ‘friends’ before the kiss and never tell, meant little to nothing to him to even talk about her.

“That’s what you think?” He was dumbfounded to her hear side of everything and not only did it made his heart drop to his stomach the feeling of dread that he had twisted this angel’s mind like this. “That’s what you’ve thought this entire time?” He asked rubbing his eyes leaning back on the couch.

“What?” Utterly confused, unmoving from her place she asked.

“My god” he muttered in disbelief and absurdity of it all before sitting up again “That’s not the point at all…” he continued, “when you left me in the studio that day after we kissed, I was devastated and to be honest humiliated. I knew just as much as you that we could never be, but the way you ran and proceeded to avoid being in my radar for weeks it made me feel like the world had collapsed on me. Not only did I have to deal with the weight of your absence I wanted to get you back so desperately…even for a word. Hell, even a text would have done. But you were so unbothered I crossed the line of getting you back to getting back at you I badmouthed your music thinking maybe you would reach out then. And you are right, I was just saying anything I didn’t mean and it didn’t come from my heart or a place of hate because I could never hate anything with a bit of your sprit in it y/n! And your music is a whole lot of you I felt like I was being blasphemous…you are ever so wrong about everything. I’m neither wise nor better perhaps older and that’s gotten me nowhere because even after all that here you are and here I am. And I still love you. I love you. I just do.” That is what came natural to him. Stupidly natural. Loving her was a second nature now, even in everything. Actually it was everything, everything defining that is. Just like the weather and the weather within him finally felt like the clouds had cleared because the sun that she was, finally knew things for what they were. And even if he couldn’t have her, the stir within him, the weather had its sun. It was her and loving the sun burns at times. He truly loved the way it burnt.

Or so he thought, until she derailed his train of thoughts by kissing him. Leaning forward trying to hold him in place and after registration he didn’t miss a beat to kiss her back even more passionately. All the burns were healing away as her kiss showered upon him. Smiling into the kiss he grabbed her by the waist bringing her onto his lap as if he was afraid she would cease to exist if he didn’t hold her in his arms, it happened the last time…in a way. “You won’t run this time will you?” He asked softly as they broke their kiss after a really long moment to catch a breath.

“Never!” She giggled…and kissed him again. “It’s sealed with a kiss.” And oh how he held her true to it.

—

It’s crazy how long it took me to finish this but it’s one of my favourite reqs!!! We are soooo back I can’t wait to write more for Alex

Currently reading: East of Eden

Currently watching: (rewatch) it’s always sunny in Philadelphia

Current studying: Algebraic structures

Currently obsessed with: A BOB DYLAN WALK IN THIS COLD WEATHER WITH A JACKET THAT WILL NOT SUFFICE

actually romantic: enemies to lovers

ruin the friendship: they were friends and he dies

Elizabeth taylor: do whatever you like

wish list: like the song

( also make them both singers)

Thank you and sorry if that sounded very demanding but i'm really desperate and need something ts coded 🩷