#ficmas

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

Soft morning light filters into your room through the gaps in your blinds, and you stir, trying to escape Bob’s strong hold. 

“Bob, baby, wake up. You need to be out of here soon,” you whisper softly, patting his hip. His arms tighten around your waist and he pushes his face into the nape of your neck. 

“Don’t wanna. Wanna stay here with you,” he mumbles. 

“It’s the last thing you need to do and then we have three uninterrupted weeks together.” He lets you wriggle free from his grasp and you turn to kiss him on the nose. He smiles. 

“But it’s children. God, what if I suck? What if they hate me? What if I accidentally break their tiny little bones,” he mumbles. You put a hand on his chest and he lays his hand over yours. 

“Bob. You’ll be alright, they’re children and you’re a superhero, and unless you’re rough housing with them I highly doubt you’re going to break their bones. Your control is so much better now. ” 

You shift so you can kiss his forehead. 

“I think you’re forgetting the part where this interaction is being filmed and aired to the entire country later this week.”

“Even if you suck. They’ll either make you look good or focus on everyone else. Don’t worry about it okay?”

You actually give him a peck on the lips, and he takes the opportunity to pull you even tighter, his hand caressing your face.

You pat him on the chest again. 

“Do you want me to come with? For support?”

“No. Definitely not. What if you get the ick?”

“The ick?”

“The ick.”

“I think you’re letting Alexei show you too many TikToks,” you snort as you extricate yourself from his arms. “Why on earth would I get the ick?”

“Maybe you’ll see how terrible I am with kids and you’ll hate me after,” he’s pouting, and it takes a lot of effort not to let a laugh slip past. 

“Bob I’m telling you. Kids aren’t as complicated as you think they are. You are the Sentry. You have a cape and a deep voice and your eyes glow. They’ll love you for that alone,” you reassure as you tousle his hair. 

“Wow. You’re very confident,” he whispers, lips ghosting over yours. 

“I have nieces and nephews, remember? They ask me if I’ve seen the Sentry every time I go visit.”

“And what do you say?” he kisses your shoulder, turns so that he’s pressing you into the mattress. 

“I tell them that the Sentry doesn’t shop in cheap corner stores,” you laugh weakly as he attaches his lips to your neck. “I also tell them that I bet the Sentry has great discipline and gets to his job on time,”you say, pushing feebly at his shoulders. 

He just sighs. 

“Are you sure we don’t have time? Just for a little bit?”

“It’s never a little bit with you. Go get ready,” you whisper, kissing him on the cheek. 

Bob is evasive when you ask how filming was, but over the next few days, it is impossible to pry him off of you. Not that you want to, but he’s never been this clingy before. He clings to you in the mornings, refusing to let you get out of bed until you absolutely have to. He comes up behind you while you brush your teeth, snakes his hand under your t-shirt and just lets his hand rest on your stomach while he presses small kisses behind your ear.

“What is wrong with you?” you ask him when he buries his face between your thighs one day and absolutely refuses to get up until you’re a sweaty panting mess. 

“Nothing, just love you,” he says as he kisses his way up your torso until his lips are over yours and you can taste yourself on him. 

He’s extra touchy after you’ve video called your sister one day, cooing at her new baby. He even waves shyly from the other side of the bed when you turn the phone so the baby can see Uncle Bob, the gold in his eyes dancing as she gives him a toothless smile and gurgles at him. You’ve never seen him like this, he preferred to leave the room when you FaceTimed your siblings and any of their kids, citing privacy as his reason. When you hang up he’s all over you, barely giving you time to process what’s going on before he has you pressed into the mattress and he’s sliding your underwear off. 

“Okay, seriously,” you laugh, even as he kisses your face. 

“You’re just so pretty when you’re in aunty mode. So sweet, turns me on,” he whispers. 

“Freak,” you sigh, when he drags his teeth over the part where your neck and shoulder meet. 

“And yet,” he presses his fingers to your clit, drags them through your folds as he collects the arousal gathering there, “you seem to like it.”

You don’t deny it, can’t deny it when he has you gasping under him, desperate for release. 

He’s muttering under his breath, too low for you to hear but every now and then the words “knock you up,” and “beautiful mom” break through the haze. 

I’ll ask him later, you think as you feel your stomach tighten, feel yourself coming apart underneath him, but by the time he’s done with you, you’re too worn out to remember what you’re supposed to be asking him. 

You’re sitting on the couch, Bob’s head in your lap while you play with his hair waiting for the segment they filmed earlier in the week to come on. Your whole place seems to hum with a restless energy, but when you look at him he’s still, eyes closed; the only evidence that he’s amped up the tiny flickers of gold that flash under his skin. 

“So, what am I in for?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair. He opens his eyes, gold irises meeting yours. 

“Birthday party, we were the special guests,” he says. He slips his hand under your t-shirt, letting it rest on your stomach, nice and warm. He presses a soft kiss just underneath your bellybutton, then turns so his cheek is pressed flat against your stomach.

Sure enough, when the episode starts playing it opens with a shot of children in someone’s backyard. The birthday girl is in a combination Thor costume and princess dress, hanging upside down off of a playset when the host for the show asks them whether they’re excited for the guests. The children take turns guessing who might be coming, and only about two of the kids manage to guess right. It doesn’t matter, the children let out high pitched peals of laughter when the Avengers walk in through the rickety gate, larger than life. 

Something twists in your stomach when you see just how much bigger Bob is than the kids. They all are, but Sentry has … presence. There’s an awkward round of introductions, but mostly the kids just want to play. They’re weaving in and out of legs, threatening to knock Alexei over, roping John into a game of tag and asking questions about his taco shield.  

Bob immediately finds refuge in the kitchen, helping the mother arrange finger foods on a plate, then moves to the living room to help package goody bags. He looks peaceful, bent over the table and fumbling with the mini juice boxes and kinder eggs — that is until a gaggle of children come inside and practically drag him by the cape back outside. 

You’re surprised at how quickly he eases into their attention, the children practically hanging off him. He throws them up in the air and catches them, spinning them around before putting them on the ground again. One little girl in particular is smitten with him, tugging at his cape and begging to be held in his arms the entire time. She’s got a captain America costume on, paired with a bright pink tutu and her shoes are just a tiny bit too big for her feet but she doesn’t let that deter her as she follows Bob around like a shadow. When the children get treats she lets him split a cookie with her, giving him the bigger half because he has ‘so many muscles’. 

“What’s your name?” she asks him at one point, when he crouches down to help her tie her shoelaces. She takes the opportunity to slip her tiara on his head. 

“Sentry,” Bob smiles and she just giggles, flashes him a wide gap-toothed grin. 

“No silly! Your real name, not just your superhero name,”she laughs. She runs off to go get a slice of pizza before Bob can react and by the time she comes back her attention has shifted to playing with his hair. She weaves loose braids into it, then asks the birthday girl for clips. Bob ends up with a bunch of multicolour clips in various shapes all over his head, with no purpose other than to look pretty.  

“This is how my mommy does my hair,” she smiles at the cameraman before showing a very loose braid to the camera. “Now the Sentry is pretty like me,” she beams. The producers and parents all laugh. 

She falls asleep on him when he starts reading The Lorax, seemingly tired out from crawling all over him. Her head rests on his shoulder, and Bob balances her in his lap, taking all the care in the world not to jostle her every time he turns a page. The other kids are rapt, sitting at his feet, slices of cake forgotten as he does silly voices. Even the other Avengers seems surprised at the way he takes to temporary princesshood. 

The episode ends with everyone waving bye to the Avengers (all sent on their way with personalised goody bags) and you and Bob sit in silence while holiday ads drone in the background. 

“Did you like it?” he asks. He’s looking up at you, wisps of his hair falling into his face. You push them out of his face as you nod. 

“You did so good, and made a new friend,” you laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Her name’s Addie and she’s six years old,” he holds up five fingers and the two of you break out into giggles. 

“See? Nothing bad happened,” you say as you drag him up to kiss you. “God, women all over America are probably fantasising about you right now,” you whisper. 

“You think so?” He presses a kiss into your neck, and you can feel him already half hard in his shorts, as his hips rock gently against yours. You take a deep breath in an attempt to focus on the conversation at hand, your stomach already turning in anticipation as his hand slides into your pyjama pants. 

“Yeah. Something about men who are good with kids is– it’s so good,” you sigh as his fingers press into your clit in tight circles. 

“You feel that way too? You like that I was good with the kids?” 

He’s slipping a finger inside you and you’re trying not to lose all composure as he curls it, your hips bucking up. 

“You gotta answer me sweetheart. You like that?” 

You manage a weak “yes” as he slips another finger in, moans into your neck when he feels you tighten around them. 

“Good. Oh god, that’s good,” he sighs into your neck. He doesn’t stop rocking into you, but he pulls his fingers out of you and pushes them into your mouth. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he watches you clean them up, eyes locked on his. “Gonna make such a beautiful mom for me,” he sighs as he uses his other hand to push your t-shirt up. 

“Didn’t know that was something you wanted,” you mumble when he’s dragged his fingers out of your mouth. 

“Didn’t know until this thing either,” he undoes the drawstrings on his shorts, and he laughs when you prop yourself up on your forearms to watch as he shucks his shorts off. He’s so hard it looks like it aches, but he’s not in any rush as he spits into his hand and wraps it around his shaft. “Fuck, didn’t know it until that kid fell asleep on me and I thought about how cute you’d find it. Then I started thinking about the way you talk about your nieces and nephews and,” he leans down so he can press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “you get this look in your eyes. I didn’t see it before but I couldn’t stop seeing it, thinking about it. When you showed me the baby all I could think about was you holding one of our own,” he finishes as he pulls your shorts and underwear off, discarding them on the floor. 

You don’t have time to think about his admission before the sound of him spitting on your exposed  cunt echoes through the room. 

“Drove me insane. Kept picturing you pregnant, didn’t know what to do,” he says as he finally pushes into you, barely controlled as he kisses you again, nice and slow. 

“Bob, baby,” you gasp as he fills you up. 

“I know, I know, not yet but shit I want it so bad,” he whispers into your ear. “Wanna get you full of me,” he pulls your t-shirt over your head, hands squeezing your tits together when you’re free. He looks like he’s glowing as he looks down at you, soft waves of blond framing his face in an almost halo. You lean up, pushing your fingers under his shirt. 

“Please?” you ask, and he just smiles at you as he pulls it off. 

You’re in awe. You’re always in awe when he’s like this, the soft glow of his skin, the tight muscle of his body, the way he has a light dusting of freckles  across his chest. He kisses your jaw, then he’s shifting, laying down on the couch and pulling you on top of him. 

“Want you on top, before you get too tired,” he says, repositioning himself and pushing into you so fast you have to lean forward, your hands flying out into the couch on either side of his head for support. His hands are on your hips, his thumbs digging into the crease where your hips and your thighs meet. 

“So, so beautiful for me,” he grunts as he bounces you on his cock his eyes half-lidded. There’s an electrical humming that fills the room as he speeds up, his grip getting tighter. 

“Bob. Sentry–” you start, tears pricking at your eyes as he pushes up into you. 

“Love when you call me that. Love when I’m both,” he says, leaning up so he can kiss your chest. The glowing of the overhead light is brighter, but steady. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, it’s like you want me to fill you up,” he groans, pushing his face into your breasts, mouth opening so he can take one in his mouth. He’s sitting up again, arm wrapping around you so that his other one can squeeze. “Oh my god, you’re so soft. Soft now, softer when you’re pregnant,” he sighs into you. He lets go of your boob to press his hand into your stomach. 

“Right here, gonna put a baby right here,” he says around your nipple, pace still relentless. 

You can’t answer, you just dig your nails into his shoulders as you whine out for him, thighs growing slicker as he fucks into you. 

“You want that? I know you want that, can feel you, honey. Fucking… swallowing me, fuck,” he mutters, tilting his face into yours as his lips come over yours in a messy kiss. He slides his fingers down to your clit again, and you let out a surprised gasp when you feel his fingers vibrate against your clit. It’s instant, you’re tightening around him before you can even grasp what’s happening, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. 

“Aww don’t cry honey,” his voice slips into condescension on the ‘honey’, and against your better judgement you feel a tug of want. He’s kissing the tears, tongue coming out to lick at them gently before he kisses your cheeks. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let you catch your breath as he cradles your head.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you open your eyes, stare right down into gold pools of his. “Gonna fuck you stupid,” he says, “right here on this couch. Then on your bed, ’til all you know is me. Fuck you stupid and full ’til we have a baby,” he grunts. His hand is on your stomach again, warm and you watch as little trails of gold seem to shimmer under his skin. “That good with you?”

You nod, but he isn’t satisfied. 

“Asked you a question,” he kisses your throat, then sucks at the skin until he’s sure he’s left a mark. 

“Yes, yeah. ’Til I’m full,” you reply. 

You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle as he lays you back down, putting a pillow under your hips so he can prop them up. You’re sensitive, still recovering from your orgasm and everything feels heightened; the way he kisses you, the way his hands drag over your body, feeling at you like you’ll disappear. He throws your leg over his shoulder, letting out a low, drawn out moan as he manages to push even deeper into you. 

“Fuck you feel so good like this,” he mutters. He keeps his hand on your stomach, watching as your breasts bounce with every thrust, hand slipping down to your lower abdomen so he can feel himself as he pushes into you. “Made for me,” mumbles, “made for me. We go so good together, gonna have perfect babies aren’t we?”

You nod when he looks at you, incapable of speech. 

“Awww… can’t speak?” he sneers, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You press your tongue against the underside and he twitches, momentarily surprised. He presses his hand a little harder into your stomach, and you whine, head fuzzy as you feel yourself climbing again, skin humming with pleasure as you pulse around him. 

“That’s it, honey c’mon,” he grunts, thrusts growing erratic. 

Your bodies are slick as they move against each other, and you’re grabbing at his forearms, begging him to come down and kiss you. He does, but only when he’s right on the edge, only pressing his lips to yours as he starts spilling into you, chest heaving against yours. He doesn’t move, even when you push your hands against his chest. 

“Gotta keep it in, keep you full,” he whispers into your ear. Then you realise he’s still hard, throbbing inside of you like nothing happened. 

“Holy fuck this serum is the second best thing to happen to me,” he says as he presses his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna be so easy to fuck a baby into you like this, can keep you here for so long just like this,” he starts moving again, hips moving slowly against you even as you let out low, pathetic whines, arms tightening around his neck in a hug. Your bodies are flush against each other and your thighs ache with the effort of staying spread. The weight of his body on yours makes your brain cloud with pleasure. He presses a kiss into the side of your head. 

“It’s so easy like this,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “can feel all of you,” he mumbles. He leans down so he can kiss at your collarbone, then he’s wrapping his arms around as he picks you up and stands in one smooth motion. His hands under your ass keep you in place as he keeps himself inside you. It’s only when you open your eyes you realise that he’s not touching the ground, floating as he moves through your apartment. He shoulders the door to your bedroom open (gently) before his feet touch the ground again. 

“There we go, more comfortable?” he asks, as he lays you down again, pulling out briefly so he can turn you onto your stomach. You sigh in relief, but it’s short lived because the moment he gets behind you he’s spreading you open again, his hand pressing in between your shoulders until your chest is flush with the mattress. When he pushes in again, it’s so easy you’re almost embarrassed and he lets out a low groan. 

“So fucking easy,” he says as he uses his other hand to move your hips against his, “you like this? You like taking it like this?” He speeds up, only letting go of your hips so he can pin your wrists behind your back. His hand presses your head into the mattress a little as he pushes deeper, faster. “Won’t be able to fuck you like this when you’re knocked up,” he says, like it’s a given. “Gotta keep you nice and safe, be gentle. Gotta fuck you rough now,” he mutters into the room. Your moans are muffled by the sheets but the way you tighten around him is enough for him. 

“Again? Already? Spoiled tonight aren’t you?”

He lets go of your wrists so he can squeeze at the flesh of your ass, sliding it up and down his length. “You should see yourself honey, see the way she’s creaming on it. It’s so good, wanna keep you like this forever,” he mutters as he keeps thrusting into you. He leans down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, a small act of tenderness in contrast to the brutal way he fucks you, his hand still tight around your wrists. “Gonna fill you up again, you want that honey?”

There’s a small sound of agreement as you nod, his name tumbling out of your lips in hoarse cries. It seems to spur him on, push him even deeper into you as your thighs twitch. You feel his chest press against your back as he takes deep breaths. “You’re so good for me. Just a little longer okay I’m not… I’m not finished,” he says as he kisses behind your ear. 

“Sentry,” you whine, and you feel him twitch inside you. 

“Call me that again and we’ll be here well into tomorrow. Fuck I can’t help myself,” he says as he turns you over onto your back, pushes your knees into your chest, “you just look so good under me. And I keep imagining you all round, tits full of milk. You’ll be so soft,” he says as he presses more kisses into your chest. “Oh my god, honey.” His hand is over your stomach again, rubbing as if his baby is already there. “Wanna see you so full, so full you do that little waddle,” he kisses you just above your belly button. Then his mouth moves to your breasts again, taking turns with each, teeth grazing the nipples slightly. “I’ll take such good care of you baby, won’t have to worry about a thing. Back massages, massage these when they’re sore,” he promises as he puts a nipple in his mouth again. 

You just babble in agreement, cunt still aching at the feel of him, how he splits you open when you’re like this. You want to tell him you’re not sure you bend this way, but he’s already making you, his hands pressed firm into the back of your thighs. He starts thrusting into you again when he slots his mouth over yours, tongue pushing into your mouth, messy and hot. 

“We’re gonna have such perfect babies,” he pants, “gonna be so beautiful, just like their momma,” he continues. 

“Honey–”

“I know, I know, almost there,” he grunts. “Need you to give me one more too,” he says. 

You think you might be numb, unable to focus on anything but the press of his hands into your thighs and his voice in your ear begging you to cum. His fingers are on your clit again, slow and gentle, the push you need to finally let go. He follows soon after, his lips on yours again and his hips stilling as he empties into you. 

He pulls out of you gently, rolls over and lays next to you as he stares at the ceiling. Your hand finds his as you wait for your skin to stop humming and the buzzing in your head to die down. You’re about to speak when you hear a nervous “honey?” from beside you.

“Yes, Bob?”

“You’re on birth control right?”

You snort, then laugh. 

“Yes. Not sure it’s Sentry proof, but yes.”

You hear him sigh in relief. 

“Thank god. I might have gotten ahead of myself,” he replies. 

“Oh feel free to get ahead of yourself more often. It’s nice when you tell me what you want. Then take it.”

"am i the asshole for throwing away my girlfriend's ratty old stuffed animal?" shayne read from the ipad in his hands, looking up for you and damien's reactions as soon as he finished.

"yeah, dawg." damien responded with a chuckle, as if it was so cut and dry that it was humorous to think otherwise.

"absolutely!" you had answered at the same time, and you shared a look with damien, pleased to know that he agreed. "i have more to say about this but i'll save it for after."

shayne read the scenario out – a 27 year old man has a girlfriend who is 19 years old who sleeps with the same stuffed animal she's had since she was a kid. the man thinks it's incredibly immature and tells her to get rid of it and grow up, which she refuses to do, so the man takes matters into his own hands and gets rid of the stuffed animal for her.

by the end of the story, you were seeing red. when shayne turned to you and damien, damien gestured forward for you to have the floor.

"this is such an insane thing to do," you started, shaking your head, "a stuffed animal is genuinely such a non-issue in the grand scheme of things. i had a boyfriend do something similar to me years and years ago with a stuffed animal i literally can't find a replacement for no matter how hard i look and it still infuriates me to this day. it was the same argument too – that it's an immature thing to have. i don't agree with that, but even if i did, i don't know what makes him think he's gonna find the maturity he apparently is looking for in a 19 year old."

damien snapped his fingers a few times beside you, as if to say, "preach!" "that's actually so evil." is what he actually ended up saying, "both for you and the poor girl in this story."

"i'm saying." you nodded, leaning back into the couch with your arms crossed.

"what was your stuffed animal?" shayne asked, and you pouted over at him.

"it was the sweetest little thing, it was just a, like, terrycloth rabbit from the 90s. i'll see if i can find a picture and we can add it in post but neither of my parents remember where they got it and i haven't been able to find it on my own, either." you lamented, taking your finger and dragging it from your eye and down your cheek as if you were crying.

"god, that's such a bummer." damien commiserated, giving you a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"for real." shayne agreed, and after a lull, moved on to the next story.

"am i the asshole for…"

wednesday, november 5th, 8am.

"okay, everybody, listen up!" kiana called out, gathering everyone's attention at the morning meeting, "we are gonna pull names for secret santa! once you have a name, keep it a secret obviously. there's no money limit on gifts, but be thoughtful. don't get crazy and don't do too little. i know i don't have to explain this to you guys."

everyone in the room nodded or made some sort of noise to acknowledge what kiana was saying.

"okay, come get your names."

saturday, december 6th, 8pm

"(y/n), can i talk to you really quick?"

you turned around from the small group of people you were conversing with at the smosh holiday party to find kiana, and you smiled. "sure, kiana, what's up?"

the group dissipated as kiana started to speak. "i'm so sorry about this, but i wanted to let you know that your secret santa asked me if i could let you know that your present is going to be a little late."

"oh!" you said, your eyebrows furrowing just slightly at the idea, "okay, yeah, that's totally fine."

"if it makes you feel better, just between you and me," kiana leaned in, a sparkle in her eye, "it's really good."

monday, december 15th, 10am

due to mostly everyone being gone for their christmas break, there weren't many people left in the smosh office available to film. you'd already said you would be around to do anything they needed, and what they needed was another episode of reddit stories. somehow they'd lost the episode that was supposed to go up the saturday before christmas, and they couldn't move any other episodes around because that one was the only christmas one that had been filmed. obviously you accepted, eager to help out and get back on the couch with whoever they put next to you.

it turned out to be damien again, which you would never complain about. you realized after the last episode that you really liked being on the couch with him. he was so level-headed and kind, it was refreshing to be around in this day and age.

"we've got a good one today," shayne started the episode addressing the camera, "today is all about christmas, and with me today are two of santa's favorite little elves, damien and (y/n)!"

the episode went by swimmingly, with some of the stories being more heartwarming than anything else, but the final story was one you would never forget.

shayne cocked his head to the side as he started to read the next reddit story. "this next one comes from… r/vintagetoys?"

"ooo, okay!" you started to get excited, having a feeling you were in for a really good story about a thoughtful gift. you looked over at damien, but he was zeroed in on shayne, waiting for him to start reading.

"hi everyone," shayne began, "hope it's okay that i give a little backstory before i get to what it is i need. i'm really into this girl i work with (and have been for a long time) and i got the honor of drawing her name for secret santa this year. a couple months ago, she told me about this stuffed animal that she used to have, and she hasn't been able to find it anywhere. i was hoping someone here could ID it and potentially point me in the right direction to get it for her. a photo of the stuffed animal is attached for reference."

"oh my god," you breathed out, practically swooning at the person writing the post, "this is so sweet. that is a lucky, lucky girl."

shayne gave damien a look you couldn't place, and he simply smiled, looking over at you. "well, i'm glad you think so," damien said, gesturing at shayne, who turned the ipad to face you. there on the screen was the childhood photo of you from the last reddit stories you were in, attached to the post.

when you turned back to damien, he was holding a paper bag with a tag that had your name on it.

your eyes went wide, your heart swelling at the earnest smile on his face as he held the bag out to you.

"you didn't." was all you could say as you gingerly took the bag from him.

"i'm afraid i did." damien retorted with a smirk.

eyes welling up with tears, you dug into the bag, your hand coming in contact with a very familiar fabric. you gripped the soft material, pulling the exact same stuffed rabbit you had as a kid out from the bag.

"damien," you breathed out, "how did– why did you–" words eluded you as you thought more about the unbelievably kind gesture.

"because i'm stupid into you, (y/n)," damien laughed, reaching over to wipe a stray tear off your face, "and you deserve all the nice things in the world."

with a watery smile, you all but jumped damien, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug. he caught you with ease, one arm wrapping around your midsection, the other cradling your head.

"thank you so much." you whispered, before pulling back. you wanted to kiss him. this was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. you wanted to kiss him bad.

so you did. in front of everyone, in front of all the cameras, in front of your new old stuffed animal.

you felt damien smile against your lips as he returned the kiss, jokingly shielding the two of you from being seen by the cameras with his hand out.

"well now we can't air this one either!" shayne joked, throwing his hands up in the air.

damien's response was to playfully flip shayne off, still wrapped up in you, cameras be damned.

“Hey, sweetheart, what's goin' on?”

“It feels different. Like somethin' is wrong.”

A cold wave of fear washed over Daryl, and he pulled you into a sitting position. Your body was trembling in his grip, and your breathing was becoming ragged. It made his chest ache to see his wife in this much pain. He spoke softly and moved a piece of sweaty hair from your face.

“I've got you. It's gonna be okay.”

“What if somethin' is wrong with the baby?”

“We'll figure it out. Just breathe with me, darlin'.”

Keeping your gaze trained on your husband, you mirrored his own rhythm and took deep breaths. The pain was sharp, and you couldn't stop shaking. Daryl's large hand was stroking your hair, and he was doing everything he could to soothe you. He was hoping this would pass, even though he knew it was unlikely.

Your right hand was clasped in his, and you squeezed it as your uterus contracted again. The pain spiked again and you could feel the shift. You'd already realized these were contractions, but it was becoming glaringly obvious that there was a complication. There was a mild pop, that was immediately followed by a gushing sensation. You thought it was just your water breaking before you looked down at the sheets. Daryl had already seen what happened, and his voice broke as he spoke frantically.

“Oh, baby. You're bleedin'. Fuck, you're bleedin'.”

To protect you, your brain went into denial and you quickly shook your head. There was no way this could be happening.Everything had been fine. You were doing your best to not hyperventilate, but both you and Daryl were terrified.

“Maybe- maybe it's normal?”

“No way in hell. That ain't normal.”

All of the worst case scenarios flowed through his mind, and you could feel Daryl's hand quivering in yours. He had always been your rock, but his own face was pale with fear. The bleeding was getting worse and your husband shot up and out of the bed. Without hesitation, he flung the bedroom door open and called out.

“Rick! Carol! I need someone's help in here!”

Not waiting for a response, Daryl ran back to your side and his hand returned to yours. He could see the way your skin was draining of color, and tears were already pricking his eyes. Attempting to steady his breathing, he ran an unsteady hand through your hair again.

“You're okay, baby. Just stay with me, alright? Stay here.”

Blood was blooming across the sheets and the metallic tang filled the air. Daryl's hand was still wrapped around yours, like he was trying to anchor you to him. With two fingers, Carol was checking how dilated you were. Rick was also scrambling around the home to gather supplies. This was moving much faster than anyone had ever expected. Carol's soft voice was quaking with anxiety as she broke the silence.

“She's almost entirely dilated, Daryl. Her body's going to push, whether she's ready or not.”

“You can't stop it?”

“No, that would require medication that we don't have. It's not a guarantee, anyway.”

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a choked scream coming from you. His stomach dropped and his eyes widened. Your body was bearing down before either of you realized what was happing. There was no stopping this.

Carol's brain fully kicked into gear, and she helped you re-adjust into the correct position. You were panting slightly, and your grip on Daryl's hand became bruising. Doing his best to not outwardly breakdown, he tried to reassure you.

“You're doin' so good, angel. Just push when your body tells you to.”

“I'm- I'm scared.”

Your strained admission shattered something in Daryl, and a singular tear rolled down his face. He rapidly blinked and pulled it together. His baby was scared enough without him adding to it.

“I know, baby. I know. You can do it, though. Trust your body.”

“Yeah, okay. I'm gonna push now.”

Continuing to hold Daryl's hand, you exhaled deeply and pushed. The pain was coming and going in waves. There'd be a few seconds of relief before it became debilitating again. Tears were streaming down your face quicker than your husband could wipe them. His hands were already stained with blood, but he was too worried about you to notice. The moment you struggled to keep yourself upright, Daryl looked toward Carol again.

“Can I hold her? Please, I need to hold her.”

“Go for it.”

As Carol leaned you forward, Daryl slipped behind you on the bed and pulled you to his chest. Your knees were still bent and angled to ease the strain of the birth. His hands returned to your hair and a quick kiss was pressed to your temple.

“I'm right here, baby. I've got you.”

“Thank you.”

You pushed one more time before there was another sudden rush of blood. Dizziness flooded your senses and your breathing hitched. Daryl saw the moment your eyes began to lose focus, and he shook you gently.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Sweetheart, you need to look at me.”

“I can't-”

“Shhh, you can. Just look at me.”

Daryl's fingers rested on your chin and tilted your face to look at him. God, you looked beyond fragile like this. His usually fiery girl was fading away by the second. Every gasp and strained groan made him nauseous. He was murmuring more reassurances when Rick burst back into the room with Denise.

Denise took one look at you and realized the severity of the situation. Your husband was supporting you from behind, and he was covered in your blood. Everything was. It didn't take a medical professional to know what direction this was going in. That doesn't mean that she was going to give up, though.

Breathing deeply, Denise created the game plan in her mind and rushed over to the bed. Carol was working with her every step of the way. You were fully aware of how dire the situation was. The panicked voices of your family just confirmed your fears. Up by your head, Daryl was still holding you and doing everything that he could to keep you conscious.

“I'm right here, sunshine. You're so strong.”

“Daryl, you have to take care of her.”

“Don't- don't talk like that. You're stayin' here with us. With me.”

The urge to push came again, and there was no stopping it. Denise had taken Carol's spot and was monitoring your dilation. The baby was crowning. You clutched Daryl's hand again and a low groan tore from your throat as nature continued running its course. He pressed his face against the side of your head and kept whispering praise.

“So good. You're doin' so good. Stay with me.”

Another cry filled the air, but it was different, now. It came from the tiny lungs of your newborn daughter. The infant finally slipped free and Denise started cleaning her up. Daryl's entire focus was on his wife. Your eyes fluttered shut and he shouted.

“No! Stay awake. Stay here, please. Please, baby.”

Denise passed the baby off to Rick and focused all of her attention on you. She needed to get this bleeding stopped and fast. The medic's hands were moving in tandem with Carol's as they pressed fabric and kept working. You were barely conscious and Daryl couldn't get you to respond, but something changed. Your breathing had evened out. Without getting anyone's hopes up, Denise whispered as she exhaled.

“It's working. Just hold on.”

Daryl didn't dare to let himself believe that they'd fixed it. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut and started praying beneath his breath. Your husband wasn't a religious man, not even close, but he was willing to beg for your life. He kept his fingers pressed to the pulse point on your neck long after it had strengthened.

Opening his eyes again, Daryl stared at your chest and tried to process the fact that it was still moving. His wife wasn't dead, and his baby was safely cradled in the arms of his best friend. Even though he'd been reassuring you that you'd be fine, he'd truly thought that he was losing you. For a moment, he really was.

Carol placed a few blood soaked towels to the side, before turning to Daryl. The relief on her face was tangible, but he couldn't allow himself to trust it. Your life was still fragile. She reached over to gently touch his arm and saw the way he flinched.

“Daryl, she's still here. Both your baby and your girl are okay.”

“For now. You don’t know what might happen. Neither of 'em could make it through the night.”

“Daryl, brother, look at your baby.”

The deeper voice had come from Rick, and Daryl turned to look at him. The small infant was wrapped in a blanket, and she was being supported by Rick's arms. God, she was tiny. He reached out and ran his calloused palm over the baby's head. His voice was tinged with awe.

“She's so small.”

“Yeah, your girl is little. Denise said she's healthy, though. Just came a little early.”

“Can I hold her?”

“Of course. Do you want to stand up?”

Your husband's chest felt tight at the idea of moving away from you, but he wanted to hold his daughter. He checked your breathing before shifting your head to lie on the pillow. Daryl had to ignore the way your skin still felt a little too cold.

Once Daryl had settled into a nearby chair, Rick handed him the baby, and he held his daughter close to his chest. The contrast of his blood stained hands and her perfect skin was startling. His eyes widened in panic, and he glanced toward his best friend, who instantly knew what was wrong.

“Hey, it's okay. We'll clean your hands.”

“Take her back. I ain't want to taint her.”

Rick knew better than to argue, and he took the little girl back into his arms. Carol had walked back over to Daryl and used the last clean piece of cloth to wipe his skin. Her touch was gentle, and it was enough to bring your husband to tears. His shoulders shook with sobs as he let himself fully acknowledge how close he'd come to losing you. Daryl Dixon was almost a widower.

Carol pulled him closer, and he rested his head on her shoulder as he cried. Daryl wasn't one to show emotion like this, so it shocked everyone in the room. He'd seen so much death, but it was clear that yours would've broken him. Rick let the two of them have their moment while he rocked your daughter.

It took another minute before Daryl was able to gather himself. He pulled back and wiped his face. He was slightly embarrassed by his outburst, but exhaustion had settled deep in his bones. Taking a deep breath, he muttered a thanks to Carol and turned to Rick.

“Can I try holdin' her again?”

“Of course. You want to sit down again?”

“Sure.”

A little steadier on his feet this time, your husband sat back down in the chair and took another deep breath. The adrenaline from watching you give birth and nearly losing you was finally leaving Daryl's body. He held his arms out and admired your daughter's face as she was placed back in his hold. Adjusting his position to press the baby to his chest, everyone in the room could see the tension leaving his body.

Daryl lets his eyes trace over the little girl's tiny features, and he felt choked up again. It was nothing short of a miracle that both of his girls had survived the birth. You were still unconscious, but you were stable, and that was enough for him. It had to be. One of his calloused fingers stroked the baby's cheek, and he glanced over at where you were lying. Understandably, the fear was still heavy in his chest. Denise was examining your stitches to make sure they held, before Daryl's gruff voice broke the silence.

“When do you think she's gonna wake up?”

“I don't know for certain, but she'll likely need a blood transfusion.”

“I'll do it.”

It wasn't like he hadn't given blood before. Daryl was a universal donor, so Merle had taken advantage of that as a kid. It helped keep them fed, though. He was about to stand up when Rick held his shoulder down.

“Nah, brother, I'll do it. You're tired enough.”

“She's my wife. I can do it.”

“Daryl, you need to focus on your little girl. Let me do this. She's my family, too.”

Too exhausted to fight, Daryl huffed and looked back down at the sleeping baby. She did seem comfortable, and he hated to interrupt that. It fully sunk in how much Rick cared and the lengths he was willing to go for his family. The thought alone made your husband's throat constrict with emotion. God, he was a damn mess. He blinked hard and chewed on his lower lip, before nodding.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Hours had passed now and Daryl was in bed beside you. The group had rallied together to get you taken care of and comfortable on top of clean sheets. Your husband had also changed both of your guys' clothes. Rick, Michonne, and Carol were all taking shifts of caring for the baby. Since you were still unconscious and too weak to breastfeed, they'd settled for using Judith's left over formula.

As you slept, your husband rested fitfully and spent a lot of the night simply checking your breathing. His hand had settled on the side of your neck and measured your pulse. It wasn't even something that Daryl was conscious of. The fear was unrelenting, but the fact that your color had returned was reassuring.

Daryl felt himself drifting off again when you suddenly shifted beside him. He sat up and gently stroked the side of your face. While you weren't fully awake, you leaned into his touch and sighed softly. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. His voice cracked as he broke the silence.

“Sweetheart, you wakin' up?”

You hummed softly in response, but you still weren't opening your eyes. This wasn't unusual for you, though. Daryl was always having to drag your ass out of bed. He did his best to not get overly excited and kept lightly tracing your features.

“That's it. Just open your eyes whenever you're ready. Ain't no rush.”

That was bullshit. He was practically shaking with anticipation as he waited for you to wake up. Your husband just didn't want to risk moving too quickly. Daryl's eyes were fixed on your face, and his breath caught in his throat when you blearily blinked your eyes. He made sure not to overwhelm you and spoke softly.

“There's my girl. You did so good, sweetheart.”

“The baby?”

Of course, that was the first thing that you'd ask. You had nearly died, and your first concern was your daughter. Your voice was slightly slurred from the pain meds Denis had given you, but it was still music to Daryl's ears. He smiled and blinked back more tears.

“She's perfect, darlin'. You're both okay, now.”

“You were scared?”

That question caught him slightly off guard, and Daryl's entire body tensed. Even though he'd been expecting you to worry about him, he didn't realize your concern would come so quickly. He should've known better. Not wanting to cry, he nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, sweet girl. I was really scared. We're okay, though.”

“All of us are okay.”

“That's right. You wanna rest some more?”

“Have to feed the baby.”

Instinctively, you glanced around the room and looked for the infant. You were about to sit up when Daryl's hand gently held your shoulder down. He cut you off before you could begin to protest.

“Not yet, honey. You can't sit up that quickly. Baby girl is already fed and sleepin' in Rick's room.”

“Rick's got her?”

“Yeah. He's been a big help.”

Daryl paused and contemplated telling you just how much the group had stepped up. You were exhausted, though. That would be a conversation for another time. For now, he knew what you'd ask next, and he sat up.

“Why don't I help you sit up and then have Rick bring our baby in here?”

“Sounds good. I can go slow.”

“Damn straight. I need you to be careful, okay?”

“Always.”

After getting you situated, Daryl fought the urge to re-check your pulse and walked over to the bedroom door. He called out for Rick to bring the baby and rejoined you in the bed. The exhaustion was radiating off both of you in waves, but it was clear how excited you were to meet your baby. A thought suddenly came to your mind and you spoke up.

“What if she's already bonded to someone else? Like, not me?”

“Oh, baby. You were only asleep for a few hours. She'll know who her momma is. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Your husband's soothing words had done their intended job and instantly soothed you. The bedroom door slowly swung open, and your face lit up when you saw the tiny baby cradled in Rick's arm. Your baby was perfect. Seeing the love flood your features made Daryl's eyes well up with tears, and it was a Herculean effort to not break down crying again. You looked alive, polar opposite to the slackened features he'd seen earlier.

“You ready to meet your girl?”

Rick's voice was hushed and approached the bed. You were completely unaware of the lengths your husband's best friend had gone for your family today, but you were grateful, nonetheless. Your smile widened and you nodded eagerly.

“So ready. Thank you for helpin' with her.”

“Always gonna help you, sweetheart. You're my family. All three of you are.”

Getting even closer to crying again, Daryl took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He nodded to Rick and gently rubbed your lower back. Rick got the hint and pass you the baby. Before fully pulling away, he double-checked that you were strong enough to support the baby's head.

“Just like that. You got her.”

“Thank you.”

Unsurprisingly, seeing you hold your baby girl was the thing that broke Daryl's resolve, and tears started running down his cheeks. You were alarmed and you quickly looked him over. Your voice was soft and concerned.

“Daryl, honey, are okay?”

“Yeah. Just real happy seein' you holdin' our girl. I was so scared, darlin'.”

You were stable enough that your husband felt comfortable allowing himself to seek that emotional release. Rick placed a firm hand on Daryl's shoulder in a supportive gesture, and he leaned into the comfort his best friend was offering. He wiped his face and tried to calm down. You would've consoled him, but you weren't strong enough to support the baby with only one arm, yet.

Instead, you leaned into his touch and kept glancing at his face. You hoped that Rick was able to offer him enough reassurance. Daryl's face was pressed against your hair as he continued weeping softly. These weren't the same desperate tears as earlier, though. He was just overcome with relief. His wife was alive and able to hold their beautiful little girl.

It took a few minutes, but Daryl was finally able to gather himself. He wiped his face and gave both you and Rick a small smile. Your husband huffed a slightly bitter laugh, and broke the silence.

“Sorry for breakin' down like that. Ain’t tryna be a little bitch.”

“Don't apologize, brother. You've both had a rough couple of hours.”

You hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to the side of Daryl's mouth. The affectionate gesture was met with a genuine smile from your man. Obviously, you weren't at your usual level of functioning, but you had the energy to try to be affectionate with him. He pressed a kiss to your temple and spoke in an almost reverent tone.

“You did so good, sunshine. Like a fuckin' warrior.”

“A warrior? I think that's a little dramatic.”

“He's right. You were a damn trooper.”

Your cheeks flushed at the praise, and it made Daryl laugh. All things considered, you were still bashful when receiving compliments. He could actually let himself believe that you were okay. Pressing another kiss to your face, he reveled in the way that your skin had warmed back up.

Thankfully, the rest of the night went without incident. The group was still taking care of your daughter in shifts, but you were able to participate. Daryl refused to watch you exhaust yourself, though. You were still recovering. Things had been off to a rocky start, but it was clear that your family was surrounded by love.

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Which brought you to tonight. The two of you were hosting a housewarming party to celebrate. Yelena looked gorgeous in the pantsuit she’d donned for the occasion, and for the past hour, she’d been working the room; with no shortage of jokes about how grateful she was that you’d agreed to put up with her indefinitely. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t murdered me out of sheer annoyance yet,” you’d heard Yelena tell one of your mutual friends, making you give an affectionate eye roll in response.

You’re in the open-plan kitchen pouring drinks when you feel an arm loop around your waist from behind. Yelena’s voice is soon to follow, low in your ear.

“You are being so polite tonight, krasivaya devushka. Greeting everyone and making drinks. Such a lovely and accommodating hostess,”

Your spine straights automatically, caught off guard by the praise. “Lena,” you whisper, your cheeks heating up. “Please be good,”

She hums, her fingers trailing up your spine and making you shiver. “Oh, but milaya, it’s so much more fun to be bad. You make it so easy for me,” Yelena presses a soft kiss just behind your ear, then steps away as one of your friends approaches to ask you about the hor d’oeuvres. You’re forced to grin and bear it and completely ignore the sudden heat pooling in your belly just from Yelena’s proximity alone.

She knew exactly what she was doing. And you’d throw her a glare over your shoulder if she hadn’t fled the kitchen to evade capture.

Unfortunately for you, that’s not the last time Yelena teases you. She continues to do so throughout the night. She seems to pinpoint moments when you’re trying to focus on a conversation, then she’ll suddenly appear behind you again, brushing your hair aside under the pretense of “fixing your necklace”, her fingers ghosting over your throat and the back of your neck respectively.

Whenever you’d move or reach for something, her hands are on your hips like she wants to help guide you. But the way she caresses them, and even sneaks her fingers just under the hem of your shirt at one point, tells a completely different story. A completely different and entirely not innocent story.

The worst moment comes when your friend Mia compliments the apartment.

“It’s so cozy!” She beams, turning in a full 360 to take in the decor. “You guys did a great job with decorating. It feels like a little bit of both your personalities blended together perfectly,”

Yelena hums from behind you, her hand settling where your ribs slope into your waist. “That’s all y/n’s doing. She’s the one who keeps the place beautiful. I am just lucky she lets me live here. She’s the one calling the shots, isn’t that right, milaya?” and then she whispers ‘my good girl’ in Russian, right up against your ear so you’re the only one who hears it.

Heat rockets up the back of your neck, the praise landing low in your stomach. The way Yelena says that you’re the one that lets her live here. Like you’re the one in charge. It makes your knees go weak in an unexplainable way.

Yelena notices your fluster, because of course she does. And instead of dialing it back, she doubles down. “Did you like that?” she whispers, making you jolt and slosh the drink that’s in your hand. You quickly set it down before you can spill anything else, turning to glare at your girlfriend, only to find Yelena once again scurrying away with a knowing smile on her face.

An hour later, you escape to the guest room for a moment of sanity. But Yelena is there within sixty seconds, as if she’d been seeking you out.

“Hiding from me now, zaika?” she teases as she saunters in.

You shake your head too fast, even though you most definitely were. “No, I was just…making sure this room was okay, just in case someone wanted to stay over,”

Yelena arches a brow as she steps closer. “Well. This may make me sound like a poor host, but I don’t really want anyone to stay the night.”

Your lower lip pushes out in a slight pout. “Why do you say that?”

Yelena smiles, her thumb reaching out to brush your lower lip. “Because,” she begins, her eyes simmering. “With the way you’ve been looking at me all night, I think it would just be weird if someone did stay over, no?”

Your throat tightens. “What? I haven’t been looking at you like—“

“—like you’d devour me whole if we didn’t have an audience? Yes, milaya, you most certainly have,”

Your cheeks flush. “Well…don’t you think you’re to blame for that?”

“To blame for what?” Yelena presses. “All I’ve done was call you my good girl and tell you how good and sweet you’re being tonight. That’s just me telling the truth. Don’t you like your girlfriend to be honest?”

“Lena…please…” you plead softly.

“Please what?” she tilts your chin up. “Use your words.”

This woman was trying to kill you.

You swallow hard. “Can…can we just go to the bedroom? What if we’re quick?”

Yelena’s smirk is knowing and entirely lethal. “Well, that would be rude, wouldn’t it, little one? With all our guests out there?” She brushes a thumb over your heated cheek. “You’ll have to wait, okay? You can be good for me a little longer. I know you can.”

You weren’t sure that was true, considering you could combust on the spot right about now. But Yelena merely kisses your forehead, sweet as anything, and strolls back out of the guest room as if she didn’t just unravel what was left of your resolve.

***

The next three hours are agony. Having to play hostess while ignoring the rampant horniness Yelena had instilled in you wasn’t exactly a small feat. But somehow you manage, and before long, you’re thanking the last guest as they leave your apartment.

The door clicks shut behind them and then silence. You barely have time to turn before Yelena is crowding you up against the closed door.

“My shy girl,” she purrs, cupping your jaw with one hand. “You waited so patiently for me.” Her other hand slides up your side.

“Lena—“

“Look at me.”

You do, and your protest dies on your lips.

Yelena’s voice is soft, but stays firm. “Eyes on me the whole time. You wanted my attention all night, now you keep it.”

And then she’s kissing you, slow and deep. It’s not a question of whether or not you melt into it. It’s completely involuntary. Your legs practically give out beneath you as you kiss Yelena back, pawing at her blazer, wanting to just rip it off of her.

But Yelena pulls back way before you’re ready for her to, watching your expression as her hand drifts beneath your shirt.

“Your skin is so warm, so flushed,” she points out as she rubs small circles just under your ribs. “That’s because of me, isn’t it?”

You nod.

“You know I want the words, milaya,”

“Yes,” you breathe. “You’re…it’s you. You’re making me feel…a lot of things right now. You have been all night,”

“I’m guessing that means you want me?” Yelena’s thumb strokes your cheek as she watches your face.

“Yes,” you say. “I want you, Yelena,”

“Are you going to say please for me? Use your manners like a good girl?”

“Please?” Your eyes are big and pleading as you look at her. “Please, Lena? I need you,”

Yelena takes your hands, fingers slotting perfectly between your own as she leads you down the hall to your shared bedroom. The second the bedroom door closes, Yelena’s mouth is on yours again. This kiss is just as heated as the first, if not more. Her hands slide down your sides before setting on your hips. Then, she breaks the kiss just enough to murmur, “Back against the wall.”

You go without thinking, your breath trembling as your shoulders meet the cool surface. Yelena follows, crowding your space, her forehead touching yours.

“Good girl,” she whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Already listening.”

Her thumbs stroke your hips, then she drags one hand down your thigh, guiding your legs slightly apart, just enough to make your heart stutter. Then, as if your heart weren’t already racing enough, Yelena lowers herself to her knees in front of you without ever breaking eye contact.

You try your best to keep your breathing steady, but the sight of her—Yelena Belova, beautiful and kneeling between your legs with her hands splayed on your thighs—steals every coherent thought you had left.

Her palms slide up slowly, pushing your skirt up higher, inch by inch until it bunches around your hips. She lets out a soft exhale when she sees your panties.

“Pretty,” she says, her voice rough. “You always look so pretty for me.”

You whimper, gripping the wall behind you.

Yelena leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh; barely a brush, more breath than contact. You gasp softly.

She smiles against your skin. “There it is. You always make the sweetest sounds,”

Her teeth graze lightly over your skin and your legs nearly buckle. She steadies you instantly with firm hands, looking up at you through her lashes. “Try to keep your eyes on me, okay, milaya? I’m right here,”

You swallow hard, nodding. Good, Yelena’s expression says without words. My good girl.

She leans in again, closer this time, and pressed her mouth over your mound through your panties. The warmth of her breath and the slow pressure of her lips…It makes your head fall back and a soft, helpless sound trickle from your mouth.

“Look at me,” Yelena reminds, voice muffled against you.

You force your gaze down again. Her eyes lock with yours; smug, dark, and so full of hunger.

And then, she licks you. Her strokes are long and slow, right through the damp fabric of your underwear. Your knees buckle again.

“F-fuck, Lena!”

Yelena’s hands grip your thighs harder, and she licks again. Then again, adding more pressure, flattening her tongue as she drags it upward. Your hips jolt without permission. That earns a soft laugh against you—followed by Yelena’s mouth closing around the spot that makes your legs shake.

“Oh god, Lena…please—“

Yelena pulls back just enough to talk, her breath hot against the soaked cotton. “Please what?”

You bite down a whine, your hands flexing uselessly against the wall.

Yelena tilts her head, studying you. “You want more?” She drags her tongue over you again, even slower this time if that’s even possible. “You want me to take these off?” She tugs at the waistband lightly with her teeth.

“Yes! Yes, please!”

Yelena smiles. “You’re begging so sweetly, and I’ve barely touched you yet.”

Barely? Was she serious? You don’t even have the strength to tell her she’s full of shit.

Her fingers stroke your thighs softly, steadying you as she mouths at your clit through your panties; open-mouthed kisses, slow suction, the wet heat of her breath making everything better and also worse. You feel so goddamn dizzy.

Every time you whimper, Yelena hums approval against you. Every time your legs shake, her grip tightens possessively.

Finally, blessedly, Yelena hooks her fingers into your panties and pulls them down—slow enough to tease, yet fast enough to drive you mad. The moment they hit the floor, Yelena slides her hands up your thighs again, spreading them further, pinning you with her stare.

“Now, hold still for me. And don’t look away.”

You barely manage a nod before she leans in and licks you again, tongue on bare skin now, wet and deliberate. Your entire body jolts.

“Yelena—“ your voice cracks on her name.

“There she is,” Yelena whispers. “I could not wait to hear more of your beautiful sounds.”

Her tongue slides lower, then up again, lips closing around your clit. You let out the kind of sound you usually try to hide, high-pitched and breathless, and it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, drunk on the feel of Yelena’s tongue in all the right places.

“Look at me,” she says again, firmer this time, dominance threading through her tone. You hadn’t even realized you’d squeezed your eyes shut

You force your gaze downward again, meeting her eyes just as she sucks harder. You gasp, fingers curling against the wall. Yelena moans softly into you, like your reaction turns her on, like she’s feeding on it.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs between licks.“So responsive. So sweet. So perfect for me.”

Your hips start to move without your permission and she pulls you closer, mouth relentless, letting your hips rock against her face.

“Let me see you,” she breathes against you. “Don’t hide from me. Look right at me while you come.”

That alone almost finishes you. The world narrows to Yelena’s mouth, her voice, her hands. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. Your breath breaks. Your head drops forward with a desperate sob.

“Lena—oh god—please—”

Her tongue moves faster—focused, knowing, like she’s memorized every reaction you’ve ever had. Her voice is low and commanding against your skin:“Come for me, detka. Let me see you.”

Your vision goes white. Your legs nearly give out. And the only thing keeping you upright is Yelena holding you in place as you fall apart on her tongue, trembling against the wall, crying out her name like a prayer. She doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, pushing weakly at her shoulder because it’s too much. Then she pulls back, wet chin and all, breathless and devouring you with her gaze.

She kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and soft, then stands, cupping your face gently as you try to steady yourself. Her voice is warm and devastatingly soft: “Good girl.”

Yelena leads you to the bed, one steady hand at your lower back, and you’re grateful for it because there is absolutely no universe in which your legs would’ve carried you on their own. She pulls back the covers and helps you settle beneath them, then sheds her own clothes and slides in beside you, gathering you into her arms.

You melt into her instantly, tucking your face into the warm crook of her neck. Her skin smells faintly of the perfume she put on earlier, mixed with something undeniably her.

Her hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Okay?” She checks in, voice softened in a way reserved only for you.

“More than,” you breathe, still a little dazed, still trying to come back to your body.

She smiles, and you can feel it against your forehead.

“And to think you wanted this during our party…” Her fingers drag lightly along your spine. “You might be naughtier than I give you credit for.”

Your face burns against her neck, and you whine, “Don’t be mean!”

“I’m not!” she laughs under her breath. A warm, fond sound that rumbles through her chest. “Just an observation.”

Her hand tilts your chin up gently so she can look at you. Her eyes are soft and so full of love, that it makes your chest ache. “You know I love getting to see the different sides of you,” she murmurs. “I like my girl layered.”

You groan and hide your face again. Yelena laughs, pulling the blankets tighter around you both.

“See? Layered,” she teases. “Shy. Sweet. A little desperate when no one’s watching.”

“Yelena!”

“I’m complimenting you,” she insists, kissing the top of your head. “I happen to love every version of you.”

You groan again. “You’re impossible.”

She kisses the tip of your nose. “And you love me.”

That was factual. And the way Yelena wraps you up in her arms?

———————

Ever since you were a child, you were always told you would have to be wed. But you didn’t expect that you’d be forced to move to the North to marry Lord Cregan Stark. Growing up in the South you were used to the warmth, flowing dresses, and southern customs but now you’d have to get used to the cold, heavy furs, and a whole new set of customs.

You had heard many stories of Cregan Stark, some said that he was cruel, others said he could shift into a wolf at night, and one person even said that he drinks animal blood.

Cregan was none of those things. When you had first arrived in your carriage it was clear that you were scared out of your mind and also freezing. But the Lord of Winterfell had expected those things and had a fur cloak made just for you. He gave you time to adjust to the new environment and it was clear that your favorite place was by the fire in either your personal chambers or the library. He was also sure to give you space, he didn’t want to crowd you. You enjoyed the new found freedom that you were experiencing. In the North, it didn’t feel as though you were being watched by a hawk at all times… you were watched by a wolf at times though.

Today you had decided to explore the gardens, making sure that you didn’t sit down. You feared if you did, a chill would enter your bones and you’d freeze solid. Cregan had finished business with some of his bannermen earlier than expected and sought you out. He asked to go for a walk with you which you accepted.

“I’ve never been on a walk without a chaperone before,” you comment absentmindedly as you look at the winter flowers on your way out of the garden with Cregan beside you.

He raises a brow, “Never?”

“Never.”

“Would you like me to get one? It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

You stop walking, making Cregan stop as well. A genuine smile appears on your face, “No…I…” it’s then that you decide to hold onto his arm and begin to walk again, “It’s just different, but a nice different.”

He grins, “We are to be wed love, in the North, a chaperone is not necessary for those who are to be wed.”

You hum, feeling the firmness of his arm under your touch, “In the South, you always need one.”

“Even if you’re to be wed?”

“Especially then,” you say, looking up at him, “I had a friend, Abi, when she was betrothed, she and her now husband were not allowed to be alone.”

“Interesting,” he comments, as you approach the Godswood, “Do you still write to her?”

“No, sadly, her husband is…well he does not like me much.”

“I find it hard to believe anyone could dislike you.”

“Well I…” you stop yourself.

Cregan looks down at you, “Now you must tell me.”

“Oh you’ll think I’m terrible…”

“Impossible.”

“It’s…” you sigh, “He isn’t a very kind man, even when he was courting Abi…he made her cry more often than not and while Abi and I were alone, while I was dabbing her tears away I couldn’t take it…”

You look up to make sure he was still listening, which he was very intently. You hesitate for a minute before continuing your story, “I called him a toad.”

“A toad?” Cregan’s head falls back as he begins to cackle.

“It was a great insult!” you take your hand off his arm so you could cross your arms across your chest.

“Aye, it was.”

“You mock me.”

“No, no,” he laughs more before placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you both in place, “I only think it funny you thought I would spurn you for calling a man a toad.”

“In the South you would.”

“Fuck the South, this is the North, and it is in the North that you’ll be my wife. I would never be angry with you for insulting an out of line man or woman.” Cregan says.

“Even if that out of line man is you?”

“Even if that out of line man is me,” he echoes.

“But how did he find out you called him a toad?” Cregan asks after a few seconds.

“Because Abi told him, or rather, she called him one as well and then told him.”

“I see.”

“Marriage, at least in the South, is not usually good…it is rare for a woman to get a good husband. In fact, a good husband in the South is a husband that ignores his wife. I’m afraid that Abi was not so lucky, she got a cruel one.”

“I will not be cruel to you,” Cregan says softly, taking your soft hands in his rough ones.

You smile softly before a more playful look appears on your face, “Well that is one rumor disproven.”

“Rumor? You have been listening to gossip about me?” he raises a brow, “Tell me, what do the Southern Lords and Ladies say of me? Other than that I’m cruel.”

You had worried for a moment you had angered him, but when you realized he had the same playful look you laughed.

“Well, I was told that at night you switch between a man and a wolf…that…” you trail off.

“That?” he asks, and with the teasing glint in his eye, it was obvious he knew what you were going to say.

“That… as a wolf man you’d be rough in the marriage bed…”

“And you believed that one?”

“No…yes…I don’t know! I didn’t know what to expect, I suppose I still don’t know what to expect from the marriage bed,” you laugh.

“Well there is a second rumor disproven, I will never be rough with you outside of the marriage bed… and I will not be rough in it either, unless you ask for it to be.”

Your face flushes, making him chuckle, “Other rumors?” he asks.

“Well…one man in particular told me that you drink the blood of animals…”

“Oh that one’s true,” Cregan deadpans.

You freeze, “What?”

“How else do you think I maintain these rugged good looks?”

There’s silence before he begins to laugh again making you scowl.

“Oh come on! Now that’s just mean!” you push at his chest softly but he doesn’t move a bit.

“I only jest,” he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his chest, you let out a sigh when you feel the warmth that admits from him, “by the God's woman, you’re freezing.”

He pulls away only to unclasp his cloak so he could drape it over you even though you already wore your own. His was much larger, it touched the ground and practically swallowed you whole. You sighed contently, not only was the cloak warm from his body heat but it smelt of him as well. Pine mostly but also a touch of smoke.

Cregan admires you for a moment before scooping you up in his arms making you squeal, “Back home now, I can not have you freezing…I will show you the weirwoods another day, your hands are already so cold and I would hate for you to get cold feet.”

You laugh at the double meaning of his words as you snuggle further into his chest. It was then you decided that the North and even marriage wouldn’t be so bad, as long as it was with Cregan.

The last performance, where expectations were already set high, but you set them higher.

For yourself, that was. You weren't one to let your problems involve others. But to Billie, words were only a delivery—she could already find everything she needed in your eyes.

Truly, you couldn't have stressed more unnecessarily than you did. Because, while in theory the finishing performance should be what finalizes the standards, the concert was no different from any other one. Only with more tears shed. And more talking (on Billie's behalf), but that was expected of a goodbye.

Billie, surprisingly, didn't give you a private pep talk before the show. But, less surprisingly, her eyes (ironically) told a lot more than her words. You'd find her gaze weighing you down more often than not, and she'd always be looking away the second you caught her.

But, lingering stares aside, the concert wasn't nearly as life-altering as your mind had chalked it up to.

Watching Billie bid farewell and give her thanks to the cacophonous crowd of fans—while biting back tears, as ‘goodbye’ played as an outro for the first time of the tour—was probably the most heart-wrenching part of it all. That, and the one-too-many backstage (and onstage) hugs between the band.

Sprinting backstage at the end was just like any other concert—squeals, praise, high-fives, and hugs from every which direction that you'd much rather steer away from.

But as the adrenaline slowly drained from your body, reality began to sink in.

The last tour of the concert meant—well, the end of touring. With Billie. At least for a good amount of time.

And while you had one last night in the tour bus, that was only one night left of late-night board games—ones that got much too passionate—no more silently reviewing Billie's recent composing projects and saying more with silent awe than actual compliments, no more excuses to touch eachother that you both knew were useless, no more faint creaking or thuds on the floor as Billie snuck as stealthily as possible into your bunk. That meant no more nights with Billie.

And maybe that would've been fine if you were as close to Billie as the others—Ava and Jane probably kept in contact with her every day of their lives since, and soon, after the tour.

But you weren't Ava or Jane. No, you had met Billie the day the tour started. And it wasn't a quick friendship. It was awkward at first; your distance, Billie's constant need to know every person she'd be spending time with (righteously so), and horribly dissonant, one-sided conversations.

Sure, your friendship grew over time, and actual back-and-forths were born from that. But how could you really know Billie was entertained enough to truly use the number she spent far too long getting? How could you really know she was interested in you?

Every thought came spiraling in like a whirlpool, the ideas seeping in like something parasitic.

But before the dread could set in, before it could all come crashing down in the most humiliating way, a familiar pair of pale arms wrapped around your frame from behind.

"You're thinking too much," Billie—mind reader she is—murmured, mouth way too close to your skin to not set your nerves on fire.

You barely turned your head. "You're observing too well,” you rebutted.

"Maybe. But letting you wallow in self-pity for too long could be a hazard." Her fingers brushed beneath where your sternum would be if not for the fabric of your shirt separating them. Your chest tightened at the contact, even if it was barely anything at all.

Her voice picked up after a beat too long, lower than usual—enough to call it intimate. "You know, since it is the last night we have together..." she paused, solely for the purpose of dramatizing it all.

“Better make it count.”

Her breath, barely more than a purr, brushed your neck just enough to make your hairs stand on end. And then she walked off, the dressing room door shutting behind her quietly like she didn't just leave you frozen and a mess. You stared blankly at the door she slipped into before blinking.

With a trembling breath, you forced your legs to move out of the venue.

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The tour bus was quiet for a solid fifteen minutes before the rest of the band flitted inside. Billie was still sniffling, eyes wet and hair a mess. She looked unreal—unfairly gorgeous—even when her inner turmoil was wrecking her.

Voices trailed on late into the night, alive and a little too loud. Unable to bear the idea of ‘one last Uno game’, your body remained glued to your bunk. Blankets pooled over your lap, headphones on—loud enough to cancel out the noise and probably your hearing by the age of thirty—and sketchbook pressed between your knees and pencil.

Even when chatter finally died down, Billie's words still kept your heart racing and your mind running into overdrive. Half of you was excusing it as a miscommunication, the other half spiraling endlessly.

That all shattered the moment footsteps approached. Familiar to the point where your heart flipped at just the sound.

You had tagged it as your mind jumping to conclusions; you'd been on edge all night, and tears had stung your eyes but never fell. You read the situation wrong, and now your brain is elsewhere.

But that pale, tattoo-marked hand pulls the curtain back—casual, slow. The ring attaching the fabric scratches quietly against the bar, a whisper in the dark. She climbs inside with little hesitation, a soft smile already splitting her lips.

“Hi,” you force out, throat closed strangely tight even if her sneaking into your bunk is essentially a tradition.

“Hi,” she echoes playfully, her smile curling into a lopsided smirk. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

You don't reply—not because you don't want to, but because you literally can't. Your heart is slamming against your chest and your skin is suddenly too warm and you can't fucking breathe.

“Alright—jokes aside, are you okay?” Her hands carefully grab your sketchbook, setting it awry.

You breathe out, the sound more shaky than you'd usually let it be. “Yeah—yeah.”

Her face softens like she's caught on, like those two seconds of scanning your face gave her enough information to write an encyclopedia. “I wasn't lying earlier,” she starts, tone light but it hits you right in the ribs. “But if you don't want that—”

“No,” you cut her off tersely before the fear on her face can bloom. “I want it. I want you.” Your hands slide onto hers like a sheath. You give a tiny squeeze in hopes to cement your words.

Her eyes pause between your hands conjoined and the look on your face before she scoots closer. The blankets twist beneath you both until your knees brush—and just the slight touch sends your nerves alight. One hand frees from yours, and takes a wary move towards your face. Her thumb brushes your cheek before her palm rests there.

You meet her halfway as she leans in, and your lips graze eachother's in a heartbreakingly gentle kiss. She kisses you like she's been waiting for this her whole life but fears doing it wrong; careful and tentative, but full of pure devotion and need.

Your tongue sweeps between her lips, and a choked sound flees her throat. Your self-control shatters. You pull her closer until there's no space between you—just fabric and skin on skin. Her fingers fist into your shirt, like she's debating whether to lift it or wait for you to ask. You help her without a word, and it falls atop of the sketchbook.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before they're taken over by that same, raw need. Her lips crash against yours this time, breaths fleeting between kisses and the little nibble she gives your bottom lip that goes straight to your core.

“Fuck, baby—” she gasps out, words cut short by your mouth. Your hands move to her hips, fingers tighten. Her hips roll discretely against your lap, the fabric of your shorts shifting ever so slightly with the movement. A tiny, barely audible whimper comes next, and you have to force yourself to break the kiss before your heart melts.

“Billie…” you warn in a soft whisper, barely more than a breath, but you don't mean it at all. You'd destroy her right here if it meant hearing more of those little noises, but your last shred of sensibility keeps you stalled for a moment.

“Please—please, y/n. I've wanted you for so fucking long,” she nearly pleads. That last, little shred is snapped by the way she looks at you; like you're the only one who can give her what she needs—like you're the only person in the world.

Your lips return to hers, insatiable now. you flip her over until she's beneath you, mouth mapping over her neck and marking damp heat and light suction in its wake.

You lift your head when your fingers slip into her sleep shorts. “Yes—please,” she breathes, hips lifting expectantly. You pull her underwear down with them, and are immediately met with glistening, bare skin. You gape at the sight before your brain kicks back in, and you immediately bury your face in her.

She cries out as your mouth works on her like it's a life mission, jaw worrying with each deep, measured lick. Her clit throbs between your lips, and you only suck harder.

The sounds she lets out are uncontained, broken, and only make your tongue more relentless in its strokes. Her taste eclipses everything around you; musky, sweet, just subtly salty and just enough to keep you hooked—hooked on it, on her. You only remember to cover her mouth when another loud cry almost slips through.

While muffled under your palm, those high, unfiltered noises continue to break free. You lift her thighs over your shoulders to reach deeper, your tongue circling and prodding at her cunt teasingly before returning to her sensitive bud.

Her eyes roll back into her head when your fingers join, sliding into her wet hole with—unsurprisingly—ease. Her hips jolt with every curve, her fingers tighten in your hair when you find a sweet spot. The noises you stifle with your hand only spur you on further. A tightening knot forms low in her stomach when your pace reaches an unrelenting tempo.

Your name drops from her lips over and over again—suppressed under your palm, but still just as unmistakable. Her hand fists in your hair as she teeters on the edge.

A playful nibble to her clit makes the tension snap.

With a choked sob, she comes undone beneath your mouth and around your digits, still pumping inside her. Her body surges with heat and breathless whimpers as she falls apart. You pull back as the aftershocks wash over her, fingers pumping inside her rhythmically.

You hush her softly as her sounds die down, lifting your hand from her mouth and easing your fingers out. A tiny noise pulls at her lips at the emptiness, but she's mostly focused on catching her breath.

You speak up quietly—almost too quietly—after a beat too long of silence. “Was that… okay?”

Her chest heaves as her eyes flutter open. Even through the daze of pleasure, you find softness in her eyes that makes your body tremble.

And—of course—she notices. She takes note of the way your fingers shake when they splay over her chest, the tremor in your thumb as it brushes over the band logo on her shirt.

“It was perfect. You're perfect,” she whispers, hands tugging you into her arms. With a shaky exhale, your body melts into hers and the nerves in your eyes dissipate.

You sit in that quiet silence for a long while, the distant chatter merely a buzz in the bus. Her fingers brush through your hair with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. Her body warmth seeps into your skin like a cocoon.

All of this is so new, so gentle. You can't handle it. You need more, you need less. You can't tell.

All you know is it feels good. It feels right. A little overwhelming—but good.

Before you can break the silence, she does.

“Do you want me to stay?” is all she asks. But it feels like everything. You do. More than anything. But you don't just want her here, in bed with you, wrapped in her arms. You want her by your side through everything. You want her warmth at a constant. That ache in your chest sinks deeper, twisting in your stomach. The feeling is so overbearing that you don't even notice your own silence until she calls your name softly.

“Huh?”

Her hand frees from your scalp, resting on your waist instead. You bite back an embarrassing noise. “I asked you a question, baby.” It comes out playful, but her voice is thick with something like concern.

“Oh—uhm, yeah. Please. Stay.” Your voice breaks open on the last word and you just about scream in frustration—internally.

She's quiet long enough to say she knows something is wrong.

“You're quiet.”

“I'm always quiet,” you defend much too quickly. A weak lie to keep vulnerability at bay.

“Baby,” she hums, tone dropping lower. “Tell me.”

Your lips part around another defense that never leaves your mind. Then, another shaky breath before you mumble a response. “I don't… I don't know what's wrong. I'm not used to this.”

“Used to this?” She prompts, head tilting slightly. Your eyes never meet hers; you can't.

“Used to… someone caring. Especially not like this,” you finish, somehow without your voice screwing up. You shiver involuntarily when her palm cups your face.

“That's okay,” she murmurs, pressing a tiny kiss to your forehead. A beat, then: “If you need space, I'll give it to you.

“No,” you shake your head quickly, fingers curling around her wrists. “Don't leave. Please.” Your heart slams in your chest for no reason at all—you claim, at least.

She pauses, eyes softening unbearably as she takes in this new side of you; the vulnerability, the waver in your voice, body, heart—the proof of your humanity. “I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry.”

More silence. Not tense, not between the two of you at least. Just her head against yours, her arm wrapped around your waist, the blankets up to your chest. It's comfortable for about 5 minutes before your thoughts start running again.

Without your permission at all, you whisper, “Am I gonna see you again?”

She freezes as you've slapped her. “What?”

“I mean… after all of this.” You gesture vaguely at nothing. “Like, are we still gonna be… whatever we are?”

“Of course we are,” she laughs softly, like what you just asked was the most obvious question to ever be uttered. You simply nod and keep your head leaning on hers.

Barely a second later, she speaks up again. “Is that what's been bothering you?”

“Yeah.”

“y/n, you make me feel alive.” She breathes, hand sliding into place on your cheek once more. “I wouldn't be able to do any of this tour without you. Do you think I'd be fine with you just… gone right when tour ends?”

You can only gape at her, eyes wide, heart beating unhealthily fast, breathing still. “I didn't know if… You thought we were close,” you return, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Baby, I—” she pauses before a word that she quickly replaces. You pretend not to notice the way her lips quiver before she composes herself. “you thought we weren't close? After that?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you sputter to defend yourself. “I-I don't know what that means for us.”

“It means I want you,” she says firmly, eyes just as soft as before but full of something deeper and bare now. Something that both of you have kept unnamed for a long while. “It means that I'm yours. If you'll have me.”

You don't trust yourself to respond. You dont trust your heart beating way too fast. You just take her lips in a slow, deep kiss that says more than you can in the moment. When the connection breaks and you pull back just enough to look at her—her eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, cheeks flushed—you know you're right where you want to be. Your foreheads rest against each others', breaths mingling, fingers locked into each others' clothes.

Right in that moment, in the embrace of her presence, you know you've made every last (or maybe not) second count.